Legacy of the Forsaken - The Choosen's Call

They paused their exploration in the late morning, splitting up to carefully examine different sections of the ancient ruins once more. Ms. Arlow had given them each a task: to make detailed sketches and write notes about the strange stone formations they found for their "site journals." At first, everyone took the assignment seriously, moving quietly from one formation to another, trying to capture every curve and crack. But before long, it turned into something else. Instead of sticking to their individual tasks, people began pairing up, wandering through the ruins in twos. They compared their sketches, pointing out small differences not just in shape but in shadows and textures. Gossip slipped into their conversations—talk about moss patches that looked like they belonged to haunted woods, or stones that seemed to hold secrets in their silent depths. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and old stone, yet the atmosphere grew lively with chatter.

Rylan found himself near a large, shallow depression in the ground. It could have been a fountain—its shape was round and smooth—or maybe an altar used long ago for some forgotten ritual. He stared at it, feeling a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. His sketchbook was nestled in his bag, but his hand kept reaching for it without thinking. He traced the edges of the depression, trying to capture its form on paper, yet his focus kept slipping away. It was as if the mystery of what the depression really was, and what might have once taken place there, held him prisoner. His mind kept drifting back to the book in his bag, which contained the notes and sketches that might confirm what he imagined. Still, he hesitated to open it, feeling the urge to understand this place firsthand.

Close by, Mira was kneeling down beside a tall, narrow stone covered heavily in tangled vines. She was scribbling rapidly in her sketchbook, her hand moving with confidence as charcoal streaked across the paper. Her face was completely absorbed in her work—focusing intensely as if she could tune out the world around her. One of her hands rested on the cold, rough surface of the stone, steadying herself as she kept drawing. Her eyes flicked back and forth between her sketch and the stone, capturing every detail of the carvings that peeked out from beneath the moss. She looked like she was in her own little world. Then, her fingers twitched. Her hand froze mid-stroke. She blinked rapidly, as if shaking off a sudden distraction.

Suddenly, the stone underneath her palm began to glow faintly. It started softly, like moonlight filtering behind a thin cloud—almost unnoticeable at first. The light grew brighter, curling through tiny cracks in the stone, illuminating patterns that had long been hidden beneath layers of moss and dirt. The carvings on the stone seemed to come alive, their shapes twisting and pulsing with a strange, ghostly glow. The outlines resembled veins or roots, pulsing with old memories stored deep within the stone. The glow intensified, casting flickering shadows around Mira's hand and her face. The air seemed to thicken, charged with the soft hum of something unseen awakening. Rylan's gaze snapped to her. He stood quickly, his heart pounding softly.

"Mira?" he called out cautiously. His voice was steady but edged with concern.

"I… I didn't mean to—" Mira said, her voice trembling as she pulled her hand back quickly. Her eyes widened with shock. The glow faded suddenly, disappearing as if the stone had never been alive. It returned to its cold, inert darkness. For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken questions. Rylan hesitated, uncertain whether to speak. His brow furrowed as he looked at her, noticing her shaky hands and uncertain expression.

Just then, Ash appeared over the ridge, clutching a broken measuring stick like a sword. His face was serious, and his eyes darted nervously between them. "Please tell me that was you and not the forest waking up to swallow us whole," he said, voice edged with a mix of humor and genuine worry. He had a rough look, with dirt smudged on his face and his clothes rumpled from a long morning of wandering.

Mira slowly stood up, her hands trembling as she tried to regain composure. Her voice quivered as she spoke. "I don't know what that was. I swear, I didn't expect anything to happen." She looked down at her trembling hands, as if trying to make sense of what just took place.

Rylan approached her cautiously. "You touched the stone, and it lit up," he said softly, trying to piece together what had just happened. His eyes searched her face. "It recognized you or something."

Mira examined her hand, observing it carefully. "It didn't burn," she said quietly. "It didn't hurt. It was like… it wanted to show me something." Her voice barely rose above a whisper. She looked at the glowing stone again, as if trying to decipher a message left behind by the ancient site.

