Chapter 17: The Girl in the Dead Forest
The petrified trees groaned as the wind carved through them, their skeletal branches scraping against one another like the teeth of the Hollow Maw. Jack's boots crunched over brittle earth, his senses sharp, his instincts coiled tight. Every shadow stretched too long in this place, every whisper in the wind carried the faintest echo of something that shouldn't be there.
Elara matched his pace, her gloved fingers twitching toward the demon box in her pocket. The weight of it had grown heavier since they left Lorian, as if the thing inside knew it was being taken far from its master. She glanced at Jack's profile—his sharp jaw set, his dark eyes scanning the dead forest with predatory focus.
"You feel it too," she murmured.
Jack didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on a patch of disturbed earth where the roots of a petrified oak twisted upward like grasping fingers. "This forest isn't just dead," he said at last. "It's remembering."
Then—
A sound.
Not the wind. Not the trees.
A child's whisper.
"Lost…"
Jack stopped. His hand shot out, halting Elara mid-step. His eyes locked onto the underbrush where shadows pooled unnaturally thick.
Elara's breath caught. The whisper had come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
A small figure emerged.
A girl. No older than eight. Her dress was stitched from dried leaves and patches of faded cloth, her bare feet blackened with dirt. But her eyes—
Her eyes were wrong.
Pupils swallowed the whites, leaving only voids that glistened like wet ink. She tilted her head, sniffing the air like a hound catching a scent.
"Me," she said, her voice too soft, too deliberate.
Jack's fingers flexed. His aura unfurled like a stormfront, darkness seeping from his pores, pressing against the air. The girl flinched, her small frame trembling as tears welled in those black eyes.
"I… I'm…"
"Stop," Elara hissed, stepping between them. "You're scaring her."
Jack didn't relent. His gaze remained locked on the girl. "Little thing like this doesn't belong in a place like this."
Elara knelt, forcing a smile. "Little sister, what's your name? Why are you out here alone?"
The girl's trembling eased slightly as she focused on Elara. "Beautiful sister… I'm CeeCee. I was separated from my brother and friends."
Jack's jaw tightened. He didn't trust the way the girl's voice lilted, too melodic, too rehearsed.
"We can't help you," he said flatly, turning away.
Elara shot him a glare but didn't argue. She gave CeeCee an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. We have to go."
The girl didn't protest. She simply nodded and turned back to the undergrowth, her small hands parting the dead foliage as she disappeared into the shadows.
Jack didn't wait. He strode forward, his senses still prickling.
Elara caught up. "She was just a child."
"No," Jack said. "Children don't survive in forests like this."
---
They walked in silence for another hour before Jack stopped again. His darkness senses something.
"Something's following us."
Elara stiffened. "The girl?"
"Maybe. Or something worse."
The trees ahead were different—not petrified, but *warped*. Their trunks twisted unnaturally, bark split open in jagged gashes that oozed a thick, black sap. The air here was heavier, the scent metallic and sweet.
Then Jack saw it.
Footprints.
Small. Bare.
Leading deeper into the warped grove.
Elara exhaled sharply. "She's leading us somewhere."
Jack's lips curled. "Let's see where."
---
The trees opened into a clearing.
Statues stood in a ring, their forms humanoid but elongated, their faces smoothed into featureless masks. At their feet lay offerings—rotting fruit, rusted coins, and bones. Fresh bones.
CeeCee stood at the center, her back to them, humming a tuneless song.
Then she turned.
Her mouth was too wide.
Her teeth were too sharp.
*"You followed,"* she said, her voice no longer that of a child. It was layered, echoing with something far older.
Jack's hand shot to his dagger. "What are you?"
The thing wearing CeeCee's skin giggled. "A sniffer. A seeker. The Maw's little hound."
Elara's gloves sparked. "Lorian sent you."
The girl's head lolled to the side, her neck bending at an impossible angle. "Not Lorian. The Hollow Maw. It misses its toys."
Jack stepped forward. "I'm no toy.Tell it to come get us itself." Jack took the demon box from Elara and threw it at CeeCee , it was the demon essence he got from the headmaster.
"You fooled it you didn't consume it but no matter she did", CeeCee turned to look at Elara you flinched.
The girl's grin split wider. "It will.It will come get you."
Then the statues moved.
Their blank faces cracked open, revealing rows of needle teeth.
---
The statues lunged.
Jack's dagger flashed, carving through the first one's throat. Black sap sprayed, sizzling where it struck the ground. Elara's gloves ignited, threads of crimson energy lashing out, slicing through another's torso.
CeeCee watched, giggling, her form flickering like a dying candle.
"Run, run, little mice," she sang. "The Maw is waking."
The earth trembled.
Deep below, something *shifted*.
Jack grabbed Elara's wrist. "We're leaving."
They sprinted from the clearing as the statues shrieked behind them, their limbs elongating, their bodies contorting in pursuit. The trees themselves seemed to reach for them, branches snapping like whips.
Then—
A gate.
Rusted iron, half-buried in the earth, its bars twisted into the shape of screaming faces.
Jack didn't hesitate. He kicked it open, shoving Elara through before diving after her.
The gate slammed shut behind them.
Silence.
They stood in a graveyard.
Not of the dead.
Of the *forgotten*.
---
The town of the graveyard was submerged.
Not in water.
In *memory*.
Buildings stood crooked, their foundations sunken into the earth as if the ground had swallowed them halfway. The air smelled of salt and mildew, the streets lined with blackened lanterns that flickered with ghostly flames.
Elara's breath fogged in the unnatural chill. "Where are we?"
Jack's eyes scanned the ruins. "A place the outside the Veil."
Then the whispers started.
Not from the wind.
From the *lanterns*.
"…help us…"
*"…so hungry…"*
"…he's coming… the Starved.... Saint"
Jack's grip on his dagger tightened. "We're not alone."
A figure emerged from the mist.
Tall. Gaunt. Dripping with something that wasn't water.
Its mouth was sewn shut.
Its eyes were full of stars.
---
The figure didn't speak.
It didn't need to.
The hunger in its gaze said enough.
Jack stepped forward, his shadow stretching unnaturally long behind him. "You're the one they whisper about. The Starved Saint."
The figure tilted its head. The stitches on its lips strained, as if something behind them struggled to break free.
Elara's voice was barely a whisper. "Jack… what is this place?"
Jack's smile was razor-thin. "A town that worshipped the wrong god."
The Starved Saint raised a skeletal hand, pointing to the largest sunken building—a church, its steeple broken, its doors hanging open like a gaping maw.
Inside, candles burned with black flames.
And figures knelt in prayer.
Not living.
Not dead.
*Something in between.*
Jack exhaled, his breath curling like smoke.
"Perfect."
He stepped forward, toward the church.
Toward ...
---