Corren's home was small, tucked away on the outskirts of the town. The place felt as though it had been passed down through generations, its walls lined with the scent of old wood, the weight of time thick in the air. Shelves cluttered with worn books, dusty tools, and discarded remnants of lives long gone, their stories whispered in the silence.
Solitude lived here, a quiet, persistent presence, one that sank deep into the bones of its inhabitant. The stillness was palpable, broken only by the creak of the floorboards beneath his feet. The lantern he had lit earlier burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the room, their shapes stretching like slow-moving specters.
Corren didn't notice them shift. They weren't unnatural, just enough to be off, as though the room itself were breathing, shifting in rhythm with his own steady pulse. The light seemed too faint to create such shapes, but somehow, they stretched along the walls, clawing at the edges of his vision.
Outside, the storm had begun to stir. The wind whispered through the cracks of the house, a low murmur, the scent of rain hanging in the air, but not yet falling. The distant rumble of thunder rolled through the town, not loud enough to feel like a warning, but close enough to make the room feel closed in, like the world beyond had been sealed away. The sky would open soon, he knew, but for now, it was just the pressure, the promise of a storm to come.
The skull sat on his desk, wrapped loosely in cloth. Corren's fingers hovered over it for a moment, the weight of it pressing against his palm before he unwrapped the cloth. He froze as the bone came into view, pale and smooth, a fragile thing that seemed almost too light under his touch. He hadn't gotten a good look at it in the graveyard, but now that it was here, in the dim light of his room, he could see it clearly.
It appeared human, at first. The shape of it, the ridges of the brow, the sockets where eyes should have been, all these things suggested a person. But the more he studied it, the more strange it seemed. The eye sockets were too wide, too open, and the cheekbones too sharp, the jaw too thin. The teeth, when he looked closely, were unnaturally straight, too perfect.
It was wrong. There was something about it that didn't fit. A kind of wrongness that tugged at the back of his mind, a disquieting unease that tightened in his chest. It was like looking at something that should be human, but wasn't. He couldn't place why, but he knew it wasn't just the shape of it. There was a presence to the skull, something subtle, something wrong.
When he pressed his fingers against it, the hum came again. Soft, just barely there, like an echo beneath the bone. It wasn't loud. It wasn't even a sound, exactly. But it was a presence, a sensation. The hum made his skin prickle, his stomach tighten. He pulled his hand back quickly, but the sensation lingered in the air around him, like it was still vibrating in the room, waiting.
Corren blinked, looking at the skull again. Nothing. But the hum still sat in his bones, not fading, but insistent, like it was reaching into him.
Shaking his head, he reached for a nearby book, one of the older texts on burial practices he had accumulated over the years. He flipped through it, his eyes scanning the pages for something, anything that would help make sense of this object in front of him. Most of the texts focused on rituals, grave markings, or the occasional mention of unusual remains found in forgotten catacombs. But nothing matched the skull before him. There were no references to anything with markings like this, no known burial practices that used objects like it.
The more he read, the more it felt like his mind was spinning in circles. Objects of heretical rites may mimic human remains… Beware the cursed.
The words blurred, his vision swimming for a moment. He rubbed his eyes, but it didn't help. The words were the same, but the more he read, the more disjointed they became. Nothing fit. Nothing here made sense.
He looked down at the skull again, feeling a deep, uncomfortable pull in his gut. The markings etched into the bone didn't match anything he knew. They weren't random. They were deliberate. They were symbols, patterns. Almost like a map, or a code.
Corren ran his thumb over one of the deeper scratches, the feel of it like rough stone against his skin. It hummed again, just barely, like a breath he could almost hear. He set the skull down carefully, then reached for another book, flipping through it, hoping for some clue, some answer.
But there was nothing. No match. No mention of anything even remotely close to what he held in front of him.
The hum pulsed again. A breath. A heartbeat.
Corren hesitated. He knew he should leave it alone, but the pull was too strong. After a long moment, he wrapped the skull back in its cloth, securing it tight. He needed to take it back to the graveyard. Maybe there would be answers there, but he didn't know what to look for.
