Chapitre 10: The voice that remains
Nathaniel's blood ran cold as he stared at the figure before him. The dim moonlight that filtered through the trees revealed his brother's face—pale, gaunt, and eerily translucent. His eyes were hollow, yet behind the emptiness was an unspeakable sadness, one that seemed to pull Nathaniel in, suffocating him under its weight. But there was something else. A flicker of something more—anger? Regret? He couldn't tell.
Ben looked older than he had when he died. Worn, almost ancient, as if the years since that fateful night had stretched on endlessly for him, each moment eroding what little remained of his spirit. His presence was fragile, flickering like a candle flame on the verge of going out.
"Nathaniel," Ben said at last, his voice soft, almost pleading. It carried a resonance that wasn't entirely human, as though it came from somewhere deep within the forest itself. "Why did you leave me?"
The words struck Nathaniel like a physical blow, robbing him of breath. His throat tightened, his mind racing, searching for something to say—anything that might ease the pain in his brother's eyes.
"I… I didn't mean to," he stammered, his voice trembling. "I thought—I thought you were gone. I thought I had to forget to move on."
Ben's face twisted, a flicker of pain crossing his expression. His form wavered, the edges of his figure dissolving momentarily into the surrounding shadows before re-forming. "Forget?" His voice grew colder, sharper, laced with a quiet fury. "You tried to forget me?"
"No!" Nathaniel stepped forward, his hands trembling. "It wasn't like that. I didn't know what to do. I was scared. I was just a kid."
"And now?" Ben's gaze bore into him, his pale eyes glinting with something that made Nathaniel shiver. "What are you scared of now, Nathaniel?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable. Nathaniel's lips parted, but the words caught in his throat. What was he scared of? The truth? The memories he had spent years burying? Or the possibility that nothing he did now would be enough to fix what had been broken?
Ben's expression softened, the faintest glimmer of hope flickering in his haunted eyes. "I needed you," he said, his voice breaking. "I needed you to remember. To understand."
Nathaniel's chest ached, the weight of guilt threatening to crush him. "I'm here now," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm here, Ben. Tell me what I need to do. Tell me how to make it right."
For a moment, Ben didn't respond. He simply stared at Nathaniel, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand, pointing toward the well. The gesture was deliberate, almost ritualistic, and Nathaniel felt a strange pull toward the dark abyss.
"You have to go back," Ben said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "You have to relive that night… to remember what really happened."
Nathaniel's breath hitched. "What do you mean? What really happened?"
But before he could get an answer, Ben's form began to dissolve, fading into the shadows that seemed to thicken around them. "Wait!" Nathaniel shouted, desperation rising in his voice. "Don't leave! Ben!"
The figure flickered once more before disappearing completely, leaving Nathaniel alone in the clearing. The silence that followed was deafening, oppressive, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves as the wind picked up.
Then, the forest around him began to change.
The temperature dropped, the air growing sharp and biting against his skin. The trees seemed to close in, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal hands. The darkness deepened, an unnatural blackness that seemed to pulse with malice. Nathaniel's breath came in quick, shallow gasps as a sudden, crushing weight settled over him—an overwhelming sense of being watched.
A voice echoed through the woods, low and guttural, carrying with it a malevolence that made Nathaniel's knees weaken.
"You're not welcome here, Nathaniel…"
It wasn't Ben's voice. It wasn't even human. It came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, resonating through the ground beneath him, through the air around him, through the very marrow of his bones.
Nathaniel spun around, his eyes darting frantically between the shadows. Shapes seemed to shift and move just beyond his line of sight—tall, distorted figures that blended seamlessly into the darkness. He stumbled back, his pulse hammering in his ears.
"Who's there?" he demanded, though his voice cracked, betraying his fear. "What do you want?"
The voice responded, low and mocking, dripping with malice. "You've opened the door. You've woken us." A dark, throaty chuckle echoed through the clearing. "And now, there's no turning back."
Nathaniel's stomach twisted. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs felt heavy, as if the earth itself were trying to pull him down. The shadows seemed to ripple, closing in around him, and the trees groaned as their branches stretched and contorted unnaturally.
"Leave me alone!" Nathaniel shouted, his voice breaking. "I didn't come here for you—I came for my brother!"
"Your brother?" The voice sneered, its tone laced with cruel amusement. "You think this is about him? Foolish boy. This is about you."
Nathaniel froze, his breath catching. "Me?" he whispered. "What do you mean?"
"You've carried the guilt for years, haven't you?" the voice taunted. "Buried it, ignored it, tried to forget. But guilt is a seed, and you've nurtured it well. And now…" The voice paused, its tone growing darker. "Now it has grown into something you can't escape."
Nathaniel's chest tightened as he stumbled backward, the voice's words cutting deep. He thought of the memories he had fought to suppress, the sleepless nights, the endless spiral of guilt and self-recrimination. He thought of Ben, of the argument that had been their last interaction, of the headlights and the rain.
The shadows surged forward, wrapping around him like tendrils of smoke. The cold seeped into his skin, into his very soul. And as the darkness consumed him, one thought repeated in his mind, over and over:
You have to go back.
And in that moment, as the forest swallowed him whole, he realized with chilling certainty that he might not escape this
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone