NO EYES: A Forgotten Whisper

The golden light faded, leaving the cavern bathed in the soft, pulsing glow of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the freshly awakened stone. The air, once drenched in centuries of grief, now felt charged—like the buzz before a kiss or a fight. The Breaths, those once-silent echoes, shimmered like heat mirages as they floated toward the mouth of the cave. Their song lingered, bittersweet, vibrating softly against the moss-lined walls.

The last of them vanished.

Silence slammed into the space like a held breath. Then dizziness spun through Pecola. Her knees buckled, and she landed on the cool ground with a quiet thump. Her bare feet curled against the stone, senses overwhelmed by ozone and floral bloom. She blinked—if it could be called that—and reached for grounding. Grin, Antic, and Dolly hovered near, equally spaced like a weird little constellation of emotional dysfunction.

"What… what happened?" Her voice was barely above a hush, like she might shatter the moment.

Antic let out a long whistle. "Group trip. No chaperones. Emotional whiplash."

Grin's bony hand moved to his jaw, tapping lightly, his version of pacing. "The Breaths didn't just share their pain. They handed us a map. A tangled, cursed map of your family, Pecola."

Antic's usual charm dulled to something quieter. His thumb traced a patch of sweat at his collarbone. "You've got a legacy buried deeper than those Breaths ever were. And yeah… it's connected to your eyes. Or lack thereof."

Dolly, hauntingly quiet, tilted her porcelain head like a music box ballerina too tired to spin. She didn't speak. Didn't twitch. Just watched with eyes too wide to be peaceful.

Grin reached into whatever void he kept his stash in and pulled out a small, carved box. It looked ancient and expensive in the way that made Antic immediately want to chew it. Polished wood, silver edges, humming faintly with leftover song.

"The Breaths gave this to me," Grin said. "Said it was yours. Said it held a piece of the lie you were raised on."

Pecola took it, surprised by the warmth. Her fingers brushed the latch—

Click.

The box opened.

Music, soft and aching, spilled out. Her breath caught.

Inside: a single photograph. A woman. Gorgeous. Familiar. Wild hair like Pecola's own, and a smirk that looked like it belonged on Antic. She held a baby—round-cheeked, swaddled tight, wide eyes hauntingly blank.

"That's your birth mother," Grin said softly. "The Breaths showed us everything. Your adoption. Your mother's sacrifice. The whole mess."

Pecola stared. The photo pulsed, like a heartbeat, like it remembered her. She touched the image and—

Flash.

Her mother's life spilled into her like water through cracks.

Cities full of spice and jazz. Dancing. Love. Pregnancy.

Then shadows. Panic. Fleeing. Pain.

A choice. Her child. Safety. Disappearance.

Pecola wrenched her hand away, heart drumming.

"Why was I given away?" Her voice cracked on the word given, like it hurt to say.

Grin exhaled smoke he hadn't breathed. "Because your mother was powerful. Tied to this place. To the Breaths. And power like that doesn't stay unchallenged."

Antic leaned in, voice gentler than usual. "Someone wanted her gone. You too. So she made a move no one expected—she vanished. Left you in safer hands. Not perfect hands. But safer."

Grin continued, "And now, that danger? It knows you're alive."

Pecola swallowed hard. It wasn't just about magic. It was about a war. One she was born into without consent.

Dolly's mouth parted slightly. A soft hum, almost tender, slipped out of her. The cavern responded. The photograph flickered.

"It's not just a picture," Dolly whispered, her voice weirdly human. "It's a key."

Antic raised a brow. "To a metaphorical door, or like… an actual ass-kicking dimension?"

Pecola didn't laugh. But her grip on the box tightened.

"I think… I think it leads to her. Or what's left of her."

The silence after that was sharp.

Antic stepped closer, brushing a curl behind her ear. He didn't smile. Didn't tease. Just stood close enough that Pecola could feel his heat—and maybe a bit of his confusion.

"You don't have to do this alone, ya know."

"I was never alone," she murmured.

And maybe that was the truth. Even in her blindness, even in silence—something had always guided her here. To this ridiculous trio. To this truth.

The cavern's entrance, once a welcoming portal, now yawned like a beast's open jaw, swallowing the last of the golden light. As Pecola, Grin, Dolly, and Antic stepped out into the thick dusk of the outside world, the contrast hit them like a slap: gone were the soft, whispering fungi and the warmth of liberation. In their place stood a forest that felt ancient and pissed off.

Towering trees loomed like judgmental elders, their branches tangled like claws reaching to snatch the light back. Vines pulsed on the ground like veins beneath rotting skin. The air was thick—syrupy, hot, and crawling with the buzz of insects you couldn't see but knew were watching.

