Amber never needed a reason to rebel—it was in her blood long before tragedy struck. She’d often be caught causing problems ever since she learned to walk. Moving objects to trip people or hiding important things, harmless overall, but she didn’t have any ill will. However, her antics were shortly lived.

  The fire that claimed her parents left her orphaned, barely ten years old, with no education or future to speak of. She survived on the scraps of the town’s charity, but she was always an afterthought. The townsfolk took care of their own children first, as they should. That knowledge, however logical, never filled her aching stomach.

  From that young age, she learned to fight for her life. Each meal was a battle, every day uncertain. No more time to play pranks or joke around. Survival came only through the kindness of one man: Aster Ambrose, the strange recluse on the edge of town. He taught her to hunt, gather water, and build shelter. But he never took her in. Despite his aloofness, he often told her she was destined for something greater. Then he’d follow it up with a ridiculous joke that made her roll her eyes—but she always wondered if the kindness and humorous nature was all an act. Aster passed not long after he taught her the basics, her finding his body just lying down in the courtyard. She carried it back to town, where the townsfolk buried him.

  By sixteen, Amber was fully self-sufficient. Though he never outright said it, she knew he had no family nearby, so she had the place to herself in a way. She often stayed in an old, dilapidated house he called the “Guest House.” Odd to have a guest house for such a large manor, but it was abandoned, and no one ever bothered her there. She’d have taken the main house if it wasn’t locked up so tight.

  It was much more reasonably sized, but still large. It was 2 floors tall, with a basement that looked reinforced, locked but she never needed to get in there anyways. It had plenty of bedrooms, places which were probably once kitchens or dining rooms, but with the broken furniture and appliances, no room really had a purpose anymore.

  That morning began like any other. She’d been up before dawn and managed to take down a deer with a single, well-placed arrow. Dragging the carcass back to the Guest House, she hauled it up the creaky stairs and onto the bloodstained deck—her makeshift butchering station. The wood was permanently ruined from years of use, but no one cared. It wasn’t like anyone else was coming back.

  “Sorry about the mess, old man,” she muttered to herself, imagining Aster’s disapproval.

  With her worn gloves on and sleeves rolled up, Amber worked quickly and precisely. She drained the blood, portioned and salted the meat, and hung the cuts in a cool and dark alcove. One slab she set aside for her lunch, carrying it to the small campfire and cooking rack she had set up. While the meat cooked, she returned to her real passion.

  Inside the house, she passed crumbling walls and graffiti—all of it her own handiwork—until she reached her masterpiece: a sprawling mural of an elegant deer bounding through a lush forest. Its horns spiraled upward, otherworldly in their design. She’d spent weeks on it, pouring her energy into the fantastical image.

  Amber slipped on a mask and grabbed a spray can, letting the hiss of paint fill the room. Hours passed as she lost herself in her work. But as she stepped back to admire her progress, a sharp smell hit her—smoke.

  “The meat!” she cursed, throwing the can down, and tugging the mask off. She spun on her heel, running toward the stairs.

  The instant her foot hit the floor, the wood gave way with a sickening crack. Amber barely had time to scream before the floor collapsed beneath her. She plummeted into darkness, landing hard on the basement floor. Pain exploded in her leg as a jagged shard of wood from above fell, piercing deep into her lower leg. Splinters stabbed her palms as she tried to steady herself, the pain was unbearable.

  Her scream echoed through the cavernous basement as she sat immobilized, panting and gripping her leg. She tried to shift, but the agony shot through her like fire, drawing another cry from her lips.

  Above her, she heard a creak—the faint sound of footsteps.

  ______________

  Kane sprinted down the overgrown path, his flashlight beam cutting through the shadows. The Guest House loomed ahead, larger and in worse condition than he had expected. The bloodied trails leading to the porch and the unmistakable smell of burnt meat made his stomach churn. The mixture of its size and the blood make it almost seem like a horror attraction.

  He hesitated at the warped door, which hung slightly ajar. Pushing it open, Kane stepped inside, his flashlight revealing the decay within. The walls were covered in graffiti, furniture broken and strewn about. The floorboards groaned under his weight.

  He paused in one room, finding a sleeping bag and an assortment of small trinkets. They were neatly arranged, as though someone had made this place their home. He frowned.

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  A faint noise drew his attention—a muffled groan, followed by a weak cry. Kane followed the sound, moving deeper into the house. His flashlight swept across a grand, ruined mural of a deer in mid-sprint, its horns shimmering with an almost magical quality. Part of the wall had collapsed, revealing a jagged hole in the floor.

  He crouched at the edge, shining his light downward. His beam caught a figure—a girl, no older than sixteen, sprawled on the ground with a shard of wood impaling her leg. Her blonde hair was wild, her brown eyes wide with pain and defiance.

  “Hey!” Kane called down. “Are you okay?”

  The girl glared up at him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, the wood sticking out of my leg is just for decoration. Of course I’m not okay!”

  “Right…” Kane stammered, his nerves rattled. “Hold on! I’ll find a way down.”

  “Wait!” she snapped. “The basement door’s locked and secured like a damn bear trap. No other way down here. You have rope or something?”

