The moment Asher and Jeremy stepped through the gates, they knew something was wrong.
The air was heavier and the atmosphere darker. Not just with the scent of destruction but with something older, something watching. The city stretched out before them, a ruin swallowed by time. Towering structures loomed, their stone faces cracked and worn. Statues of forgotten gods stood with their heads bowed, some missing their arms, others covered in thick, creeping vines. The streets were littered with debris—broken pillars, shattered stained-glass fragments, and rusted weapons that told stories of a war long past.
Jeremy's breathing was uneven. He wasn't afraid—Jeremy wasn't the type to be afraid—but there was something in his posture, in the way his fingers twitched at his sides. He was uneasy. And that was enough to put Asher on edge.
"This place…" Jeremy whispered, his ember eyes flickering over the ruins. "I feel like something creepy is watching us."
Asher swallowed. He felt it too. A presence.
Not alive. Not dead.
Something in between.
He stepped forward cautiously, his boots scuffing against the old stone. "We need to find shelter before nightfall," he said. "If this place even has a night."
Jeremy didn't respond right away. He was staring at something—no, someone.
Asher turned to follow his gaze.
A figure.
Small. Human-shaped. But too still. Too silent.
It stood at the edge of a broken alleyway, shrouded in mist. A child? A shadow?
Asher's pulse quickened. He opened his mouth to say something, but the figure took a step back and disappeared into the ruins.
Jeremy cursed under his breath. "Did you see that?"
Asher nodded.
"Think it's human?"
"Do you want to find out?"
Jeremy scoffed. "Not particularly."
But they didn't have a choice.
Because the moment the figure disappeared, the city seemed to breathe.
The temperature dropped. The silence deepened. The blue flames floating in the air flickered, as if something had disturbed them.
Then, the whispers started.
"You do not belong here."
Asher shuddered. It wasn't a voice in the air. It was inside him. Crawling through his mind like fingers searching for something to hold onto.
Jeremy tensed beside him. "Let's move. Now."
They walked faster, navigating through the ruins. Every now and then, Asher swore he saw movement in the distance—shadows shifting, figures lurking just beyond the crumbling walls. But every time he turned his head, there was nothing.
Then, at the heart of the city, they found it.
A temple. Or what was left of one.
Massive stone pillars lined the entrance, some cracked in half, others leaning at odd angles as if the entire structure was moments away from collapsing. A grand staircase led up to a set of doors that had long since been ripped from their hinges.
And beneath those stairs—light.
Faint, flickering. Firelight.
Jeremy noticed it too. He pulled Asher toward it, his grip firm. They crouched low, slipping through the cracks in the stone, moving cautiously. The warmth of the fire hit them first, cutting through the city's unnatural cold.
Then—the voices.
Not whispers.
Human voices.
They peered around the corner.
A group of people sat huddled around a small fire, wrapped in layers of torn fabric and makeshift cloaks. Their faces were hollow—cheeks sunken, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Some looked sick. Others looked like they had long since given up hope.
Survivors.
Jeremy exhaled sharply. "I don't believe it."
Asher's eyes swept over them. There were seven of them—four adults, three children. Their clothes were stained with dirt and dried blood. Some held weapons—knives, rusted swords—while others simply clung to each other as if their lives depended on it.
One of the men—tall, with a grizzled beard and tired eyes—looked up. His gaze locked onto Asher and Jeremy. His grip on his weapon tightened.
"We've got company," he murmured, voice rough like gravel.
The others snapped to attention, their bodies tensing.
A woman with tangled blonde hair raised her knife. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you want?"
Asher stepped forward cautiously, hands raised in surrender. "We're not here to hurt you."
The bearded man studied them carefully. "How did you get here?"
"We came through the gate," Jeremy said.
At that, the survivors exchanged uneasy glances.
"There is no gate," the blonde woman whispered.
Asher felt something cold slither down his spine. "What do you mean?"
The bearded man exhaled through his nose. "No one comes in here. People only disappear."
Silence.
Then, the whispers returned.
Faint. Just beneath the surface of reality.
"You do not belong here."
This time, the survivors heard it too.
And the way their faces twisted in terror told Asher one thing.
They weren't alone.
The fire crackled, but it did nothing to warm the cold creeping into Asher's bones.