Antic froze. The easy swagger he'd worn like a second skin drained from his face. His skin prickled with goosebumps despite the heat. His sharp grin, his favorite defense mechanism, was MIA.

"They… they found me," he muttered.

His shoulders tensed. The overalls, made of stitched moss and bark, clung to his frame like armor. A drop of blood formed under his nose again—not from lust this time, but sheer dread.

Before Pecola could press him, a sound like the earth itself retching shattered the stillness.

From the undergrowth burst a horror parade: creatures born of nightmares and mushroom hallucinations. A scaled bear dragging claws that sliced through bark. Wolves with serpent tails and forked tongues. Bats the size of minivans shrieking like broken violins. Their eyes burned—predatory, intelligent, angry.

They didn't rush. They surrounded. They hunted with coordination, closing in until Pecola, Antic, Grin, and Dolly stood in a tight circle of breathing, monstrous rage.

From behind the scaled bear, a nightmare in the shape of a mantis—ten feet tall, shimmering, horrifying—stepped forward. Serrated limbs folded and unfolded with an elegant menace.

"Antic," it buzzed, its voice vibrating Pecola's bones. "Where have you been?"

Antic tried to speak. Nothing came out but a squeak that sounded like a broken flute.

"We've hunted you for centuries," the mantis droned. "Your meddling fractured the order. You do not belong beyond the Wildlife Realm."

The creatures hissed agreement. Grin raised his scythe. Dolly didn't twitch—her face calm, unreadable, unsettlingly serene.

"You will be brought back," the mantis said. "Your sentence awaits."

Then they moved—fast and brutal. Grin swung his scythe like a man with nothing left to lose, but they kept coming. Dolly opened her mouth and let loose an ungodly screech—glass-shattering, soul-peeling—but even that couldn't hold them for long.

Antic leapt forward, arms raised in surrender, blood still trickling. "Okay okay okay!"

"Let me speak!" he shouted. "I didn't mean to leave—I fell! There was a prophecy! A glowing tree! You know how those go!"

The mantis didn't care.

Claws dug into Antic's arms. He yelped, his legs kicking uselessly. Grin was pinned, scythe spinning off into the underbrush. Dolly took three hits to the head that cracked her porcelain scalp, but she didn't scream—just smiled like a cracked tea set.

Pecola braced as the bear-thing lumbered toward her.

She didn't scream. She didn't beg.

But she felt the forest stir.

A low, rhythmic hum—deep and ancient—rolled across the clearing. Like the earth's version of a growl. The creatures froze. The mantis paused mid-swipe.

From the shadow of two twisted trees, a figure emerged. It wasn't monstrous. It was worse. Majestic. Covered in carved symbols that pulsed, cloaked in skin that looked like night and bone. The air turned electric. Gravity shifted.

It said one thing.

No translation needed.

Every beast in the clearing bowed.

Antic's captors dropped him like hot soup. He hit the ground with a thud and a groan.

Grin gasped as his bindings vanished. Dolly tilted her head as her cracks seemed to pulse with new light. Pecola didn't move.

The figure gave them one look—one long, knowing look—and turned.

It was gone.

And so were the monsters.

Silence.

Antic groaned and sat up, wiping blood from under his nose. "I think I peed a little."

Grin helped him up. "You smell like it."

Dolly blinked slowly. "The forest blinked back."

Pecola didn't speak. Her hands still trembled.

Antic brushed moss off his shoulder. "So, uh… anyone else think that was kind of hot, or…?"

Grin looked at him.

Antic raised both hands. "I mean power's hot, right? Mysterious jungle gods with glowing tattoos? Anyone?"

No one answered.

But Pecola did glance at him. And she didn't look away.

She wasn't smiling. But something stirred. Something new.

And that was enough to make Antic's breath catch again.

His knees nearly buckled.

"Okay," he whispered, steadying himself. "Let's not die. Cool? Cool."

The journey through the Wildlife Realm was less a walk and more a nauseating tumble down a chaotic, multi-colored slide. Bound and dragged, Antic felt the rough bark of the trees scrape against his bare legs, the natural-fiber overalls he wore offering little protection. Every bounce made the straps tug against his chest, the loose cut of the shorts giving the occasional scandalous glimpse of skin as moss and vines clung to him like nature itself had a crush.

Pecola, Grin, and Dolly followed, each surrounded by their own entourage of fanged, clawed, and wildly scented guards. The forest floor was a surreal kaleidoscope of glistening moss, rotting leaves, and luminous fungi that blinked like sleepy stars. The air was thick with chirps, howls, and deep thrumming pulses that vibrated up through their spines. The Wildlife Realm didn't just breathe—it moaned.

