They moved together—though not really together.
Eric walked like a ghost. Uneven steps. Eyes scanning the dark, his breath shallow. The deeper they went, the more the forest seemed to breathe with them.
Alaric skipped ahead barefoot, whistling something broken and tuneless. High, sharp notes pierced the silence like cracked glass.
The trees grew dense. The sky vanished behind twisted limbs. Everything was still.
Eric slowed. "This place... it doesn't end.We've been walking for so long Alaric."
Alaric didn't look back. "That's the trick. The Forest of Souls."
Eric frowned. "Forest of Souls?"
"Planted on bones," Alaric said. "Liars. Sinners. It remembers everything."
They passed a crooked oak. Then again. And again.
Eric stopped. "We're looping."
Alaric only smiled, sharp and bitter. "Of course we are."
He turned slowly, voice colder now. "You've lied to me, haven't you, Eric?"
Eric didn't answer. His throat tightened.
Alaric said nothing more. Just turned and kept walking, letting the forest close in behind him.
Then, from somewhere ahead:
"Help me."
Eric stopped.
Alaric didn't. He heard it-of course he did.
"Eric... please…"
The voice was closer. Familiar.
Eric turned.
A woman stood in white. Barefoot. Hair soaked and clinging to her face. She looked like his mother.
Alaric paused, watching from a distance. His face unreadable.
Eric stepped toward her.
Don't.
The voice in his head—his own, but twisted—whispered like wind through leaves.
She's not real. That's not her. It's what the forest wants you to see.
Eric hesitated.
The woman smiled, soft and slow.
"Come with me," she said.
Alaric didn't speak. Didn't move. He just watched.
Alaric rocked on his heels, arms loosely hanging by his sides. His smile twitched—anticipating.
The woman in white didn't move. She just waited.
Eric took another step forward.
Behind him, Alaric tilted his head, eyes wide. "Go on, then," he said softly. "She's been waiting for you, hasn't she?"
Eric froze.
"You've been lying this whole time, Eric," Alaric whispered, voice sing-song. "Lying to me. Lying to yourself. This place… it loves liars."
His grin widened unnaturally, stretching too far. His eyes began to darken, black swallowing iris and pupil alike. Ink poured into glass.
Eric turned slightly, uneasy. "What are you talking about?"
Alaric giggled. Actually giggled.
"You know, Eric." He took a step closer, barefoot, silent on the leaves. "Tell me. Tell me the truth. Just once. Or go ahead—run into her arms. Maybe she'll swallow you whole."
His teeth gleamed in the dark. His head jerked as if a marionette string had been yanked.
Eric's breath shuddered. The woman's voice curled through the air again—sweet and broken.
"Eric… don't leave me…"
Something inside him snapped.
"No," he muttered. "No, no—it's not real. That's not her."
The woman didn't move. Her mouth opened, revealing a hollow scream that made no sound.
Eric squeezed his eyes shut. "She's not real. She's not real—"
Silence.
He turned back toward Alaric—toward where he had been.
But Alaric was gone.
No footsteps. No movement. Just trees. Just the breathing dark.
Eric stood alone.
And somewhere far behind him, a soft, tuneless whistle started again.
Eric's pulse thudded in his ears.
"Alaric?" he called, spinning in place. "Alaric!"
Nothing.
The forest didn't respond—no birds, no wind, no footsteps. Just the sound of his own breathing, sharp and fast. His vampire eyes adjusted to the darkness, letting him see too much: the twisted bark of trees that bent like ribs, the gnarled shapes crowding the underbrush like huddled corpses. Everything around him felt wrong.
He turned again, voice cracking. "Alaric, this isn't funny!"
Still nothing.
Panic clawed up his throat.
Then—he saw it.
In the distance, just between two trees, a tunnel yawned open.
It hadn't been there before.
It was massive—wide enough to swallow a house—and woven entirely from thorned tumbleweeds, crooked branches, dead vines and bone-colored roots.
Eric stared.
The inside was pitch black. Even his heightened vision couldn't pierce it. A void, endless and choking.
Something in him recoiled.
He took a shaky step back.
And that's when he felt it.
Eyes.
Watching.
All around him.
Thousands, maybe more. Pressing in from every shadow, just out of sight. They weren't blinking. They weren't breathing. They were waiting.
