Chapter 1 The Funeral
Chapter 1
Part 1
The fog rolled in long before Nyx Ashthorne reached the town, thick and slow, swallowing the road ahead in a pale gray haze that seemed to breathe with the forest itself. It pressed in from all sides, curling between the towering pine trees that lined the narrow stretch of asphalt, making their dark silhouettes rise like ancient sentinels against the dimming sky. Yet their branches hung low, heavy with rain from the storm that had passed earlier, and every so often droplets would fall in uneven rhythms against the windshield, the sound soft but persistent in the quiet of the car.
Nyx adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, her fingers tightening slightly as her headlights cut through the mist. The beams didn’t reach far, They never did out here. The forest absorbed the light in a way that felt unnatural, as though the darkness itself had weight, as though it could pull things into itself and keep them there.
It had always felt like that.
Even when she was younger. Especially when she was younger.
Back then, she used to press her face against the car window during long drives, staring into the woods as they passed, convinced she would see something moving between the trees if she looked long enough. Not animals but something else. Something else that didn’t belong to the world beyond the forest.
Her mother had always told her to stop looking.
“Some places don’t like being seen,” she used to say.
Nyx swallowed slightly at the memory and forced her attention back to the road.
The curve ahead came sharper than she expected, and she slowed as the old wooden sign emerged from the fog, its faded paint barely visible beneath years of weather and neglect.
WELCOME TO RAVENMOOR.
Population: 4,903.
The words lingered in her vision for a moment as she drove past, something about them settling heavier than they should have. The last time she had seen that sign, she had been seventeen and desperate to leave, her entire world narrowed down to one simple thought—get out and never come back.
Now she was twenty-two.
And she had only returned because her mother was dead.
The thought didn’t come with tears. Not yet. It came with a strange kind of emptiness, like her mind refused to fully process it, like it was something too large to fit into something as small as a single word. Dead. It felt distant, abstract, even as it sat at the center of everything.
The call had come three nights ago, just after midnight. A voice she didn’t recognize, calm and detached, delivering the news with a kind of practiced sympathy that made it feel even less real.
“There’s been an accident.”
That was all it had taken.
Nyx exhaled slowly, her breath fogging faintly against the cool air inside the car as the town began to emerge from the mist.
Ravenmoor hadn’t changed.
Not really.
The same narrow streets stretched out ahead, lined with old Victorian houses that leaned slightly with age, their dark wooden frames worn but still standing. Warm light spilled from the windows of small shops along the main road, reflecting across the wet pavement in soft, golden streaks. The tall stone clock tower stood at the center of it all, its weathered face barely visible through the fog, its presence as constant as the forest itself.
The bell rang as she drove into the town.
A single, deep chime.
Five o’clock.
The sound carried through the streets, low and resonant, settling into the bones of the place in a way that made everything feel older than it looked.
Nyx pulled her car to a stop near the edge of the town square and turned off the engine. The sudden silence felt heavier than the noise had been, the absence of sound pressing in around her as she sat there for a moment, staring through the windshield at a place she had spent years trying to forget.
It didn’t feel like coming home.
It felt like stepping back into something she had escaped.
She stepped out of the car, and the cold air wrapped around her immediately, sharp enough to make her inhale a little deeper than she meant to. The fog drifted lazily through the streets, moving between buildings and along the sidewalks like it had somewhere to be, like it knew the town better than anyone who lived in it.
People moved through the square in quiet routines, coats pulled tight, conversations low and indistinct, but as Nyx closed the car door behind her, something shifted. It was subtle at first—a glance held a second too long, a pause in someone’s step—but it spread quickly, like a ripple through still water.
Recognition.
Ravenmoor remembered her.
Of course it did. This was the kind of town where no one ever truly disappeared, even if they left. Stories stayed. Names stayed. And the Ashthorne name had never been one the town forgot easily.
Nyx adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and started toward the street that led to the church, her footsteps quiet against the damp pavement. The closer she got to the center of town, the stronger that familiar feeling became—the one she had tried so hard to ignore growing up. It wasn’t fear exactly. It was something more instinctive. A sense that there was more to this place than what you could see, something just beneath the surface waiting to be noticed.
The air shifted.
Just slightly.
