The fog curled thicker with every step, a damp veil that clung to their skin and dulled their sight. The forest dimmed, with sunlight filtering through in gray streaks as the last warmth of the day retreated into shadow. The air felt clammy, cold, and faintly sweet with the scent of rot.
"How much further?" Ellowyn asked, rubbing her arms. "It's getting darker... and colder."
Flint just walked ahead, silent for a moment, then muttered, "Halfway. Keep your eyes forward."
She stepped closer, her staff held tight. "I swear I heard footsteps… like following us." her eyes darted to different directions.
Casually he responded without looking back "Just your nerves, Sparkles. The forest plays tricks, specially in here, so just keep moving and avoid the webs."
But then her eyes caught something in their surroundings. Bits of armor and bone tangled in silken webs, strange deformed husks twitching faintly in death. A rusted helm slumped over what might've once been a soldier, strung up in the dry silk like a puppet long abandoned.
Ellowyn froze. "So... what exactly are these creatures? The spiders, I mean. How big do they get?"
Flint shrugged. "Arachnyrs. Some small, mostly harmless."
THUD — A heavy sound echoed behind them
A massive cocoon dropped from above beside them, cracking open on impact with a wet, snapping sound. Something rolled halfway out of the ruptured silk, a grotesque, misshapen creature with a tusked face,its body glistening with viscous membrane and tightly wrapped in strands of rotting web.
Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched tight over bulbous muscle, the veins beneath pulsing faintly as if something still stirred. One massive limb twitched, convulsing once before going still.
Flint looked at the thing without flinching. "And some are big enough for that."
Ellowyn gasped and staggered back. "By the Ether..."
She took a cautious step forward. The chest shifted, its surface rising and falling ever so slightly, as if breathing.
"Wait… he's still alive. Shouldn't we... maybe we could help him—"
"Are you insane, Sparkles?" Flint snapped. "That's a troll. As bad as the Arachnyrs are, trolls may be worse."
The creature's mouth twitched.
Flint froze, feathers bristling as his hand instinctively drifted to the hilt of his dagger. "Oh crap... Step back. Now."
The mouth slowly split open with a sickening crack, releasing a gush of purple spiderlings that spilled over its jaw like foul bile. They clicked and twitched as they skittered forward, and then, with a sharp snap, the creature's ribcage clapped open like a sprung trap, unleashing even more of them from its chest in a grotesque flood.
Ellowyn screamed in horror, staggered back, and dropped to her knees. Her stomach turned, and she vomited into the moss, coughing as the bile burned her throat. Tears welled in her eyes as she wiped her mouth with a shaking hand. Her breath was shallow, and the stench clung to everything.
Her voice cracked. "Oh Almighty... I hate this place..."
Flint exhaled, jaw tight. "Yikes… Well. Better him than us. Let's keep moving."
--
As they walked, silence clung to them like the mist. Ellowyn's steps were slow, her limbs heavy with shock, each breath tight in her chest. The images of the troll bursting open and the spiderlings spilling out looped in her mind — vivid, raw, and unrelenting. Her stomach twisted again as she clutched her belly, trying to steady herself while forcefully draggin her steps across the mossy ground.
So lost in the churn of nausea and memory, she failed to notice a twisted root ahead. Her boot caught hard, and her body pitched forward in a jolt of panic. With a gasp, she stumbled, arms swinging out to catch her fall. Her hands slammed against a tree, and her fingers sank into something soft, cold, and damp.
A sticky layer of faintly glowing purple silk clung to her palms like slime.
"Ew. Gross" she muttered, recoiling instantly.
Flint turned fast, eyes wide. "You touched the silk?!"
The forest fell into an eerie hush, as if the very trees were holding their breath. Even the insects ceased their chirping, the silence pressing like a weight on their chests. Above, the webs began to vibrate with a low, haunting hum, subtle at first, like the tremble of plucked strings by unseen hands, growing steadily by every second.
"Damn it," he muttered, rushing to her side. "Come on, Sparkles. We need to move fast. Now!"
