Rylan Thorne found himself dreaming of fire once more. It wasn't the destructive kind that burns everything to ash, but something different. This fire felt alive—warm and heavy, but not threatening. It stretched out endlessly, like a slow, pulsing heartbeat held within a quiet space. The flames flickered softly, waiting, almost as if they knew he was coming. Around this fire stood six shadows, vague and undefined, watching him from the edges of the glow. They hovered just outside the bright warmth, their forms shadowy and indistinct, almost like whispers in the dark. One of those shadows moved forward, stepping out of the flickering light. A voice—low, steady, familiar—murmured something in a language Rylan couldn't recognize. It wasn't a language he'd learned or heard before—something ancient or perhaps alien. As the voice faded into the silence, everything changed. There suddenly burst forth a flood of dazzling light, blinding yet comforting, enveloping him completely.
Rylan jolted awake with a gasp, muscles tense and heart pounding in his chest. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. Above him, a ceiling fan slowly spun, casting uneven shadows that wavered and danced across the ceiling tiles. The early morning light seeped through the curtains, pale and soft, pushing away the darkness of the night. His chest felt tight—almost like a knot had formed there—and sweat dampened his skin, sticking his shirt to his back. Instinctively, his hand reached out to the side table, searching for something to steady himself. His fingers found his phone, and he grabbed it quickly. The screen flashed 7:49 AM, reminding him of the day's big event. Today was the day they were leaving for the trip.
A notification blinked at him from a message thread—Lina had sent it. Her words appeared instantly on the screen. "You better not sleep through this. I'm not hiking into cursed ruins without you." Her tone was playful but firm, clearly joking, but Rylan couldn't help but smile. He felt a familiar warm surge of fondness for her. He tapped a quick reply: "If I vanish in ancient woods, I expect you to plant a tree in my honor." Almost as soon as the words left his fingers, another message popped up. This one was even funnier: "Only if I can carve your face in it." Rylan chuckled softly, head falling back against the pillow for a moment. The simple humor felt comforting—some things never changed.
Downstairs, the smell of eggs frying and toast popping echoed through the house, signaling a sense of normal life. His uncle was in the kitchen, standing over the stove—still dressed in his uniform from an overnight shift at the hospital. Even in sleep, he looked sturdy and dependable, the kind of person you could count on. Without turning, he spoke aloud, as if he expected Rylan to be listening. "You're heading out today, right?" His voice was calm, with a hint of curiosity.
Rylan paused, slipping on his hoodie while thinking about the trip. "Hollowmere Grove," he said, voice steady. "It's supposed to be a key cultural site—some kind of old forest. They say it's significant, but honestly, I think it's just mossy rocks and no cell signal." He tried to sound dismissive, but he knew deep down that there was more to it than that. Something about the place drew him—an odd pull he couldn't quite explain.
His uncle grunted, leaning slightly over the stove as he responded. "Try not to get possessed." There was a faint joke hidden in that, but Rylan caught the underlying concern.
"No promises," Rylan said casually, grabbing a slice of toast. He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. Then he asked, "Did we ever go hiking there when I was little?"
His uncle turned sharply, eyebrows raising in surprise. "Hollowmere? No. They closed that area off years ago. Said it was unsafe—unstable ground or something like that. Why? Is it bothering you?"
Rylan shrugged, trying to keep his tone casual. "No reason," he said quickly. "Just… some dream stuff lately, that's all." The words felt hollow even as he said them.
His uncle's expression softened at once. "Your mom used to say the woods remember us. Maybe you've been there in another life." He looked at Rylan with a protective softness that didn't quite hide his concern.
Rylan raised an eyebrow, not quite amused. "That's comforting," he muttered, but with a hint of sarcasm.
His uncle chuckled quietly and gave him a knowing look. "Hey, if you start glowing or speaking Latin, just give me a call." The humor was obvious, but the message was clear: he worried about Rylan's strange dreams and their strange memories.
The meet-up point was a small, old stone gate hidden behind the school, mostly ignored by students passing by. It was half-covered in thick, green ivy that spilled over its sides like nature's own curtain. The stone itself was weathered, cracked in places, giving it a look of age and mystery. The gate stood slightly ajar, as if inviting curious or brave souls to step through. To many students, it was just an old relic, a forgotten part of the school's history. But to Rylan, it felt like more than that. It was like a doorway to another world — a quiet reminder that beyond the school's busy halls, there were places untouched by time. Most students simply dismissed it, paying it no mind. They hurried past, glued to their screens or chatting away. But Rylan always paused there, fascinated by what lay beyond. It had a heavy, grounded feeling—like it was anchored in something deeper than just stone and ivy.
