The hollow Verge

The Broken Path

Elias staggered backward, his vision swimming, his mind refusing to process the horrific truth laid out before him. The word on the page—his name—pulled at him with a force he couldn’t comprehend, like a gravitational pull drawing him into the heart of something ancient and unspeakable. He clutched his chest, gasping for air, as if he were drowning in the weight of his own existence.

The whispers that had once been distant now roared in his ears, a cacophony of voices that distorted his thoughts, churning like a storm. Every corner of the room seemed to close in on him, the walls pulsating with a rhythm that matched his pounding heart. He couldn’t escape. Not anymore.

Desperately, Elias pushed himself away from the altar, his legs weak, his thoughts a jumbled mess of confusion and terror. He needed to get out of this place, away from the book, away from the name that was now written into the very fabric of his being. But as his back hit the cold stone wall, a cold laugh echoed through the room, sharp and unsettling. He spun around, but there was no one there.

Only the book.

He stared at the pages, now still, the last word—his name—burned into his mind. What did it mean? Was he trapped here, bound to this cursed village forever? The very air around him seemed to pulse with the answer, and he knew deep down that it wasn’t a question of if he was trapped. It was a question of how.

A sudden noise broke through his spiraling thoughts—footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming from behind. He whipped around, panic flooding him. The door was open, the dim light of the village street seeping into the room. But there was no figure in the doorway, no one standing there. Just the oppressive silence.

But Elias wasn’t alone. He felt it—the presence in the room. It was as if something, someone, had been watching him from the moment he had arrived. Slowly, he turned back to the altar, his heart sinking as he saw it—a shadow shifting on the wall, too fluid to be human.

From the darkness emerged a figure, tall and cloaked in black, their face obscured by a hood that seemed to swallow the light. Elias’s breath caught in his throat as the figure stepped closer, their presence suffocating, their very being exuding a power that felt ancient and untouchable.

The figure’s voice was low and cold, an almost tangible force in the stillness of the room.

“You shouldn’t have opened it.”

Elias opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His throat felt tight, his body frozen in place, as if the very air had turned to ice. The figure’s eyes glowed faintly from beneath the hood, a dark, unnatural hue that seemed to absorb the light around them. Elias couldn’t look away.

“I had hoped you would stay away,” the figure continued, stepping closer, the shadows seeming to grow and writhe at their feet. “But you’ve already crossed the threshold. You are part of Graymere now. There is no turning back.”

Elias’s mind raced. He knew the voice, though he couldn’t place it. There was something familiar about it, something he should’ve recognized. But in his fear, it eluded him, slipping just out of his grasp. He clenched his fists, trying to steady his nerves, trying to make sense of the situation.

“I don’t want any part of this,” Elias said, his voice cracking despite himself. “I just want to leave. I don’t belong here.”

The figure laughed softly, the sound like dry leaves scraping against stone.

“You think you can leave?” The figure’s voice grew colder, more insistent. “Graymere doesn’t let people leave. Not once they’ve been touched by its curse.”

The words hit Elias like a punch to the gut. His heart sank, and for the first time, a cold knot of terror settled in the pit of his stomach. Graymere. The village, the whispers, the book—it was all connected. But how?

“Who are you?” Elias demanded, trying to regain some semblance of control. “What do you want from me?”

The figure tilted its head, as though considering his question. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, it spoke again.

“We want you to remember, Elias.”

And just like that, everything clicked into place.

Elias’s breath caught in his throat as the pieces of his fractured memory began to shift and reform. Remember. He had been here before, hadn’t he? Not just the church or the village. No, something far deeper. His memories of Graymere had been locked away, buried beneath the weight of the years. He remembered the whispers from his dreams, the faces he had seen in the fog, the twisted sense of déjà vu that gnawed at him ever since he had arrived.

The figure took a step forward, its shadow stretching across the floor like an endless abyss. Elias could feel it now—the pull, the gnawing sensation that he had always belonged to this place, that his arrival in Graymere hadn’t been a coincidence. It had been inevitable.

“You were never meant to forget, Elias,” the figure said, its voice a rasp now, like dry parchment. “You’ve been here before, long ago. And you will return again. That is the cycle.”

Elias could feel his knees buckling, the weight of the revelation crashing down on him. His hand shot out to steady himself against the altar, but the room spun, the walls closing in as a wave of memories rushed forward like a flood. His past—his true past—unfurled before him, twisted and horrifying, with every moment of his life leading him back to this cursed place.

And as the figure loomed closer, its eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction, Elias understood.

Graymere had never let him go. It had always held him in its grip, and no matter how far he ran, no matter how many years had passed, he was always destined to return. He had been chosen. And now, there was no escape.

The figure raised its hand, and the shadows seemed to come alive, swallowing Elias whole. In that instant, he knew he was no longer a man. He was a part of Graymere, bound to its eternal curse.

And there would be no ending.