Chapter 1 - SHORE OF UNWELCOME
The fog clung to the sea like breath on glass, thick, suffocating, and cold. Nor leaned slightly over the side of the boat, her gaze sharp, tracking the barely visible shoreline. The mist muted everything: the waves, the creak of wood, even her own thoughts. It made the world feel far away, like they were arriving someplace forgotten.
The boat scraped against the dock with a soft grind. Nor moved first, boots hitting slick planks as she stepped off with precision. The air stung her lungs, briny, damp, tinged with something old. Her eyes swept across the eerie harbor town, taking in the crooked chimneys, gas lamps, and cobbled streets that hadn’t seen modern life in decades. This place doesn’t want us here, she thought.
Kim followed in silence. She adjusted the strap of her worn satchel, not because it needed it, but to fill the awkward stillness. Her breath caught as she stepped into the mist. The stillness wasn’t natural. It was watching. Every gas lamp that flickered overhead seemed to do so in judgment. The town felt preserved, and not kindly. Like we’re intruding on a wound that never healed, she mused.
Ema hesitated on the edge of the boat, one hand resting on the rail. Something in the fog curled unnaturally near her, brushing the soles of her boots as if testing her presence. She felt it in her chest, that quiet internal tug. A sensation she didn’t yet understand but had long since stopped dismissing. As she stepped off the boat, the dock creaked beneath her feet, and she felt the weight of unseen eyes upon her.
Whatever is here, it’s waiting for us, she thought, her grip on her bag tightening with a mix of wariness and anticipation.
The fog here did not simply drift, it coiled with intent, as though the island itself was breathing in, deciding whether to exhale enough for them to pass.
A man emerged, or rather, became visible, as if the fog had decided to let them see him. He said nothing at first. His coat hung heavy with mist, hat pulled low enough to hide everything but his mouth. Ema’s instincts whispered that this wasn’t a chance encounter, that he’d been waiting for them all along.
“Road’s that way,” he said. The words barely carried, and Ema wondered if he was trying to be cryptic or just uninterested. Then he turned and vanished again, his presence swallowed like it had never existed. He knows more than he’s telling, she thought, unease blooming behind her ribs.
The girls exchanged no words. The silence was too thick, too aware. They moved together, their footsteps echoing along the narrow, stone-lined streets. Lamps swung gently overhead, their golden light failing to touch the ground. Kim caught a flicker of movement behind a curtain. Nor heard the distant thud of a door locking. Ema felt it, not fear. Something colder.
They know what we are, she thought. Or what we could become.
At the edge of town, shrouded in vines and rot, an old bus wheezed like a dying thing. Nor stared at it with suspicion. The windshield was cracked like a spider’s web, and the front door hung slightly ajar, as if groaning in protest. A man sat behind the wheel, hat, again, pulled low. Pale eyes glinted just enough to feel wrong.
“You’re late,” he muttered.
Kim stepped forward, voice steady despite the tension in her posture. “Airport delay. Paperwork issue.”
The man didn’t blink. “Always is. They like keeping your kind waiting.”
Ema felt the words settle into her spine. She didn’t know what he meant exactly, but the disdain was unmistakable.
Inside the bus was worse. Wet seats, peeling walls, and that stale, metallic scent of time. Nor slid to the back instinctively, putting distance between herself and the driver. Kim and Ema sat opposite each other near the center, the bus groaning beneath them as if it resented their weight.
The driver said nothing. The bus rumbled forward.
Minutes passed in silence until his voice, dry and cold, slithered through the air.
“If laughter finds you from the woods… don’t look. Just close your eyes. The old ones say the same for fire in your dreams, keep to the shore, or it will follow you back.”
Ema’s stomach twisted. She glanced at Kim, but Kim’s face was stone, her grip tight on her bag.
Then, in the blur beyond the fogged glass, Ema thought she saw movement, a small, pale figure standing at the distant treelines, watching as the bus rumbled past. She snapped her gaze toward the window, but there was nothing there. Only her own reflection staring back, wide-eyed and uncertain if she’d imagined it.
Nor didn’t react to what the driver said, but she took mental note. Every warning felt like a breadcrumb left for survivors.
The road curled tighter, trees closing in, symbols etched into crumbling walls just barely visible through the windows. Mist danced across the glass like fingers.
Then, suddenly, the trees gave way.
A stone bridge stretched before them, reaching toward something immense and shadowed beyond the fog. The first glimpse of Dutch High made Ema’s breath hitch. She pressed to the window, eyes wide. Every stone set at an angle the island itself had chosen generations ago.
The academy rose like a memory too old to be real. Spires stabbed the sky. Gates twisted with vines and glowing glyphs. It wasn’t a school; it was a secret someone failed to bury.
The bus sighed to a stop. “End of the line,” the driver said. “You’re on the island now.”