For now, the storm outside grew louder, and Corren couldn't shake the feeling that something else, something far deeper, was beginning to stir within him. The weight of it pressed against him like the air before the storm. Something was coming.
"Let's try comparing it to other texts," Corren muttered, dragging the skull a few inches closer on the desk.
He'd already rifled through two books before the lantern had even settled into its dim rhythm. Now, with rain tapping the shutters and the scent of old wood in the air, he stood before his shelves like a man searching through memories.
Corren had always kept more books than made sense for a man in his trade. Burial customs, anatomical studies, local folklore. His walls groaned under the weight of them. Some were his father's, remnants of a different kind of curiosity. The rest he'd gathered over the years, drawn to obscure knowledge the way others were drawn to drink or dice. It wasn't just interest. It was habit. A way of making sense of the world's edges.
His fingers moved along the bindings until he found one with hand-drawn diagrams of funerary masks. He flipped through the pages, pausing when an illustration caught his eye. A hollowed vessel shaped roughly like a human head, mouth agape, with curling lines etched around the jaw. Not identical, but close enough to stir unease.
He glanced at the skull.
Still silent. Still watching.
Corren shook his head and pulled down another volume. A passage described resonant remains, fragments of the dead used in ritual songs, said to hum when held by the living. The detail made his skin crawl.
Resonant, huh, he said under his breath.
With a careful hand, he reached out and placed his palm on the skull's crown.
At first, nothing. Then faintly, so faintly he could've imagined it, a tremor passed through his fingertips. A vibration beneath the bone. It wasn't sound, not quite. It felt more like pressure. A hum deep in the wrist. Like something beneath the surface of the world was briefly awake.
Corren snatched his hand back. The inkwell rattled. A drop of black spread across the edge of his notes, smearing the line he'd begun earlier.
"This skull is not"
He stared at the words. Closed the book. Folded the page over. Let the rain speak for a while.
He looked again at the skull.
"I don't know what you are," he whispered. "But someone buried you for a reason."
And yet, he didn't stop. Didn't burn it. Didn't bury it again. Instead, he began drawing it in the margins of his notes, tracing the curve of the jaw, the shape of the carvings, the faint symbols he hadn't noticed before. He didn't quite understand why this skull was so fascinating to him.
But something about it intrigued him.
Outside, thunder rolled low and distant. Inside, the skull sat quiet.
But it was not still.
"Maybe I'll have her check it out." He mutters to himself.
He grabbed the skull and threw it into the satchel. He knew that this would help get tons of useful information on the skull, so he threw his shoes on and went out the door.
The rain was falling harder by the time Corren reached Elda's house.
The small cottage leaned into the hillside, half-swallowed by ivy and rain-dark stone. Light bled from the windows, warm and flickering, and when he knocked, she opened the door without surprise.
"You're soaked," she said, stepping aside to let him in.
"Didn't think it'd come down this fast," Corren muttered, brushing droplets from his shoulders.
He stepped inside, careful with the satchel at his side. The air was thick with herbs and ash, and something simmering in a pot. The same smell he remembered from childhood, burnt rosemary and old paper.
He paused in the doorway of the sitting room, glancing around. Books stacked in corners, glass jars on every shelf. A chair with its cushion half-undone, an old shawl tossed over the back.
"This place is more chaotic than I remember."
Elda gave a dry smile. "Hard to keep up without Lira."
She said it offhandedly, but something in the room pulled tighter. Corren didn't press. He just nodded and gently set the satchel on the table.
He undid the flap and unwrapped the skull with care. Even now, it felt warm. Not to the touch, but in some invisible way, like it remembered being held.
Elda leaned over it, eyes narrowing. "You dug this up?"
"Not exactly," he said. "It was there. Sort of. It's hard to explain."
She said nothing, just examined the shape. Her brow furrowed deeper the longer she looked.
"It's not human," she said eventually. "Not any animal I've seen either. Look at this curve. See here? And this line. These sutures don't belong to anything local."