Antic groaned too, but for different reasons. "Why does everything in this forest feel like it wants to kiss or kill me?"

"Maybe both," Pecola muttered.

They passed through bizarre villages grown straight into the trunks of skyscraper-trees. Strange hybrids peered out of windows made of spider silk and crystal. A squirrel with scales scratched itself lazily. A rabbit shifted colors like oil on water. A snake with shimmering feathers gave Antic a wink. He winked back. It hissed in return. Grin slapped the back of his head.

"Focus. You're already kidnapped. Don't get seduced by a cobra-pheasant."

Antic rolled his eyes. "She had good taste."

Pecola tried to stay focused, but everything shimmered too much, pulsed too much, breathed too much. The villages—carved from bark that hummed with memory and crowned with moss that drooped like chandeliers—felt alive, sentient even. It was terrifying and breathtaking.

She stayed close to Antic, her shoulder occasionally brushing his arm. He didn't move away.

Finally, they arrived at a clearing. A colossal tree loomed above them, its branches curling into the sky like fingers cupping a secret. At its base: the Elder Council chamber, a structure of glistening obsidian, round and flawless like a mirror made of ink.

Inside, the scent shifted—earthy and strange, like wet bark and blood. The floor was polished to a dangerous gleam, reflecting their distorted shapes back at them. Pecola's reflection didn't have eyes. Antic's looked taller, older, sadder.

At the center of the room sat the Chief Elder: a mantis-like creature with blades for arms and a patience that could calcify bones. Its eyes were a thousand shimmering mirrors. It didn't blink.

Antic was shoved forward, his overalls nearly slipping down his hips. He caught them with one hand and whispered, "At least let me suffer with dignity."

The Elder leaned forward. "Antic."

The name dropped like a stone in a still pond.

"You abandoned your post. You tampered with the Breaths. You left this realm for personal gain. Why?"

Antic's voice cracked, then steadied. "I was looking for somewhere that didn't treat me like a freak. Somewhere that didn't pretend I didn't exist."

"You were born without lineage. A wanderer. A mistake of nature."

"Thanks," Antic muttered, arms crossed. "Nice reunion."

The Elder's antennae twitched. "You sought belonging. You risked imbalance. And now you return, not with remorse… but with a girl who smells of old magic and a haunted doll."

Dolly, behind them, gave a small wave. "Hi."

The Elder ignored her. "You are a loose thread, Antic. And loose threads unravel legacies."

Antic flinched. Pecola saw it.

"I wasn't trying to ruin anything," Antic said, quieter now. "I was trying to matter."

The Elder paused. "Then reflect. In my chambers."

Solitary confinement.

Later, in the cluttered, vine-covered den of his childhood friends, Antic sat half-slumped in a chair made of tangled roots. He was bare-chested as usual, vines curling loosely around his waist, his overall straps hanging low. His nose had stopped bleeding, but his pride hadn't.

Barnaby, a badger with two glass eyes, howled with laughter. "The Elder put you in his own room? What are you, his boyfriend now?"

Antic tossed a fruit at his head.

Willow, fluttering overhead, perched on Pecola's shoulder. "You were brave," she said softly.

"Or desperate," Antic muttered.

Jasper the griffin growled, "Next time give us a warning before you get dramatic in front of ancient bug royalty."

Antic rubbed the back of his neck. "I wasn't trying to drag you all into it."

Pecola sat beside him, silent. Her fingers brushed his. He didn't move away.

"Do you always bleed when you're nervous?" she asked.

He smirked, eyes sliding sideways toward her. "Only when beautiful girls touch my hand after I get disowned by an insect god."

Pecola blushed slightly. Antic's smirk deepened. Score one for emotionally wounded flirtation.

Later, as the den quieted and the fireflies blinked in rhythm with the room's heartbeat, Antic whispered to her. "I didn't just go after the Breaths for answers. I went because… something about you made me feel seen. Like I wasn't invisible anymore."

Pecola looked at him, then leaned her head on his shoulder. "I don't see you," she murmured. "But I feel you. And that's enough."

His arm curled around her waist. He exhaled, finally.

Outside, the forest creaked.

HoURs lAtER

"Ready?" Antic whispered, his voice barely audible above the faint pulse of the obsidian walls. His chest rose and fell quickly, adrenaline and exhaustion colliding under his freckled skin. Sweat clung to the neckline of his natural-fiber overalls, which had long since ridden up his thighs from the mad scramble through the Council's maze.

