The second night at Hollowmere arrived under a sky that seemed far too still, almost too perfect to be real. The darkness wrapped around them like a heavy blanket, silent except for a soft, almost inaudible hum that seemed to linger in the air. It was as if the land itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what they would do next. By now, their campsite had fallen into a steady pattern. Mira was already deep into her sketching, her pencil dancing across the pages as she tried to capture the strange, weathered carvings that half-buried themselves in the dirt and stone. She was filling page after page with quick sketches, trying to understand their meaning or maybe just hold onto their mystery. Lina had taken out her notebook and was meticulously mapping the nearby flora, her pen moving with purpose as she traced the shapes of leaves, flowers, and trees. She probably had named most of what she saw, naming unfamiliar plants after familiar ones just to make sense of them. Varyon, meanwhile, had roamed around, scouting out the nearby ruins. He had found the two most climbable structures—ancient stone walls partially crumbled but still sturdy enough to hold his weight—and had claimed them as watchpoints. He sat perched on the edge of one, eyes alert, waiting for any movement or sign of trouble. And Ash, well, Ash was busy experimenting. He was learning how to toast marshmallows over the campfire using only a simple fork, zero shame in his expression. He balanced a melting marshmallow on the prong, watching it turn golden-barm and gooey, as if he was on a mission to perfect some secret recipe.
"I'm not saying I invented campfire cuisine," Ash said with a grin, balancing the charred treat on the edge of his fork. His eyes sparkled with mischief. "But I might be revolutionizing it." He held up his toasted marshmallow, which was more blackened than golden, then gave a shrug as if that made everything okay.
Mira looked over, raising an eyebrow. "Is that… peanut butter?" she asked. Her curiosity was clear, and she pointed to the gooey mess sticking to Ash's make-shift s'more.
Ash nodded proudly, a sly smile playing on his lips. "And a little chili flakes," he added casually. "It's got punch."
Lina's face twisted in concern. Her eyes widened as she looked at Ash's creation. "You're going to die," she said, half-joking but serious enough.
Ash grinned wider. "Gloriously."
They all sat around the fire, not because it was cold — it wasn't — but because it felt right. It was comforting, a natural gathering spot where they could share stories, laughs, and quiet moments. The flames flickered softly, casting warm light on faces that felt more relaxed than they had in days. It was strange in its own way. Normally, Hollowmere with its dense trees, ancient stones, and secrets just beneath the surface wasn't a place that you'd think would feel safe. There was something about the woods here, a subtle pressure that pressed into the edges of their minds when they weren't watching closely. Something that lingered just out of sight, like a breath against the back of your neck or a shadow lurking just beyond the firelight.
After dinner, they wandered into the ruins, moving silently through the dark, finding a spot where they could sit in quiet comfort. The air around them was warm and earthy, filled with the scent of damp moss and decayed wood, heavy with the weight of history. From deeper within the trees, nightbirds called out—soft and distant, as if sharing secrets no outsiders were meant to hear. The silence was deep, but not uncomfortable, a reminder of how small they were against this vast, ancient landscape.
"Remember that camping trip in freshman year?" Ash asked suddenly, flopping back onto a tilted rock that was part of the old ruins. His voice broke the quiet, light and teasing. "The one where Rylan swore he saw a ghost?"
Rylan rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "I did see something," he said firmly.
"Yeah, it was a raccoon," Lina added, grinning at the memory.
"No, it moved like a person," Rylan insisted.
Mira giggled softly. "Because it was walking upright with a stolen bag of chips," she teased.
They all burst into laughter, loud and carefree, breaking the silence of the night. It might have been a little too loud, but they didn't care. The noise felt good, a release from the strange tension Hollowmere had wrapped tightly around their shoulders.
Lina frowned thoughtfully. "We've changed," she said quietly.
They turned to look at her, surprised by the quiet seriousness in her voice.
"I mean… we're still ourselves. But I keep thinking about when we first met. Back then, it was all teasing dares, sharing candy, helping each other cheat on science quizzes," she said softly, her eyes shining with nostalgia.
Ash nodded in agreement. "You really helped me cheat a lot," he said, grinning at her.
"Same difference," Lina said with a shrug.
Rylan looked down, remembering those days. "I thought you guys were too loud at first," he admitted. "Then I realized I'd just gotten used to it."
Varyon, quiet but smiling just slightly, added, "Save it for your diary, Rylan."
Mira shifted her gaze upward, eyes fixed on the stars above the trees. Her voice was soft but meaningful. "Maybe we've done this before."
It was just a thought, a quiet feeling that kept coming back.
