Whispers of the Unburied

Part 1: Echoes of the Past

Aedric's footsteps echoed softly as he left the chamber behind. The whispers had faded, their presence lingering only as a dull murmur in the back of his mind. The figures—silent, watching—had not followed him. But their words clung to his skin like a brand.

You return, again and again.

He exhaled slowly, rolling the tension from his shoulders. The air in this passage was different, warmer, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and something else—woodsmoke. Familiar. It reminded him of something long lost, a memory just out of reach.

The corridor opened into a vast cavern, illuminated by the soft glow of luminescent moss clinging to the jagged walls. A narrow stone bridge stretched over a dark abyss, leading to a structure carved into the rock itself—a building untouched by time.

Aedric hesitated. Something about this place felt… safe.

His fingers traced the worn stone railing as he crossed the bridge, his footsteps quieter now, more cautious. He reached the entrance of the ancient dwelling, its door slightly ajar, as if waiting for him to step inside.

For once, nothing whispered. Nothing moved. Only silence.

He stepped forward.

Part 2: A Moment of Solace

Inside, the air was warmer. A single hearth smoldered faintly, casting flickering shadows along the walls. Wooden shelves lined the space, stacked with books, worn scrolls, and relics coated in dust. The scent of aged parchment and dried herbs filled the room, grounding him in something tangible, something real.

Aedric ran his fingers across the spines of the books. The titles were in languages he did not recognize, yet his mind supplied meanings instinctively, as though he had read them before. He paused at one in particular—a leather-bound tome, its cover cracked with age. His own handprint was pressed into the worn surface, as if he had gripped it countless times before.

He opened it.

The pages were filled with careful, deliberate script, yet the ink shifted as he read, rearranging itself into words he could understand.

A journal.

His journal.

His breath caught. Flipping through the pages, he scanned entries written in his own hand—records of places, names, warnings. But the ink blurred at the edges, refusing to let him focus on any single passage for long.

Then, at the very end, one sentence stood clear, burned into the parchment as if written only moments ago:

Do not trust the one who remembers.

Aedric's blood ran cold.

A faint sound—wood creaking—made him snap the book shut.

He was not alone.

Part 3: The Return of the Unseen

Aedric turned sharply, scanning the dim room. The door remained open, the cavern beyond unchanged. Yet the silence had shifted, taking on a weight that had not been there before.

Then, a voice. Low. Measured.

"It took you long enough."

Aedric stilled.

The voice was familiar.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned toward the hearth. A figure sat in the worn wooden chair beside the embers, half-shrouded in shadow. The light flickered, barely reaching the edges of their form, but Aedric recognized them instantly.

Elias Dray.

His twin. His brother.

The one he had thought lost.

The tension in Aedric's chest coiled tight, his mind racing. He should feel something—relief, shock, anything—but all he felt was the unmistakable weight of dread.

Elias leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his expression unreadable. His face was gaunt, his eyes sharp with something unreadable, something calculating.

"You've been running in circles, Aedric," Elias murmured, tilting his head slightly. "Do you even know what you're looking for?"

Aedric's fingers twitched at his sides. His journal sat heavy in his grip.

The one who remembers.

He swallowed. "You tell me."

A flicker of something passed over Elias's face, but it was gone before Aedric could name it.

"Come sit," Elias said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "You must be tired."

The fire crackled softly, filling the space between them.

Aedric did not move.