Nothing but black.

  Then the forest whispered his name.

  Alex stumbled as roots caught his feet in the woods, trees curling upward like burnt fingers against a starless sky. A prickling gaze crawled up his neck. No matter how hard he tried to move, his legs stayed frozen, heavy as stone.

  The trees leaned closer, whispering his name—Alex… Alex…—from somewhere beyond bark and root. Beneath the leaves came far-off trumpets and quiet, waiting voices. Pressure built in his head, like an invisible crown settling too tight. For a heartbeat, he saw a blur of royal purple and a symbol—unknown, yet painfully familiar—burning inside him.

  A voice he couldn’t place murmured through the trees:

  The sound grew louder. Thunder rolled through the forest, swallowing a child’s scream whole.

  Alex reached out, his fingers curling around nothing—

  and then he woke up.

  He lay still in his bed, wide-eyed, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was just a dream, he told himself. But the pressure of that invisible crown still lingered, like fingers pressing into his skull. The echo of the scream rang in his ears as he stared at the ceiling, unsure for a moment whether he was still in the forest or safely at home. Morning light slipped through the curtains, thin and pale.

  Haverwood.

  A small town just beginning to wake. The distant hum of a lawnmower drifted through the cool air, followed by muffled footsteps on a gravel driveway and the gentle clang of a screen door. The streets shimmered in early light as curtains were drawn back, revealing warm kitchens and the sharp, comforting scent of coffee brewing.

  Figures emerged one by one. Some, backpacks slung over their shoulders, headed toward school, their laughter a mix of happiness and lingering sleepiness. Others walked toward the bakery or the general store, offering friendly nods as they passed. Their biggest worries were pop quizzes and lost lunchboxes. None of them knew anything about crowns made of pressure or screams swallowed by trees—but Alex couldn’t stop thinking about them.

  Ben rode his bike up to Alex’s house, leaning over the handlebars as he called out, “Alex! Come on, we’re going to be late for school!”

  Alex shuffled out the front door a moment later, shoulders slumped, eyes still heavy. He blinked against the brightness of the morning.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Ben asked, concern slipping into his voice. “You look like you wrestled a bear and lost.”

  Alex managed a weak smile. “Nah. It’s just… I didn’t sleep well,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “Did you keep playing video games again?”

  “No,” Alex said, shaking his head. “I just had a really weird dream.”

  Ben grinned. “A weird dream? Tell me about it later. Right now, we’ve got school.”

  They arrived just as the bell rang. In class, Ben’s attention drifted to Mary a few rows ahead. Her laughter chimed through the room like wind chimes, and his chest fluttered as he wondered—again—how he’d ever find the courage to tell her how he felt, especially when Alex always seemed to say the right thing and he always said nothing.

  Beside him, Alex stared at his notebook, barely hearing the teacher. The forest clung to his thoughts—the whisper of his name, the scream, the flash of purple he couldn’t explain—and the choking feeling that the forest knew something about him he didn’t.

  The three of them had been friends since childhood. They lived close, played together, and shared more memories than Alex could count. Lately, Ben had started to feel something more for Mary. Her kindness pulled him in, and her smile always lingered in his thoughts longer than it should have.

  When the final bell rang, Ben and Alex gathered their things and stepped outside into the bright afternoon sun. The air felt fresh—until they froze.

  A group of bullies had cornered a smaller kid, Ethan, against the wall. They shoved him around, digging through his backpack and tossing his belongings onto the ground like trash.

  “Ben, wait,” Alex whispered, grabbing his arm. “Don’t do anything stupid. You know how these guys are.”

  “I have to help him,” Ben said. His stomach twisted as old memories surfaced—of being ignored, of standing alone before he met Alex. A few kids passed by, eyes sliding away, pretending not to see. “No one deserves this.”

  Before Alex could stop him, Ben pushed forward.

  “Hey!” Ben shouted. “Leave Ethan alone!”

  The bullies turned, surprised. Jake Thompson, their leader, sneered. “What’s your problem, Ben?”

  “You can’t just pick on people like that,” Ben said. “It’s pathetic.”

  Jake stepped closer, looming. “You really think anyone’s going to thank you for this? People turn on you fast.”

  Ben’s jaw tightened. “I’d rather stand up than look away.”

  Jake smirked. “We’ll see.”

  Ben felt an adrenaline surge. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Alex stepped up beside him, his voice tight but steady. “You don’t have to do this alone, Ben.”

  Students gathered nearby, watching. A few laughed nervously; most pretended they weren’t looking at all. The bullies hesitated. Jake scoffed. “This is lame. Let’s go.”

  They disappeared into the crowd, leaving Ethan shaking.

  “Are you okay?” Ben asked.

  Ethan nodded, clutching his backpack. “Thanks. I thought they were going to take everything.”

  As they walked away, Ben muttered, “Next time, don’t wait for them to stop.”

  “Next time,” Alex said quietly, “we might not be there.”

  Ben frowned, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words.

  They walked in silence. As they passed the edge of the woods, Alex felt it again—that prickling gaze on the back of his neck. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to quiet.

  That prickling feeling deepened, and for a moment Alex could’ve sworn he heard it—the same distant trumpets from his dream, buried somewhere between the trees.

  And layered beneath them, faint as a breath, came a voice: