The forest held its breath in the hour before dawn. Albert inhaled the crisp scent of pine and frozen earth, savoring the stillness. Behind him, the tents huddled like sleeping beasts, their occupants—twelve friends and two cousins—oblivious to the spectacle unfolding at the lakeshore. The water shimmered pewter under a sky streaked with lavender, and for a moment, he felt the old magic of this place seep into his bones. They’d been coming here since they were boys, drawn back each autumn by some unspoken pact. Yet this morning, the silence felt heavier. Ominous.
Footsteps crunched behind him—too deliberate, too urgent. Albert didn’t turn. He already knew.
“Morning,” Miles said, dropping into the folding chair beside him. His voice was a rasp, as though he’d swallowed gravel.
“You’re up early.” Albert kept his eyes on the horizon, where the first sliver of sun clawed its way above the trees.
Miles chuckled, a sound without warmth. “Not here to sleep through the good part.” He thrust a thermos into Albert’s hands. The coffee inside burned bitter on Albert’s tongue, but he drank anyway, studying his friend sidelong. Miles’s face was gaunt, shadows pooling beneath eyes that glittered with an unfamiliar intensity.
“What’s wrong?” Albert asked.
“Nothing.” Miles stood abruptly, nodding toward the tree line. “Walk with me.”
Albert hesitated. Their fathers had drilled caution into them: Never wander alone. The woods aren’t kind to fools. But Miles was already moving, boots sinking into the frost-rimed grass. Reluctantly, Albert followed.
Memories flickered as they walked—Lily’s laughter echoing across the lake, the year Jane snapped her ankle scrambling over rocks. Miles had carried her back, her hair smelling of wildflowers. Except—
“Wait,” Albert said, halting. “It wasn’t Lily. It was Jane who got hurt.”
Miles didn’t break stride. “You always mix them up.”
A coldness prickled Albert’s spine. Lily was his cousin. He’d held her hand as she sobbed, her leg swollen and purple. “You weren’t even here that year,” he said slowly. “You’d… disappeared.”
Miles whirled, his smile sharp enough to cut. “Disappeared? Is that what you call it?”
The air thickened. Somewhere, a branch snapped. Albert glanced back toward camp—the tents were now mere smudges in the mist. Too far.
“We need to go back,” he said, voice steady despite the drumbeat in his chest.
Miles stepped closer. “They’re grown. They don’t need babysitting.”
“I’m going back.” Albert turned, but Miles’s hand clamped his shoulder, fingers digging like talons.
“Don’t.” The word slithered, low and venomous. “Not yet.”
Albert jerked free and ran.
Mud sucked at his boots as he careened through the undergrowth, lungs burning. Behind him, Miles gave chase, crashing through brush like a thing unhinged. Albert’s mind raced: Bear traps? Quicksand? But the real terror lay ahead.
He burst into the clearing—and froze.
Strangers swarmed the campsite. Faceless figures in ash-gray coats dragged his friends from tents, their bodies limp as rag dolls. No screams. No struggle. Only the wet thud of flesh against earth as they were tossed into a heap.
“You weren’t supposed to see.” Miles materialized beside him, breathless, pupils dilated to black pits.
“What are they?” Albert whispered.
Miles tilted his head, almost tender. “Saviors. They’re remaking the world. And I wanted you with me.” He gestured to the figures. “It’s a gift, Albert. You die, and then… you ascend.”
Albert stumbled backward. “You’re insane.”
Miles lunged. They grappled, rolling into the muck. Albert’s ribs screamed as a knee drove into his side. He scrambled free, but pain pinned him to the ground. Above, the strangers had vanished. The tents stood empty.
“They’ll return,” Miles said, hefting a fallen branch. “But you… you’re not ready.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I thought you were stronger.”
The branch arced downward.
Epilogue
When the others woke, they found Miles boiling coffee by the fire, alone.
“Where’s Albert?” someone asked.
Miles smiled, stirring the pot. “Went for an early hike. You know how he loves the quiet.”
No one questioned it. Not even when Albert’s thermos turned up cracked and empty by the lakeshore, nor when the rangers found his bootprints vanishing into the deepest part of the woods.
After all, the forest kept its secrets.
And Miles? He hummed as he packed his tent, the melody tuneless and strange. In his pocket, a single feather—obsidian-black and impossibly warm—thrummed against his thigh.
Soon, it seemed to whisper. Soon.
