In the heart of an unremarkable English village named Blackthorn, nestled between rolling hills and dark, eerie woods, an unsettling air hung over the crumbling ruins of an ancient abbey. Wind whispered through the ivy-clad stones, carrying an echo of secrets long buried—secrets that had lain dormant since the Forgotten Epoch, a time steeped in myth and shadow.
Connor Ashford, a historian with a particular obsession for lost relics and untold stories, had arrived in Blackthorn after hearing whispers of extraordinary finds scattered across the village. He was drawn by tales of the abbey’s peculiar ruins and the chilling legends of spectral figures, said to haunt the grounds each night. These stories had been dismissed by most as mere folklore, but Connor felt a compelling tug at his intuition, as if the abbey itself beckoned him closer.
While the villagers eyed him with suspicion, wary of the outsider rummaging through their quaint domain, Connor’s resolve only strengthened. He took a room in the half-abandoned inn adjacent to the remnants of the abbey, the, Silver Fox, a place overshadowed by looming trees and swathed in a perpetual gloom. The inn’s proprietor, a sullen woman named Mabel, seemed more interested in the pub’s alcohol supply than anything else.
“It’s best not to wander too far into the ruins, love,” she warned Connor one evening over a pint of cider. Her voice was a blend of caution and resignation. “The stories… they say the Forgotten still dwell there.”
Connor could only smile weakly, his historian’s curiosity piqued. It was dusk, and the sun’s dying rays cast an ethereal glow over the village. Shadows danced spider-like over the cobbled streets, fuelling his imagination. That night, after hours spent reading in his room, he decided to investigate the abbey, driven by a sense of urgency he could not quite define.
The moment Connor stepped beyond the threshold of the ruins, a chill coursed through him, as though the air itself had thickened. The abbey was a shell of its former glory; stone arches rose like the ribs of a great beast, and the remnants of stained glass glimmered like dying embers. The wind howled through the hollow spaces, carrying faint remnants of the past that whispered of a great sorrow.
As he moved deeper into the shadows, the light of his torch flickered, illuminating carvings that spiralled along the walls—disjointed faces and twisted figures, their eyes hollow yet vivid, seemed to follow him. Connor’s breath hastened, a primal instinct igniting at the back of his mind, but he pressed on, compelled by an unseen force. Somewhere within him, a voice urged him to remember the forgotten.
Suddenly, a rustle in the underbrush startled him, and he turned sharply, his heart racing. It was not one of the spectral apparitions he expected, but a young woman, wild-eyed and dishevelled. She stumbled into the glow of Connor’s torch, a look of frantic fear splayed upon her features.
“You shouldn’t be here!” she gasped, her voice shaky as if she had run a great distance. “They watch. They see everything.”
Before Connor could respond, she grabbed his wrist and drew him closer. “You don’t understand! There’s something awakening, something we buried beneath these stones… you must leave before it finds you.”
“Who are you?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Clara.” Her name hung between them, heavy with meaning. “I live here, among the ruins, to guard against them. You… you seek knowledge. But this is knowledge best left undisturbed.”
Clara’s eyes shone like gems, but they held a depth of despair. Connor felt torn between his thirst for exploration and the genuine fear radiating from her being. “I’m just here to research… it’s my life’s work.”
“Your research may uncover more than you bargain for,” Clara warned. “Trust me…I’ve seen it. You’ll find them clawing their way back into our world, back from the Forgotten Epoch.”
Her words clung to him, reverberating through the corridors of his mind. But even in the face of the inexplicable, Connor’s determination surged. He sensed hopelessness underpinning Clara’s warning, and it ignited a flame of curiosity within him that would not be extinguished lightly.
As Clara stepped aside, Connor felt an urgency unlike anything before. The desire to uncover the truths of the abbey surged through him. Dismissing the chill that crept up his spine, he nodded resolutely. “I can’t leave yet, Clara. There’s something here I need to find.”
She stared at him with a mixture of admiration and trepidation. “Then I cannot let you go alone.”
