The earth split beneath me, and I fell
but not the way falling should feel.
No panic.
No rush of air.
No impact.
It felt deliberate.
As if unseen hands, ancient and patient, were lowering me into the dark with ceremonial care.
The world above dimmed.
Sound softened.
Light collapsed into a distant memory.
My feet touched down on cold, unmoving ground.
I stood in a cavern so vast it swallowed perspective, lit by a pale glow that seemed to bleed from the walls themselves. Thick roots hung from the ceiling like exposed veins, pulsing with a slow rhythm—alive, synchronized, aware.
A chill rippled down my spine.
This place wasn't just old.
It was living.
Footsteps echoed behind me—soft, bare, familiar.
Annabelle stepped out of the darkness.
Or rather… something wearing her.
Her face was still hers, but the presence behind it was ancient.
Her posture was too still.
Her movements too smooth.
She stood beside me in perfect silence.
A sound rose from the far end of the cavern—deep and heavy.
The inhale of something enormous waking after centuries of sleep.
The roots trembled.
Dust fell like ash.
The floor shifted beneath our feet.
And then it emerged.
A figure unfurled itself from the darkness—
tall as a pillar, shaped like a silhouette pulled out of shadow.
Not fully human.
Not fully anything.
Skin like polished obsidian.
Limbs too long.
Eyes burning with cold white fire.
When it spoke, the sound bypassed my ears entirely.
It vibrated inside my ribs.
"Blood remembers. Blood returns."
I stumbled back, breath caught in my throat.
"What… what are you?"
Its head tilted, a mimicry of curiosity.
"Names are for mortals. I am older than language."
My chest tightened.
"Why her? Why us?"
Annabelle's mouth moved—
but the voice that answered felt layered, ancient.
"Because we carry the mark."
"The mark?" I whispered.
She lifted her hand and pointed to my wrist.
I looked down—
and froze.
A faint symbol glowed beneath my skin.
A circle crossed by two intersecting lines.
Pulse synced.
Light throbbed.
"I… I've never seen this."
The obsidian entity lowered itself until its face hovered near mine—no features, yet I felt its gaze tearing through memory.
"You were not meant to remember. You were chosen as children. Promises made in innocence bind deeper than blood."
Annabelle's expression flickered—
a flash of the real her breaking through.
"We didn't stumble into the woods that day. We were summoned."
My heartbeat roared in my ears.
"So it took you back?"
The cavern rumbled as the entity spoke:
"There must always be two."
"Two?" My voice cracked. "For what?"
Annabelle's reply hit like a blow.
"A keeper."
"And a bridge."
I shook my head violently.
"No. No, no, no. Whatever this is, I'm not part of it. I don't belong to you."
The cavern dimmed—
as if the being's displeasure extinguished its own light.
"The bond is sealed. The first returned. The second must choose."
Cold brushed the back of my neck.
Not a warning.
A reminder.
Annabelle stepped forward, tears trembling in her darkened eyes.
"If one refuses, both suffer."
My stomach twisted.
"What does that mean?"
Her voice broke—finally human again, raw and terrified.
"If you run, it takes me."
"If you stay, it takes you."
The silence that followed felt suffocating.
Then—
The entity's voice softened to a whisper inside my bones.
"Blood remembers. But blood may choose."
The cavern shook.
Roots writhed downward, twisting into shape—
Two tunnels, two paths.
One glowed faint white.
The other glowed deep red.
Annabelle stepped back, shadows crawling across her features.
"This is where everything changes."
The ancient being raised an elongated arm.
"One path frees. One path binds. The choice must be made willingly."
My voice escaped me in a whisper:
"Which one leads to you?"
Annabelle closed her eyes.
"Both do."
The cavern stilled.
Waiting.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
The next step wouldn't just continue the story—
It would determine who survives the ending.