Ash was already waiting there when Rylan arrived. He was tossing his hiking bag into the back of the van parked nearby, his movements casual and confident. Tall, broad-shouldered, and always with a careless grin, Ash looked like someone born for adventures or mischief. His eyes, sharp and always a little playful, seemed to say he was ready for whatever came his way. Or ready to cause a little trouble. Depending on who you asked, Ash was a born explorer, someone who thrived on discovering new places, or a troublemaker who loved stirring things up. His appearance matched his personality — an unshakable sense of daring mixed with a streak of recklessness. He looked completely at ease, as if he already knew this trip would turn into one of his favorite stories.
"Look who decided to show up on time for once," Ash said, glancing at Rylan with a teasing grin. His voice was light, but his tone carried a hint of genuine curiosity. "You feeling okay?" he added, thumbs hooked into his belt buckle, eyes twinkling with mischief. Ash never missed a chance to poke fun or keep things lively. Rylan shrugged, brushing back a stray lock of hair. "Dreams again," he said quietly, a little distracted. His voice carried a weight that Ash caught immediately.
"Flames and doom?" Ash teased, a wry smile on his face.
"Something like that," Rylan replied. His mind was drifting back to dreams that felt more real than they should. Vivid visions of fires burning hot and destructive, shadows stretching into endless darkness. His sleep had been restless lately, filled with strange images that clung to him even after waking. Not exactly nightmares — more like echoes of something he couldn't quite understand.
Ash clapped him on the shoulder, rough but friendly. "Maybe it's just your anxiety manifesting," Ash said, voice reassuring. "Or maybe you're secretly the chosen one." His grin grew wider. "We'll see."
Before Rylan could respond, Mira arrived, her sketchbook already clutched in her hand. Her backpack swung casually from her arm, her steps confident and quiet. She was already planning, her mind always working. She took one look at them and rolled her eyes. "You two done pretending this is a fantasy novel?" she said, her voice sharp but amused.
Ash chuckled and threw out his chest. "If this were a novel, I'd be the misunderstood swordsman with a heart of gold." His grin told everyone he was kidding, but he played along.
"You'd be the one who dies tragically in chapter four," Mira shot back without breaking stride, heading past them toward the van. Her tone was matter-of-fact, like she was already imagining the story she'd write someday.
Ash called after her, amused. "I'm sensing hostility."
Mira ignored him, already lost in her own thoughts, her sketchbook likely full of rough drawings and ideas. The morning air was filled with the hum of anticipation, almost like everyone was waiting for the adventure to really begin.
Soon after, Lina arrived. She moved quietly but confidently, like someone used to being in her own peaceful world. She wore her favorite leaf-patterned scarf, a small water flask hanging from her belt, and her trusty notebooks tucked under one arm. She smiled softly when she saw Rylan and gently eased beside him. She was the calm in the chaos, the steady presence everyone counted on.
"Got enough snacks?" she asked, her voice gentle but practical. The way she carried herself made it clear she was prepared for anything, including a long walk through the woods or a sudden change of plans.
"Enough to survive a forest haunt," Rylan joked, a small smile touching his lips.
Lina nodded in approval. "Good. Because if this is the kind of trip that ends with ancient prophecies, I'm not dying hungry." Her words brought a quiet chuckle from Rylan and Ash. Her grounding presence always made the weird or spooky things seem less intimidating. She had a way of making even the strange feel safe.
Last to arrive was Varyon, dressed in black from head to toe. His dark clothes contrasted sharply with the bright spring morning. Sunglasses pushed up into his messy dark hair. He looked like he'd just woken up or maybe had already decided he wasn't interested in this trip. His expression was bored, eyes half-lidded.
"This better be worth skipping sleep for," Varyon muttered, adjusting his backpack unevenly on his shoulders. His voice was dry and unimpressed. "If I find one creepy statue or sacrificial altar, I'm out." His tone was dismissive, but everyone knew he secretly hoped something spooky would happen, just to prove he was right to be skeptical.
Mira rolled her eyes but said softly, "You'll love it. The place supposedly dates back centuries. Trees so old they don't remember sunlight." She spoke like she believed every word. "You might finally find something darker than your humor."
Varyon glanced her way, unimpressed but curious. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said quietly, a faint smirk creeping across his face.
They all loaded into the van, their teacher Ms. Arlow sitting behind the wheel. She was humming softly to herself as she double-checked the safety checklist. Her calm, competent presence added a sense of order to the chaos.
"Alright, everyone got food, meds, gear, and a positive attitude?" she asked cheerfully, voice warm but firm.
Groans and sighs came from the back seats, but nobody argued. The van's engine roared as they pulled away from the school. Behind them, the stone gate vanished into the thick trees as they disappeared into the woods, swallowed by winding vines and creeping shadows.
Rylan turned his head slightly, watching the gate grow smaller with each passing second. A strange pull tugged at his chest — not fear, not dread, but a feeling rooted deep in him. It was like an echo, familiar and comforting. It whispered that the path ahead was not as new as it seemed. It was old. Already known. The kind of place he'd seen before — in dreams, in stories, in some part of himself he didn't fully understand. The feeling stayed with him as the backdrop of nature blurred past the windows, anchoring him to a reality that was both strange and strangely familiar at once.