  Kane froze. “Uh… I’ll… I’ll figure it out. Just hang on.”

  The girl groaned, muttering under her breath. “Great. A city boy. Never thought I’d die because of some clueless idiot. Damn it!” She shifted her leg slightly, immediately regretting it as another scream tore from her throat.

  Kane hurriedly searched the guest house, his flashlight beam bouncing off dust-coated furniture and peeling wallpaper. In one of the rooms, he spotted a length of rope coiled in the corner. It looked old and frayed in places, but a sharp scream from the hole reminded him he didn’t have time to second-guess.

  Grabbing the rope, he tied it securely to a still-sturdy bedframe bolted to the floor. He tugged it hard a few times—it held. Kane stepped to the edge of the hole, his heart pounding as he looked down. Taking a deep breath, he began his descent.

  The rope creaked ominously, but it held firm. When he finally landed on the dusty basement floor, he immediately rushed to Amber, shrugging his backpack off his shoulder. Her leg looked bad—blood was smeared across the wooden shard sticking out of her flesh, her face pale and scrunched in pain.

  “Hold still,” Kane said, pulling out a first aid kit. “I’ve taken a course or two. Jesus…”

  Amber winced as he gently shifted her leg to assess the injury. “Fuck that hurts! Stop messing around!”

  “I’m trying to help!” Kane huffed. “I need to check for—”

  “There is nothing worse than a goddamn in my leg!” she snapped.

  Kane sighed, forcing himself to stay calm. “Right. Normally I’d get you to a hospital, but something tells me we’re a few hundred miles from the nearest one.”

  Amber let out a bitter laugh. “God, I hate this backwater town. So what, I’m screwed?”

  Kane chuckled softly despite the situation. “No, but I’ll have to pull it out, clean it, stitch it up, and bandage it. It won’t be fun, but I think you can handle it. A little dangerous, but it’s either that or bleed out.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just get it over with. Wait…” Her gaze darted toward the hole above them. “You didn’t take the meat off the fire before you climbed down, did you?”

  Kane blinked. “Are you serious right now? No, I didn’t. But I’m pretty sure it won’t burn the house down. You know your live is in danger, right?”

  Amber muttered something under her breath. “Great. Fine, yeah, just yank this thing out already.”

  “I’ll count to three—”

  “Don’t you dare count! Just—AAAAHHH!” she screamed as Kane yanked the shard free.

  “Sorry!” he said quickly, already dousing the wound with disinfectant. She gritted her teeth, her nails digging into the cracked floor as he worked quickly to clean and stitch the wound. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he wrapped the leg tightly in a bandage and leaned back, exhaling in relief.

  “There,” he said. “It’s cleaned and dressed. You’ll be fine, but you can’t put pressure on it for a while. Here, show me your hands.”

  Amber looked at him, still pale but defiant as he removed the splinters from her hands. “So, who the hell are you, anyway? And why are you in my house?”

  Kane frowned as his hands delicately use the tweezers. “Your house? I’m pretty sure I own this place. It was my grandfather’s before he passed. Kane Ambrose. Now, who are you?”

  Amber’s eyes widened slightly as she winced with the last splinter removed. “Amber… Wait, Aster had a kid? Seriously? I thought he was too… I don’t know, weird for that. Not exactly the charming type. He was nice, I guess.”

  Kane sighed, brushing some dust off his jeans. “Yeah, I miss him. It’s been years since I saw him, but you… you knew him? Were you just squatting here after he died?”

  Amber’s expression darkened. “What’s it to you? He’s gone. No one owns this place anymore, so yeah, I stayed here. What else was I supposed to do? And don’t ask about my parents,” she added sharply. “It’s none of your business.”

  Kane raised his hands. “Okay, okay. Stay as long as you need. Whatever you’ve been through, it’s not my place to pry.” He glanced around the basement. “But seriously, how do we get out of here?”

  Amber looked around, her annoyance quickly shifting to realization. “Uh… yeah, about that. The basement door is locked. It’s reinforced like crazy, too. I always thought the old man kept his drug stash down here or something. Guess it’s just full of junk. Look at this crap.”

  Kane shined his flashlight on a pile of old paintings and crates. “It’s not junk. Some of this stuff used to hang in the main house. I remember—”

  “Wait!” Amber cut him off, panic flashing in her eyes. “My mural! Is it okay?!”

  Kane hesitated, the silence stretching too long.

  “Damn it!” she groaned, throwing her head back. “Weeks of work, gone…”

  “Hey,” Kane said gently, “you can always make another one. Maybe even better next time.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Let’s just get upstairs and figure out the damage. Worst. Day. Ever.”

  Kane chuckled, shaking his head as he carefully helped her to her feet. Together, they hobbled through the basement, searching for a way out, the air thick with dust and unspoken questions.

  —————

  Deep beneath the earth, far below where Amber and Kane tread, a colossal entity stirs in the pitch-black void. Two crimson, bead-like eyes ignite in the darkness as the massive form awakens. Veins of red luminescence pulse along its body, fueled by a strange protrusion on its back, casting an eerie glow. A guttural growl reverberates through the chamber, responding to the distant cacophony above. With startling agility, the creature charges through sleek, metallic corridors, each step echoing ominously.