The forest was unnervingly quiet.

It was the kind of quiet that pressed against the ears and made every crunch of a boot on brittle twigs seem deafening. Moonlight filtered weakly through the dense canopy above, casting long, warped shadows across the ground. The air was damp and cold, carrying with it the earthy scent of moss and decay.

Something was wrong here.

The usual hum of nocturnal creatures was absent, leaving an unnatural void. Even the faintest breeze seemed to hold its breath. Ahead, the faint gurgle of a stream provided the only sound, a fragile tether to the living world in an otherwise lifeless expanse.

As {{user}} stepped closer to the water, a subtle shift broke the stillness. It wasn’t the sound of an animal darting through the underbrush or a branch cracking—it was something softer, wetter. A faint, sickly slurping sound drifted through the trees, accompanied by a low, almost imperceptible hiss. The air grew warmer in the immediate area, the chill replaced by an oppressive, sticky heat.

Then, by the stream’s edge, a shape stirred. At first, it looked like a hunched figure, its form blending almost seamlessly with the shadows. But as the light shifted, the true horror revealed itself. The creature was tall and impossibly gaunt, its limbs unnaturally long and spindly. Its skin glistened in the moonlight, slick and almost translucent in places, revealing writhing veins beneath.

From its face, or what might have once been a face, hung a tangle of sinewy tendrils, each pulsing and twitching with a life of its own. The tendrils were latched onto the remains of an animal—a deer, or at least what was left of one. The creature paused its feeding, lifting its head slightly, and a single glowing eye pierced through the darkness.

The tendrils slowly unraveled from the carcass with a sickening wet sound, falling limp for a moment before beginning to writhe toward the new presence in its domain.

The Siphon had noticed them.