Chapter 1 — Prologue: The Fogged Crossroads

Andrew

Andrew awoke to the cold sting of damp earth pressing against his cheek, the sharp tang of iron lingering on his tongue. The air was heavy, thick with fog that clung to his skin and blurred the world around him into an oppressive gray haze. His head throbbed, each pulse accompanied by a dull hum in his ears. For a moment, he was nothing but a body—aching, disjointed, sprawled against the ground. Panic churned in his chest as the questions began to rise, clawing at the edges of his consciousness.

Where was he? How had he gotten here?

His fingers curled into the wet, coarse dirt as he forced himself upright. Pain lanced through his ribs, tight and unrelenting, as though he’d been caught in the grip of something unyielding. He squinted into the fog, his vision stuttering over jagged tree trunks emerging like specters. The bark was blackened and slick with dew, their twisted limbs seeming to reach for him. Shadows lurked between them, too still to be alive, yet they carried the faint suggestion of movement. A metallic creak pierced the silence, sharp and grating, drawing his attention.

A wrecked car loomed a few feet away, its crumpled frame slumped against the skeletal trunk of a tree. The hood was a mangled mess of twisted metal, steam hissing faintly from the broken engine. Shards of glass littered the earth, catching the dim light like jagged teeth. Andrew’s stomach twisted as fractured memories flickered in his mind—a mountain road, the glare of headlights, the sickening lurch of the vehicle as it spun out of control. He reached for the details, but they slipped from his grasp like smoke, leaving only a hollow ache.

He staggered to his feet, his worn leather jacket snagging on a splintered branch. The air felt colder than it should have, leeching warmth from his body with every breath. He turned—and froze.

Four figures stood a short distance away, their outlines obscured by the shifting mist. They were motionless at first, more like statues than people, but as Andrew blinked, they began to stir. The unease prickling at his neck deepened, his instincts screaming at him to stay cautious.

The first figure stepped forward—a petite woman with auburn hair pulled back in a loose braid. Her green eyes locked onto Andrew’s with startling intensity, soft yet searching. Her clothing—a long skirt and blouse—seemed almost antiquated, the edges subtly singed, as though fire had licked at the fabric. Her expression was maternal, almost comforting, but an undercurrent of quiet sorrow lingered in her gaze.

“Are you hurt?” she asked gently, her voice low and soothing, though there was a faint tremor beneath the surface.

Andrew hesitated, his throat dry. “I... I don’t think so.”

Another figure emerged from the mist—a broad-shouldered man with weathered features and a scar slicing from his temple to his jaw. His coat was heavy and patched, the kind worn by someone used to hard labor. His eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over Andrew’s battered form before shifting to their surroundings. He exuded a quiet authority, though there was something guarded in his stance, like he was bracing for trouble.

“Who are you?” Andrew rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of his lingering confusion.

The man’s gaze narrowed. “Tobias,” he said curtly, his tone carrying a gruff undercurrent of suspicion. “And we could ask you the same.”

Andrew opened his mouth, but no answer came. His name hovered just beneath the surface of his thoughts, but everything else was an empty void. Panic flared briefly, his chest tightening, but he forced it down. The questions would have to wait.

The remaining two figures stepped forward hesitantly. The woman—a young girl, really—appeared slight and fragile, her dark hair falling in uneven waves around her pale face. Her wide eyes darted nervously across the scene, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She clung to the arm of the final figure, a young man with a protective stance. His jaw was tight, his posture tense, as though ready to shield her from any perceived threat. He stood slightly in front of her, placing himself between her and the others.

“I’m Evelyn,” the girl murmured softly, her voice barely audible. Her gaze flickered toward Andrew, lingering with a strange intensity. There was something in her expression—recognition, perhaps, or fear—that unsettled him. She gestured faintly to the young man beside her. “And this is Michael.”

Michael’s eyes were hard, scrutinizing. His arms crossed over his chest, his stance defensive. Andrew shifted uneasily under the weight of their stares. The silence stretched, heavy and unnatural, until his attention was drawn to the object standing at the center of the crossroads.

It was a shrine, weathered and crumbling, its stone surface slumping under the weight of moss and decay. Deep gouges marred its surface—claw marks, impossibly large and jagged, carved with a force far beyond human capacity. Andrew stepped closer, his boots crunching against the dirt. His fingers brushed the rough stone as he leaned in, the markings whispering of violence, of something primal and unforgiving. A faint, almost instinctual dread stirred in his chest.

“What is this place?” he murmured, half to himself.

Tobias’s voice broke the fragile stillness. “The village,” he said, his tone clipped. “It’s just ahead.”

Andrew turned to him, his brow furrowed. “A village? Out here?”

Tobias jerked his chin toward the fog, where faint, blurry shapes loomed in the distance—buildings, perhaps, though their edges were indistinct and uncertain. “If there’s anyone who can help us, they’ll be there,” he said. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Andrew hesitated, glancing toward the wrecked car. The thought of staying here, surrounded by the suffocating fog and the eerie claw-marked shrine, was unbearable. Yet the idea of venturing further into the unknown filled him with unease. He glanced at the others. Evelyn was trembling, her hands clutching Michael’s sleeve as though seeking reassurance. Michael’s expression remained guarded, his stance rigid. Sophia offered him a small, encouraging nod, her eyes steady and calm despite the tension in the air. Tobias waited, his gaze unwavering.

“Fine,” Andrew said finally, his voice steadier than he felt. “Let’s go.”

The group moved as one, their footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The fog seemed to press in around them, thick and unyielding, the air growing heavier with every step. Andrew’s ribs ached, and his head pounded, but he forced himself forward, his senses prickling with unease. Shadows shifted at the edges of his vision, flickering like candle flames before vanishing into the haze. The whispers began softly at first, indistinct murmurs carried on the wind, but they grew louder, their cadence almost familiar, though the words remained just out of reach.

Sophia paused, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. Tobias placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression shadowed by something unreadable. Evelyn’s grip on Michael tightened, her breaths shallow and quick. Andrew’s steps faltered as a suffocating presence settled over him, heavy and unrelenting. It wasn’t just the fog. The village itself seemed alive, its unseen eyes watching their every move.

As they crossed the threshold into the village, Andrew’s unease solidified into a cold, gnawing certainty. The buildings emerged from the mist, their crumbling facades marked by decay and neglect. The whispers grew louder, twisting into fragmented words that seemed to speak his name, though no mouths formed the sounds. His breath quickened, and his chest tightened as the oppressive silence deepened.

He glanced over his shoulder, but the fog swallowed everything behind them. There was no turning back. Ahead, the village loomed, a place of shadows and whispers, haunted by something far older—and far darker—than he could yet understand.