"Alaric," he whispered, voice barely a thread.
He screamed louder. "Alaric!"
The forest swallowed the sound.
A wind stirred. Cold and dry, whispering across the back of his neck like breath. The tunnel seemed to shift, like it heard him and was somehow listening.
Eric's fangs pricked his gums, a reflex. His muscles tensed.
Still, the eyes didn't blink. Didn't move.
Just watched.
Eric's throat ached from shouting.
"Alaric!" he screamed again, louder this time—raw, breaking. "Why are you doing this?!"
No answer.
His voice cracked. "Please… please don't leave me. I'll tell you everything—I swear! Just come back."
Nothing moved.
He clutched his head, breathing raggedly, and called out—not aloud, but inward. To the voice that had always been with him, always guiding.
But this time… silence.
The voice was gone.
"No—" he choked, stumbling forward. "Come on, say something. Please…"
Still nothing.
A rising pressure built in his chest, like the forest itself was climbing inside him. Crawling beneath his skin.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've told him. I should've—"
He couldn't finish. His breath caught.
And then he ran.
A blur through the trees, leaves whipping past him, branches scratching at his clothes. He pushed his speed to the limit, darting through the thicket.
But then—
That same crooked oak.
That same tunnel of bone and bramble.
The same place.
Again.
"No—" he spun and ran the opposite direction, faster this time, dodging roots, hurtling over stones.
And again.
Same spot.
The tunnel. The oak. The stillness.
"No!" he shouted, fists clenched at his sides. "Stop it—let me out!"
He turned and ran once more, lungs burning, feet pounding against damp earth—
And again.
The same spot.
It was as if the forest had peeled time into a loop and stitched it into his path.
Eric fell to his knees, breath shallow and body trembling.
"Alaric…" he whispered, barely audible. "I can't get out."
The forest didn't answer.
Only the tunnel yawned, darker than before.
Waiting.
Eric stood shakily, wiping mud from his hands.
And then he saw him.
Alaric.
Standing just beyond the crooked oak.
The only difference was that the shirt that had been dark earlier was now white—stark and almost glowing in the dimness. His bare feet hovered just slightly off the ground, hair longer now, flashing oddly in the shadows—like it shimmered between wet and dry. White, then black, then white again. And his eyes—too far away to read.
Eric blinked, heart thundering. "Alaric?" he called, stepping forward.
Alaric didn't respond. He just turned and began walking, smooth and quiet, deeper into the dark.
Eric followed without thinking.
"Alaric—wait, just stop. Please."
But Alaric didn't stop.
The forest around them changed. The air thickened, grew damp. Fog rolled along the ground. Trees gave way to wet earth and reeds. The sound of rushing water whispered ahead.
They reached the edge of a wide river. The current moved unnaturally slow, dark as ink, with no clear bottom.
Eric stopped beside Alaric—but never quite caught up. The distance remained somehow fixed, no matter how fast he moved.
And then he saw them.
Across the river.
A cluster of figures.
Huddled together. All dressed in white. But none of them faced him. Their backs were turned, heads bowed. Some sat, some stood. Some leaned on each other like broken puppets draped in fabric.
Their movements—if any—were sluggish.
Eric's voice trembled. "Who are they?"
Alaric didn't answer.
He just stood there, head tilted slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear.
And then—
He took one step toward the water.
And the figures across the river began to move.
Eric's breath hitched as the group in white began to move—not forward, but backward. Their bodies slid across the ground like marionettes pulled in reverse, limbs bending unnaturally, faces frozen in silent screams.
They stopped abruptly, then started moving backward again, slow and deliberate, like ghosts rewinding a broken film.
Alaric didn't turn to look at them. He stood perfectly still, his back now facing Eric, calm and unbothered—almost like he was part of this nightmare.
Fear slammed into Eric's chest. That wasn't Alaric. Whatever that thing was it was apart of the forest. His legs pumped, heart pounding as he tore away from the riverbank, darting into the suffocating forest.
He glanced over his shoulder.
There, behind him—another group. Just like the first. Facing backward.
He spun to run forward, only to skid to a halt.
The people behind him had turned. Their faces were empty, hollow sockets where their eyes should be. Mouths stretched wide, tongues missing entirely.
