Prologue

The First to Fall

There once existed a place of unparalleled beauty, a realm so serene and abundant that it felt as though heaven itself had touched the earth. Hidden from the eyes of the world, this paradise was known as Eden’s Brook.

Its borders, shrouded in mystery, seemed to pulse with an unseen energy, protecting the land from intruders while keeping its inhabitants tethered to its splendor. Within its bounds, life thrived in a harmony that felt eternal—a perfect balance of nature and humanity.

The land possessed a mystical power that defied explanation. Its waters were said to heal any ailment, its air to invigorate the spirit, and its soil to yield harvests that never failed. The villagers believed Eden’s Brook was a gift from the divine, a sanctuary untouched by the struggles of the outside world.

The mysterious nature of Eden’s Brook made it appear as though time itself were an illusion with each day flowing into one and another like a seamless dream.

In an age where kingdoms waged endless wars and famine ravaged the weak, Eden’s Brook stood apart—a utopia where disease was rare, strife was unknown, and peace reigned unbroken.

At the heart of this paradise stood a grand castle, home to King Atlas Fate and Queen Valanara. The king ruled with wisdom and kindness, his reign marked by prosperity rather than conflict.

Surrounding the castle, the villagers lived simple, happy lives in charming cottages nestled among rolling fields and sparkling streams. The village thrived with the trades essential to medieval life: blacksmiths forged tools and weapons, bakers filled the air with the scent of fresh bread, jesters brought laughter, and musicians filled the evenings with song.

For decades, Eden’s Brook knew nothing but peace. The castle guards, once trained for battle, had long since hung up their swords, believing they would never again be called to fight. But the tranquility they had grown to cherish was fragile—a veneer hiding something dark beneath.

The origin of this land was often questioned but its source would dare not be found. If discovered, it would unleash a turn of events that could not be undone.

Mary was a kind-hearted young woman, known for her gentle nature and her ever-present smile. For an entire day and night, she was gone, her absence casting a shadow over the village. When she returned, something was different.

She had changed.

Everything changed the day Mary Worthington disappeared. Gone was the warmth in her eyes, replaced by an icy, otherworldly glare. Her smile, once a beacon of kindness, now twisted into something sinister.

No one knew what had happened to Mary in those missing hours. She spoke little of her disappearance, only hinting at an encounter with something ancient, something malevolent that had awoken beneath Eden’s Brook.

Mary had become the vessel for a darkness that had long lingered, hidden and patient, beneath the village’s façade of perfection. This malevolence found its avatar in her, allowing it to unleash terror and destruction wherever it led her.

Yet the origin of how had such a powerful force invaded her soul, and why?

There was only one who knew the answer possessing a cunning mind capable of orchestrating it, and a wicked heart cruel enough to see it through.

This plan was no recent scheme; it was conceived millennia ago, by the same one who tempted Eve to taste the forbidden fruit. It was an evil born of blood and seeds, its roots steeped in deceit and decay. But the ensnaring of its victim was only the beginning—what lay ahead promised far greater horrors.

And so, the paradise of Eden’s Brook, once a sanctuary, became a living nightmare. Mary—no longer the sweet girl they had known—unleashed her fury upon the land, slaughtering the villagers one by one.

The survivors fled to the castle, seeking refuge within its stone walls. Yet even there, safety was fleeting. Mary, now a monstrous force of nature, prowled the land outside. She became a haunting legend, her shadow stretching across the once-vibrant fields.

Eden’s Brook also seemed to change, its beauty withering into a grim reflection of her corruption. The land became cold and lifeless, its bounty turning to ash, its streams running dry. Those who remained clung to survival, trapped within the castle’s confines.

Hunger gnawed at their bellies, fear at their minds. They dared not step beyond the gates, knowing that to do so meant certain death. But time was running out with their options fading, until a man arrived, a stranger, who to some, appeared to be their only hope.

Over time, Mary’s name faded into a fearful whisper, then into legend. She was given a title that encapsulated the horror she had become—Bloody Mary.

Few dared to speak it aloud, for even the memory of her name carried with it a chilling weight.

What had once been paradise was now a cautionary tale, its dark truth dismissed by those who didn’t believe, and feared by those who knew better.

And so, the cursed tale of Eden’s Brook lingered, a ghostly echo of a paradise lost.

ACT I

CROSSING THE VEIL

Chapter 1

Silent Screams

She stood before him, glowing with an otherworldly light, her gaze locked sharply onto his. Her brilliance cut through the surrounding darkness, illuminating everything around her, yet he felt as though he were miles away, engulfed by shadows.

Disoriented, he wondered where he was and how he had arrived. Above him, the stars stretched endlessly across the sky, vast and cold, like an infinite sea of light. He glanced back at her, mesmerized by the way her radiance split the night.

Her glow began to shift, flickering slowly from stillness into rippling waves. He watched, entranced, as intricate patterns of light formed and dissolved, each shifting seamlessly into the next.

It was as if time itself was bending—stretching and warping with each new shape.