A faint prickle ran across her skin, like static building before a storm, and she slowed, glancing upward without fully meaning to. The sky was darker than it should have been, the clouds thicker, heavier, as though they hadn’t quite finished what they started earlier that day.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Nyx frowned faintly. The storm had already passed. It shouldn’t still be there.
She kept walking.
The clock tower rose ahead of her, its shadow stretching long across the square, and as she stepped into the open space, she noticed them.
The crows.
They were everywhere.
Perched along rooftops, clustered on the edges of streetlights, scattered across the bare branches of the trees that lined the square. There were too many of them. Far more than there should have been. Their dark forms blended into the fading light, but their presence was impossible to ignore.
Nyx slowed, her gaze lifting slightly as she stepped forward.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, almost all at once, the birds turned.
Their heads shifted in perfect, unnatural unison, black eyes locking onto her as though they had been waiting.
A chill moved slowly down her spine.
“Okay,” she murmured under her breath, more to fill the silence than anything else. “That’s not normal.”
One crow let out a sharp, echoing caw.
Then another.
And another.
Within seconds, the entire square erupted into motion as hundreds of wings beat against the air, the sound sudden and overwhelming as the flock lifted all at once, spiraling upward into the darkening sky. Feathers scattered through the air as they circled above her, forming a shifting, living storm that blocked out what little light remained.
Nyx stepped back instinctively, her heart picking up just slightly at the sheer intensity of it.
The birds circled once.
Twice.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, the movement stopped. The flock broke apart, scattering in every direction, disappearing into the surrounding trees and rooftops until the sky was empty again.
Silence fell over the square.
Nyx let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“That was weird.”
“Tell me about it.”
The voice came from behind her, familiar enough to pull her out of the moment instantly.
She turned.
And there, standing near the fountain at the center of the square, was Mara Hollow.
For a second, Nyx just stared, the tension in her chest easing slightly at the sight of someone she knew—someone real, someone unchanged in a place that suddenly felt anything but.
“Mara?”
Mara’s lips curved into a crooked smile as she stepped forward. “Wow,” she said lightly. “You still recognize me.”
Nyx huffed a quiet laugh, closing the distance between them and pulling her into a quick, tight hug. “Of course I recognize you.”
When they pulled apart, Mara studied her for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “You look exactly the same,” she said.
Nyx raised an eyebrow. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” Mara insisted, her smile softening just slightly. “Just... maybe a little more tired.”
Nyx glanced away briefly, the comment hitting closer than she expected. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Something like that.”
Mara followed her gaze upward, toward the empty sky where the crows had been moments before. “They’ve been doing that all week,” she added.
Nyx frowned. “The birds?”
“Yeah.” Mara crossed her arms loosely. “No one really knows why. They just... gather. Then freak out.”
Nyx hesitated, her eyes drifting back toward the rooftops. “Probably just migration,” she said, though the explanation felt thin even as she said it.
“Maybe,” Mara replied, but she didn’t sound convinced.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Mara’s expression shifted, something quieter settling in. “I’m really sorry about your mom.”
The words landed heavier than everything else had.
Nyx swallowed, her gaze dropping slightly. “Thanks.”
Mara didn’t push further. She never had. Instead, she nodded toward the street leading away from the square. “We should get to the church. It’s about to start.”
Nyx nodded, adjusting her bag again as they began walking together, their steps falling into an easy rhythm despite the years that had passed.
The fog thickened the farther they moved from the square, the buildings thinning out as the trees began to close in again. The road curved slightly, leading toward the old stone chapel that stood just at the edge of the forest, its silhouette barely visible through the mist.
Halfway there, Nyx slowed.
It wasn’t a conscious decision. More like her body reacting before her mind could catch up.
“What is it?” Mara asked.
Nyx tilted her head slightly, her gaze drifting toward the trees. “I thought I heard something.”
“Like what?”
She hesitated.
“I don’t know. Just...” Her brow furrowed slightly. “Something.”
The forest stood still, dark and impenetrable beyond the thin stretch of grass that separated it from the road. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.
But the feeling lingered.
That quiet, familiar sensation she had tried to forget.
Like something was there.
Watching.
Nyx exhaled slowly and shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said, though the words didn’t quite settle.
She turned back toward the path, and a moment later, the church came into view.
Warm light glowed through its windows, cutting softly through the fog, while figures gathered outside in dark clusters, their shapes blurred and indistinct.