They screamed, but no sound came out. Instead, their jaws snapped open and shut in a terrible, wordless howl.
Their cries filled Eric's head in a deafening chorus.
"Why? Why did you do this to us? Why? Why? Why?"
The voices tore at his mind like claws, relentless and desperate.
Eric's skin crawled, and he stumbled backward, trapped between the two groups—both turning and facing him, screaming with vacant, gaping mouths.
He was surrounded.
The forest seemed to close in tighter, the darkness thickening like a living thing ready to swallow him whole.
Eric's breath shattered in his chest. The screams grew louder—wordless, furious, wrong. He backed up until his spine hit bark, hands trembling, heart slamming against his ribs.
"Stop," he whispered. "Stop—"
But they kept coming, mouths yawning wide, tongues gone, blood trailing from their empty eyes.
"Why did you kill us?"
"Why?"
"Why?"
Something inside him cracked.
The fear surged—too much, too fast—and suddenly the air bent around him. The ground shuddered. Darkness tore out of him in a violent, soundless burst, like a wave of shadow and wind and raw power.
The group screamed as they were flung back, their bodies unraveling mid-air like smoke being sucked into a void. One by one, they vanished—whispers torn apart by something much older, much darker than the forest itself.
Then… silence.
Eric dropped to his knees, panting, the forest still around him again. No screams. No eyes. Just breath and heartbeat and dirt.
From the tree line, slow clapping echoed.
"Well done," Alaric said smoothly, stepping into the clearing.
Eric's head snapped up, eyes wide. He stumbled to his feet, trembling. "You—" His voice cracked with rage and betrayal. "You left me! You stood there and did nothing!"
Alaric gave a little shrug, the smirk never leaving his face. "I forgot to tell you not to follow the people in white but it seems you.... handled that."
He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers, casual and mocking.
"They can look like anyone," he added, tone playful but eyes dark. "Even me."
Eric's fists clenched. "You knew I'd fall for it."
"I had a hunch." Alaric's grin sharpened. "But I was curious. I wanted to see what you'd do when the forest started digging."
Eric stared at him, breathing hard. Something cold settled in his gut.
Eric stared at Alaric, chest still heaving. "You're angry," he said quietly. "I can feel it. Even now, standing there like that… you're upset with me."
Alaric's smile wavered just a fraction—barely enough to notice—but Eric caught it. He stepped forward slowly, no longer afraid, just tired.
"You could've killed me a long time ago," Eric said. "You didn't. And that's because you care about me."
Alaric's eyes narrowed. The shadows around him seemed to ripple.
"You hate feeling vulnerable," Eric went on.
He took another step. "I know what I've done, Alaric. I know what I haven't told you. But I'll tell you everything—just not here. When we get to the place... I'll say it all."
Alaric's face remained unreadable, but his eyes shifted. Not fully back to human, not entirely dark, just watching.
"I'm not lying now," Eric said. "You've already read me. You know I'm not."
The wind moved through the trees like breath. Alaric tilted his head slightly, the shadows at his feet curling like snakes.
Then he turned, his voice low but cold:
"Don't make promises in the forest, Eric. It likes to listen."
He started walking again, slow and barefoot, the trees swallowing his shape.
Eric followed—closer this time. No more illusions. No more running.
Just the truth, waiting ahead.
And whatever Alaric decided to do with it.
Alaric stepped toward the tunnel—the one made of tangled branches and thorns, stretching endlessly into pitch-black nothing. The air around it pulsed, thick and wet, like the forest itself was breathing through it.
He paused at the mouth of the tunnel, shadows swallowing his frame. Then he looked back at Eric.
"What are you waiting for?" His voice was calm "Home is right beyond this tunnel."
Eric stared at him.
"Home?" he echoed.
Alaric smiled faintly, teeth just visible in the dark. "Where everything started. Where it ends. Where you tell me everything." His voice dipped lower, almost mocking. "You said you would."
Eric's throat tightened. That crushing sense of being watched hadn't faded—it had only shifted, following him like a stain.
Alaric turned his back again, and without hesitation, stepped into the tunnel.
The moment he crossed the threshold, it was like he'd been swallowed. The darkness accepted him, swallowed sound, swallowed light.
Eric hesitated at the edge, staring into the black, the gnarled tunnel.
Then he followed.
The branches closed behind him.