Legacy of the Forsaken - The Choosen's Call

The third morning in Hollowmere arrived colder than the days before. Not by much, just a few degrees, enough to send a thin, chilly shiver through the camp. That slight drop in temperature was enough to make their breath glow as they exhaled, visible in the early gray light and swirling mist that clung low to the ground. Despite the clear skies the night before, the dew had evaporated only partially, and the dampness of their gear crept beneath their clothes, adding a feeling of clingy coldness to their movements. No rain had fallen during the night, but the dampness persisted, sticking to their clothes and equipment, a reminder that this place was always a little wetter, a little colder than it looked.

Rylan was already outside his tent, watching the fog roll over the rough stones like a slow, shifting tide of ghosts. The fog seemed alive, flowing and swirling around the jagged rocks, blanketing the ground in a white, swirling curtain. He could see shadows move behind it—faint outlines of the others stirring, stretching, quietly waking up. Some were ruffling through their bags, zippers hissing as they opened or closed them. A low curse escaped Ash as he stepped barefoot onto a particularly cold, uneven stone, and he hurriedly cursed again, pulling his foot back quickly. The faint sounds of their morning routines drifted through the quiet air.

But Rylan wasn't like the others. He had already been awake for hours, sitting quietly by the small fire they'd built the night before. His gaze was fixed on the stones ahead, where the landscape hinted that something had shifted—something that didn't belong. He didn't notice it at first, too groggy and fog-blind, lost in the haze of sleep and dawn. It was only as the light grew slightly stronger in the fragile gray dawn that his eyes caught the faint glint of something unusual. Against the dull gray of the stone slab where they'd left the book the night before, a new mark had appeared—something that hadn't been there the night before.

The mark was striking, almost unnatural in its appearance. It was a symbol—made of intersecting arcs that formed a perfect circle, with a series of jagged radiating lines surrounding it, almost like sun rays but sharper and more jagged. It looked fresh, yet eerily permanent, as if it had been carved into the stone itself. Rylan's heart began to pound as he stared at it more closely, careful not to disturb the scene. The mark was deep, etched into the surface with precision, not carved hastily or burned into the stone. It was as if something or someone had left behind this symbol deliberately, carving it deeply into the ancient rock. The strange thing was, as much as he stared, it seemed like the mark had always been there—like it was a part of the stone, worn into its surface over countless centuries, or perhaps shaped by something unseen.

But Rylan knew it wasn't. He was certain of that. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he felt a sudden rush of doubt and curiosity. How could something so distinct and fresh appear there without any sign of disturbance? It hadn't been there the night before. He was sure of it. He had been watching that stones all night, kept awake by restless nerves and the strange feeling that something was about to happen. Now, seeing this new symbol, he wondered if it was a warning, a message, or a sign. Something that demanded an answer.

Suddenly, the quiet broken only by a few distant rustles and whispers, Lina's voice cut through his thoughts. It was sharp, surprised. "Was that there before?" she asked, her voice breaking the morning stillness as she emerged from behind him, wrapped in her cloak. Her hair was still a mass of disheveled strands, looking as if she'd just woken up herself, yet her eyes were sharp, fixed on the stones.

Rylan turned slowly, his gaze still on the carved symbol. His voice was steady but low. "No," he answered firmly. "It wasn't there last night."

She stepped closer, her face drawn in concern. "You're sure?" she pressed, her brow furrowing. "You've been watching this spot all morning?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I've kept a close eye on it. Ever since I woke up. Nothing changed until now." His voice carried the weight of certainty. He felt the importance of this moment. Whatever it was, it was new. It had to be.

Lina moved right next to him, her eyes narrowing as she ran her fingers lightly across the surface of the carving. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if she sensed that this was something more than just a simple mark. She took her time, examining the symbol closely. "It's smooth," she murmured, almost to herself. "Like it was made by time, not tools. It doesn't have the rough edges that carving or burning would leave behind. Looks like it's been there a long time—like it's part of the stone itself."

Her words made Rylan's stomach tighten. Something about the mark was wrong—completely out of place with everything they knew of this place. "Or," he said slowly, "maybe something else made it. Something we don't understand."