As Nyx stepped closer, the wind shifted again, colder this time, sharper, carrying with it the distant, low rumble of thunder.
And high above the chapel...
The crows returned.
Not as many as before.
But enough.
They circled slowly, silently, their dark forms cutting through the sky as though drawn to something unseen below.
Nyx felt that same static sensation crawl across her skin again, stronger now, more insistent, as though the air itself had changed in response to her presence.
Mara glanced up, her expression tightening slightly. “Storm’s coming back,” she said.
Nyx didn’t answer.
Because she could feel it.
Whatever was happening... wasn’t just the weather.
And as she stepped onto the path leading to the church, the weight of the town seemed to settle around her once more.
Like Ravenmoor hadn’t just remembered her.
It had been waiting.
Part 2
The church bells began to ring just as Nyx stepped onto the gravel path, their slow, echoing toll rolling through the fog like something ancient calling the town to attention. The sound settled deep in her chest, heavy and unrelenting, each chime reinforcing the reality she had been trying not to face since she arrived. This was real. She was here. And her mother was gone.
People had already gathered outside the chapel, dark shapes in darker clothing, their quiet conversations drifting through the cold air in low murmurs that seemed to dissolve into the mist almost as soon as they were spoken. Umbrellas dotted the courtyard, though the rain had not yet returned, and as Nyx approached, she felt the subtle but unmistakable shift in attention. Heads turned. Voices lowered. Eyes lingered.
Ravenmoor had always watched its own.
Mara stayed close at her side, her presence grounding in a way Nyx hadn’t realized she needed until that moment. “You okay?” she asked softly, her voice careful, like she wasn’t sure how close to step without pushing too far.
Nyx nodded, though the motion felt automatic, detached from what she actually felt. “I’ll survive a funeral,” she said, the words quiet, almost hollow. It wasn’t grief that scared her most—it was the finality of it, the way everything in this town seemed to carry weight, like even death here meant something more than it should.
The church doors opened with a long, low creak, and warmth spilled out to meet them, along with the faint scent of incense and old wood. Inside, candlelight flickered against stone walls, casting shifting shadows that moved just enough to make the room feel alive in a way it shouldn’t have been. The stained-glass windows glowed dimly against the thick fog pressing in from outside, their colors muted and somber.
And at the front of the room, beneath the altar, stood the coffin.
Nyx stopped without meaning to, her body refusing to take another step as the sight of it settled over her. It looked too small. Too still. Too final. Her mother had never been small, not in presence, not in voice, not in the way she carried herself through the world like she understood something no one else did. Seeing her reduced to something so silent, so contained, felt wrong in a way Nyx couldn’t explain.
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.
Mara’s hand brushed lightly against her arm, a quiet reassurance that didn’t ask anything of her. “You don’t have to go up yet,” she murmured.
Nyx swallowed, forcing her body to move despite the tightness in her chest. “No,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “I should.”
The walk down the aisle felt longer than it should have, each step echoing softly against the wooden floor, each movement drawing attention she didn’t want. The room was filled now, though no one spoke loudly. Grief in Ravenmoor seemed to come with restraint, like even mourning had rules here.
When she reached the front, she stood there for a long moment, staring down at the polished surface of the coffin, her reflection faintly visible in the dark wood. It didn’t feel real. It felt like a scene she had stepped into too late, like something had already happened and she was only now being allowed to see the aftermath.
Memories surfaced without warning—her mother standing at the kitchen counter late at night, flipping through old books filled with symbols Nyx never understood; the way she used to pause during storms, as if listening to something hidden beneath the thunder; the quiet but firm warnings to stay out of the forest after dark. At the time, Nyx had thought it was just overprotectiveness. Now, standing here, she wasn’t so sure.
She reached out, her fingers brushing against the coffin. The wood was colder than she expected.
“Nyx.”
The voice broke gently through her thoughts. She turned to see Father Callahan standing nearby, his expression lined with sympathy that didn’t quite hide something else beneath it—something more cautious, more searching. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.
“Thank you,” Nyx replied, though the words felt distant, like they belonged to someone else.
He hesitated, as though there was more he wanted to say, but whatever it was, he held it back. Instead, he gave a small nod toward the pews. “We’ll begin shortly.”
Nyx stepped away from the coffin and took a seat beside Mara near the front, her gaze drifting across the room as more people filtered in. Faces she recognized. Faces she didn’t. And then, near the back, one face that stood out completely.
