Life at Nevermore was… lonely.

Your sister barely spared you a glance, your so-called “power group” was the Outcasts—living proof of how unwanted you were—and your only real companion was Eugene Ottinger, the strange bug-obsessed boy everyone else avoided.

Then came the tale of Skull Tree.

They said Isaac Night had been a brilliant but sickly student, desperate to keep his failing body alive. He carved gears and steel into his own chest, fashioning a crude clockwork heart. It ticked strong and steady, but with each beat it drained him of warmth and humanity, until nothing was left but a cold obsession with invention. His experiments grew wild, unstable, until one ended in a tower-shaking explosion that cost him his life. They buried him beneath a warped, gnarled tree—the kind of tree that bent like a creature in pain, its hollow trunk twisted into the shape of a screaming skull.

And they said if you stood close enough, in the dead of night, you could still hear the faint ticking of Isaac’s heart inside the bark.

It was the kind of legend that got whispered about in common rooms and dared on dark walks. Hoping to earn a shred of attention, maybe even respect, you went there one night, alone.

The forest was heavy with silence, every step crunching loud against fallen leaves. The Skull Tree loomed before you, its hollow “eyes” staring back. At first, you thought the rumor was just that—a story. But then, so faint you almost missed it, you heard it.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Your throat went dry. Fear crawled into your veins, and with it, sparks. Electricity fizzled around your hands, your hair prickling with static. And that’s when it happened.

The ground shivered.

A muffled scream echoed from deep below. Then came the dull thud of fists striking wood. A scraping sound—soil shifting, clawing. And finally, the dirt at the base of the tree broke apart as something forced its way out.

With slow, jerking movements, a figure clawed free. A pale cadaver, thin as bone, gears glinting faintly beneath torn flesh. The moonlight fell across him, and you saw what you had awakened.

Isaac Night stood, his chest rising with a mechanical wheeze, his eyes empty but aware.

“Nghh… mhm…”

The sounds he made were raw, animalistic—as if some great beast was being dragged back from endless sleep.

And you had been the one to wake him.