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The village was a strange place, its eerie stillness pressing against Lisa's mind like an unspoken threat. She had seen its edges—the fog rolling in with the twilight, thick enough to suffocate any sound. But it was not the mist that filled her with dread. It was the sense of isolation, of time standing still, as though this place was forgotten by the world, untouched by the living.
As Lisa wandered deeper into the strange abode she had found shelter in, the sensation grew. Her mind struggled to piece together fragments of her thoughts, but the unease gnawed at her. Why was she here? What was the purpose of this village, of this fog?
That's when she found the notes. Crumpled, faded, the ink nearly indecipherable, save for the signature at the bottom—J.T.. A name she didn't recognize, but something about it stirred a faint recollection. She examined the pages, tracing over the tangled script, wishing she could decipher the hidden meanings. But they were out of reach. Only one thing about the letter was clear—the signature. It was a trace of something... familiar, but she couldn't place it.
She sat by the window, staring out into the dense fog. Her mind drifted, heavy with questions she couldn't answer. The fog seemed to breathe with her, as though the village itself was alive, watching, waiting. It stretched across the land like a veil, concealing what lay beyond—those stone obelisks. Tall, imposing, standing like silent sentinels in the dark forest. They formed a square around the village, as if trapping it. But what purpose did they serve?
Lisa's thoughts began to swirl as the images of the obelisks and the strange, silent forest intermingled with memories from her past. A cold, sharp feeling crept into her chest, a whisper of something from far away—something that she couldn't grasp. She couldn't let go of the question that had been haunting her since they arrived: Was the creature we saw earlier a threat to the village?
But as she searched, no evidence emerged to confirm her suspicion. Only emptiness. Silence. And then, a sudden diversion—the sweet, calming scent of lavender.
She turned toward the nearby shelf. There it was—a small white pot, cradling a lavender plant, its vibrant purple blossoms glowing softly in the dim light. It was so out of place here, surrounded by the dampness of the forest. Lavender didn't grow in places like this. It didn't belong.
She reached out, her fingers brushing the leaves. The delicate fragrance filled her senses, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Her chest tightened, the scent unlocking a flood of memories she had long buried. The lavender reminded her of home, of the field near her village, where her people lived in quiet harmony. She could almost hear the laughter of her parents, the soft murmur of the wind through the lavender fields, the warmth of her mother's embrace.
Her throat constricted. She wiped away the first tear before it had a chance to fall.
"Why is it here?" she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. But as she stood there, surrounded by the strange stillness, she knew the answer. This plant was a link—a reminder of something deep within her that had never truly faded.
Her memories clung to the lavender, to the village she had grown up in—far from here, far from everything. She had been small, different from the others, with magic that had come to her easily and early. She had always been more comfortable in the silence of books than in the chaos of the village. Her father had been her teacher, the one who had shown her how to channel her magic, to make it her own.
But that was before he died.
The tears came then, and Lisa let them fall. Her father had died fighting to protect their village, protecting his family and friends from the horrors of slavers—those who preyed upon the most vulnerable. His death, along with the others who fell that day, had left a scar on Lisa that would never heal. The lavender, in its gentle, perfect form, was more than just a plant. It was a symbol. One that tied her back to her father's memory, to her mother's love, and to a life that seemed so distant now.
"I miss him," Lisa whispered, voice cracking.
Yuna and Rite stood silently nearby, watching as Lisa's pain unfolded in front of them. Neither spoke for a long time.
When Lisa finally composed herself, she explained in a hoarse voice. "This lavender... It was my father's gift. It's a symbol of my people, of our traditions. It's something I thought I'd left behind."
Rite spoke up, his voice cautious. "But how did it end up here? In a place like this?"
Lisa turned her gaze toward the window again, her eyes still red. "I don't know. But it feels like a thread, connecting me to something greater, something buried in this place. It's like the village... it's not just a village. It's more than that."
Yuna nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. She stared at the fog outside, feeling the weight of the silence press in around her.
The fog shifted outside, a slow, deliberate pull that seemed to exhale like a breath, and for a moment, the village felt suspended in time. And then, the sound. It wasn't the growl of the creature they had seen earlier. It wasn't a roar, either. It was a cry—faint, distant, but unmistakable.
Like a mother's call.
Yuna's heart pounded in her chest as the cry echoed in her mind. Something was below them, beneath the village. Something calling out.
The silence in the room deepened. "She's in pain," Yuna whispered, her voice barely audible.
Lisa and Rite exchanged looks, uneasy.
"Who?" Lisa asked, voice thin with uncertainty.
Yuna shook her head, her eyes wide with realization. "I don't know. But someone is trapped... Below us."
Rite's face hardened. "Could it be the one who left the notes? J.T.?"
Yuna remained silent. She didn't answer—not because she couldn't, but because deep in her heart, she knew it wasn't J.T. who was calling out. The voice she felt? It was older, more familiar.
And for the first time in years, Yuna's chest tightened with a mix of grief and something else—something unspoken, something deep within her.
As they stared out at the obelisks, Lisa noticed them flicker faintly, as if weakening under some unseen force. "Rite... Do you feel that? They're weakening."
Rite's jaw clenched. "If the seals are breaking, whatever's down there won't be contained for much longer."
Yuna turned to face them, her expression hardening. "We have to find the source. Whatever is breaking this seal, we need to stop it. Before someone else does."
"Who's 'we'?" Rite asked, raising an eyebrow.
Yuna met his gaze. Her voice was steady, unyielding. "I will do it. I have to."