The whole place looked corrupted—not just abandoned or decayed, but fundamentally *wrong*. As if the very laws of nature had been twisted and broken here. It was like a playground for evil spirits, a realm where darkness could manifest freely without the constraints of the normal world.
Dead trees stood at impossible angles, their branches reaching in directions that defied gravity. The ground wasn't just barren—it seemed to *absorb* life, pulling at the vitality of anything that came near. And everywhere, shadows moved with purpose, watching them with malevolent intelligence.
Mr. Thornwood turned back to address the driver, who had remained in the car with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. "You can wait outside the gate. My son and I will proceed on foot from here."
The driver didn't question the order. His face was pale, his eyes darting nervously at the twisted landscape. "Yes, sir. Please... please be careful." His voice was barely steady.
The car backed away slowly, retreating toward the gate, and Aster and his father were left standing alone at the entrance to the valley proper.
Outside, beyond the wall, one of the guards spoke to his companion in a low voice—not realizing how well sound carried in this dead place.
"What are they thinking, going in there without security? Without a full guard escort?"
The other guard—older, with more decorations on his uniform indicating higher rank—responded with a mixture of respect and concern. "Mr. Thornwood himself is an exceptional magic user. Perhaps you don't know—his wealth overshadows his true abilities. The man is one of the most powerful mages in the kingdom. If anyone can survive in there, it's him."
"Still," the first guard muttered. "No matter how powerful... this is the Eye of Evil we're talking about. Does he really think he can face something that ancient? Something that's been haunting this kingdom for centuries?"
The older guard smiled grimly but said nothing.
---
Aster and his father began walking deeper into the valley.
The streets—if they could still be called that—were broken and twisted. Cobblestones had been torn up and scattered as if by some tremendous force. Buildings on either side were collapsed shells, their walls stained with substances that might have been blood or worse. Debris was everywhere—broken furniture, shattered pottery, remnants of lives that had been cut short.
And the spirits...
They were everywhere. Dozens of them, perhaps hundreds, lurking in doorways and windows and the spaces between broken buildings. Shadow-forms with vaguely human shapes, their eyes glowing with cold malevolence. They didn't attack, but they *watched*—tracking every movement Aster and his father made.
Aster raised his hand to cover his nose and mouth. "The smell here is terrible." It was like decay and sulfur mixed together, so thick it was almost visible in the air.
"Get used to it," Mr. Thornwood said calmly, not breaking his steady pace forward.
Aster studied his father as they walked. The man was navigating through the twisted streets with surprising confidence, taking turns without hesitation, as if he'd walked this path many times before.
"It looks like you come here often, Dad," Aster observed, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice.
Mr. Thornwood glanced back at him. "It's nothing special. I've simply read many books about this place—studied maps, historical accounts, survivor testimonies. I've prepared for this journey."
The explanation made sense, but something about his father's tone felt... off. Too casual. Too practiced.
They continued deeper into the valley, the oppressive atmosphere growing heavier with each step. The spirits kept pace with them, always watching, always waiting.
Then, ahead of them, a figure stepped into the street.
A woman, wearing the same dark clothing Aster had seen before—long black coat reaching her ankles, hood pulled up to shadow her face, but those eyes... those dark, empty eyes were unmistakable.
It was her. The same woman who had dropped the vase in front of him that morning. The woman who had vanished impossibly. The woman whose vase had appeared in his nightmare with the message written inside: *WORSHIP THE EYES OF EVIL*.
"Be careful, Dad," Aster said urgently, his hand moving instinctively toward the staff at his side. "She's strong. She's part of the cult."
Mr. Thornwood stepped forward, positioning himself slightly in front of Aster protectively.
The woman smiled—a cold, mirthless expression that never reached her empty eyes.
And Aster felt it. A sudden awareness washing over him like ice water. His empathic sense, which had detected nothing from this woman before, now registered *everything* around them.
"There are many more," he whispered, his heart beginning to race. "All around us. Even stronger than this one. We're surrounded."
He could sense them now—dozens of cult members hidden in the ruins, their dark energy pulsing like diseased heartbeats. They had walked directly into a trap.