Her image appeared again and again, overlaid in shimmering afterimages, each iteration growing fainter as the light twisted and undulated around her.

The waves of light eventually stilled, and the figure before him became clearer. But when he looked more closely, something strange became apparent.

She had turned her back to him, her form now obscured by an intense brightness.

The light pulsed again—this time so blindingly intense that Christian had to shield his eyes, raising his hands in a futile attempt to block the glare. It was as though he were staring directly into an eclipse or a burning hot sun.

His pulse quickened, an instinctual anxiety gnawing at him as the light surged, feeling more dangerous with each passing second.

He sensed the danger growing as the mysterious being moved. But he couldn’t move. The darkness around him had a suffocating grip, a force he couldn’t escape.

Suddenly, Julie was far to his left, and as she began to advance, her light flickered erratically, like a strobe. The intensity of it hurt his eyes, but he couldn’t look away. Fear swirled inside him—the terror of what was coming, and yet his body refused to react.

He felt paralyzed.

Trapped.

Helpless.

The darkness seemed to hold him in place, offering no refuge and no escape.

With each step she took, the glow surrounding her warped into something more... unnatural. The light shifted again, this time revealing a strange and terrifying sight. What had once been a human shape now began to distort.

The glow was no longer just light—it became a portal of sorts, a swirling void, filled with oddities.

His heart dropped into his stomach. It was as though the very fabric of reality was unraveling before him. In the brightness, arms—human arms—began to reach out, emerging from the core of the light.

Desperate, clawing hands reaching for help. Faces twisted in agony; their mouths open in silent screams for help. The faces were constantly shifting, replaced by new ones, each contorted in pain as if they were trapped in some kind of hell.

The overwhelming brightness surged once more, forcing him to shield his eyes once again. He felt the intense heat of the light, radiating against him, as if it were trying to pull him in. When he dared look up, the light formed behind him, like a second sun.

As the light in front slowed, he turned, unsure of what he might find. The suffering souls he had seen—had they broken free?

But no, they did not.

There she was again, standing even closer than before, her light was quickly dimming as if the doorway she had opened was closing.

He shouted at her, demanding to know who she was and why he was here. But his voice felt small, lost in the vastness of her presence. She didn’t answer. She just kept moving, flickering like a broken light bulb, her form seeming to pulse with each strobe.

And then, as she came within a few feet of him, something shifted. He watched her lips move. She was speaking to him, but no sound reached his ears. He screamed at her to stay away, but she continued to approach, the strobe effect making her appear closer with each pulse. Desperation flooded him.

“Stay back!” he shouted.

This time, his voice broke through, and she turned her head slightly, raising her hand. He froze instantly. The air around him seemed to constrict, the world blurring as violent, convulsive waves shot through him, locking him in place. His body seized, as if the very energy of her light had rooted him to the spot.

There was no escape. He was helpless, unable to move as she closed the distance between them. The horror of her presence intensified with every passing second.

As she stood before him, he could finally see her face. His breath caught in his throat.

It was Julie.

His wife.

The woman he had lost.

“Julie?” His voice trembled, desperate.

Her expression was filled with fear, as though she was trying to warn him about something, but no words came from her lips. Only the frantic, silent gestures of someone trying to communicate a terrible truth. Her movements grew jerky, unnatural, as if she were fighting against some invisible force, her panic growing with each passing moment.

Then, she suddenly stopped. Her gaze shifted behind him, her eyes wide with terror.

He turned, following her gaze. The darkness around him seemed to recede for a brief moment, revealing a familiar sight: the forest he last remembered. The forest of Bear Mountain.

But something was wrong.

The forest had changed. It was dark, twisted, and sinister. As he called out to Julie, his voice was swallowed by the darkness. The forest seemed to drink in his screams, as if collecting them like trophies.

He felt lost, adrift in a sea of confusion and fear as he peered around.

Once again, he turned to look at Julie, she was right in front of him. Her expression had changed. No longer silent, she opened her mouth and screamed—loud and clear.

“Bloody Mary!”

The words pierced the air like a dagger, and in that moment, everything shattered.

Christian jolted awake, gasping for breath, only to find himself in the same place where his nightmare had left off.

Chapter 2

Eden’s Threshold

He staggered forward, scanning his surroundings with frantic urgency as his breaths came in ragged gasps. The relentless downpour turned the ground beneath him to mud, washing streams of blood from his open wounds.

Rain and wind howled through the trees, buffeting him and making every step a struggle. Shielding his eyes from the storm, he glanced up to find the sky cloaked in a menacing swirl of dark clouds. The eerie glow of the moon fought to break through, casting ghostly highlights across the storm-tossed forest.

The shadowy woods stretched endlessly in all directions, an oppressive maze of black silhouettes. Trees loomed like skeletal sentinels, their twisted branches clawing at the heavens. Instinct pushed him forward, driving him deeper into the wild, where paths dissolved into obscurity and any semblance of navigation failed.

Compass needles spun wildly, and electronic devices flickered uselessly, leaving him at the mercy of his own intuition.