"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to—" Ellowyn said quietly.
"Yeah, well, try not to mean it again," he snapped.
The fog congealed like wet wool, muffling every step and sound as they pressed on. Pale glints shimmered in the corners of Flint's vision, like eyes watching between the branches. He blinked hard attempting to gain better vision, but something darted just beyond his view.
The trees abruptly parted.
A clearing opened ahead, ringed by ancient stone pillars arranged in a perfect circle. They loomed like silent sentinels, tangled with webs so old they pulsed faintly with residual Ether. Strange sigils decorated along their surfaces like veins beneath translucent skin, flickering in and out of sight like ghostly tattoos.
Flint glanced behind. "Eyes peeled Sparkles, we are not alone."
But no answer.
He stopped, turning fully around. "Sparkles?"
His breath caught, she was gone.
Flint's eyes darted, scanning the trees. He spun in place, listening, there! The faintest shuffle in the mist, something circling him fast.
"Sparkles!?" he called out, louder this time, a trace of panic leaking into his voice.
But nothing but the low hum of the Ether pulsing through the sigils in the stones, and the whispering wind slipping through the webbed canopy above.
Suddenly, a soft, familiar voice echoed through the fog, a voice Flint had wished to hear for years.
"Flint…" came the whisper. "Flint..."
The fog parted like breath against glass as Flint squinted into the mist, one hand drifting cautiously to the hilt of his dagger. A figure stepped through, tall, poised, and draped in flowing purple robes that brushed the mossy ground. Her long black hair cascaded like ink over her shoulders, framing high cheekbones and a face so familiar it stole his breath. Her presence stirred a strange ache in his chest as she moved with silent grace, and though the fog clung to her, her violet eyes shimmered with a warmth that pierced the gloom.
His eyes widened, breath catching as he stumbled a step forward. "Mom?" he gasped, his voice cracking with disbelief.
Her arms opened wide with a tender smile that trembled at the corners. "Oh, Flint... look how tall you've become," she said, her voice like a lullaby lost in time. "Come here, my son. Let me see you."
He stumbled forward, his breath catching in his throat, eyes wide with disbelief and misted with emotion. His hand trembled as it rose, hesitating midair, fingers twitching with doubt. But then something cracked in him, a dam long held, and the hand reached out, desperate now, as if fearing she might vanish again.
Her arms closed around him with a warmth too real, too familiar. He tensed, breath hitched, then melted into the embrace. His body folded against hers as years of longing surged out in a single, shuddering breath. He buried his face into her shoulder, clutching at her as if to make up for every moment lost. Then his voice broke, fragile as glass.
"Why did you leave me…?"
She ran her fingers gently through his hair and feathers, each stroke slow and oddly comforting. Her hands were just as he remembered, delicate and soft.
"Oh my golden boy..." her voice shifted mid-sentence, turning cold and silky, "I will never leave you. We'll keep caring for each other..."
Flint's breath caught. As the tone changed, he pulled away sharply, blinking rapidly.
"Ivy?! Where's—where's my mother?" he shouted, spinning around in frantic search. His gaze darted through the fog, scanning every shadow.
Ivy tilted her head, ears twitching with feigned playfulness as she stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with unsettling familiarity. "Darling," she purred in a honeyed voice, "I'm all you ever had. Even back then. She was never truly there for you, was she?"
"No... she was. She loved me," Flint muttered.
Ivy stepped closer with a slow, graceful sway. "You really want to believe that? Sweet boy, I knew her better than anyone. She was my closest friend. And I saw what she was, absent, distant."
She leaned in, her breath brushing his ear like strands of cold silk. "You know the truth..."
"Shut up, Ivy..." he hissed
She laughed, low and sly, then slid behind him like a fox in the mist, arms coiling over his shoulders with deliberate ease. Her chest pressed lightly against his back, radiating a warmth he longed for but wished he didn't, a comfort too familiar, too dangerous.