They both stared at it in silence, feeling the weight of the moment settle over them. This symbol represented more than just a strange marking on a stone; it might be a sign that they had entered territory far older and more mysterious than they had imagined. The landscape around them, usually silent and unchanging, now seemed charged with unseen energy—an unspoken message carved into the very landscape itself. Neither of them could ignore that this discovery might change everything they thought they knew about Hollowmere, about the stones, and about the forces they might be dealing with.

By the time everyone had finished their breakfast, Mira finally made her way over and settled beside them at the large, rough-hewn stone. She crouched low to the ground, carefully tracing the strange symbol etched into its surface with a piece of charcoal she had snatched from her bag. Her fingers moved slowly and deliberately, as if trying to unlock some secret hidden within the carving. The others watched her quietly, sensing how serious she was about uncovering whatever meaning was concealed here. Varyon stood a few steps back, arms crossed tightly across his chest, studying Mira and the scene with a guarded expression. Ash, meanwhile, paced back and forth nearby, fidgeting with a small twig, flicking it nervously between his fingers as if trying to ease his own unease.

"This is starting to feel like a setup," Ash muttered under his breath, voice tinged with suspicion. He cast a nervous glance around the clearing, as if expecting something to leap out at any moment. His words hung in the air, heavy with doubt.

"No one's faking this," Mira shot back softly, her eyes never leaving the symbol. She kept her focus sharp, as if convinced that her careful examination might reveal the truth hidden in the ancient markings. Her voice was steady, full of conviction, but a flicker of doubt crept into her eyes.

Varyon finally broke his silence, voice calm but with a hint of warning. "Or maybe we're all falling for the same trick," he said quietly. His words made everyone pause, looking at him with mixed feelings — curiosity, skepticism, a trace of fear.

Lina turned slowly to face him, her brow furrowed in concern. "Are you saying we're imagining all this?" she asked, voice careful but tinged with disbelief.

Varyon shook his head, arms still crossed as he explained, "I believe places like this can feed on stories. They thrive on the tales people bring with them—things they've heard, fears they harbor, beliefs they cling to. Maybe those stories are enough to make us see things that aren't really there."

Everyone else grew quiet, contemplating his words. Rylan, standing a little apart, didn't speak. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the stone, but not on the carving itself. His eyes traced the edges surrounding the symbol—edges that had seemed ordinary at first glance. Now, he noticed something else. The outlines weren't as clear as they once were. There were more symbols—faint, barely visible, half-formed shapes etched just beneath the surface. They looked like ghostly shadows, barely flickering in the light, insubstantial as wisps of fog clinging to the rock.

And then, something strange happened. For just a second, the shapes shifted. They shimmered faintly, as if caught in a flickering light, blurring in and out of sight. Rylan's breath hitched suddenly, a jolt of surprise and fear moving through him.

"Did anyone see that?" he asked, voice tight with amazement. His eyes searched the group, waiting for someone to confirm what he thought had just happened.

Mira looked up sharply from her crouch, her brow furrowing. "See what?" she asked, glancing around.

"The marks," Rylan said softly, voice trembling. "They shimmered—like they were alive or something." His words seemed crazy, but he couldn't deny what he had seen. The flickering shapes had moved, almost as if they remembered something long buried.

Ash took a step closer, eyes narrowing skeptically. "Dude, are you sure? Or are you just messing with us?" His voice was cautious, but his expression betrayed his doubt.

Rylan shook his head, his mind racing. "I swear, I'm not making this up. They shifted—like they flickered in and out, like they were trying to remember something, or maybe respond to us." His voice grew more confident despite the trembling in his hands.

Lina reached out, gently touching his arm to steady him. Her voice was soft but firm. "We believe you," she said quietly.

She genuinely meant it. She could see the seriousness in his eyes, the way he wasn't joking or reading into it too much. Yet, beneath her words, a strange sense of dread gnawed at her conscience. Something about the shifting shapes unsettled her more than she let on. A deep, instinctive fear was stirring, a feeling that whatever this symbol and those mysterious markings represented might hold secrets best left undisturbed. Just for a moment, she wondered if their curiosity was about to lead them into something they could never escape.