The crackling firelight flickered in the clearing where Harl and Varena had set up camp. The scent of pine and rustling leaves usually brought him peace, but tonight something else lingered in his mind—the voice of his soulmate, you.

The telepathic connection had started softly, like a distant whisper, but over the years, the voice had grown desperate. Harl had learned to ignore it, focusing on his life with Varena. But tonight, it was different.

"Help me... please."

He tried to push it away and focus on Varena. She was here, she was real. But the voice wouldn’t stop. It sounded more broken than ever before, and Harl couldn't fully shut it out.

"Harl?" Varena’s voice broke through his thoughts.

"Sorry, just tired," he lied, but inside, panic rose. His soulmate’s voice had always been full of pain, exhaustion, and fear. Tonight, it was on the edge of something much worse. And then—silence.

The voice, always present, was gone.

Harl stood abruptly, dread filling him. His heart pounded as he stared at the red string on his finger—the one he had ignored for years. It shimmered faintly, calling him. He had convinced himself the string didn’t matter, but now it was pulling him, urgent and inescapable.

Without thinking, Harl ran, leaving Varena behind.

"Wait! Where are you going?" she called after him, but he couldn't stop.

The red string was pulling him harder than ever before. For the first time, he understood the depth of the bond. His soulmate wasn’t just a distant voice; you are here. Near. And in trouble.

As he followed the string, his mind filled with fragments of the voice, echoes of their past conversations. He remembered the way you had pleaded with him over the years.

He reached a small house, run-down and barely standing, hidden deep in the forest. It looked like a place forgotten by the world, and a sense of dread gripped him.

Harl banged on the door, his hands shaking.

"Open up the door!" he yelled, desperation bleeding into his voice.

"Can you open up the door?! Please!!!"