"I know," Corren said. "I've compared it to everything I have. Even tried older texts. Nothing matches."
"You said you heard something?"
Corren hesitated, then reached out and touched the skull.
The sound returned instantly. That low, pulsing hum, like breath behind a wall. It wasn't just noise. It was pressure, a presence curling along the edge of his thoughts.
He pulled his hand away. "When I touch it. Only then."
Elda reached out, brushed her fingers over the bone.
Nothing.
She shook her head. "I don't hear a thing."
Corren stared at the skull. It stared back with hollow sockets.
He reached for it again.
The hum came stronger this time. Rising. Deepening. Building not just in sound but in force, pressing into his temples, worming behind his eyes. His breath caught. His hands trembled.
"Corren?" Elda's voice.
"It's loud. It's in my head!" he gasped.
He stumbled back a step, then another, until his spine struck the wall. The jolt knocked his breath loose. His head clipped the corner of a shelf, and books toppled to the floor. Still the sound kept rising, vibrating in his teeth, digging under his skin. His legs gave out and he slid down the wall, eyes wide and wild.
"Make it stop," he whispered, clutching his head. "It's too loud! It's looking for something. It's trying to get in."
Elda knelt beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching for the skull.
She didn't touch it. Only stared.
Then, without warning, the sound vanished.
As if someone had slammed a door in the air.
Corren sat shivering, soaked and pale. His breath came in short bursts.
The skull lay motionless where it had rolled.
"I need to put it back," he said. His voice was thin and hoarse. "It doesn't belong here."
Elda looked at him for a long moment. "Do you want help?"
He shook his head. "No. Just needed to know it wasn't all in my head."
He wrapped the skull again, more carefully this time.
"Thanks for the help," he said. "And for not thinking I've lost it."
"You haven't. But be careful, Corren."
He nodded once, slung the satchel over his shoulder, and stepped out into the rain.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
The rain had thickened into a cold curtain by the time Corren reached the graveyard. Cobblestones shimmered underfoot, slick with runoff. His coat clung to his shoulders, heavy and soaked, and the satchel thumped against his side with every step. The streets were near empty, just scattered lantern light flickering in windows behind drawn curtains.
He muttered to himself as he walked, not because he had anything to say, but because the silence felt like it might swallow him otherwise. A town like this always looked smaller in the rain. Smaller, and older.
The graveyard gate let out a strained creak when he pushed it open. Rust flaked from the hinges. Inside, the air felt heavier, almost still despite the wind. Gravestones leaned in every direction like ancient teeth pressing through soft gums, their names worn and melted by time. The ground sucked at his boots. The rain made a thin, constant hiss across the stone and grass.
He moved without looking around too much. He didn't want to. Something about the place under rain and moonlight felt closer than it should have, the kind of closeness that pressed against your neck.
The grave was still open. Just as he'd left it. No tools around it now, no sign he'd ever been there except the disturbed earth. It looked darker than it had under the sun. Hungrier.
Corren stood at the edge for a long moment, staring down into the pit. Mud pooled at the bottom. The edges of the hole looked like they'd sunk deeper, pulled inward by something unseen.
He reached into his satchel and drew out the skull, still wrapped in cloth. The moment his fingers touched it, the humming began. Quiet. Thin. But growing stronger with every heartbeat. He clutched it tighter.
"All right," he muttered to himself. "That's enough. Back where you came from."
He knelt, rain soaking his knees through the fabric. The ground squelched beneath him. He unwrapped the skull and held it bare for a moment in the open air.
It was wrong. Not just unfamiliar, wrong. As if it didn't belong to anything that had ever lived above the earth. The shape wasn't human. The ridges and holes didn't make sense. Every time he stared too long, his mind tried to twist it into something recognizable and failed.
"I don't want this," he whispered.
He lowered it toward the grave. The humming intensified. Not loud, but insistent, like it was waking up. A sound you didn't just hear, but felt, running through the bones in your arms.
Then the ground pushed back.
He froze.
