The sun hung lazily in the afternoon sky as Arena walked through the busy market stalls just outside her college campus.
Her plastic bag swayed at her side, heavy with snacks, body lotion, and a single blue pen. The smell of roasted corn mixed with fried plantains filled the air. Students laughed and argued with sellers over prices. Everything felt normal and safe.
She was about to turn back toward the hostel when something made her stop.
Auburn hair. Familiar shoulders hunched forward.
Freya?
Her heart jumped with excitement. It had been three days since she'd seen her best friend. The girl was walking fast, head down, hoodie pulled tight around her face like she was hiding from something.
"Freya!" Arena called out, walking faster.
No response.
"Freya, hey! Wait!"
Still nothing.
Arena frowned. That was weird. Freya always heard her voice, even in crowds. She broke into a light jog, her sneakers slapping against the concrete as she followed the figure weaving between the market stalls. The girl turned into a narrow alley between two kiosks.
But when Arena reached the corner and looked around it...
Gone.
The alley was completely empty.
She blinked hard, confused. Where did the sounds go? The laughter, the shouting sellers, the sizzling oil from the food stalls—everything had vanished. The air felt thick and wrong.
"Freya?" she called again. Her voice came out small and scared.
Only silence answered.
Then the wind came. Strong and cold, carrying the smell of ash and something that made her stomach turn—like old blood. Her heart started pounding hard against her ribs. Fear crept up her spine.
She spun around to go back the way she came, but stopped dead.
The alley didn't look the same anymore.
Nothing did.
The walls were rough stone now, not concrete. The sky above was too dark, stained red like a wound. Thick mist swirled around her feet. And in the distance, through the fog, something moved.
No... someone.
Then, she saw them.
Five men stepped out of the shadows. They spread out in a line, blocking her path. Each one wore strange, old-looking clothes—leather tunics, animal furs, markings carved into their exposed arms. But their eyes... their eyes glowed with an unnatural light that made her skin crawl.
Every instinct in her body screamed the same thing:
RUN.
Arena turned and ran harder than she'd ever run in her life.
Her feet pounded against the rocky ground. Her lungs burned. Her heart felt like it would explode. She didn't know where she was or how she got here, but she knew she had to get away.
The footsteps behind her weren't rushed or panicked. They were steady and patient. Like hunters who knew their prey would get tired eventually.
She stumbled once, scraping her knee on the sharp stones, but forced herself back up. Blood trickled down her leg. Her whole body was on fire, but she couldn't stop.
Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop.
Then—
"Arena."
She froze mid-step.
A whisper. Soft and familiar.
Someone had said her name.
"Arena," the voice came again.
Her feet slowed to a stop. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She knew that voice.
Trembling, she turned around.
And there he stood.
Just a few feet away, in a small clearing where the mist had pulled apart.
Peter.
The boy who disappeared five years ago. Her childhood friend. The boy who walked home from school one Tuesday afternoon and never came back.
The boy whose missing posters had covered every lamppost in their neighborhood until the rain washed them away.
His clothes were torn and dirty. His hair hung longer now, wild and unkempt. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. But it was definitely him.
"Peter?" she gasped.
He didn't smile. Didn't move toward her.
His eyes looked past her shoulder, and his face went pale.
"They found you too," he said hoarsely. "You shouldn't have followed her. Now, it's too late."
A chill ran down Arena's spine. She turned to look behind her—
And screamed.
TO BE CONTINUED...