They eventually made their way back to land, water dripping from their clothes as they climbed onto the grassy shore.
Louise dropped onto a towel, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.
The sun warmed his skin almost immediately, soothing the chill left behind by the lake.
Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead as he reached for a bottle of water and drank deeply.
The cool air brushed against his wet clothes, clashing gently with the heat of the sun. The contrast made his body feel loose, light—comfortably tired.
Jacob flopped down beside the bags and began rummaging through them without hesitation.
"Finally. I'm starving again."
"You just ate," Lisa said, though she was already tearing open a pack of chips.
"Swimming burns calories," Jacob replied confidently.
Celine wrapped a towel around her shoulders and sat cross-legged on the grass, accepting a snack from Dion.
"This is nice," she said softly. "I could stay here all day."
Louise smiled faintly as he grabbed a granola bar, listening to the easy chatter around him.
Behind them, the lake shimmered quietly, sunlight flashing across its surface—smooth, undisturbed, as if nothing unusual had ever stirred beneath it.
They ate slowly. Crumbs scattered onto towels. Bottles were passed from hand to hand.
Someone joked about going back into the water later. Someone else complained about cold feet.
Laughter followed, natural and unforced.
Louise leaned back on his hands and glanced at the lake once more. From here, it looked harmless—beautiful, even inviting.
'Maybe I really was just overthinking everything,' he thought.
He chewed slowly, barely aware of the taste of the food.
The laughter around him continued—bright, casual, real—but it no longer grounded him the way it should have. His gaze drifted again, this time past the water.
To the trees.
To the spaces between their trunks, where sunlight failed to fully reach.
To the quiet pockets of shadow where sound seemed thinner, swallowed too quickly.
The uneasiness wasn't coming from the lake alone.
It was everywhere.
The camp. The forest. Even the air carried a subtle pressure, like a breath being held for too long. Nothing appeared wrong.
Nothing moved out of place.
And yet, Louise felt it—pressing against his senses, persistent and unwelcome.
'Why does this place feel so strange?' he thought. 'Why can't I shake this feeling away?'
He shifted on the towel and glanced toward the narrow path disappearing back into the trees.
The forest stood tall and sunlit, harmless at first glance. Birds chirped overhead. Leaves rustled softly in the breeze.
Normal.
Too normal.
Louise forced his attention back to his friends.
Jacob laughed loudly at his own joke.
Lisa nudged him playfully.
Dion shook his head with a quiet smile.
Celine looked peaceful, eyes half-closed, soaking in the warmth.
They felt safe here.
Louise wanted to feel the same.
'It's just a camp,' he told himself. 'You're tired. Overthinking. That's all.'
He took a slow, steady breath, letting the sun sink into his skin. The unease loosened slightly—but it did not leave.
The camp remained beautiful and calm, wrapped in daylight and laughter.
And still, deep beneath it all, Louise felt uncertain that something in this place had already noticed them.
***
Late at night, the cabin had fallen quiet.
Everyone else slept soundly, breaths slow and even behind closed doors.
Dion lay awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft creaks of the cabin settling into the night.
Sleep refused to come.
His mind felt too awake, too alert.
With a quiet sigh, he sat up.
Careful not to wake anyone, Dion slipped on his jacket and picked up a small lamp from the table.
The soft glow flickered to life, casting gentle shadows as he eased the door open and stepped outside.
The night air was cool and clean.
He paused for a moment, breathing it in. The forest looked different at night—calmer somehow.
Less crowded.
Moonlight filtered through the trees in pale streaks, silvering the leaves and softening their edges. Crickets sang steadily, filling the silence with a comforting rhythm.
Dion walked slowly, letting the lamp swing at his side.
'This place really is beautiful,' he thought.
His feet carried him along familiar ground, past the dark outline of the cabin and toward the open clearing.
Without fully realizing it, he found himself heading in the direction of the lake. It wasn't far. Just a short walk through the trees.
When he reached the shoreline, he stopped.
The lake was breathtaking at night.
The moon hung high above, full and bright, its light cascading across the water in long, shimmering paths.
