Chapter Text
In a way, dying anywhere other than in the forest would have been strange. After all, it had all begun there.
Thirty-six or so years earlier, an infant had been discovered abandoned—some say hidden—in the very forest. Small and malnourished, his survival had seemed miraculous.
As if the very earth had conspired to protect him.
The weeks after the discovery, the villagers had exchanged stories and theories. Imagine: deep within the woods, far from the safety of the wall. An infant had made it through the night. Untouched by the dreadful creatures that were known to roam the darkness.
Hungry for human flesh.
Will supposed he’d been living on borrowed time ever since—and one day, he’d have to pay it back. To the forest, and its creatures.
The night enveloped him as he rushed past tree by tree. His breath caught in his throat, coming in harsh, ragged bursts.
Return before dark.
The forest eats during the night.
He had been warned countless times and knew it well—only the safety of the town walls could protect them once the sun dipped below the horizon.
He jumped over a fallen log, feet pounding against the moss-covered ground.
But it was too late—night had already descended.
“Come back,” he heard behind himself, like glass over stone.
Knowing that turning around meant death, Will fought the urge to look.
Something closed around his ankle, and his balance tipped, sending him tumbling to the ground. His forehead hit the moss with a painful grunt—and then, silence.
Only his harsh breaths filled the air as he tried to stand, a scream rising in his throat as sharp pain shot through his ankle. He stumbled, half-risen, clutching at the injury. His hand came away dripping with warm liquid—blood.
Will glanced down to assess the damage. A gash in his lower leg, glistening wet.
“You have something of mine,” a voice whispered through the darkness. Will swallowed hard, slowly turning his head as he tried to spot the creature.
Nothing.
But the sound of something dragging across the forest floor echoed around him.
Will inhaled slowly. The forest seemed to breathe with him—a single, drawn breath shared between the living and the dying.
The subtle creaking of branches swaying in the wind echoed above him.
The whispers of the trees grew louder, their voices intertwining with the rustling leaves, as if they were beckoning him to join their eternal dance. The air thickened, crackling with unsettling energy that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
A sudden chill seeped into his bones.
Then a shadow flickered between the trees, barely visible—a hunched figure cloaked in ragged black.
Will’s heart raced, thudding against his ribcage like a frantic drum. The figure clutched something to its chest—a skull, white and smooth, glinting in the fading light.
Its eye sockets were empty but somehow still staring directly at him.
And Will knew.
This is where he would die.
Six Months Earlier
The sunlight filtered across the tall wall as Will passed through the main gate. Constructed from the forest’s tallest trees, the towering wooden beams enclosed the entire town. There was only one entrance, with gates so heavy they required ten men to open and close.
The nameless village, nestled in the Valley of the Brooding Forest, had existed for centuries.
It had been strategically established near a forest abundant with game, winding rivers, well-known fruit-bearing trees, and plentiful mushrooms. It was no wonder the ancestors chose to settle there and build their first homes.
Only—
The forest had proven to take as much as it gave. As a result, every citizen had learned that venturing in after dark meant never returning.
Will adjusted his fishing rod, casting a quick glance at the hunched woman beside the entrance. Her palms were pressed together, lips murmuring soft prayers—likely for the return of the lost and the safe passage of the hunters.
The soft hush of the forest greeted him with familiar warmth.
A pleasant breeze stirred the leaves overhead, whispering through the trees.
Will knew the path to the river by heart. Once there, it was pure routine—shoes off, wading into the stream, hours passing as fish were caught and cleaned. Around noon, as was his habit, Will allowed himself a soft nap.
Waking an hour or so later, he made his way back through the woods toward the village.
The forest towered above the village wall—vast, ancient, and ever watchful—far more than the wall ever loomed over the forest.
“I heard the Marlows all disappeared…” Brian said, leaning over the table.
Will hesitated, his beer glass hovering just before his lips.
They were gathered around a table at the local bar. It was dark outside and the gates had been shut for hours.
Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian—people Will knew more by shared age than actual friendship—had met for a rare drink. Rare mostly because Will had been invited.
Not that he minded.
Given the choice, he’d rather just fish.
Alone.
Beverly leaned in and lifted an eyebrow. “But the Marlows are a family of seamstresses. They don’t venture outside of the walls.”
“Exactly,” Brian said. “It’s strange, that’s what it is.”
Beverly hummed in response.
Jimmy frowned. "Maybe it’s internal? You know—human causes?"
“Yeah, there’s never been an issue inside the walls… not… from you-know-what,” Beverly added with a nod.
Jimmy and Brian murmured in agreement.
“I heard there were no signs of breaking and entering. Surely the disappearance of an entire family must be the work of the forest creatures,” Will said softly, turning his eyes away.
Through the bar’s window, the top of the forest was looming over the wall.
Brian slammed his beer onto the table and leaned toward Will, voice low. “Are you crazy? Don’t mention them here.”
Will stared at him for a long moment before sighing. “I’d argue that wasn’t a proper name. More a definition.”
