His body shot backwards his rear end smacking against the cold ground.
Rubbing his eyes he once again looked into the water, his reflection following suite, he blinked once again, but this time his reflection waved back.
He backed away the reflection was unnatural nothing on earth could explain it.
He smacked his head, the only logical solution was that his mind was playing tricks on him.
Once more he looked into the reflection of the water, His image showed this time mirroring him as a reflection does.
He let out a sigh of relief, wiping the sweat off his forehead he began to take gulps of water.
The water slid down his throat, cold enough to sting. When he finally pulled away, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand, the world became quieter. Calmer.
Then the surface of the water rippled outward-not from him, not from the wind, but as if something beneath had exhaled.
He stumbled backward.
The reflection stabilized again... yet something felt off. His mirrored face looked too still, like it was waiting for him to make the next move.
The branch in his leg throbbed — once, twice — in perfect rhythm with the ripples.
He stepped away, heart pounding, but the pool remained motionless now. He hated how relieved he felt, and he hated more how quickly that relief curdled into doubt.
How long had he slept?
Hours? a day? More?
Why wasn't the sun moving?
He forced himself to turn away from the pool of water. The forest greeted him with a stillness that felt staged. The fog parted where he walked, closing behind him like a curtain. His footsteps were swallowed by moss so thick it reminded him of skin.
It didn't feel like walking through a forest anymore.
It felt like walking through something alive.
A faint scent drifted toward him — earthy, warm, faintly sweet. He didn't recognize it, but his stomach twisted with hunger, the kind that felt old and instinctual, like he'd been starving for weeks instead of days.
He followed it at first without realizing. Then he stopped dead. The scent wasn't coming from ahead of him. It was coming from behind. From the direction of the cave.
His jaw tightened. His fingers curled. A strange excitement buzzed from under his skin — predatory, anticipatory.
He didn't want to go back.
He had no reason to go back.
Yet his feet began to turn on their own.
"no" he muttered, forcing himself to face forward. "food. Then water, Then-"
His voice cracked.
From the trees behind him, something whispered back.
"Food. Then water. Then rest."
His words. His exact cadence. But spoken wrong, like his voice pushed through someone else's lungs. He spun around, gripping a broken branch like a weapon.
Fog. Trees. Silence.
But the vines hanging from the branches swayed gently — too gently — as though something had brushed past only moments before.
His throat tightened. Rage filled him before fear did, sudden and visceral. What ever was out there had been close enough to listen. Close enough to mimic him.
Pain shot through his leg, buckling him to the ground. He clutched at the branch embedded in his thigh. It wasn't pain. It was movement.
The wood was spreading — tiny roots threading beneath his skin, He could feel them probing, seeking, tasting.
He gagged and tried to tear it out again, but the bark flexed beneath his skin like muscle. it held fast. A shudder tore through him. He wasn't alone. Whatever was inside him was aware and alive.
He dragged himself upright, every breath shaky.
He needed to leave this clearing.
He needed distance.
He needed—
A low hum vibrated beneath his feet.
His heartbeat faltered.
Not the forests hum — He began to recognize that dull, ever-present hum.
This was different.
This was... Directional.
Faint but growing.
Pulsing through the soil in a slow, rhythmic beat.
The hum wasn't coming from him.
It was calling to him.
branches shifted high above. Moss recoiled from his boots. The fog thinned, forming a strange corridor between the trees.
The valley was opening a path for him. Inviting him. He took a step back, trembling. The path followed. Like a mouth adjusting to swallow. His breath hitched.
"no" He whispered. "I'm not going—" His leg buckled again, forcing him forward a step.
The hum intensified, vibrating along his spine. The ground beneath him felt warm now, almost comforting, as if urging him to lie down, let the moss embrace him, let the earth swallow him whole.
He pushed himself back, gripping a tree for balance. The bark writhed beneath his palm. He yanked his hand away, stumbling. The hum deepened, echoing in his chest, syncing with his breath. The branch in his leg pulsed...
And pulsed...
And pulsed.
The forest around him began to sway.
This place didn't want to kill him he thought. It wanted him alive. Beckoning him to walk deeper under its will.
The hum beneath his feet faded into silence as the corridor of mist widened.
Trees stood at unnatural angles here, their trunks twisted as though they'd grown while trying to avoid something. The air thickened,—not humanoid, but dense, like he had stepped into a room full of breath he couldn't inhale.
A faint sound drifted through the fog. Not an animal sound. Not the creatures he'd fought. A voice. A broken one.
"...Help..."
He froze. the word repeated, softer this time.
"...Help..."
His pulse hammered.
Hallucination?
Another mimic?
Or—
He took a cautious step forward. The fog parted just enough to reveal a shape slumped against a tree.
Human.
Or something that used to be.
The figure was gaunt, wrapped in strips of rotted clothing fused into its skin. One arm was human — pale, trembling, reaching out. The other wasn't.
It was swollen, bark-textured, twisting into something that resembled a gnarled wooden limb, roots trailing from the wrist like tendons that had grown downward instead of in.
One of its eyes reflected the world normally. The other was glossy, opaque, and veined with tiny green filaments. His breath caught in his throat.
The thing whispered again, voice jagged and papery:
"…help… me…"
Not an imitation. Not the valley's voice. A person. A real one.
The survivor tried to lift itself, but the roots embedded in its back pulled taut, anchoring it to the earth. Each movement stretched them like umbilical cords.
He stepped closer despite every instinct screaming to turn and run.
The creature—no, the person—lifted their human hand weakly.
"You… shouldn't…" They coughed, choking on air that didn't want to leave their lungs. "Don't… listen to it."
His stomach flipped.
"What? Listen to what?"
Their good eye rolled upward, unfocused."The hum… the roots… the blood. It knows where you hide. Knows what you fear."
He swallowed hard. "What happened to you?"
The half-transformed human opened their mouth to answer, but instead gagged — violently. They doubled over as something writhed beneath their skin.
Their ribs shifted. Something pushed against them from inside. He stumbled back. The survivor's voice broke into a sob.
"I tried… to leave. It didn't want that."Their breath hitched, desperate."They weren't even real, It took them, like the memories I had forgotten. And it made space for itself, slowly eating at your mind."
As he stepped closer, they flinched — not away, but in warning.
"All of us… all who come here… we become part of it."A shiver tore through their body, almost convulsive. "It's using your fear. Feeding through that fear, growing stronger."
He instinctively grabbed at the branch in his leg.
The survivor's twisted arm twitched violently, the roots along it tightening, pulling them upward as if the tree itself was lifting them.
"It's listening," they whispered hoarsely. "It listens through us. Stop talking."
He froze.
The forest went silent, as if holding its breath. Then the survivor's normal eye widened, panic blooming across what was left of their human face.
"Run."
It was barely a sound. More like breath forced into a word. Then their body jerked. Their back arched unnaturally as the roots tore deeper into their spine, hauling them upright like a puppet being yanked by invisible strings.
Their mouth opened in a silent scream. The bark-encrusted arm twisted forward, pointing directly at him — not by their choice. But by the valley's.
He backed away.
The survivor's lips trembled, struggling against whatever was controlling them.
"Run…" the voice rasped again. This time, A plea.
He stumbled backward just as the survivor's body lurched toward him — pulled by the roots like a marionette, limbs moving wrong, too fast, too stiff.
What followed wasn't a chase. He didn't run at him. He ran behind him. Almost as if following him. Guiding him. Driving him deeper into the forest.
Exactly where the valley wanted him.