Snow fell quietly as Ren opened the worn book beneath the ruins at the forest’s edge.

Each page whispered fears she hadn’t dared name—

“You will forget even your own name.”

Then, a voice—low, familiar, and not hers—called her name from the dark.

She turned. No one.

But her shadow stretched across the stone floor, and it wasn’t alone.

Another shadow moved with hers, too fluid, too alive.

It whispered,

“You know who I am.”

Ren stepped back, heart pounding.

This place wasn’t cursed by some ancient magic—it was built by the memories she had buried.

And the deeper she read, the more the world twisted.

What frightened her most wasn’t the shadow,

but the creeping sense that this world of fear was starting to feel like home.