Fizzwick, his iridescent fur glimmering in manic pulses, let out a series of high-pitched shrieks, followed by the ripe stench of a thousand rotting fish. "Distraction deployed!" he squeaked proudly, sounding exactly like a goblin army having an existential crisis.

Willowisp, a living tapestry of moss and sly giggles, chuckled—a breathy rustle like tree gossip. "Follow me," she murmured, already weaving her leafy limbs through a crack in the wall. Her body slithered into the dark like a whispered secret.

Grogg, stone-skinned and tattooed with ancient magic, gave a single grunt. The glowing sigils on his forearms flickered as he casually shoved a boulder aside with the energy of a dad annoyed at a stuck garage door.

They moved like a misfit dream team: Willowisp probing ahead with quiet grace, Grogg serving blunt-force majesty, and Fizzwick stinking up the place like a walking biohazard. Antic, Pecola, and Dolly followed just behind—Antic's overalls clinging to his sweat-drenched thighs, one strap hanging dangerously low as if even his outfit was flirting with the tension. Pecola moved like she was led by vibration rather than sight, steps eerily synced with the forest's pulse, while Dolly kept glancing over her shoulder, muttering sass under her breath about mushroom freaks and moldy decor.

As they reached the portal—a swirling rip in the fabric of the Wildlife Realm itself, alive with throbbing color and heat—Willowisp turned to him. "Safe travels, Antic," she whispered. Her leafy hand brushed his cheek. A tiny glowing spore broke free and danced off his jaw.

Grogg clamped one barky paw on Antic's shoulder. A silent goodbye. It rumbled through his bones.

Fizzwick, now clinging to Antic like a tragic ex, chirped, "Don't forget to write!" Then he shoved a tiny, shimmering pebble into Antic's palm. "Keepsake. Smells like me."

"Wow," Antic choked out, hugging him. "Thanks. I'll treasure this forever... or until it starts growing teeth."

Tears blurred his vision, but he didn't wipe them away. The portal shimmered, growling with promise.

With one last glance at the family he'd chosen—the chaotic, fungus-scented, oddly heartfelt mess of them—Antic, Dolly, Grin, and Pecola stepped through, escaping the iron clutch of the Wildlife Realm at last.

The hush on the other side was jarring.

"It's... quieter now," Dolly muttered, adjusting her dress and flexing her fingers like she might slap the silence away. She eyed Grin, who was sorting berries like they might explode. "Like we took off our old skin and now we're standing around raw."

"More like leaving behind an itchy rash," Grin grumbled. "We're still infected. Hope the Queen's got spiritual bug spray."

Antic exhaled and gripped Pecola's hand. His knuckles were tight, and his heartbeat thundered against her skin. "Thank the stars… it's over."

Pecola's smile was soft, almost tired. She squeezed his hand back. The moonlight turned the moisture in her eyes into crystals. "It's not over," she said gently. "But maybe... it's the fun part starting."

He blinked. "You sure? I've still got bark rash in places I shouldn't."

She didn't laugh, just looked ahead. "See the light filtering through the trees? It's different now."

Fireflies spun like gossip around Dolly's fingers. She blew one off like an annoying suitor. "I don't like this. Too quiet. Like we're the punchline and the joke hasn't landed yet."

Grin's skeletal hands slid into his pockets. "We're being watched. We're always being watched." His voice held no drama. Just facts. He pulled a carved whistle from his belt, eyes flicking over the shadows like they were old enemies.

They reached the Gate of Trees, and Antic inhaled sharply. It wasn't just a gate. It was a presence. Ancient. It made his skin buzz and his brain feel suddenly too small.

Pecola's hand twitched in his. She tilted her head. "It's alive. This place... it remembers."

Dolly approached first, fingers brushing a knot in the bark. "This thing has seen more drama than my entire past life."

Pecola nodded slowly. "It remembers everything."

The hum rose, vibrating through the dirt and into their bones. It wasn't just noise. It was a beckoning.

"Feel that?" she whispered, her bare feet curling slightly in the soft moss.

Grin sniffed the air. "Magic thick as a guilty conscience. And something else. Blood? Horny regret? I can't tell."

Dolly's nails clicked against each other like anxious knives. "The Breaths are close. And something nastier. Something… too familiar."

Antic clutched his amulet tighter. "Here goes everything." His voice had steadied, but the flush in his cheeks hadn't left. The gate shimmered. He turned to Pecola. "You sure you want to do this? Could be a trap. Could be a wedding. Could be both."

She didn't hesitate. "I feel it calling. I have to answer."

