Dark Path (Part 7)

The little girl's words echoed in Elara and Rayen's minds. A clock tower… and stopping the clock.

Elara locked eyes with the girl. "Do you know where the clock tower is?"

The girl nodded. "Yes… but it never stays in the same place."

Rayen took a deep breath, frustration evident in his voice. "I don't understand. Why does this city keep changing?"

Elara looked around. The path they had taken earlier no longer looked the same. The once-open alleys were now blocked. Buildings swayed gently in the wind, as if something unseen was shifting them from one place to another.

Rayen murmured under his breath, "It's like someone built this place as a maze…"

The girl turned to face them both. "We have to find the clock tower quickly. If we take too long… the city will push us back."

Elara narrowed her eyes. "Back? Back where?"

The girl hesitated for a second before replying, "Back to where you started."

Rayen looked at Elara, suspicion creeping into his voice. "What if she's lying to us?"

Elara considered it for a moment. But truthfully, they had no other choice.

"We have no other way." She made her decision. "Let's go."

The girl nodded and grabbed their hands. She started walking fast—too fast for someone so small, as if she already knew exactly where to go.

But as they hurried through the alleys, the city began shifting again.

A narrow street suddenly vanished, replaced by a solid brick wall. A once-familiar alley now led to nothingness. A house that had been far away before was now right in front of them.

Rayen rubbed his eyes. "This… this isn't possible."

The girl's voice turned urgent. "We need to keep moving. If we stop, the city will twist again and trap us."

Elara inhaled sharply. They had only one option left—

Keep moving. No matter what.

They had only taken a few steps when suddenly—footsteps echoed behind them.

At first, they were faint. But then—faster. Closer. As if someone was right behind them.

Rayen turned around instantly, his expression hardening.

It was him. The old man. The one they had first met in the town. The same ragged cloak, the same withered face. But now, there was something new in his eyes—something like fear.

"Stop!" the old man's deep voice boomed. "Don't go with that girl! She will devour you!"

Elara and Rayen froze. Even the girl stopped in her tracks.

But then—her head tilted to the side in a way no human neck should bend. As if something inside her had snapped.

Rayen whispered, "What… do you mean…?"

And then—

Her face changed.

In a single, violent snap.

Her eyes turned pitch black, like bottomless pits. Her lips sagged in an unnatural way. Her once-soft cheeks hollowed out, her mouth twisting open—and from her throat came a sound.

A sound that was neither human nor beast.

"You took too long…"

Her scream tore through the air. And in the next second—she lifted off the ground.

Elara and Rayen barely had time to react as she lunged toward the old man.

But he was ready.

He swung his staff, slamming it forward. A blazing light burst from the wood, striking the girl's face.

She screeched—a sound so sharp that the walls of the city trembled.

"GET BACK!!" she shrieked, her voice splitting through the air.

But the old man didn't stop. He slammed his staff onto the ground, slicing the air with pure energy.

Rayen grabbed his jacket, ripped it off, and flung it at the girl. For a brief second—it stopped her.

Elara spun to the old man, her voice urgent. "What is she? Who is she?"

The old man's voice roared.

"She is what lurks in the dark!"

The girl burst through the jacket, setting it ablaze in mid-air. And now—her gaze was locked onto Elara and Rayen.

She was coming for them.

The old man led them into his hut.

Inside, everything looked ancient, as if this place had remained untouched for centuries. A single candle burned in the dimly lit room, its flame flickering against the damp walls.

The old man sank into a rickety wooden chair and exhaled deeply. His eyes gleamed in the shadows.

Elara and Rayen exchanged a glance. Their breaths were still unsteady, their minds reeling from what had just happened.

The old man spoke in a low, measured tone. "You want to understand, don't you? What this place really is?"

Elara gave a slow nod.

The old man leaned forward. "This city… was once an ordinary village. A happy one. People lived, laughed, built their futures here. But then… the famine came."

Rayen frowned. "Famine?"

The old man tapped his staff against the floor, exhaustion weighing in his voice. "Yes. First, the water dried up. Then the crops burned. The animals began to die. And soon… so did the people."

A sharp gust of wind rattled the leaves outside the hut.

The old man's gaze drifted downward, lost in memories too painful to relive.

"Hunger drove them mad. Desperation turned them into something… unrecognizable. They were willing to do anything to survive. But death refused to let them go."

Elara's voice was barely above a whisper. "What happened next?"

The old man's eyes darkened. "Then… she came."

A chill crawled up Rayen's spine. "Who?"

The old man's voice dropped lower. "A sorceress."

The temperature in the hut seemed to plummet.

