The village that forgets

The elder's voice settled over them like dust, quiet yet suffocating.

"Welcome to Duskwatch Hollow."

Eris had expected something after that—some explanation, some warning—but the old man simply turned and walked away, his steps oddly light for someone his age. The door remained open behind him, swaying slightly in the night breeze.

Beyond it, the village sat in eerie stillness. They held lanterns which they picked up on the way as led by the elder. They flickered weakly against thick, creeping fog, their glow barely pushing back the gloom as they trudged on. There were no distant conversations, no laughter from homes, no scurrying of night creatures. Just silence. The kind that listened.

No one had told them to follow, yet something about the way the elder left made it clear: They had no choice.

The path through Duskwatch Hollow wound between twisting branches and creeping vines. Lanterns from the houses flickered weakly, their glow barely pushing back the encroaching darkness in the village. The air carried the scent of damp earth, faintly sweet herbs, and something stale—like old parchment left to decay.

The elder led the way, his back straight, his movements precise. He had not offered them his name, and none of them dared to ask.

Eris walked beside Aven and Ash, their presence a small comfort against the creeping unease pressing in from all sides. The village was too quiet, as if the very air held its breath. There were houses, lanterns, signs of life, yet something vital was missing.

"Where are the villagers?"

She opened her mouth to ask but hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself. Instead, she focused on the elder's words.

"You were invited," he had said earlier when they had started after him, as if that meant something.

As if they had a choice.

"You must be tired from your journey," he continued now, his voice steady and measured. "Tonight, you will rest. Tomorrow, the weaver will explain everything."

Fox, who had been walking a few steps behind, frowned. "Who is the weaver?"

The elder gave a slight nod though there was no warmth in his tone..."A great honor" He continued though his expression did not change. "You have come to help our village weave."

Eris exchanged a wary glance with Ash, but neither of them spoke.

The way he said it sent an uneasy shiver down her spine.

The words sat uneasily in the air as no one responded.

Orlen didn't react much either. But Eris saw the way his eyes flicked toward the elder's hands—scarred and calloused, the nails slightly darker than they should be. A trace of something old. Something wrong.

Eris wasn't the only one who noticed.

Aven shifted uncomfortably. Ash muttered under his breath.

Orlen, though, remained still.

It was the stillness of someone who had seen this pattern before.

The building they were led to was older than the others, dark wood worn and warped by time. It smelled of dried herbs and burning wood, the air thick with something both medicinal and wrong. A long wooden table sat in the center, already set with plates of pale, unfamiliar food. A fire burned in the hearth, but its warmth felt oddly distant.

A woman stood at the far end of the room, fingers stained dark—not with ink, not with dye.

"This is Isolde," the elder introduced, voice measured. "She will see to your healing."

She moved between them with a careful grace, never rushing, never hesitating. Unlike other healers Eris had seen, she carried no bandages, no salves. Instead, she raised her hands and traced glowing sigils in the air. Pale light shimmered at her fingertips before sinking into their skin. Wounds closed without touch. Bruises faded like ink washed from parchment.

When she reached Eris, the magic sent an unsettling chill through her bones. It wasn't pain—it was something deeper, something that made her stomach twist.

Isolde met her gaze, and for the briefest moment, something flickered behind her expression.

"You shouldn't have come here," she murmured.

The words were so quiet that for a second, Eris thought she had imagined them. But before she could react, Isolde had already moved on, her hands weaving more glyphs over the next person.

The meal that followed was eaten in uneasy silence. The food, though filling, had no real taste. Hunger made them eat, but each bite felt heavier than the last.

At the head of the table, the elder watched them—not with the warmth of a host, but with the patience of someone waiting for something inevitable.

When the bowls were empty, he finally spoke again.

"You will sleep here tonight." His gaze swept over them. "There are five rooms. Three to a bed." He gestured to the narrow hallway.

There were glances, shifting and uncertain, but before anyone could protest, his voice dropped to something low and deliberate.

"One more thing."

The fire flickered, casting restless shadows against the walls.

"This village is not safe at night."

A chill settled over the room, a different kind of silence stretching between them.

The elder's fingers drummed once against the table before he spoke again.

"No matter what you hear, do not listen. Do not answer. Do not open your doors."

His words felt like a nail being hammered into place, something that could not be undone.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he stood.

"Rest well."

Eris ended up in a small room with Aven and Ash. The only furniture was a single bed, its thin blanket smelling faintly of dust and something bitter. The window shutters were locked. The air was stale.