The surface of the lake glowed like polished glass, reflecting the sky so perfectly it felt endless. Gentle ripples caught the moonlight, turning it into liquid silver.
Dion lowered the lamp slightly, not wanting to disturb the view.
The forest stood quietly around the lake, dark shapes framing the glow, as if the night itself were standing guard. Everything felt peaceful—untouched.
He smiled faintly, standing there alone, admiring the scene.
The water did not move.
***
Meanwhile, back inside the cabin, the upstairs room remained dark.
Jacob lay on his side, breathing slow and shallow, eyes half-lidded. From the outside, he looked asleep. Anyone passing by would have believed it.
But he was awake.
The faint creak of the door reached him first. Then the soft scrape of shoes against wood.
Through his lashes, Jacob saw the weak glow of a lamp move across the room—Dion, careful and quiet, easing his way out.
Jacob did not move.
He watched as Dion closed the door behind him, the click of the latch barely louder than a heartbeat.
Only when the light vanished did Jacob finally sit up.
His hands were shaking.
The darkness pressed in immediately, thicker without the lamp's glow.
Jacob swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped to his knees, the floor cold beneath them.
His breath hitched as he clasped his hands together, fingers digging painfully into each other.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
The words spilled out of him, fractured and desperate. His shoulders trembled as tears slid down his face, soaking into the collar of his shirt.
"I didn't mean to," he whispered again. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know."
The room felt wrong.
Too quiet.
The shadows along the walls seemed deeper than they should have been, stretching and folding where no light touched them.
The air felt heavy in his lungs, thick enough to choke on.
Jacob squeezed his eyes shut and began to chant, voice barely more than a breath.
"The Dreamer whose Slumber is Reality," he murmured.
His lips trembled as he continued.
"The Final Silence that Swallows the Starry Sky."
The temperature dropped.
Jacob's breath fogged faintly in front of his face, though the window was closed.
"The Alpha and Omega of the Inexistent."
As the last words left his mouth, the cabin creaked—slow, deliberate—like something shifting its weight far below.
Jacob froze, tears clinging to his lashes.
'I didn't wake it,' he thought desperately. 'Please… I didn't wake it.'
He bowed his head lower, forehead nearly touching the floor.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, voice breaking. "Please… just let us go."
The darkness did not answer.
Jacob remained kneeling long after the last whisper left his lips.
His apology dissolved into quiet sobs, breath stuttering as he pressed his hands harder together, as if praying with enough force might erase something already done.
The darkness around him felt dense, almost textured, like a veil he could reach out and touch.
The cabin creaked again.
Not the familiar settling of old wood—but a slow, deliberate sound, as though something heavy had shifted beneath the floorboards.
Jacob's head snapped up.
His heart pounded so loudly he was sure it would wake the others.
"Please," he whispered. "Please don't—"
The sound stopped.
Silence rushed in to fill the space it left behind, deeper and heavier than before.
Jacob wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and shakily pushed himself back onto the bed.
He pulled the blanket up to his chest, curling inward like a child. His eyes remained open, fixed on the ceiling where shadows stretched unnaturally long.
They did not move.
They simply existed.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Jacob couldn't tell.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged his eyelids down despite his fear.
Just before sleep claimed him, he felt it—a pressure, subtle but unmistakable, like attention brushing against his thoughts.
Not anger.
Not mercy.
Awareness.
***
Downstairs, Louise stirred in his bed.
He hadn't been dreaming, yet his heart raced as if he'd been jolted awake from a nightmare. He lay still, listening. The cabin was quiet—too quiet. No creaks. No distant forest sounds seeping through the walls.
Louise frowned slightly, a familiar unease curling in his chest.
'Why do I feel like something just passed through?' he thought.
He turned onto his side, staring at the faint outline of his door in the darkness. The air felt heavier than it had when he fell asleep, pressing gently against his skin.
Somewhere far away, beyond the walls of the cabin, the lake reflected the moon without a ripple.
And beneath the forest, beneath the soil and stone, something continued to dream—uninterrupted, undisturbed, but no longer unaware.