"Oh darling... don't worry," she whispered, slowly stroking his chest with the tips of her fingers. "You know what to do when you feel pain. I'm here for you and I always will be. Anything you need to feel better..."
Flint turned sharply and shoved her, breath shaking. "Shut up!"
But she vanished like mist.
His breath quickened. "These damn webs..."
Then he froze.
The fog shifted, parting like curtains pulled aside. Through the haze, trees emerged across the clearing. And there, near the edge, sat a boy in the dirt, no older than ten, knees to his chest, crying near a gnarled tree.
Flint stared, jaw tight. The child's features were unmistakable. It was himself, years ago.
"Stop this... just stop this," he muttered.
But the boy looked up, red-eyed and trembling. "They always leave you. You're disgusting. That's why they go. That's why they'll keep going. You'll always be alone."
Flints fists clenched, trembling. "Shut up... Just stop crying, you dumb little—"
He caught himself, eyes wide. Breath shallow.
"I said enough!"
But then another figure emerged from the mist. Light hoofsteps touched the ground as a deer-legged woman entered the scene. Her form was regonizable to his eyes, ginger curls swarling with every step, soft freckles adorning her temples, and antlers rising like polished marbles.
"Myri...?" he whispered.
With a quiet kindness, she knelt beside the child and gently brushed back his messy hair.. "Oh Flint... you were my best friend," she whispered, voice soft with regret. "We could've been so much more, you and I."
Then her gaze lifted, slow, unnatural, and locked onto Flint. Her smile lingered, but the warmth behind it drained like light slipping from a dying ember. Her eyes grew cold, distant, gleaming with a wrongness that made his skin crawl.
"But you always Flint things up," she said with a twisted edge in her tone. "You ruin everything."
Flint recoiled. "What? No, Myri—"
Her expression twisted, mouth curling with disgust. "You're just a pathetic little worm."
Flint said firmly "No Stop, she… she would never—"
She took a step closer. "Oh yeah? Or maybe you just don't want to listen."
He clenched his fists and yelled "I said stop—!"
Myri's voice turned sharp, mocking. "Or what? Are you gonna cry? Gonna run back to that slut?"
From the trees, Ivy stepped forth again, arms crossed, a crooked smile curling on her lips.
"Maybe he prefers me. At least I never wrapped the truth in a bow and called it love."
The child Flint looked up slowly, his features beginning to melt like wax under heat, as if the memory couldn't hold shape. His mouth twisted into a warped, sad mimic of a smile. His voice, thin and trembling, cut through the air like a poisoned blade.
"They all left you. They always will. You're repulsive. That's why they go. That's why they'll keep going. You'll always be alone."
Myri's voice cracked, sharp and brittle like a shattering mirror. "You're weak. Lustful. Pathetic. That's why no one stays. That's why they all leave, because you're a burden."
"Stop!" Flint shouted, fists clenched, voice breaking under the weight of despair.
Ivy crept closer, voice low, piercing, each syllable laced with venom. "You're just a broken little boy, Flint… waiting for a mother who was never coming back. And deep down, you know the truth. She left because she never loved you."
The three figures—Myri, Ivy, and his younger self—began circling him, drifting with fluid, unnatural grace. Their forms bent and warped, splitting, melting, then reforming like reflections disturbed by ripples. Their faces sprouted extra eyes, Six, then twelve, blinking out of rhythm across their cheeks, arms, even their foreheads. The fog thickened, swirling inward like a closing noose.
Their voices merged, whispering in fractured harmony:
"You will always be alone. You will always be alone. You will always be alone..."
Their pace quickened, becoming a grotesque spiral of motion and sound. Faces shrieked in and out of existence, limbs lengthened and twisted, silk threads trailing from their fingers like puppet strings. The whispers turned to screams, layers of overlapping cruelty echoing into his skull.
Silken strands brushed Flint's arms and neck like ghostly fingers, binding him, choking him. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head as the chant pounded in his ears.
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT U—" he shouted, again and again, his voice raw and desperate, echoing into the choking dark.
Then darkness swallowed him.