The morning air was sharp, tinged with damp earth and pine needles. Maya pulled her jacket tighter around her as she stood at the edge of the forest, where the mist clung thickly to the ground like spilled milk. The sun fought weakly through the gray sky, casting muted shadows between the trees.
Her heart hammered with a mix of fear and determination. The tiny pink shoe was gone, but something deeper remained—a presence she could not explain.
With every step she took along the twisting trail, memories surfaced in fragments—laughter from childhood, her mother's gentle voice, a fleeting glimpse of white fabric among the underbrush.
The woods were unnervingly silent.
No birds chirped. No wind rustled the leaves.
Then, faint footsteps echoed behind her—soft, quick, deliberate.
Maya stopped, breath caught in her throat.
"Hello?" she called, voice steady but quiet.
Only the silence answered.
She moved forward cautiously, the scent of damp moss heavy in the air. Suddenly, a flash of white flickered between two trees.
There. Just beyond the edge of her vision.
She hurried toward it—and found herself at a clearing.
There, nestled among wildflowers, lay a small bundle wrapped in white cloth.
Her hands trembled as she knelt down.
Inside was a fragile hand, pale and cold.
Maya's voice cracked as she whispered, "I'm coming."
Maya's breath caught as she gently unfolded the white cloth. Inside lay a small, trembling girl, no older than five or six, with tangled hair and wide, frightened eyes.
"Hey, it's okay," Maya whispered, brushing a stray lock from the girl's face. "You're safe now."
The girl's lips trembled, but she didn't speak. Instead, she reached out with a tiny hand and clutched Maya's sleeve.
A sudden chill ran through the clearing. The mist thickened, swirling like a living thing around them.
Then, a voice — soft, distant, but unmistakable — echoed through the trees.
"Maya…"
The girl looked up, eyes wide with recognition.
"Mom?" Maya whispered.
But the mist swallowed the voice before she could hear more.
Heart pounding, Maya scooped the girl into her arms.
"We have to get out of here," she said, starting back toward the trail.
But the woods seemed different now. The path she had walked in on was gone.
Only shadows stretched before her.
Maya tightened her grip on the girl, her heart thundering in her chest as she spun around, searching for the trail. But the trees had shifted—the familiar path swallowed by an unnatural darkness.
"Which way?" she whispered, panic rising.
The girl clung to her, silent and still. The fog thickened, curling around their legs like grasping fingers.
A faint whisper came again, carried on the cold breeze.
"Maya…"
The voice was closer now—haunting, tender, yet filled with sorrow.
"Mom?" Maya's voice cracked, but no answer came.
The forest seemed alive, shadows twisting and lengthening as if warning her to turn back.
But she couldn't. Not with the girl in her arms.
Taking a deep breath, Maya stepped forward, guided only by instinct and the fading sound of her mother's voice.
Branches scraped her face, roots tripped her feet, but she pressed on.
Suddenly, the girl tugged hard, pointing to a narrow opening between two ancient oaks.
Through it, a faint light flickered—like a lantern glowing in the distance.
"Come on," Maya whispered.
As they moved toward the light, the voice called one last time—
"Maya… remember."
And with those words, the fog parted just enough for Maya to glimpse a shadowy figure watching them from beyond the trees.
A figure wrapped in white.
The glow ahead grew steadier—a flickering lantern hung from a crooked post beside a small, weathered cabin nestled between the trees. The scent of burning wood drifted through the cool air, promising warmth and shelter.
Maya quickened her pace, cradling the girl close.
As they approached, the door creaked open.
A woman stood in the doorway. Her face was kind, but lined with worry, eyes sharp and searching.
"You shouldn't be out here," she said softly. "Not alone, especially with her."
The girl clung tighter to Maya, eyes wide.
Maya met the woman's gaze. "She was taken. I found her in the woods."
The woman nodded slowly. "Deurali takes more than it gives. But it's not done with you yet."
Maya glanced back toward the forest edge, where the fog swirled.
There—standing just beyond the trees—was the shadowy figure in white.
The woman's voice dropped to a whisper.
"That's her. The watcher. The one who waits."
Maya swallowed hard.
"Who is she?"
The woman's eyes flickered with pain. "She's the keeper of secrets. The guardian of those lost. But sometimes… she warns."
A sudden chill swept through the clearing.
The girl whimpered softly.
Maya knew this was only the beginning.