Introduction
Hawley has sat at the edge of the moorland for centuries, quiet and isolated from the worries of aristocracy down south. It was most ordinary in the eyes of many. The cobbled streets and the aged houses were all part of the charm. Yet, in a long period of existence, the past is never truly buried. And, as the past always does, it refuses to remain so.
Legends tell of Emley Moor, older than the village itself, they tell of travellers disappearing, sudden mists that hid the familiar from sight, and whispers heard beyond hearing. Some say the moor keeps its own account of what happens, storing events in the rustle of leaves, the shifting heather, and the shadows cast by moonlight.
Time itself never seems to work right in Hawley. The clocks turn backwards if you look closer. Always will you feel a strange sense of déjà vu lingers even in the most mundane moments. Houses are rebuilt, roads straightened, children grow and leave—but the land endures, patient, observing. On nights when the mist is low and the moon is pale, the past has a way of slipping into the present. Things that were thought lost may rise again, and memories long buried can stir once more.
It is into this world, layered with history and quiet danger, that our story begins. The moor waits, and Hawley remembers. Those who tread its paths must do so carefully, for history is never as settled as it seems—and some secrets refuse to rest.