Beverly huffed. “Will, don’t be daft. You may not have been born here, but you know the rules. Don’t name them. Not in any capacity. Naming gives direction. Movement…”
He grimaced and tried to soften his tone. “Apologies…”
The habit of spending time alone had dulled his manners, just enough for the taboo to slip.
“Yeah… Why do you think the village is still nameless?” Jimmy said gently. “Naming it would give them a place to find... and destroy.”
They all shifted uncomfortably around the table.
The conversation stuttered forward, cautiously skirting the Marlows and the forest creatures. Will sat in silence, his shoulders tightening with every new topic. He already knew—too clearly—that this invitation wouldn’t be repeated. Not soon. Maybe not ever.
Just a few days later, Will made a mistake.
He’d gone deeper into the woods than he usually dared, following the winding river as it curved through the trees. The water was clear and cold, teeming with fish.
When he reached a small lake, he paused to watch the water shimmer under the bright sun, its surface glittering like a thousand tiny jewels.
The moment was so serene, so deceptively peaceful, that Will let himself lean back into the soft grass. Just for a moment, he told himself—just to enjoy it.
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the light had changed. It was dusk.
Will jolted upright, heart pounding in his chest as realisation struck— the sun was low, barely clinging to the edge of the horizon.
Night was coming.
Fuck.
He scrambled to gather his things and took off through the forest. Following the river would’ve been safer, but slower. And he had no time.
So he plunged into the woods.
He leapt over logs and darted past trees as the forest darkened with every step. The once-inviting woodland he knew so well by daylight now seemed to shift and twist, its shapes warping, the birds growing quieter—then silent.
Will burst through a dense patch of bushes and stumbled into a clearing. The trees circled it tightly, forming a natural ring of wildflowers and grass. In the center stood a single, broad stone slab.
An altar, Will realised.
But there was no time to wonder. Will scanned the clearing, desperate for a path—any hint of where to go.
He had no sense of direction. For all he knew, the village might be behind him.
“Fuck,” he muttered, turning in frantic circles. “Fuck, fuck.”
To die because of a nap felt too absurd. Too tragic.
His breathing quickened. Heart pounding.
The forest was quiet now.
Too quiet.
The last of the sunlight barely clung to the treetops.
Something shifted behind him. Leaves rustled—delicate at first, then sharp—and a long shadow stretched across Will’s back, born from the last light of the dying sun. The warmth drained from his skin as a chill slid down his spine.
Will froze.
A breath against his skin, then—
"Are you lost?" The voice was like velvet—otherworldly, soft like a whisper and yet deafeningly loud.
Will swallowed harshly but said nothing.
A warm breath stirred the strands of his hair.
He squeezed his eyes shut and gave a small nod. "Yes," he whispered. "I am."
Honesty felt like the only way through.
“How unfortunate,” came the soft reply.
Silence.
Will wanted to run, but instinct warned him that would be worse. So he remained still and said, “Yes, very. I’m sorry for disturbing your evening.”
The being behind him laughed softly—a sound strangely warm, yet sharp.
Like the slow drag of a blade through living flesh—sickeningly intimate.
“I appreciate the apology,” it murmured, the words oddly formal, as if mimicking politeness it had once heard and long forgotten. Then it shifted, and Will felt it lean close, whispering into his left ear, “Would you like the direction home?”
The answer clawed at his throat, but Will bit his lip, holding it back.
He adjusted his bag, slipped a hand into his pocket, and said, “Yes—but only if you’ll accept this as payment.”
He pulled out his best fishhook. Yellow and black thread coiled around its spine, with small feathers woven in at the end. It had taken hours to craft and had never failed him.
Fighting the tremble in his hands, Will turned and held out his offering.
His palm quivered as his gaze finally lifted—landing on the figure before him.
It stood two heads taller than Will, humanoid in shape but unmistakably far from human in nature. Its limbs were coated in a black, glistening texture, which gradually faded into dark grey near its chest and head. From its skull rose two massive antlers, branching and pointy. Its face was disturbingly humanlike—curious, attentive—but its gaze was fixed not on Will’s eyes, but on his outstretched palm.
The creature lifted a hand and took the fishhook delicately, turning it in its long, clawed fingers. It held it up to its face, eyes gleaming with something like delight.
"Beautiful," it murmured.
Then its gaze slid to Will, who was still staring, transfixed. Their eyes met.
Will looked away, flushed with a sudden, inexplicable embarrassment.
A low chuckle.
"Run home, little lamb," the creature said softly. "As long as you do not look back, all ways shall lead to your wall."
Will nodded, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
He cast a final glance at the creature, then turned and ran. Branches clawed at his clothes, roots snagged at his feet, but he didn’t stop.
He didn’t look back. Not once.
Minutes later, breathless and trembling, he burst from the trees. The village gates loomed ahead, already beginning to creak shut.
He slipped through just as the sun vanished behind the horizon.
Will was certain he had spent at least an hour—maybe more—running through the forest. And yet, the sun had clung stubbornly to the horizon, lingering far longer than it should have.
Time, it seemed, had moved differently in the clearing.
With the antlered creature.