That echo of something familiar, something past.
Rylan looked sharply at her and asked, "You said that yesterday too."
Mira nodded, eyes distant. "I know. But it keeps coming back."
They returned to camp just after midnight, their steps slow and deliberate. The night air felt thick, wrapping around them as they moved back toward their tents. Ash, ever eager to help, raised his hand and volunteered to put out the fire. But as soon as he grasped the log to roll it over, he stumbled into a strange moment. The log refused to shift, stubborn and immovable, as if it had a will of its own. Ash pulled and pushed, frustration growing on his face, but the log stubbornly resisted. Mira stepped in quickly, trying to help, her hands fumbling to assist while Ash struggled. Their effort was a quiet clash, almost like a small dance of persistence against stubborn wood. Varyon, watching the scene unfold, muttered darkly about "fire-loving idiots" under his breath. His tone carried a mix of annoyance and amusement. Without waiting, he turned sharply and headed for his tent, his footsteps echoing on the soft ground as he slipped inside and closed the flap behind him.
Lina lingered outside her tent a moment longer, brushing leaves and small twigs from her hair. She seemed lost in thought, her gaze fixed on the dark forest around them. Finally, she broke the silence, speaking softly but loud enough to cut through the quiet. "I'm not sure the trees here like us," she said, her voice carrying a hint of concern. Her words hung in the cool night air, hinting at a strange unease she felt about the forest. Rylan looked around as she spoke. The woods pressed close to the edge of their campsite, shadows flickering along the trees in the moonlight. It wasn't a threatening presence, not yet, but something about the way they watched back made him uneasy. The trees seemed to breathe silently, waiting for something to happen.
He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You're not wrong," he agreed, voice gentle but tinged with tension. He wanted to say more, to tell her about the dream he had again, one that kept replaying in his mind. The one where everything felt so real, so urgent. The dream that made him wonder if it was just a trick of sleep or something more. He'd seen flashes of memories during those moments, like they were sliding into place, puzzle pieces fitting together. Each one made his stomach tighten. Yet, something inside him warned him to hold back. Not yet. Not tonight.
Instead, he turned to Lina with a faint smile. "Night, Lina," he said, voice steady but low. She returned a tired but kind smile, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "See you in the morning," she replied softly. Her voice was light, but her words carried a weight of their own. "Hopefully not in a horror movie," she added, trying to find a bit of humor in the situation.
Later, nestled inside his tent, Rylan lay awake long after everyone else had fallen silent. The campsite was quiet, the only sounds coming from the woods beyond the thin fabric of his tent. Outside, the forest rustled gently in the night breeze, leaves whispering softly. Crickets and insects made their small symphony, punctuated by the occasional distant hoot of an owl. Gradually, all sound faded away — silence so deep that it felt almost tangible, pressing into his ears. Then, just as he began to drift into sleep, he heard it. A whisper. Not words, just a faint, elusive sound that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. It was like a voice not meant for him, or maybe not meant for anyone. Just behind the sound, behind the whisper, was something else — a presence or sensation that he couldn't quite grasp.
Sitting up suddenly, his heart kicked into high gear. His pulse pounded loudly in his ears as he looked out through the thin opening of the tent flap. Turning on his side, he saw what appeared to be a faint glow, not from the fire or the moon, but something else. A strange shimmer of light, golden and soft, moved just beyond the line of the trees and the old stones nearby. It was subtle—almost like breathing, a slow inhale and exhale beneath the roots of a giant, ancient tree. He took a cautious step forward, one foot silently pressing into the dirt, heart pounding louder. The glow shimmered and then suddenly vanished, gone as quickly as it had appeared. The woods looked as they did before—the trees, the stones, the shadows. But Rylan didn't feel the same. That quiet, calm forest had shifted somehow; the sense of normalcy was gone.
He stared at his hand, fingers trembling slightly. No burn, no mark, no flame, only a faint warmth lingering on his palm. A strange heat that didn't feel like his own. It was as if the world had reached out and touched him deep inside, leaving behind a small, inexplicable mark that wasn't visible but impossible to ignore. A prickling sensation spread through his fingers and up his arm, a cold reminder that whatever he had seen or felt wasn't just a trick of the mind. It was real. And it mattered more than he could yet understand. It was like the land itself remembered its secrets, secrets it was now trying to share with him. The quiet night pressed harder against him, full of unanswered questions and hidden warnings. His breathing was slow but deliberate, every fiber alert to every slightest movement in the darkness. Whatever he had experienced wasn't just an illusion. It was a sign—a warning or perhaps an invitation—and he knew, deep down, that he couldn't ignore it.