He leaned casually against a stone pillar, dressed in dark clothing that felt too deliberate, too refined for a place like this. There was something about him that didn’t fit—not just in appearance, but in presence. He didn’t seem affected by the weight of the room, didn’t shift or whisper or glance away like everyone else. He simply watched.
Nyx frowned slightly, leaning closer to Mara. “Do you know him?”
Mara followed her gaze, then shook her head. “No. But he looks like he walked out of a different century.”
Nyx looked back again, and this time, the man didn’t look away. Instead, a faint, knowing smile touched his lips, subtle but unmistakable. It sent a strange, cold ripple through her chest, something instinctive and uneasy that she couldn’t quite place.
Before she could dwell on it, the bells outside fell silent, and Father Callahan stepped forward, his voice carrying softly through the chapel as he began to speak. Nyx tried to listen, but the words blurred together, lost beneath the growing tension in the air. Something felt off. Not emotionally—physically. The atmosphere itself seemed to shift, as though the room were holding its breath.
A low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.
Nyx’s fingers tightened slightly in her lap. The storm had already passed. It shouldn’t be returning.
Another rumble followed, louder this time, closer.
The windows trembled faintly, and the candle flames flickered, stretching and bending as if reacting to something unseen. Nyx glanced toward them, her unease sharpening. The fog outside had thickened, pressing against the glass like something alive.
“Did they say there was another storm coming?” Mara whispered.
Nyx shook her head slowly, her attention fixed on the strange heaviness building in the room. “No.”
Then, through the quiet, she heard it.
“Nyx...”
The whisper was soft, almost lost beneath the sound of the wind, but it was unmistakable.
Her name.
Her breath caught as her head turned toward the back of the chapel. The doors had shifted open slightly, just enough for the cold air to slip through. Beyond them, the fog swirled across the courtyard in slow, unnatural patterns.
“Did you hear that?” she murmured.
“Hear what?”
Nyx didn’t answer. The voice came again, clearer this time, carried on the wind with an eerie familiarity that made her chest tighten.
“Nyx...”
She stood before she realized she was moving.
“Where are you going?” Mara asked, reaching for her arm.
“I think... someone’s outside.”
The room fell into quiet confusion as Nyx walked toward the doors, the priest’s voice faltering behind her. She barely noticed. The pull toward the outside was stronger than anything else, like something just beyond the threshold was calling her forward.
The moment she stepped out, the cold hit her.
The storm had returned in full force, dark clouds twisting violently above the church, thunder cracking through the sky with sharp, sudden force. The wind cut through the courtyard, carrying the scent of rain and something older, something buried deep within the forest beyond.
“Hello?” Nyx called, her voice nearly lost in the wind.
No answer.
Only silence.
And then—
“Nyx...”
The voice came again, this time from the forest.
Her stomach dropped.
“Mom?” she whispered, the word leaving her before she could stop it.
The trees shifted, branches creaking softly as the wind moved through them. For a moment, there was nothing. Just darkness.
Then lightning split the sky.
For a single, blinding instant, the forest was illuminated.
And Nyx saw it.
A tall, thin figure standing between the trees, unnaturally still, its form blending with the shadows around it. Its face was indistinct, swallowed by darkness, but its eyes—
They glowed.
Faint white.
Watching her.
The light vanished, and the forest fell back into darkness.
The figure was gone.
Nyx’s heart pounded as she stood frozen, her breath shallow, her mind struggling to catch up with what she had just seen.
“Nyx!”
Mara’s voice broke through the moment as she rushed out of the church. “What are you doing out here?”
“There was something in the forest,” Nyx said, her voice quieter now, uncertain.
Mara looked, squinting into the darkness, but shook her head. “I don’t see anything.”
Nyx didn’t respond.
Because she could still feel it.
That presence.
Watching.
Waiting.
Above them, the sky erupted with movement as hundreds of crows burst into the air at once, their wings beating violently as they circled the church in a chaotic storm of black feathers. Their cries filled the night, sharp and frantic, echoing across the graveyard like a warning.
Mara stared upward, stunned. “What the hell is happening?”
Nyx didn’t answer.
Because deep in the forest, beneath the sound of thunder and wings...
That voice came one last time.
Soft.
Patient.
And unmistakably real.
“Welcome home, Nyx.”