She stepped through first.

The veil wasn't just light. It was pressure, color, sound, emotion—all pressing into their pores.

Grin staggered. Dolly snarled. Antic gasped. The colors around him felt too warm. Too close. Like being undressed by an aura.

Only Pecola moved through cleanly, like she belonged to it.

And then… silence. Not empty silence. Full silence. Pregnant with meaning. With waiting.

Antic stumbled, caught himself. His breath fogged the air. "Where... are we?"

Dolly slowly turned. Her face glowed with the uncanny light. "A castle. But not the kind that wants you to kiss frogs. The kind that wants to eat your memories and ask for seconds."

Grin's scythe scraped softly as he adjusted it. "Let's find the Breaths before something finds us."

Pecola, eyes blank yet glowing, moved forward like a compass that didn't need to see to know True North.

Antic followed, one strap of his overalls loose again, the wind curling under the fabric. He didn't fix it.

The air hummed.

The air thrummed with a nervous energy as they neared the Gate of Trees. The path, usually clear, was obscured by an unusual fog, thicker and more chilling than the usual mist that clung to the Perennial Forest's edges.

Dolly, her porcelain face strangely illuminated by an inner glow that made her look like a haunted doll in a burlesque cabaret, suddenly chirped, "Hey, you know what? There's a shortcut!"

Her voice cut through the tension like a blade dipped in sugar. She pointed one dangerously sharp, pearl-lacquered nail toward a narrow, hidden trail swallowed by twisted shadows to the left. The trees there looked cursed, hunched like gossiping corpses, their bark ashy with rot. Even the air felt violated.

Grin flinched. His usual deadpan expression cracked. "Absolutely not! That's... that's the Gravestone Realm," he said, eyes wild, like someone who'd heard his name whispered from a coffin. "I'm not going near that place again."

Pecola, sensing something deeper, reached out, brushing his arm gently. Her voice was velvet and concern. "What's wrong, Grin? What is it?"

He avoided her eyes. "It's where I was banished," he muttered. "A place where guilt doesn't fade."

Antic rolled his eyes so hard his whole body swayed. "Seriously? We've been hunted, half-eaten, spat out, and you're worried about spooky vibes? Come on, Grin. Live a little. Die a little. It's the brand."

Dolly cackled, flipping her hair like a diva whose mascara never ran. "I say yes to grumpy ghosts. Maybe they'll have a taste for doll joints. I haven't been chased in heels in weeks."

Pecola hesitated. She could feel the dark allure of the shortcut. Not temptation—but inevitability. Her hand found Antic's, and for a moment his thumb brushed the inside of her palm. Warm. Human. Desperate.

"Come on, slowpokes," Antic smirked, stepping forward, the forest breeze kissing the bare patches of his legs, his chest glistening from the mist. "Adventure awaits. And I'm not letting some haunted sticks ruin my good mood."

He tugged Pecola forward. She stumbled slightly, letting out a soft noise that made his breath hitch. He didn't look at her—but his ears flushed. Dolly pranced ahead like she was sashaying down a haunted runway.

Grin did not follow.

He stood frozen, rooted like the trees themselves. His grip on his scythe tightened until it whined. What could he say that they'd believe? That he'd once loved someone there? That his hands had done terrible things? That he was the monster that used to whisper from those woods?

He remained behind, silent, letting them go.

The Gravestone Realm yawned open like the mouth of a starving god. Trees like skeletal arms reached for them. Fog curled around their legs like cold fingers.

Antic's steps slowed. He didn't say it out loud, but the bravado began to slip. His chest rose faster. The mist kissed his collarbones, his freckles blinking through it like constellations.

Dolly thrived. She pirouetted over skull-shaped stones, winking at shadows. "This place smells like a cursed love letter. I'm into it."

Pecola felt it all—the silence, the dead air, the grief clinging like static. It wasn't just empty. It was expectant.

"Something's watching," she said.

A low hum started beneath their feet. They stepped carefully over cracked stones inscribed with language none of them could read. The whispers in the wind weren't metaphors anymore. They were names. Regret. Beg. Betray.

Shapes slithered in the mist. Pecola felt them before anyone else did.

Antic stepped closer to her, his hand brushing the small of her back before he realized. "Sorry," he whispered, and didn't move it.

She didn't say anything.

His heartbeat was louder than the wind.

She reached for his hand. He took it.

They pushed forward—each breath a dare.

Behind them, Grin lingered alone, the scythe heavy on his back, the past heavier still.

The Gravestone Realm didn't scream.

It waited.

And with every step, the fog welcomed them.