The Descent

The oppressive weight of the island settled over the group like a suffocating blanket as they stepped deeper into the temple's entrance. The dense fog outside had dulled the world beyond its boundaries, and the thick canopy of trees ensured that no sunlight could penetrate the suffocating darkness within the temple walls. It was as if the island wanted to swallow them whole, to erase them as it had done with Mark's brother.

Mark stood at the threshold, gripping his flashlight so tightly his knuckles had turned white. His breath was shallow, his chest tight with the dread creeping up from his gut. He stared into the yawning mouth of the temple, its darkened corridors seeming to pulse, beckoning him deeper into the unknown. The whisper—his brother's voice—still echoed faintly in his mind. He had heard it. He knew he had heard it. There was no mistaking that tone, that inflection. But how?

"Mark?" Lena's voice cut through the thick silence, her tone edged with concern. She stood by the entrance, her arms crossed over her chest, eyes darting around the ancient walls, scanning for movement. "What are we doing here? This place... it feels wrong."

Mark didn't answer immediately. He was focused on the temple's inner sanctum, the heavy air growing colder with every step they took inside. The rest of the group lingered at the entrance, their faces shadowed by doubt and unease. Carter, usually full of excitement and curiosity, was unnaturally quiet. His camera, usually humming with activity, hung limply around his neck, as if even he could sense the dread suffusing the air.

Eva hadn't moved from the spot where she had heard the first whisper. She stood still, her body tense, one hand hovering near the stone wall covered in strange, intricate carvings. Her eyes traced the symbols, her brows furrowed in deep thought. There was something about the markings—something familiar, something ancient, though she couldn't place it. Her lips parted as if she were about to say something, but then they pressed shut again. Eva wasn't one to speak without certainty, and right now, she felt anything but certain.

"This place is ancient," Carter finally muttered, his voice hushed as if he didn't want to disturb the silence. He raised his camera, adjusting the lens as he panned over the carvings. The sound of the shutter breaking through the tension was almost jarring. "These symbols… they're not random. They're part of some kind of ritual, maybe sacrificial."

"That's what you always say," Jess snapped, her voice shaky. She was leaning against the cold stone wall, arms wrapped tightly around her middle as if she were trying to hold herself together. The eerie whispers hadn't faded from her mind, either. "Sacrifices, rituals—Carter, this isn't a horror movie."

Carter ignored her, stepping closer to the wall and focusing his camera on the strange runes etched into the stone. He moved the flashlight along the surface, revealing more symbols hidden beneath the layers of moss and decay. His eyes gleamed with something dark—obsession, perhaps. He had always been a thrill-seeker, someone who lived for the unknown. And this place was feeding that hunger.

Mark, however, wasn't listening to any of them. He stood near the temple's inner sanctum, frozen in place, his mind spiraling. That voice—his brother's voice. It had sounded so real, so close. A part of him wondered if it was all in his head, if the isolation of this place was already working on his mind. But deep down, he knew better. Something was here.

"Mark," Lena tried again, her voice firmer now, her professional instincts kicking in. "We need to get out of here. This isn't right. We don't know what we're dealing with."

He shook his head, the movement almost robotic. "We have to go further. I have to know what happened to him."

Lena stepped closer, her hand gently brushing his arm. "We all need answers, but this isn't the way to get them. This place… it's dangerous."

But Mark wasn't hearing her anymore. His gaze was fixed on the dark passageway that led deeper into the temple. The air here was colder, almost freezing, and the whispers seemed louder, swirling around them like a dark fog. The carvings on the walls shifted in the low light, taking on strange, almost hypnotic shapes.

"Mark..." The voice again. Clearer this time. Louder. It echoed through the corridor, unmistakably his brother's. He took a step forward, as if drawn by some invisible force, his feet moving on their own accord.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered, though his voice was barely audible. His heart pounded against his ribs, cold sweat slicking his palms.

"Hear what?" Jess asked, her voice sharp with fear. She stood back, glancing nervously at the others. "I didn't hear anything."

Mark's eyes flicked to her, confusion and frustration battling for control. "You didn't hear him? My brother—he's calling out. I know you heard it."

Eva's eyes, previously fixed on the carvings, darted toward Mark. Her face was a mask of disbelief. "Mark, no one said anything."

But Mark wasn't listening anymore. He couldn't. The voice—the one voice he'd been waiting to hear for five years—was calling him again, this time more desperate, more pained.

"Mark... please, help me."

Without another word, Mark plunged into the darkness, his flashlight beam shaking as he hurried down the narrow corridor. The others, startled by his sudden movement, hesitated.

"Wait!" Lena called after him, her voice panicked. She exchanged a quick glance with Eva and Carter before running after him. "We shouldn't split up!"

Eva stood frozen for a moment longer, her mind racing. Something was wrong—terribly wrong—but she couldn't let Mark go alone. Not again. Not after everything they had been through. She broke into a run, following the others into the dark corridor, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the thick silence.

Carter lagged behind, his camera still rolling as he followed, muttering curses under his breath. He didn't believe in ghosts, but even he could sense something was horribly off about this place. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and the familiar weight of dread settled into his chest.

The corridor narrowed as they went deeper, the stone walls pressing in on them from both sides. The air was damp, thick with the stench of mold and rot, and every breath tasted like decay. Their footsteps echoed unnaturally, as if the temple itself were amplifying the sound, mocking them.

Suddenly, Mark stopped. The others nearly collided into him as he froze, his flashlight beam shaking.

"What is it?" Lena asked breathlessly, her voice tense.

Mark didn't respond at first. He stared ahead, his breath shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly. In front of him, the passage opened into a large chamber. The stone walls curved inward, forming a domed ceiling high above them, and the floor was covered in a layer of thick, undisturbed dust. But it was what stood in the center of the chamber that made his blood run cold.

A stone altar. Old, cracked, and weathered, it stood ominously in the center of the room, like a monument to something long forgotten. Strange symbols were carved into the stone, similar to those on the walls, but more elaborate, more intricate. And there, lying on the altar, was something wrapped in old, decaying cloth.

"Is that..." Carter whispered, stepping forward despite the knot of fear tightening in his stomach. He raised his camera, zooming in on the altar. "What the hell is that?"

Mark's heart raced, his eyes fixed on the altar. The whispering had stopped. The chamber was deathly silent, the air so still it felt like the temple was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Jess moved cautiously around the room, her fingers trailing along the walls as she examined the carvings. "This is insane," she muttered under her breath. "Why did we come back here, Mark? What are we even looking for?"

Lena didn't say anything, but the look on her face said it all. She was terrified. Her eyes flicked between the altar and the corridor behind them, as if she were debating whether to run or stay.

Mark finally moved, his feet carrying him toward the altar. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to stop, to turn around and leave this place. But he couldn't. He needed to know. He had come too far to turn back now.

He reached the altar, his hands shaking as he reached out and pulled back the decaying cloth. The smell of death hit him instantly—thick, choking, overwhelming. But what lay beneath the cloth wasn't a body. Not exactly.

It was a pile of bones, old and brittle, arranged in a strange, deliberate pattern. And at the center of the pile, clutched in what remained of a skeletal hand, was a small, silver pendant.

Mark's breath caught in his throat. He recognized it instantly.

It was his brother's.

He stumbled back, his legs weak, his vision swimming. How was this possible? How could his brother's pendant be here, in this temple, when they had never found his body?

"Mark?" Eva's voice was soft, uncertain. "What is it?"

He couldn't speak. He just stared at the bones, the pendant, the cold realization settling over him like a suffocating blanket.

His brother was dead.

But then... who had been calling out to him?