There was no physical force, no hand rising from the soil, but it felt like the air itself thickened, like gravity shifted. The grave was resisting him. Or something inside was. His arms went heavy. His breath caught in his throat.
He pressed forward. The sound climbed. His vision blurred for a heartbeat and then snapped to black.
Panic hit him like a wave.
He jerked backward, stumbling onto his elbows, mud splashing beneath him. The skull slipped from his grip and landed with a dull thup. He couldn't see. He blinked, frantic. The darkness wasn't absolute, but it had weight, like wet cloth pulled over his face.
What is happening?
His mind raced. His chest heaved. His thoughts spiraled.
And then he heard it.
Not words. Not quite. Just the shape of them. A murmur that never found voice, slipping in through cracks in his skull. Like something deep below had noticed him. And now it was listening back.
No no no.
His vision returned all at once, sharp and too bright. He scrambled to his feet, clutching his chest, soaked through with rain and breathless. The grave looked the same. The skull sat just outside its edge, motionless.
But it felt different. Like the grave had grown an inch deeper while he wasn't watching. Like it was waiting.
Corren didn't touch it again.
He backed away slowly, not taking his eyes off the thing. His fingers twitched. The whisper had stopped, but the echo of it clung to him.
He turned and walked. Not running, but fast. Fast enough to get clear. He didn't look back. Couldn't.
The rain swallowed the sound of his footsteps.
Corren slammed the door shut behind him harder than he meant to. The sound echoed through the small house, bouncing off the low ceiling and aging walls. He stood there in the entryway, dripping rain onto the warped floorboards, breath ragged and uneven. Water clung to his hair and lashes, trickling down the slope of his nose and soaking into the collar of his coat.
The satchel hung at his side, but he didn't touch it. Not yet. He stayed frozen for a moment, eyes locked on nothing, jaw clenched. His heart hadn't slowed since the graveyard.
Eventually, he moved. One sluggish step after another, shedding his coat and boots with trembling hands, leaving a trail of wet fabric behind him. He didn't light a lamp. The faint orange glow of dying coals in the hearth was enough.
He dropped into the nearest chair like the bones had gone out of his legs. The satchel hit the floor beside him with a light thud. He didn't even look at it.
Instead, he stared at the wall. A worn map was tacked to it, curling at the edges. Next to it hung a small wooden carving, a relic from his childhood. He let his gaze blur past them, past the shadows, past the soft creaking of the house.
His thoughts circled and gnawed at themselves.
"Why did I bring it home that day?"
He pressed his palms to his face. His skin was cold and clammy.
"You knew better. The moment you touched it... no, before that. You knew. And still..."
The memory of the humming rose in his mind, low and rhythmic. Not loud, not piercing. Not at first. But it wasn't the volume that unsettled him. It was the way it pulsed. Not sound, not breath. Something in between. Like a voice that didn't need air to speak.
He let out a shaky exhale and rubbed the heel of his hand into his temple.
"You thought you were clever. You thought you could just study it. Read your books. Piece it together like one of your puzzles."
He looked toward the shelves lining the far wall. They were cluttered with old texts, curled pages, scuffed covers. Some he'd found in markets. Some had been his father's. He remembered climbing those same shelves when he was a child, curious about every brittle volume. Back then, the world had felt like something he could figure out if he just read enough.
But this wasn't like anything he'd read.
This wasn't just strange. It was wrong.
And the worst part was... it didn't feel done with him.
Corren sat forward, gripping his knees, and stared at the floor.
He tried to convince himself that it was just nerves. Stress. Overwork. That all the strange sensations, the pressure in the earth, the flicker behind his eyes, the noise, were symptoms of sleep deprivation and a guilty conscience.
But even now, in the quiet of his own home, something itched at the edge of his hearing. Like the memory of the humming had been etched behind his ears. Like it knew where he was.
"I never should've taken it," he said aloud. His voice sounded thin, like it belonged to someone else.
"I never want to see that thing again."
