The night air outside the house felt colder than it should have.
Not the normal coolness of evening—this was sharper, like the world itself knew they were stepping into something dangerous. Something old.
Ash and Palo moved quickly across the property, leaving the ruined underground facility behind. Neither spoke; the silence between them wasn't empty, but heavy with everything they had seen.
The forest stood ahead like a black wall.
Tall trunks.
Branches like skeletal hands.
Wind that whispered through leaves in broken patterns.
Palo shivered.
"This forest… it feels wrong."
Ash paused at the edge of the trees.
"It felt this way when I was little too," he said quietly. "I thought I imagined it."
Palo studied him.
"How old were you when your mother brought you here?"
Ash stared into the shadows.
"Six."
Palo's breath caught.
"That young?"
Ash nodded.
"She told me it was important. Said she needed to hide something before they came back for me."
Palo hesitated.
"Do you… remember what she hid?"
Ash lowered his head.
"No. I only remember her face. Scared. Urgent."
The mark on his palm pulsed faintly.
Palo's eyes widened.
"It's reacting again."
Ash turned the glowing symbol toward the trees.
"It's pointing the way."
---
Into the Dark
Branches snapped under their shoes as they stepped deeper into the woods.
The further they walked, the quieter the world became.
No birds.
No insects.
Not even the wind.
Just silence.
Ash's voice broke it softly.
"This forest wasn't always like this."
Palo glanced around nervously.
"What changed it?"
Ash stopped walking.
A faint memory tugged at the back of his mind—
his mother's hand gripping his.
Her whisper:
"Don't look back, Ash. Don't look at the lights."
He swallowed.
"They used it."
"Used what?" Palo asked urgently.
Ash shook his head.
"I don't know. But something about this place was part of their experiments."
Palo stepped closer, voice quiet.
"Ash, maybe we should turn back."
Ash glanced at him.
"We can't."
Palo exhaled shakily.
"Right."
Ash raised his glowing palm.
The symbol brightened, projecting a faint outline on the forest floor—
a direction, a path.
"Here," Ash said softly. "It's guiding us."
They followed the glowing trail deeper.
The trees thickened.
The darkness deepened.
And then—
Palo froze.
"Ash… do you see that?"
Ash looked ahead.
Through the trees, barely visible, stood a shape.
A structure.
Small.
Squat.
Collapsed in places.
The abandoned cabin.
Ash felt something twist in his chest.
"This is it."
---
The Cabin
The cabin looked like it hadn't been touched in decades.
Its wooden boards were warped and blackened with age.
The door hung crooked on its hinges.
The windows were smeared with dirt from the inside, not the outside.
Palo swallowed hard.
"This place feels… wrong."
Ash stepped toward it anyway.
He pushed the door open.
It groaned loudly, echoing like a cry.
Inside was darkness—but not empty darkness.
Dust floated in the air.
Rotting furniture slumped in corners.
Children's drawings were scattered across the floor, torn and faded.
Palo knelt beside one.
"Ash… these drawings. They're of you."
Ash picked up another one.
Every drawing was of the same boy—
messy hair, dark eyes, a small scar over the eyebrow.
Him.
At age six.
Palo whispered, "Your mother must've kept these here."
Ash nodded slowly.
But his eyes were fixed on something else—
a large wooden trapdoor in the center of the floor.
The symbol on his palm pulsed hard, glowing brighter.
Palo backed up, startled.
"Ash—your hand!"
Ash crouched over the trapdoor.
"This is where she hid it."
Palo looked toward the door nervously.
"What if the people who came to the house know about this place too?"
Ash shook his head.
"No. If they did, they'd already be here."
He slid his fingers under the trapdoor handle and pulled.
Dust exploded upward.
The trapdoor creaked open, revealing a dark hole beneath the cabin—
a small, narrow space with a metal box inside.
Ash froze.
Palo's voice dropped to a whisper.
"A locked box?"
Ash nodded.
"My mother's."
He reached down and grabbed it.
Cold metal burned into his hands—
not painful, but electric.
The symbol on his palm brightened again.
Palo leaned over his shoulder.
"Does it open with your DNA too?"
Ash turned the box in his hands.
"No. This was never part of the experiment."
"So how do we open it?"
Ash hesitated.
Then he noticed something carved into the lid—
something faint, nearly erased by time.
A word.
No—
a name.
"Elara."
Palo frowned.
"Who's Elara?"
Ash's breath hitched.
"That's not a person."
Palo blinked.
"Then what is it?"
Ash traced the name with his fingertips.
"Elara isn't a name."
His voice trembled.
"It's a project code."
Palo's heart raced.
"A project? Ash… what was your mother hiding?"
Ash lifted the box slowly in both hands.
"She wasn't hiding something."
He looked at the rusted metal surface.
"She was hiding me."
Before Palo could respond, the symbol on Ash's palm flared—
bright—
violent—
and the lock on the metal box snapped open.
The lid lifted—
And inside lay…
A stack of documents.
A small drive.
And—
A photograph.
Ash's breath caught in his throat.
Palo leaned forward.
"Ash… who is that?"
Ash stared at the photo, eyes wide.
In the picture was:
A scientist in a lab coat.
A younger Ash—barely six—standing beside her.
And next to him—
Another boy.
Identical.
The first copy.
Palo whispered, horrified,
"Ash… that's him. The earliest version."
But Ash's voice was barely audible.
"No… look at the date."
Palo checked the timestamp in the corner.
His stomach dropped.
"Ash… this was taken before they created the copy."
Ash closed his eyes.
"It means the boy in the picture…"
Palo stared at him.
"Not the copy?"
Ash shook his head.
"No."
He lifted the picture, hands trembling.
"This boy… was the original me."
Palo froze.
"Ash—then who are you?"
Ash stared at the photo, expression hollow.
"I don't know."
---