Chapter 60: The Trap of the Forgotten

The cold bit deeper as Fred, Nia, and Torin trudged through the endless forest.

Every step was a struggle.

Torin mumbled nonsense, feverish and pale.

Nia stumbled often, her strength fading.

Fred's mind fractured between two hungers:

Survival.

And escape from the thing that still clawed at the edges of his senses.

Snow fell heavier now.

Thick.

Choking.

The world shrank into a gray prison.

> "We need shelter," Nia rasped, voice raw.

Fred agreed.

But they had no good choices left.

Just bad ones.

And worse.

---

They broke into a clearing just as night fell — or what passed for night under the perpetual twilight.

A cabin sat alone in the center.

Small.

Crooked.

Smoke curled faintly from a leaning chimney.

Fred's heart pounded.

Hope.

It looked so out of place.

So normal.

That should have been the first warning.

---

Fred approached cautiously.

Knocked once.

Twice.

The door creaked open without a sound.

Inside: warmth.

A fire burned in the hearth.

Rough blankets lay piled in a corner.

A table with bowls of stew still steaming.

No one in sight.

Fred stepped back instinctively.

> "It's a trap," he said.

But Nia was already dragging Torin inside, drawn by the smell of food and heat.

Fred hesitated a moment longer, then followed.

Because the forest was worse.

And because sometimes survival demanded walking straight into the mouth of the wolf.

---

The stew tasted too good.

Too rich.

It warmed Fred from the inside, chased the frost from his bones.

Torin ate greedily, then passed out by the fire.

Nia curled up under a blanket and was asleep in seconds.

Fred forced himself to stay awake.

To watch.

To listen.

Outside, the forest murmured.

Inside, the fire crackled.

For a moment — a single, precious moment — he almost let himself believe they were safe.

Almost.

---

Fred noticed it first.

The fire didn't burn down.

Hours passed, and it never dimmed.

The stew in the bowls never cooled.

Torin stirred once, muttering.

Fred leaned closer.

Caught a glimpse of Torin's face.

His eyes.

Wide open.

Staring.

Mouth slack.

Not breathing.

Not blinking.

Frozen.

Dead.

But... not rotting.

Suspended.

Held.

Fred stumbled back.

Heart hammering.

Turned to Nia.

She, too, lay too still.

Too silent.

A puppet without strings.

Fred backed away toward the door.

The fire crackled louder.

The shadows on the walls twisted.

And the door slammed shut on its own.

---

Fred pounded on the door.

Kicked it.

It wouldn't budge.

Behind him, he heard footsteps.

Slow.

Measured.

He turned.

Someone stood in the corner that had been empty moments before.

A man.

Or something wearing the shape of a man.

His skin was wrong.

Paper-thin.

Gray.

His eyes hollow pits.

His smile was made of knives.

> "Welcome, traveler," the thing said in a voice that sounded like many voices layered atop one another.

"You have accepted our hospitality."

Fred drew his knife.

Pointed it.

The thing chuckled.

The shadows on the walls writhed and reached toward him.

> "Eat. Sleep. Stay," it whispered.

> "Become."

Fred lunged.

Slashed.

The knife passed through smoke.

The thing laughed again — louder now, shaking the walls.

The fire blazed higher.

The air grew thick.

Fred staggered.

Coughed.

His vision blurred.

---

The thing's voice slithered into Fred's mind.

> "You are not like the others."

> "You are strong. Stubborn. A seed that could grow into something beautiful."

Images flashed before Fred's eyes:

Fred crowned in thorns, leading armies of shadow.

Fred laying waste to kingdoms.

Fred ruling a broken world.

All he had to do was surrender.

Give in.

Let the thing inside.

---

Fred dropped his knife.

For a moment — a terrible moment — he almost accepted.

Almost.

Then he thought of Nia.

Of Torin.

Of all the others who had trusted him.

He gritted his teeth.

> "No," he snarled.

The thing's smile faltered.

Just a little.

The fire dimmed.

The shadows recoiled.

> "Then you will die like the rest," it hissed.

Fred snatched up a burning log from the hearth.

Flung it at the thing.

It exploded in a flash of white fire.

The walls screamed.

The ground shook.

The air ripped apart.

---

Fred kicked the door with all his strength.

This time it shattered outward.

Snow blasted into the cabin, extinguishing the fire instantly.

The thing shrieked — a sound like the cracking of ice and bone.

Fred grabbed Nia's limp body.

Slung her over his shoulder.

Dragged Torin by the collar.

Stumbled out into the blizzard.

The cabin behind them howled.

Collapsed.

Folded inward.

Gone.

Swallowed by the earth.

As if it had never been.

Fred didn't look back.

He couldn't.

All he could do was run.

And pray he had escaped whatever ancient hunger had almost claimed him.

---

They found shelter in the roots of a massive fallen tree.

Fred built a tiny fire from what dry wood he could scrounge.

Nia stirred once, coughing.

Torin, too, showed faint signs of life.

Not dead.

Not yet.

Fred sat awake the rest of the night, knife in hand, watching the trees.

Listening.

The forest whispered around them.

Promising death.

Promising worse.

Fred whispered back:

> "Not today."

> "Not ever."

---