THE VOID BEAST

CHAPTER 18: INTO THE DARK

The corridor was narrow, the walls rough stone.

I moved forward, one hand trailing along the cold surface, the other pressed against my chest where the rabbit lay hidden. Her warmth was the only comfort in the suffocating darkness.

The passage was old. I could feel it in the uneven floor, the damp air, the way the walls seemed to close in around me. Every few steps, my foot would catch on a loose stone, and I'd freeze, my blood roaring in my ears, waiting for the sound to echo back at me.

But nothing came. Just the silence. Just the dark.

I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. The darkness was absolute—thick and heavy like water. I kept my other hand on the wall, using it as a guide, trusting it to lead me forward.

The air smelled of wet stone and something else—something older. Mold, maybe. Or decay. I tried not to think about it.

The rabbit pressed closer to me. Her body was still, but I could feel her breathing—shallow, rapid. She was afraid too.

If not for the torch Jace had packed for me, I would have been completely blind.

I'd almost forgotten about it. The small torch he'd tucked into the bag—along with food, water, a knife, a flint. He'd thought of everything.

I pulled it out and struck the flint. Sparks flew. Then a small flame caught, casting wavering shadows across the stone walls.

The light was weak, but it was enough. I could see the passage stretching ahead, narrow, winding, disappearing into the darkness. I could see the cobwebs, the scattered stones, the walls slick with moisture.

I moved faster.

---

The passage seemed to go on forever. I lost track of time. Every twist and turn looked the same. The torchlight danced across the walls, making the shadows move in ways that made my skin crawl.

I kept my eyes forward. I didn't look back.

And then, finally, I saw it.

A door.

It was old—wooden, warped, its iron hinges rusted. But it was a way out.

I pushed against it. It didn't budge.

I pushed harder. Still nothing.

I braced my shoulder against the wood and shoved. The door groaned, then slowly, reluctantly, began to move.

Fresh air hit my face.

I stumbled out into the night, gasping. The door swung shut behind me with a heavy thud, and I stood there, my chest heaving, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I was out.

I'd made it past the guards. Past the walls. Past everything that had been keeping me trapped.

The rabbit stirred against my chest, her nose twitching. She was smelling the air—the cold night air, the scent of trees and earth and something wild.

I looked up.

The academy rose behind me, its towers dark against the star-scattered sky. It looked smaller from out here. Less imposing. Like a cage I'd finally escaped.

But ahead of me was something else.

The forest.

Dark and vast and waiting.

And beyond that, the mountains.

I pulled out the map I'd taken from the library. My hands were unsteady. I unfolded it, holding the torch close, and studied the markings.

The Northern Mountains. A specific region marked with a small symbol—the same symbol I'd seen in the records. The place where the expedition had gone. The place where I believed the Emberbloom grew.

I had to go there.

My stomach knotted. I looked at the mountains—dark shapes against the night sky, their peaks lost in clouds. They seemed so far away. So impossibly far.

Four people had died. One had survived—but whatever he'd seen had shattered his mind.

And here I was, walking toward the same mountains with a knife, a torch, and a rabbit.

For the first time, I wondered if I had mistaken determination for madness.

I could still turn back. I could still return to the academy, pretend this never happened, and wait—

But then I thought of Lyra. Her face in the locket. The way the old man had looked when I asked about her. The strange woman who'd said she wasn't a maid. The expedition. Seventeen years ago. The same year I was born.

I had to know the truth.

I folded the map and tucked it into my coat.

"Let's go," I whispered to the rabbit.

---

The forest swallowed me almost immediately.

I lowered my head and pushed through the branches, trying to walk as fast as I could without stumbling. The torchlight flickered, illuminating the gnarled roots and twisted limbs that seemed to reach out for me.

The trees clustered together like they were trying to block my path. Their branches intertwined overhead, blocking out the stars. The only light came from my torch, casting dancing shadows that made every bush look like a crouching beast.

I kept my eyes on the path ahead, but my mind was elsewhere. I kept thinking about the academy—about Jace, who was probably still awake, worrying. About the old man, who'd helped me. About the strange woman in the shadows.

I have to get far enough away before anyone realizes I'm gone.

The thought spurred me forward. My boots crunched against fallen leaves and twigs, each step too loud in the oppressive silence.

I looked down at my thin academy coat. It wasn't made for this—for the cold, the damp, the rough terrain. I was already shivering. Already regretting not bringing more.

The forest was too silent. No birds. No insects. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. I'd read about places like this—places where animals go quiet when something dangerous is nearby. I'd never believed it could feel so real.

The silence pressed against my ears. Every step I took sounded too sharp, too loud, like a betrayal of my presence.

I pushed forward.

The rabbit was tense against me. I could feel her muscles coiled, ready to spring. Her ears swiveled constantly, tracking sounds I couldn't hear. She knew something was out there. She'd known before I did.

And then my foot caught on something.

I pitched forward, barely catching myself. My breath caught in my throat. I froze, my torchlight wavering, casting wild shadows across the ground.

I looked down.

A root. Just a root. It had caught my ankle and sent me stumbling.

But for a moment—just a moment—I could have sworn I felt something pull. Maybe I was wrong?

I stood there, breathing hard, my pulse thundering in my ears. I waited for something to move. For something to emerge from the darkness.

Nothing.

Just the root. Just the silence.

I let out a shaky breath and moved forward again. Slower now. More careful. The rabbit was rigid against me, her nose twitching, her ears flat against her head.

The forest stretched on and on. The mountains grew closer, but slowly—agonizingly slowly. Every step felt like it took me deeper into something I didn't understand.

I thought about the record. Four dead. One returned. The survivor had been found wandering near the mountain base, incoherent, unable to explain what had happened.

What had he seen?

I pushed the thought away and kept moving.

---

The first sign of something wrong came when the rabbit started shaking.

I felt it through my coat—a fine tremor that ran through her entire body. Her ears were flat against her head. Her nose was still.

I stopped.

"What is it?" I whispered.

She didn't move. She just stared into the darkness ahead.

I followed her gaze. Nothing. Just trees. Just shadows.

But the air had changed. It was colder now—sharper. And there was a smell. Something metallic. Something wrong.

I took a step back.

The rabbit whimpered—a soft, barely audible sound. It was the first time I'd heard her make any noise at all.

But she wasn't trying to hide.

She was staring directly into the darkness.

Almost as if she recognized whatever was there.

The trees seemed to lean closer as I stood there. Their branches reached for me, scraping against my coat, tugging at my hair. I told myself it was just the wind.

And then I heard it.

A low growl.

It came from the shadows beyond the trees. Deep and rumbling, like thunder rolling across the mountains.

My blood turned to ice.

The growl came again. Closer this time. The sound of something moving through the underbrush. Heavy. Deliberate.

I turned and ran.

I crashed through branches, stumbled over roots, my torchlight bobbing wildly. The growl came again—closer now, deeper, more insistent.

The rabbit pressed against me, her body rigid.

Then—silence.

I stopped. Listened.

Nothing.

I slowly turned around.

Nothing.

No movement. No growl.

Then the rabbit lifted her head.

Her cloudy eyes were fixed on the darkness behind me.

she was terrified a moment ago, now she isn't, and that's somehow more unsettling than the growl was

She was staring.

At something I couldn't see.