The cold gnawed at his skin, seeping into his very bones. Above, the storm clouds churned with unnatural intensity, their swirling patterns defying reason. It felt personal, as though the tempest was crafted solely for him, a cruel game in which he was the unwitting pawn.

Each step took him further into the unknown, where reality itself seemed to fray. Gravity distorted in strange pockets, tilting his world and throwing him off balance. What was happening defied logic, yet he knew he couldn’t turn back now—not after all he’d endured.

A deafening thunderclap split the air, shaking the ground and nearly toppling him. Lightning flashed in rapid succession, momentarily transforming the landscape into a stark contrast of blinding light and impenetrable shadow. His flashlight flickered and died, leaving him with only the erratic brilliance of the storm to guide him.

Clutching his weapon, he pressed on, a small arsenal of ammunition slung across his shoulder. This was no ordinary wilderness trek—he was in a place spoken of only in whispered legends, far removed from the amenities of the public campgrounds of Bear Mountain.

He was deep in the harsh wilderness: no public restrooms, no showers, no canoe rentals, and no marked trails. Signs had warned of the dangers lurking beyond, tales of urban legends meant to deter the curious which warned of certain beasts of the earth.

Signs not taken seriously.

Signs rusted, worn, and vandalized whereby their many eerie details were hard to read. None of which mattered to him. This time was different. This time, he was the hunter, not the hunted.

Rain lashed his face as he ran blindly through the storm, firing sporadically into the darkness. He felt eyes on him, an oppressive presence lurking just out of sight. His gut churned with the primal certainty that something—or someone—was out there, stalking him.

His rounds tore through the night, the sound of gunfire echoing between the trees. But the darkness swallowed the bullets, offering no reassurance that his shots had found their mark.

Taking cover behind a tree, he glimpsed a figure in the distance. A tall, pale woman stood motionless, her presence chilling him to his core.

He opened fire, sending bullets ripping through bushes and splintering tree trunks. When he looked again, she was gone, leaving only shadows and the relentless rain. Her image burned into his mind: the ghostly pale skin, the penetrating gaze that seemed to pierce his soul, the aura of danger she exuded.

He knew her—Bloody Mary, the harbinger of death and despair. She had taken everything from him: his wife, Julie; his career; his freedom; his home.

Everything.

Every attempt to prove her existence had left him hollow, driven by vengeance and the insatiable need for answers.

The forest stretched endlessly before him, a labyrinth of despair. He stumbled and fell, crashing through the underbrush. The storm began to wane, though the air still crackled with unnatural energy. The gravity distortions intensified, throwing him off balance as he struggled to rise. A dense mist began to creep through the trees, wrapping the forest in an eerie shroud.

It wasn’t just fog; it was something otherworldly as he pushed through it, he felt himself crossing into a place beyond time and reason.

The storm clouds parted at last, revealing a breathtaking sunrise that painted the sky in vibrant hues of purple and red. For a moment, hope stirred within him, a fragile belief that perhaps the nightmare had passed. But just as he began to relax, a voice echoed in his mind—soft, calm, and resonant.

It wasn’t his own.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the illusion, but the voice persisted, threading through his thoughts with gentle insistence.

The voice carried an ancient wisdom, its words laced with a soothing authority. It called to him, compelling him to follow, like a beacon in the dark. Intrigued and desperate for answers, he pressed on, driven by a force he couldn’t fully understand.

Each step felt purposeful now, the mud and underbrush no longer obstacles but markers on a path he was destined to walk. The forest seemed to guide him, its oppressive gloom giving way to a clearing bathed in golden light.

At the heart of the clearing stood something extraordinary: a tree unlike any other. Its bark shimmered like molten gold, and its branches radiated a soft, otherworldly glow. The air around it hummed with energy, and the voice in his mind grew stronger, urging him forward. This tree wasn’t just an object, it was a presence, a source of hope and power in a world consumed by darkness.

He approached the tree with reverence, feeling its warmth wash over him. As he touched its luminous bark, the voice became clearer, its words resonating deep within his soul.

“Follow me,” it urged, gentle yet firm.

“Together, we will confront the shadows that seek to consume you.”

With a steadying breath, he stepped closer, the spirit of the tree guiding him. The forest transformed around him. Trees that had once loomed like sinister guardians now stood tall and proud, their leaves glistening with vibrant colors. The air filled with the sweet aroma of blooming flowers. Shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy, illuminating a path forward.

In that moment, he realized the forest was not just a place of terror but a living entity, ancient and wise, holding secrets and truths beyond comprehension. The tree’s light dispelled his fears and quelled the anger that had fueled his quest for vengeance.

He was no longer a mere victim or a hunter; he was part of something far greater—a battle between light and darkness, life and death.

When he touched the tree again, its voice became a symphony, weaving tales of a time and place called Eden’s Brook.

This was no end but the beginning of a journey—a journey that would uncover truths he could scarcely imagine and lead him to a destiny he had never dreamed possible.