He stood suddenly, as if staying seated another second might let the fear sink in deeper. He paced once, then again, running a hand through his damp hair. He stopped at the window, peering out into the wet blackness of the night. The rain was beginning to slow, but mist still curled along the edges of the street. Lanterns flickered faintly down the lane, but there were no footsteps, no voices. Just the sound of water dripping from the eaves and wind nudging against the glass.
Behind him, the satchel sat motionless on the floor. But he didn't turn to look.
Eventually, when he couldn't pace anymore, he made his way to the back room. The warmth from the hearth didn't reach here. It was colder, and the boards creaked louder.
He sat on the bed but didn't lie down. He just stared at his hands in his lap.
Even with the skull gone, the house didn't feel empty.
He hoped sleep would come. But even more, he hoped he'd never hear that sound again.
Corren woke unrested. The light in the room was pale and gray, the kind that filtered in through heavy clouds. Rain tapped gently at the window, softer now than last night, but enough to keep the world outside shrouded and dull. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, trying to separate sleep from memory.
But the memory clung. He saw the grave, the shape of the skull in the mud, the weight of it in his hands. He heard the sound. That strange pressure behind his ears. It had all happened.
He dressed quietly, boots damp and cold from where they'd been left. The house felt hollow. He didn't bother with food. Instead, he stepped out into the morning mist and pulled his coat tighter against the damp. His legs carried him on instinct, down the winding streets toward the chapel at the edge of town.
Brother Rallin lived in the small quarters just behind it. He was older than most, with a voice like warm bark and hands scarred from a life of service and scripture. People trusted him, even if they didn't always understand him. Corren had known him since he was a child. If anyone could make sense of this… it would be him.
The chapel door gave a reluctant creak as Corren pushed it open. The space inside smelled of old wood and candle wax. Brother Rallin stood near the front, brushing dust from the windowsills, but looked up the moment Corren entered.
"Corren," he said, voice low and steady. "You look like you've been visited by a storm."
Corren managed a faint smile. "Something like that."
They sat together in the small study behind the chapel. The fire there had already been lit. Books lined the walls in crooked rows, and a pot of tea steamed quietly on the table between them. Rallin poured for both of them without a word, waiting.
Corren tried to explain it all. The open grave. The skull. The humming. The feeling in his chest when he held it. He kept some parts vague, the voice, the overwhelming fear, but Brother Rallin listened with unwavering patience, eyes never leaving Corren's.
"It wasn't just some animal skull. The shape was… wrong. I've read books on bone structure, old diagrams from the monastery archives. This thing didn't match anything. It looked manufactured, almost. But not by us. Not by anything I know."
Rallin leaned forward slightly. "And the sound you were talking about?"
Corren shook his head. "It wasn't exactly a sound. It was like pressure behind my eyes. Like something speaking, but not using words. Just... shapes. It made me feel like I was underwater. And it got worse the longer I held it."
"You didn't feel it when you found it?"
"Not until I brought it home. It got stronger then. I thought I imagined it at first, but then... Elda didn't hear anything, even when she held it."
"And how did you feel?"
"Afraid," Corren said, after a pause. "And ashamed. I don't even know why I took it. It felt like I needed to. Like I was supposed to. But I hated it."
Brother Rallin nodded slowly. "You say it was buried in an open grave?"
"Yeah. No coffin. No proper marker either. Just there. Waiting for someone to find it, I guess."
Rallin stood and walked over to one of the shelves, running a hand along the spines. "There are stories," he said slowly, "not from around here, but older than this town. Stories of things unearthed that weren't meant to be disturbed. Whispers passed from one mind to another. Influence taking root in quiet ways. Most who've heard the stories chalk them up to folklore. But some details linger."
"You think this is one of those things?" Corren asked.
"I don't know. But I'd like to find out." He turned back toward Corren. "If it's still there, I want to see it."
"You want me to… bring it back?"
"If it hasn't vanished, yes. Bring it here. I'll keep it safe. And I might be able to find something that connects it to those old stories. Something worth knowing."