Orlen had taken a room alone, claiming he preferred space.

But something about the way he said it… it felt more like a precaution than a preference.

By midnight, Eris heard a knock and stirred confused. She had almost forgotten that she was in a different realm from home if not for the hard bed beneath her and the uncomfortable stomach.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Eris's eyes snapped open.

At first, she thought she had dreamed it. The room was dim, lit only by the weak glow slipping under the door from the dying fire outside.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound was soft. Rhythmic. Almost careful.

Then—

"Shade?"

Her breath hitched.

She knew that voice.

Fox.

"Shade? It's me. My roommates are behaving weirdly." His voice was a quiet whisper, distraught yet familiar. "Can you open the door. I'll appreciate it if I could lodge here tonight instead. I can sleep on the floor."

Her hand moved the blankets before she could think—

Then she froze.

Fox's room was at the end of the hall.

For him to be standing outside her door, he would have had to walk past every other room.

And yet—

She had heard no footsteps.

No creaking floorboards.

Just his voice, right outside the door.

The firelight flickered.

Her gaze drifted to the gap beneath the door, and her stomach clenched.

The shadow beneath the door was wrong. Not the shape of a person. Too stretched. Too thin.

A trap.

She swallowed hard and forced her breath to steady. Slowly, she turned her head, her eyes adjusting to the dimness.

Aven lay still beside her, breathing slow and even—too even. Pretending.

Ash's fingers twitched slightly. Also awake.

Neither of them reacted.

The knocking continued.

"Shade? Are you awake?"

Then—

Click.

The handle turned.

A cold pressure coiled in her chest, but she forced herself to stay still.

Silence.

Then—

A breath. Long. Lingering. Right outside the door.

Eris didn't move. She didn't answer.

The presence lingered.

Then, finally—

It left.

Eris wasn't sure how she slept that night. She was very terrified.

Morning came too soon.

A sharp knock echoed through the house—real, solid this time.

"Wake up," a voice belonging to a villager called. "Breakfast is being served at the table. You need to be early or else you might go weaving while starving".

Eris sat up, exhaustion pressing against her bones. Aven and Ash stirred beside her, equally drained. They dressed in silence, their movements slow, before making it to the hall.

As Eris glanced around, she noticed something. The number of people here wasn't complete.

The dining hall felt heavier than before. Plates of pale fruit and unfamiliar grains sat untouched, the air thick with something unspoken.

Eris wanted to ask questions, she wanted to know where the missing people went and why the villagers were behaving like nobody was gone. They were thirteen last night but now they were eleven. But fear held her back. She looked at Aven and Ash...they both behaved like all was well and so Eris swallowed in her words keeping mute.

Maybe somebody would soon ask on her behalf, she hoped - at least to break the silence even if no reply was given. The silence was too stimulating and made her more fearful.

Cinder soon cracked first. She pushed her bowl away, her fingers tense against the table. "Where are they?" Her voice broke the silence like a splintering branch.

No one answered.

Gray - another boy - shifted on his seat uncomfortably. His jaw was tight, and his gaze flicking toward the empty seats. "They wouldn't just leave." His voice wavered, just slightly.

The other newbies exchanged glances wanting to talk but fear kept them. They weren't alone at the table. Nia kept glancing toward the door as if expecting Fox or Leon to walk in. Reed tapped his spoon against the table in sharp, anxious beats.

"We need to ask the elder," Nia said, her voice whispered in fright not daring to face the elder herself. "We can't just—just sit here!". She was careful to not make so much noise but it was futile.

One of the villagers, a woman probably a servant, pouring tea paused mid-pour.

The air shifted.

Slowly, she set the teapot down. Lifted her head and smiled with the warmth of a host.

"Ask about who, dear?"

Nia's breath hitched.

Fox's seat was empty.

Leon's seat was empty.

Yet—there were no gaps at the table.

As if they had never been there at all.

"They were with us last night," Ash said, his voice quieter now, colder. "You saw them."

The servant's smile didn't waver.

"You must be mistaken."

Nia let out a sharp breath. "This is bullshit—"

A heavy thump echoed through the room.

The elder had set his cup down.

All conversation died.

His gaze swept over them, slow and patient.

"You should eat," he said.

No one moved. No one spoke. The weight of the village pressed in around them. And for the first time, Eris truly understood.

They were already losing before they understood what was going on.