"She used dark magic… and brought the dead back to life."

Elara and Rayen both stiffened. "What?"

The old man's expression was grim. "But there was a price."

A heavy silence settled over them.

"To keep the city alive… they had to bring living souls here. They had to feed on them."

Elara's lips trembled. "You mean… this entire city…"

The old man gave a slow nod. "This city is dead."

A cold sweat trickled down Elara's spine.

Rayen leaned forward, his voice sharp. "If this has been happening for a hundred years… then who are you?"

The old man gave a sad, tired smile. But it wasn't a smile—it was sorrow carved into his face.

"I am one of them."

A hollow chill ran through Rayen's body.

Elara's voice wavered. "Then you're also…"

The old man nodded once. "I am dead."

The air inside the hut grew impossibly heavy.

Elara and Rayen stared at him, silent.

The old man took a deep breath, as if gathering the last fragments of his strength. "But I want to end this. This city… it cannot go on. And I am tired. I wish to leave, too."

Rayen still couldn't move, his mind struggling to process it all. "Then why did you save us?"

The old man looked at them both, his gaze unreadable. Then, in a hushed voice, he said:

"Because if I help you escape… this city will finally die."

A heavy silence hung inside the hut. Only the small flames flickered, casting strange, shifting shadows across the walls.

Elara and Rayen looked at each other, both struggling to process what they had just heard. The weight of the truth pressed down on them like a stone.

The old man bent forward, digging his frail hands into the dirt floor. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, he pulled out a long, rusted dagger. Its blade was dulled by time, but his eyes gleamed with an eerie light.

"You only have to do one thing," he said, his voice steady but burdened. "Destroy the city's clock. It is the heart of the magic. As long as it keeps ticking… the dead will keep returning."

Elara turned to Rayen, searching his face. He was tense, his hands curled into fists.

"And if we fail?" Rayen asked.

The old man let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no joy in it—only exhaustion and sorrow.

"Then you will become part of them," he said. "You will belong to this city. And to survive… you, too, will wait for new travelers to arrive."

A cold wave passed through them both.

Elara hesitated, then spoke in a whisper. "But… if we destroy the clock… that means you will also—"

The old man smiled, nodding. "Yes. I will vanish too. But this is not just my freedom. It is the city's freedom."

Silence settled again, thick and suffocating. Outside, the wind howled, restless—as if something was waiting.

Rayen exhaled, determination hardening his gaze. "Let's go. We have to hurry."

The old man pushed himself to his feet, leaning on his staff, then slowly walked to the corner of the hut. His role in this story was ending.

Elara and Rayen exchanged a final glance before stepping toward the door.

As they pushed it open and stepped into the night, the air felt unnaturally still.

In the distance, the clock tower loomed—closer than they had expected. Yet, the silence around them felt alive, as if unseen eyes were watching their every move.

This was it.

They were walking toward the hardest battle of their lives.

A heavy silence hung inside the hut. Only the small flames flickered, casting strange, shifting shadows across the walls.

Elara and Rayen looked at each other, both struggling to process what they had just heard. The weight of the truth pressed down on them like a stone.

The old man bent forward, digging his frail hands into the dirt floor. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, he pulled out a long, rusted dagger. Its blade was dulled by time, but his eyes gleamed with an eerie light.

"You only have to do one thing," he said, his voice steady but burdened. "Destroy the city's clock. It is the heart of the magic. As long as it keeps ticking… the dead will keep returning."

Elara turned to Rayen, searching his face. He was tense, his hands curled into fists.

"And if we fail?" Rayen asked.

The old man let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no joy in it—only exhaustion and sorrow.

"Then you will become part of them," he said. "You will belong to this city. And to survive… you, too, will wait for new travelers to arrive."

A cold wave passed through them both.

Elara hesitated, then spoke in a whisper. "But… if we destroy the clock… that means you will also—"

The old man smiled, nodding. "Yes. I will vanish too. But this is not just my freedom. It is the city's freedom."

Silence settled again, thick and suffocating. Outside, the wind howled, restless—as if something was waiting.

Rayen exhaled, determination hardening his gaze. "Let's go. We have to hurry."

The old man pushed himself to his feet, leaning on his staff, then slowly walked to the corner of the hut. His role in this story was ending.

Elara and Rayen exchanged a final glance before stepping toward the door.

As they pushed it open and stepped into the night, the air felt unnaturally still.

In the distance, the clock tower loomed—closer than they had expected. Yet, the silence around them felt alive, as if unseen eyes were watching their every move.

This was it.

They were walking toward the hardest battle of their lives.