A Missing Child

A few days after being diagnosed with a fever, Deven had confined himself to his room. He didn't rest like he was supposed to. Instead, he studied—page after page, note after note—learning all he could about the things that haunted the edges of the world.

The Nyxwretches:

Thin, elongated humanoids with limbs that bend in unnatural directions, as if stitched from shadows and forgotten screams. They manifest when someone lingers too long in darkness, forming silently behind them—motionless—until light returns. They move only when unseen, and the moment one touches you, it pulls you into the folds between seconds. There, time loops infinitely. Escape is nearly impossible.

The Maw:

A massive, mouthless beast that drifts silently through blackened skies and sunless caverns. It devours not with fangs, but with silence. When it arrives, all sound vanishes in a wide radius. Spellcasters lose their voices. Screams are swallowed. When it feeds, people disappear—no struggle, no sound, not even a whisper left behind.

The Black Shepherd:

A towering, horned figure clad in ancient, rotting robes. Always seen from a distance—just at the edge of vision—perched on rooftops, cliff edges, or standing in abandoned hallways. It never moves while watched. But every time you blink… it's closer. Those who gaze into its veiled face see themselves drifting through an endless field of stars. The Black Shepherd does not hunt. It waits. And when the time comes, it leads you home.

Deven had written more. Dozens of names. Sketches. Notes. But none of them felt urgent. Not yet.

Then came the last night of his fever.

Thirst pulled him from slumber.

The house was cloaked in shadows, lit only by a small, flickering lamp in the corner of the living room. He shuffled quietly into the kitchen, retrieved a cup, and filled it with water. After drinking, he set the cup down and turned toward the stairs.

That's when he heard the knock.

Knock. Knock.

"P-please… l-let me in…"

The voice was weak, strained—like someone on the edge of starvation. A woman. Deven froze, his breath caught.

He slowly approached the door. "Who are you?" he asked cautiously.

"That… doesn't matter… please… I need help…"

There was something wrong. Her voice wavered unnaturally, like it wasn't shaped by real lungs. Still, curiosity gripped him. He stepped closer, peered through the peephole.

And saw something that would haunt his nights forever.

Just beyond the threshold of light stood a black, shifting mass. At its center was the head of a woman—pale, trembling, and very much alive. Her wide eyes stared directly at the peephole, like she knew he was there.

He jerked away from the door, heart pounding.

"Find somewhere else," he said, his voice barely holding steady. "There's no help here."

Silence followed. Then… the sound of slow, receding footsteps.

Deven didn't wait. He hurried up the stairs, slipped into his room, and shut the door quietly behind him. He leaned against it, chest rising and falling rapidly, his mind spinning.

That face. That voice.

It was the first time he had seen something like that in person.

He climbed back into bed. The house stayed quiet for the rest of the night.

But he didn't sleep easily.

Not anymore.

Later that morning, Deven woke to the sound of voices murmuring outside his window. Groggy, he rubbed his eyes and pulled himself out of bed. He peered through the curtains and saw a crowd gathered down the street, clustered around a house.

Curious, he threw on a hoodie and stepped outside. He tried to get a good look from afar, but the mass of bodies made it impossible.

Pushing his way through the crowd, he eventually reached the front of the house. That's when he saw the paper pinned to the wall.

Missing Child.

Last seen: Previous night.

Name: Rina Welles. Age: 9.

If you have any information, report immediately.

Deven's stomach twisted. Someone had taken a child in the middle of the night.

Then the thought hit him.

The knock.

The voice.

That thing at his door.

"…Did it just…"

He covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide.

A man nearby noticed. "Do you know what happened last night?"

Deven froze. His first instinct was to say yes—to explain everything. But his mind raced. If he told the truth, if he admitted that he turned it away… what would people say? No one in the city liked him. He'd be blamed. Punished.

"…No," he muttered. "No, I don't know what happened."

The man studied him for a moment, then turned his attention back to the notice. Deven quietly stepped away from the crowd. Even as he walked, he glanced back, guilt gnawing at him. Maybe he should've said something. But in this city, the truth never helped people like him.

Back home, he changed out of his pajamas and tossed on something casual. On his way out the door, he called to his father.

"I'm going for a walk."

"Be back before dusk," his father replied from the kitchen.

Deven gave a small nod and stepped out. It was the start of the weekend, and he needed air. He needed to think.

The streets were oddly bright today—too bright. There were no clouds in the sky, just a blank, empty blue that seemed unnatural. He sat down on a bench and looked upward, shielding his eyes from the sun.

That's when he saw it.

Something dark on the horizon. Moving.

He squinted.

A massive black form drifting silently toward the city.

The Maw.

Deven's breath caught in his throat. That wasn't possible. Maws didn't travel like this—unless something guided them.

He scanned the crowd. Nobody noticed. Not the vendors, not the guards. No one looked up. No one felt the growing silence that brushed at the edge of hearing.

He thought of yelling. Of warning them.

But then he remembered the looks. The whispers. How they treated him like a bug to be crushed.

He lowered his gaze and quietly walked back home.

He didn't tell the guards.

He didn't tell his father.

He just locked himself in his room.

And waited.

It didn't take long.

Screams tore through the city. Real, blood-curdling screams. He sat on the floor, knees to his chest, eyes wide as chaos unfolded outside. The sound of guards shouting. Clashing steel. Desperate, dying cries.

Then his door burst open.

His father stood in full armor, his voice stern but shaking.

"Son, you need to go. You must leave with the others. You can't stay here."

To be continued…