Whispers of the Poisoned Land

The air shifted before Uriel even opened his eyes.

It tasted foul—like spoiled copper and rotting leaves—so thick it felt like it was trying to choke him from the inside out. His lungs spasmed in protest, a violent cough tearing through his already fractured ribs as he curled into the dirt. Every nerve screamed. Every breath was war.

When he finally forced himself upright, the world sharpened—and Uriel knew instantly that something was wrong.

This wasn't a forest.

This was a graveyard pretending to be one.

The land was barren, dead soil stretched between clusters of withered trees that looked more like corpses than wood. Tall, skeletal things, their bark split open like cracked skin, bleeding slow trails of green ichor that steamed where it touched the ground. Their branches twisted violently toward the sky, like they were begging for something that never answered.

Beneath Uriel, the earth pulsed. A soft, wet groaning came from under the dirt—as if something massive was breathing deep below.

And then came the mist.

It didn't drift. It slithered. Coiled like a living thing, crawling between tree roots and curling around his ankles as if it recognized him.

Then the wind whispered.

Not howled. Not blew.

Whispered.

Soft voices wove between the trees. Thin as spider silk, cold as bone. Some murmured in tongues he couldn't place. Others… whispered his name.

Uriel.

His heart pounded. His skin crawled.

The last realm had hunted him. This one wanted to keep him.

He stepped forward—and the ground cracked beneath his foot.

Beneath the dead moss and crumbling rock, he heard it—a thumping rhythm, low and slow. A buried heartbeat.

Then the ground ruptured.

A geyser of thick, acrid smoke exploded from a nearby fissure. Uriel tried to move, but his body refused. The cloud swallowed his face, his throat, his mind.

Heat. Sting. Burn.

His knees hit dirt. His vision warped.

And the world shifted.

"Lucien! You're going to hurt Uriel if you keep this up!"

The voice was warm. Playful. Impossible.

A woman stood just ahead—five foot seven, golden hair like woven sunlight, eyes the clear blue of a summer sky. Her face glowed with ethereal beauty.

Beside her stood a towering man, six-five with a lean, powerful frame. His tousled black hair and green eyes gleamed with laughter.

They both looked like nobles pulled from a storybook—too regal, too untouched, as if the poison of the world dared not mar them.

"Oh, come on," the man chuckled, his voice rich and loving. "The boy needs to toughen up, doesn't he?"

Younger Uriel scrambled to his feet between them, his innocence shining through in the way he moved.

Tears blurred Uriel's vision.

He wanted to run to her. To call out, "Mother." To never let go.

But even as he reached forward, the pain in his ribs returned. The throb in his thigh. The taste of rot on his tongue.

This wasn't real.

He knew it.

His fists clenched. His breath shuddered.

He looked away as his mother bent down to brush off the boy's knees, her smile a dagger to the chest.

He dug his nails into his skin. Nothing happened.

He tried harder. Blood rose beneath his fingertips.

Still, the vision lingered.

"I know you're dead," Uriel whispered. "I know this isn't real."

He collapsed to his knees. His breath came ragged.

"My father would be furious if I gave in to this," he muttered. "This weakness… this lie."

And then he screamed—driving his fingers deep into the festering wound on his thigh.

Pain tore through him. White-hot. Unforgiving.

The world around him cracked.

The laughter warped. The colors bled. The warmth turned cold.

He reached down, grabbed a jagged stone, and slammed it into his ribs.

Crack.

Glass shattered. The dream burst like a bubble.

His mother vanished mid-smile.

Uriel fell backward into a world of rot and bone. Mud clung to him. The poisoned land groaned beneath him.

He was back.

Alone.

Or so he thought.

Crack. Crack. Crack. The sound of breaking bones echoed, growing louder.

Uriel's body tensed, a chill running down his spine as he turned.

There it was.

In the distance, between two crooked trees, stood the Stalker. Its head was tilted, and its grin stretched impossibly wide. It caught his gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze.

It knew.

The Stalker's smile grew even wider, knowing Uriel had seen it. It had found him.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."