No one spoke at first. The survivors sat motionless, eyes darting to the ruins around them, as if expecting something to emerge from the darkness at any moment. Asher could hear their breathing—ragged, uneven. The tension was thick enough to choke on.
Jeremy shifted beside him. He wasn't the type to be spooked out easily, but Asher could feel the unease rolling off him. He kept his hand near a knife, eyes scanning the group like he expected someone to attack.
The bearded man, who seemed to be their leader, leaned forward. "You said you came through the gate."
Asher nodded.
The man exhaled sharply. "Then you're either lying… or you're already dead."
Jeremy's jaw tightened. "Not funny."
"It's not a joke." The man's voice was flat. "No one gets in. No one gets out."
The blonde woman tightened her grip on her knife. "If you really came through a gate, then where is it?"
Asher turned to Jeremy. "We should show them."
Jeremy hesitated, then nodded. "Fine."
They stood, motioning for the others to follow. The survivors hesitated, glancing at each other, then slowly got to their feet. The children clung to the adults, eyes wide and fearful.
Asher led them back through the ruins, retracing their steps. The city was eerily silent, the only sound their footsteps against cracked stone. The deeper they went, the more Asher felt it—the weight of something unseen pressing down on them, watching, waiting.
Then, they reached the place where they had entered.
Except… there was nothing.
No gate. No archway. Just an unbroken wall of ancient stone, covered in deep, unnatural scratches.
Jeremy stiffened. "This… this isn't right."
The survivors exchanged uneasy glances.
"I told you," the bearded man said. "There is no way out."
The whispers returned.
"You do not belong here."
This time, it was louder.
A wind howled through the ruins, though there were no trees, no open spaces for it to come from. It carried something with it—the scent of rot, of old blood.
Then, the first scream rang out.
One of the children—a boy no older than ten—stumbled back, eyes wide with terror. He pointed, his entire body shaking.
"There!"
Everyone turned.
In the distance, barely visible through the swirling mist, stood figures.
They were tall. Too tall. Their limbs were elongated, their heads tilted at unnatural angles. They had no eyes. No mouths. Just gaping, hollow faces.
And they were moving.
Not walking. Not running.
Gliding.
Fast.
Jeremy grabbed Asher's arm. "We need to move. Find a safe place Now."
The survivors didn't need to be told twice. They turned and ran, their ragged breath mixing with the sound of their footsteps against the broken stone.
Asher didn't dare look back.
But he could hear them.
The sound wasn't footsteps. It wasn't breathing.
It was a low, guttural clicking.
Like bones grinding together.
They ran through the ruins, weaving between broken pillars and collapsed buildings. The firelight from their abandoned camp flickered in the distance, but Asher knew they couldn't go back.
"We need higher ground!" the bearded man shouted.
"There!" Jeremy pointed.
A crumbling tower stood ahead, its jagged edges cutting into the sky like the ribs of a dead god.
They sprinted toward it. The creatures were close now, their unnatural clicking growing louder, the mist thickening around them. Asher swore he felt something brush against his back—cold, claw-like fingers.
They reached the tower. Jeremy was the first to climb the broken staircase, pulling one of the children up with him. Asher pushed the others forward, shoving them up the steps as fast as possible.
Then, he felt it.
A hand.
Grabbing his ankle.
Cold. Strong.
He looked down.
One of the creatures had reached him. Its fingers were wrapped around his leg, its hollow face inches from his own. No eyes. No mouth. Just endless darkness.
It whispered.
"You do not belong here."
A sharp pain shot through Asher's leg as something burned into his skin. He gasped, kicking out with all his strength.
Jeremy grabbed him, yanking him up the stairs. The creature didn't follow.
But it didn't need to.
Because as Asher collapsed onto the stone floor, gasping for breath, he saw it.
The mark.
Burned into his skin, just above his ankle.
A symbol. Ancient. Writhing, like it was alive.
Jeremy's face paled. "What the hell is that?"
The bearded man's expression darkened. "It's a curse."
The blonde woman backed away. "He's marked."
The others did the same, their faces full of fear.
Asher's stomach twisted. "What does it mean?"
The bearded man looked at him.
Then, at the ruins below.
The creatures were still there, staring up at them. Waiting.
The bearded man's voice was grim.
"It means you belong to them now."