With Clara by his side, they ventured deeper into the heart of the ruins. Each step took them further from clarity and closer to an ancient truth buried beneath layers of darkness and time.
Hours passed, the moon casting a silvery sheen over the cracked stone walls. They discovered a trapdoor, hidden beneath debris that Connor had nearly overlooked. His pulse quickened as he knelt to examine the findings. With Clara’s help, they prised it open, revealing a narrow staircase winding into the earth.
“Are you certain about this?” Clara asked, hesitating at the edge.
“It’s the only way,” Connor replied, his heart thudding in a mixture of excitement and dread. “We have to know.”
They descended into the darkness, each step swallowed by the earth’s embrace. The air was thick and stale, and Connor’s thoughts were clouded with apprehension. Down and down they went, until they arrived at a dimly lit cavern, carved by hands long forgotten.
Torches flickered along the walls, and as they approached, Connor’s breath caught in his throat. There, glistening in the darkness, lay an assortment of relics—fragments of a time lost to the annals of history. But among them, a grand tome caught Connor’s eye—a dusty leather-bound book, etched with symbols that seemed to breathe with a life of their own.
Clara screamed, her voice echoing, “No! You mustn’t touch that!”
But Connor, entranced, reached for the book. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, a surge of energy coursed through the air, and a roar erupted from the depths of the cavern. The very ground beneath them shook violently, dislodging stones and sending a plume of dust into the air.
From the shadows emerged figures—twisted shapes reminiscent of both man and beast, their forms shifting and distorting within the dim light. Connor’s heart raced as their hollow eyes locked onto his, an insatiable hunger evident in their movements.
“Connor!” Clara shrieked, clinging to him as they stumbled back. “You’ve awakened them!”
In a instant, time seemed to swirl around them, as if the fabric of reality was pulling taut. The relics began to vibrate with a low hum, a resonance that filled the chamber and whispered madness into their ears. They shifted closer, and Connor found himself rooted in place, entranced by the swirling shadows and spectral entities hungry for liberation.
“Close your eyes!” Clara roared above the cacophony.
He obeyed, shutting his eyes against the nightmares clawing to escape the abyss. The voices melded into a singular entity, calling to him, seducing him with secrets long neglected. He felt Clara’s hand tighten around his, grounding him, tethering him to reality.
Memories flooded his mind—not his own but those of the Forgotten; lives lived in despair, fear, and chaos. Visions of a time when darkness reigned, when sacrifices were made to seal breaches to realms unknown. They had been forgotten, their existence erased from history, their pain left unacknowledged. And now, they yearned to return.
“Let go!” Clara’s voice surged through his mind. “They’re trying to take you!”
With a sudden rush of clarity, Connor tore his gaze away from the abyss, focusing instead on the strength of Clara’s grip. He willed himself to resist the call, feeling the weight of the tome in his hands slip away as he released it.
The resonance now shifted to a wail, anguished and despairing. The figures began to stutter and fade, held back by an unseen barrier. With each passing second, Connor felt the grip of the ancient world relaxing, their power waning as the caverns echoed with their sorrow.
Together, Connor and Clara stumbled backward, awash in an urgency to escape. The chamber trembled once more before collapsing inward, the shadows finally breaking under the weight of the light.
As they bounded through the narrow passage, Connor could hear the whispers fading behind him—threatening yet fading into oblivion. They emerged from the depths of the ruins, breathless and trembling, into the cold embrace of night.
The forgotten echoes had clawed at the edges of their souls, and yet they had triumphed. The villagers had safeguarded their secrets for generations, but now they held an understanding—the past could never be entirely buried, nor could it ever truly return. Some memories were better left forgotten.
Connor turned toward Clara, the full weight of what they’d encountered settling in. “You knew, didn’t you? This whole time?”
“They are part of us. We must learn, but we can never forget,” she responded, her voice imbued with a solemn reverence. The moon hung high above, bearing witness as the whispers of oblivion danced just beyond their grasp, tethered forever to the Chronicles of the Forgotten Epoch.