And then he heard it.
That sound. That terrible, earth-shaking sound he'd heard before outside the Williams mansion.
*THUD.*
His eyes moved upward against his will, drawn by the sheer magnitude of the presence above them.
There, hovering in the poisoned sky directly overhead, was an Eye.
Not one of the smaller manifestations—this was massive. Larger than any building Aster had ever seen. Larger than the one that had caught him before. Its iris alone could have swallowed their entire mansion. It hung there like a grotesque moon, unblinking, all-seeing, radiating malevolence so intense that Aster could feel it pressing against his mind like physical weight.
"Dad, don't look at it!" Aster shouted, remembering what had happened last time.
Mr. Thornwood immediately lowered his gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground ahead. "I know. Don't worry."
But the damage might already be done. Aster had seen it. Looked directly at it. And even now, he could feel its attention focused on him like a burning spotlight.
"We're stuck," Aster said, his voice breaking slightly with fear. His legs felt weak. "Is this the end?"
His heartbeat hammered in his ears. The cult members were closing in from all sides. The Eye loomed above. There was no escape. No way out.
He fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the certainty of his own death. "They're going to kill us. We walked right into their trap."
"Just keep walking," Mr. Thornwood said calmly.
Aster looked up at his father in confusion and disbelief. "What? But why? We're surrounded. We—"
"Just do what I say."
Every instinct screamed at Aster to run, to fight, to do anything except walk deeper into obvious danger. "Dad, we're walking toward our death. We need to—"
"Walk," Mr. Thornwood repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument....
Aster forced himself to stand on shaking legs. His father had never steered him wrong before. He had to trust him now.
They continued forward, moving deeper into the valley. The cult members parted to let them pass, forming a corridor of dark-robed figures. The woman who had first appeared followed behind them, her empty eyes tracking their every movement.
With each step, Aster's chest grew tighter. His breathing became more labored. The presence of the Eye above pressed down on him like an invisible hand trying to crush him into the corrupted earth.
*This is wrong*, his mind screamed. *Everything about this is wrong.*
But his father walked with complete confidence, his pace never faltering.
After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Mr. Thornwood finally spoke. "Alright. Look up now."
Aster raised his eyes—carefully avoiding the Eye still hovering above—and gasped.
They stood in the center of the valley, at a location that could only be one place.
The execution site.
It was a raised platform of ancient stone, cracked and weathered by centuries but still intact. Steps led up to the flat surface where the cursed king had been executed. Bloodstains—impossibly old yet still visible—marked the place where the blade had fallen.
Broken pillars surrounded the platform, remnants of what must have once been a grand amphitheater where the citizens had gathered to witness justice being served. Shattered statues lay toppled around the perimeter—stone figures that might have represented the angels or the old kings or justice itself, now broken and forgotten.
This was the heart of the curse. The epicenter of everything.
"But where is the Altar?" Aster asked, looking around in confusion. "Isn't there supposed to be an Altar of Evil here? The place where the cursed king worshiped before he was caught?"
According to the stories, the Altar should have been visible—a dark monument to evil that had survived the centuries as a warning and a ward against its power being used again.
But there was nothing. Just the execution platform and the ruins.
Mr. Thornwood turned to look back at him, and there was something in his expression that made Aster's blood run cold. Something that wasn't quite right.
"Why do you think," Mr. Thornwood said slowly, "the Eye of Evil hasn't killed us yet?"
Aster opened his mouth to respond but found he had no answer.
"Why do you think," his father continued, taking a step closer, "you're still alive, even after being haunted by it for days? Even after looking directly at it multiple times?"
Another step closer. His father's shadow fell across Aster, and somehow that shadow seemed darker than it should be. Deeper. More substantial.
Mr. Thornwood smiled—and it was wrong. The smile was too wide, showing too many teeth. And his eyes...
His green eyes were darkening. Not just the pupils dilating, but the entire eye turning black. Like ink spreading through water.
"Wait," Aster whispered, his heart freezing in his chest. "There's no way. Dad...?"