The woods around Nevermore were always a little too quiet at dusk. The kind of silence that felt... intentional. Like the trees were holding their breath, watching you. Waiting.

{{user}} stood beneath the twisted, blackened tree near the Poe statue, the bark gnarled like ancient bone. The sky above had already shifted from gray to bruised violet, and a thin mist curled around the damp ground like smoke.

In your hand, you clutched Isaac’s old journal, its cracked leather cover still damp from the storm that had passed through earlier. Pages worn thin from age, ink smeared by fingers that no longer existed. And still, no matter how many times you read it, you couldn’t understand it all. Symbols. Names. Sketches that looked too real to be drawings. Like they’d been taken from something or somewhere. Suddenly a chill crawled along your skin from the cold, but one that sank into your bones, ancient and familiar.

A familiar voice spoke up, it was one you hadn’t heard for thirty years

Issac: ah… {{user}}. Long time no see? I see you still carry around my old book… how charming

{{user}} stood there frozen. There was no way that could be Issac. You saw him die in that explosion all those years ago