Corren hesitated. His mouth felt dry. "I don't want to see it again."
"You won't have to keep it," Rallin said gently. "Just retrieve it. After that, it's mine to study. You can let it go."
Corren didn't answer right away. He stared down at his own, hands folded tight in his lap. The fire popped once, the only sound in the silence.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Alright," he said. "If it's still there… I'll bring it to you."
Corren left the chapel under a gray sky, the scent of old stone and burning wood still clinging to his coat. He gave Brother Rallin a nod at the door.
"Thank you," he said. "For listening."
Rallin smiled faintly. "Of course. Be careful."
With that, Corren stepped back into the quiet drizzle of morning. The rain had lessened, but the air was thick and cool, dampening every sound beneath a veil of mist. He moved through town with his collar pulled up, not in a rush, but not dragging either. The houses stood silent. Chimneys let off thin threads of smoke. Curtains barely moved behind fogged windows.
The graveyard appeared at the edge of the road, tucked behind its crumbling stone wall. A few crows fluttered along the headstones as Corren pushed open the creaking gate. Mud squelched beneath his boots. He didn't need to search. His eyes went straight to it.
There it was, just as he'd left it.
The skull sat in the shallow grave like it had never moved. Still turned slightly, as if watching him. Raindrops collected in the hollow sockets, and the earth around it looked darker, wetter, but untouched.
He stepped forward carefully, half-expecting something. A chill. A whisper. That crushing sense of wrongness that had washed over him before. But nothing came. The air was still. The hum was there, but dull now, muted, like a distant memory. It pressed against the edge of his hearing without fully arriving.
Corren knelt and picked it up with steady hands. Cold. He tucked it into the cloth-lined satchel he'd brought and stood again, brushing dirt from his knees. His fingers lingered on the flap a moment before securing it shut. Then he turned and left, the wind tugging faintly at his coat.
Brother Rallin was waiting when he returned to the chapel.
"You found it," the old man said, eyes fixed on the satchel.
Corren set it on the table, unsnapped the flap, and carefully withdrew the skull. Rallin leaned in at once, his fingers resting on the edge of the table but not yet touching it. For a time, neither spoke. They simply looked.
Rallin eventually lifted it, turning it in his hands. "No markings," he murmured. "No seams. No wear on the bone." He held it closer to his ear, then tapped it lightly with his knuckle. "Hollow. Perfectly balanced. Still nothing familiar."
Corren said nothing. The hum was faint here, barely a breath, but it was there.
After another few moments, Rallin set the skull down with care. "Alright," he said. "Leave it with me. I'll take a closer look in my own time."
"You'll let me know if you find anything?" Corren asked.
"Of course," Rallin said. "Go home. Rest."
Corren nodded and turned to leave. The skull stayed on the table, its hollow gaze following him until the door shut behind.
The road home curved along the hillside. The clouds were breaking slightly, letting a few pale rays of light fall in strips across the grass and trees. As he passed the bend, he saw Elda's cottage tucked at the base of the hill, chimney smoke curling lazily upward. The windows glowed with a gentle warmth.
He hesitated.
Then, without fully knowing why, he walked the narrow path up and knocked lightly on the wooden door.
Elda answered almost at once, hair pulled back and sleeves rolled, as if she'd just stepped away from some busywork. "Corren?"
"Hey," he said. "Just wanted to say… I brought the skull to Brother Rallin. He's taking a look. Figured you might like to know."
Her eyes studied him for a second, then softened. "You okay?"
"I think so. Just… thank you. For not thinking I was out of my mind."
She smiled. "You weren't. I knew something was wrong the moment you brought it in."
He gave a small nod, then stepped back. "Alright. Just wanted to tell you."
"Anytime, Corren."
He turned and walked back down the hill. The wind was stronger now, rustling the grass and bending the trees. His house wasn't far. The door creaked the same as always when he entered, and the quiet inside welcomed him.
He went to his room without much thought and sat on the edge of his bed, staring out the window. Rain had started again, soft and steady. He let it fill the silence.
And for now, that was enough.