The creature clung to Jake's shirt as he moved through the forest, its small body trembling with each uneven breath. Its ribbons brushed against his arm, sending faint pulses through the child's ribbon still tied to his wrist. The connection between them was fragile, but unmistakable—like two threads of the same fabric fraying at the edges.
The forest around him felt different now. Not silent but listening. The trees leaned inward, their branches arching overhead like ribs. The ground's pulse—weak, broken, but present—guided him deeper into the woods. Every step felt like walking into a place the forest didn't want him to see.
Jake tightened his grip on the creature. "We'll find the others," he whispered. "Whatever's missing… whatever's broken… We'll fix it."
The creature let out a We'll strained hum.
Jake followed the pulse until the trees opened into a clearing he had never seen before. The ground here was covered in a thin layer of ash—pale, powdery, and cold. The air smelled faintly of smoke, though nothing burned.
The sky lines weren't just flickering; they were snapping. Every few seconds, a gold thread would jerk sideways at a sharp angle, like a bone breaking, before dissolving into the grey mist.
At the centre of the clearing lay another stone.
This one was larger than the first, its surface cracked in several places. The symbol carved into it was jagged, sharp—two intersecting lines that didn't quite meet. It radiated a faint, uneven glow.
Jake approached slowly. The creature in his arms whimpered, burying its face against his chest.
"It's okay," Jake murmured, though he wasn't sure it was.
He knelt beside the stone and touched it gently.
A shock of warmth shot through his fingers—followed by a wave of something else. Not pain. Not fear. Something older. Something like memory.
Images flickered behind his eyes—too fast to grasp, too fragmented to understand. A forest bathed in golden light. Ribbons glowing like fireflies. A hum so steady it felt like the heartbeat of the world.
Then darkness.
A crack.
A shattering.
Jake jerked his hand back, gasping. The creature whimpered again, its ribbons flickering weakly.
He whispered, "This stone… it remembers."
The ground beneath him pulsed—once, then twice, then a long, trembling pause. The same broken rhythm he had felt in the structure holding the child.
Jake lifted the stone carefully. It was heavier than the first, as if filled with something dense and ancient. The moment he held it, the creature's breathing steadied slightly.
"You're connected to this, too," Jake murmured. "All of you are."
He tied the stone securely to his belt and stood. The ground's pulse shifted again—guiding him toward the western edge of the clearing.
Jake followed.
The forest grew darker as he moved deeper. The trees here were twisted, their bark etched with faint scars. The air felt heavy, pressing against his skin like a warning. The creature in his arms grew restless, its ribbons flickering in uneven patterns.
Jake whispered, "I know. I feel it too."
He stepped over a fallen log and froze.
Another structure stood ahead.
Not like the one holding the child. This one was collapsed, its branches broken, its glow extinguished. The ground around it was scorched, as if something had burned from the inside out.
Jake approached slowly, heart pounding. The creature whimpered, burying itself deeper into his arms.
He knelt beside the collapsed structure and sifted through the broken branches. Beneath them, half‑buried in ash, lay another stone.
This one was cracked nearly in half. The symbol carved into it was a circle split down the middle.
Jake touched it gently.
A faint pulse answered him—weak, fading.
He whispered, "You're dying."
The creature let out a soft, broken sound.
Jake lifted the stone carefully. It felt fragile, as if it might crumble in his hands. He tied it to his belt beside the others, securing it tightly.
He looked at the collapsed structure again. Something had happened here—something violent, something that had torn the rhythm of the land apart.
He whispered, "What did this?"
The forest didn't answer.
But the creature lifted its head and tapped weakly against his chest—one slow tap, then another.
Jake recognised the pattern.
Danger.
He's recognised. "Is it still here?"
The creature didn't respond. Its ribbons dimmed, threads flickering like dying embers.
Jake stood, adjusting his grip. "We need one more. Then we go back to her."
The ground's pulse shifted again, guiding him toward a narrow path at the edge of the clearing.
He followed.
The path led him to a small ravine, its walls covered in glowing moss. The air here was cooler, carrying a faint whisper that sounded almost like voices. Jake stepped carefully, the creature trembling in his arms.
At the bottom of the ravine lay the final stone.
It was the smallest of the four, its surface smooth and unbroken. The symbol carved into it was simple—a single line curving inward, like a thread looping back on itself.
Jake knelt beside it, breath trembling. He touched the stone gently.
Warmth spread through his fingers—steady, calm, familiar.
The creature let out a soft hum, its ribbons brightening slightly.
Jake lifted the stone. It felt lighter than the others, almost weightless. But the moment he held it, the ground's pulse steadied—just slightly, but enough to make his chest tighten.
He whispered, "This one… this one matters the most."
He tied it to his belt and stood.
The creature lifted its head, eyes meeting his.
Jake nodded. "Let's go back to her."
He climbed out of the ravine, the forest shifting around him. The ground's pulse grew stronger with each step, guiding him back toward the clearing where the child waited.
The structure pulsed in the distance—weak, flickering, struggling to hold itself together.
Jake tightened his grip on the creature and stepped forward.
He had the stones.
He had the thread.
Now he needed to bring her back.