Ash frowned, crossing his arms. His voice was firm. "We should go and tell Ms. Arlow about this. We need guidance."

Mira shook her head quickly. "No. Not yet. We don't understand it enough. We need to figure out what it's trying to do first."

Rylan nodded in agreement. "Yes, we need to be careful. It's not just some old stone. There's something more here."

Ash looked at both of them, clearly uneasy. His jaw clenched as he spoke. "This is past weird now. I'm not sayin' it's something evil, but it sure isn't normal either. We should be cautious."

They didn't argue. Every one of them felt the same unease, realizing how strange everything had become. Still, they couldn't tear their eyes away from the shadowed stone, from the possibility that ancient forces were stirring in this place. None of them had quite expected the day to turn out like this, and deep down, they all knew their discovery was just the start of something bigger than they had imagined.

Back at the camp, Varyon moved slowly toward the same rough stone where Rylan had first noticed the strange shifting marks. It was a place that held silent secrets, a quiet witness to their strange ordeal. The morning had passed mostly in silence for him. He hadn't spoken much, not out of hesitation but because he felt an almost heavy weight settling in. Now, as he stood staring down at the stone, he kept his eyes focused on his own shadow stretched thin on its surface. That shadow seemed altered, different from moments before.

The shadow twitched. It flickered and jerked as if alive. Varyon blinked, his heartbeat quickening. The wind was gentle, barely enough to stir leaves or ruffle the trees. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting shifting streaks of orange and yellow light. But it wasn't the wind or the flames moving the shadow. No, this was something else, something mysterious and unsettling. The shadow moved when Varyon's body was still, when he was as quiet as possible. Once, it stretched forward, reaching outward. The next time, it seemed to move back toward him, almost as if the shadow itself had a mind of its own, shifting without any clear reason. It appeared to respond to silent forces, or perhaps to something deeper and unseen. The moment felt thick, heavy with unspoken questions. What was causing it? Was it real? Or was it a trick of the mind, a reflection of doubt and fear growing within him? Whatever it was, the shadow's sudden movements kept him frozen, rooted in a mixture of curiosity and unease that he couldn't quite explain.

That night, Mira sat close to the dying fire, her body curled protectively around her knees. The flickering shadows played over her face and hands, but she hardly noticed. Sleep was a stranger to her now. Her mind refused to rest. She kept watch, her eyes fixed on the glowing embers, feeling the strange warmth inside her bones—something more than simple heat. It was almost like a tiny sunbeam traveling through her, reaching deep inside, carrying something with it. It wasn't just physical warmth; it felt precise. Sharp, almost piercing. Like a light passing through clear glass, leaving behind something taken or changed.

She closed her eyes, trying to rest. But her mind refused to give in. Instead of darkness, her thoughts became vivid images. She saw more than just the cold stone she had touched earlier. Her vision expanded inward. She saw a circle of fire, flickering brightly with crackling energy. And at the center of that fire, she saw a boy—his figure outlined clearly, like he was waiting for something. His face was tense, eyes fixed on the flames as if seeking answers from their dance. The circle seemed alive, dangerous, full of unspoken power.

And then she saw herself—standing outside the circle—an observer, a witness. She watched her own figure from a distance, feeling a strange disconnect. Again. Like this scene was repeating, over and over, playing out in her mind with relentless focus. The same fire. The same boy. The same distant figure—herself—on the outside, always watching but never part of it. The feeling grew stronger each time she saw it. It sent a shiver down her spine every time. The images burned into her mind with sharp clarity, making her wonder if she was remembering or imagining. Was there something she was meant to understand? A message hidden deep within the flames and shadows, waiting to be uncovered? Or was her mind simply playing tricks, feeding her these visions in the dark, isolating hours? She couldn't tell. But one thing was clear—her dreams, her thoughts, her very sense of self had become tangled in this recurring image, pulling her into something she couldn't quite grasp.