For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The mist hung thick between them, curling around the shattered remains of the beast. The black fluid that had once been flesh no longer twitched. It had begun to sink into the ground, disappearing between cracks in the pavement as if the earth itself drank it willingly.
The stranger stood still, head tilted, as if listening to something Søren could not hear.
Then, slowly, they turned to leave.
"Wait-" Søren called out, voice rough. He pushed himself up from the ground, legs still shaking. "Please. Just… what was that thing?"
The figure stopped mid-step, vines around their face twitching slightly.
Søren stepped closer. "Why did the town go silent? Why did everyone disappear? What's happening to this place?"
"You ask too many questions for someone who was almost eaten alive."
"I deserve to know," Søren said, harsher than he meant to.
The figure tilted their head, amused.
"I am Bryony," they said at last. "Named after the vine that clings to the ruins of old places." Their hand brushed the vines around their eyes as if to emphasize the connection. "I took the name when I stopped being someone else."
Søren stared. The name meant nothing to him, yet it felt heavy like it carried more than just identity. It felt like a title. A warning.
Bryony took a step closer, the thorns rustling softly as they moved. "And you, stranger, haven't given your name."
Søren hesitated. He almost didn't want to say it, like saying it out loud would mark him, make him more real to this place.
"…Søren, Søren Mørkeberg."
"A name with weight. I wonder if it will hold."
Søren swallowed hard. "You still haven't answered me. Why did the town disappear? What's happening here?"
Bryony turned, slowly, facing deeper into the mist-covered alleyways. They lifted one arm and pointed not toward any place Søren recognized, but toward a street swallowed in gray.
"If you want to understand, you'll need to come with me." They said.
Their voice, as before, was both male and female. Soft as a lullaby, sharp as a blade. It resonated with something beneath the skin.
Søren hesitated.
His instinct screamed at him to not follow. To turn and run. But where would he run to? The world had already shifted under his feet. The streets were no longer what they were. The silence wasn't natural. The creature that chased him should not exist. And he had seen himself change in the mirror, in the dark.
Something inside him was unraveling.
Then, faintly, like a whisper from the depths of the sea, he heard it again.
A voice not his own.
"Follow."
He turned around. No one there.
"You must see."
It wasn't sound. Not really. More like a thought planted too deep to be his.
Søren clenched his fists.
He looked back at Bryony, who waited without impatience, as though they already knew the choice he would make.
And maybe… they did.
"I'll go," Søren said. His voice barely a breath.
Bryony nodded. "Then don't stray. The town is not asleep. It only pretends."
They turned, vines swaying gently, and began to walk. Søren followed, one step at a time, deeper into the mist-choked veins of a place that was no longer Eyemouth.
And as he walked, the silence returned.
But this time, he could feel the eyes watching.
***
They walked for what felt like hours through fog that bent around every corner, swallowing streets and sky alike. Søren followed silently, always a few cautious steps behind Bryony, whose strange gait never faltered, whose thorns made no sound on the ground.
And then, suddenly it all changed.
As if they had passed through an invisible membrane, the fog simply vanished. Not faded, but ceased, as if the world had blinked. The transition was so abrupt Søren stumbled for a moment, blinking against the sudden light.
They stood in the middle of a cobbled street bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon. The town was alive. Shops stood open. Pedestrians walked in clusters, chatting and laughing. A cyclist passed by, humming a tune. Birds flitted between the rooftops. Somewhere nearby, the distinct hiss of an espresso machine punctuated the chatter of a crowded café.
Søren's heart pounded not with relief, but confusion.
"This… this wasn't here, just a moment ago, the streets were empty. Silent. There was fog, and-"
Bryony gestured to a small café tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore. "Let's sit."
Søren followed them in, head still turning this way and that, as if reality might flicker back to that empty, haunted version of the town at any moment.
The café was warm and filled with the comforting smell of cinnamon and roasted beans. Soft music played in the background. People were everywhere, students hunched over laptops, couples chatting quietly, a toddler giggling at a pastry. The barista gave them a small nod, not even glancing twice at the vines and fluid trailing from Bryony's face.
Søren couldn't stop staring.
"Why is no one looking at you?" he whispered across the small table. "You... you look like something out of a nightmare. I mean no offense, but… shouldn't people be screaming? Calling the police?"
Bryony tilted their head. "There's nothing to worry about," they said, lifting a ceramic cup to their mouth. "It's always like this."
Søren's eyes narrowed. "Always like what?"
But Bryony didn't elaborate.
They set the cup down gently and leaned back in their chair, the vines around their face shifting ever so slightly. Søren noticed the fluid again, thick, brownish, and faintly steaming where it touched the air. It dripped without urgency, like sap from a wounded tree.
"The thing you saw earlier," Bryony said after a pause, "was once a dog."
Søren sat straighter. "That thing... that was a dog?"
Bryony nodded.
"A regular, household dog, it lived, it barked, it loved its owner. And then something… touched it. Changed it. The transformation wasn't sudden. It never is. First the mind frays. Then the shape follows."
"Touched by what?"
Bryony turned slightly, staring at nothing. "By what's already here. All around us. The world is full of it now. The air. The water. The silence in people's bones. Some call it Corruption. Others call it Awakening."
Søren felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
"I'm sorry," he said slowly, "but what does this have to do with me?"
Bryony's gaze slid back to him. Their smile remained, but it no longer felt comforting.
"If you keep ignoring what's around you," they said softly, "you'll become like the dog. Twisted. Forgotten. Hollowed out and filled with something else."
Søren leaned forward, voice trembling. "Ignoring what? What am I supposed to be seeing?"
"The cracks," Bryony whispered. "The bleeding edges. The things that don't fit. The world has changed, Søren. It's still changing. Most people choose not to notice. They hold tightly to routine, to comfort, to the lie that everything's fine."
Søren shook his head. "But I see them now. I saw that thing. I saw myself change in the hospital."
Bryony gave a slow, sad nod. "Yes. But even now, you doubt yourself. You want to believe you're dreaming. That this café, these people, are real and safe."
A cold dread slipped into Søren's spine.
He looked around again.
And for the first time, something felt off.
Too many people were smiling. Their faces didn't change. Their conversations moved in loops, like audio stuck on repeat. The toddler hadn't stopped giggling. Not once.
Søren turned back to Bryony. His voice was a whisper. "Then what do I do?"
Bryony laced their fingers on the table, thorns faintly pressing into their palms.
"You need to learn how to see, you're still between two states. Flesh and memory. Noise and silence. What you become depends on where your eyes settle."
Søren stared at his hands.
"I don't want to become like that dog."
"Then don't turn away."
"I'm not trying to-"
"But you will," Bryony interrupted gently. "Everyone does, at first. We are creatures of comfort. Denial is easy."
The café grew quieter, somehow, even though the voices didn't stop. Everything sounded farther away. Slower. Like the air had thickened around them.
"Come with me," Bryony said, standing. "I'll show you where the cracks go deepest. If you truly want to understand… if you truly want to stay human… there's no other path."
Søren hesitated.
Every instinct told him to run. To pretend this conversation never happened. To bury it deep and return to a world of phone screens and bus schedules and background music.
But beneath all that… something called to him.
A whisper, low and patient, like waves brushing the shore in a place he could no longer remember.
"Go. See. Remember."
He stood slowly.
And followed.