“What we find scary is not Fear itself. Fear exists. It can appear anywhere in any form. The scariest is the human being unwilling to face reality.”

Professor Bridges -

You're not scared of the dark, You're scared of what's in it.

You're not afraid of heights, You're afraid of falling.

You're not afraid of the people around you, You're just afraid of rejection.

You're not afraid to love, You're just afraid of not being loved back

You're not afraid to let go, You're just afraid to accept the reality that it's gone.

You're not afraid to try again, You're just afraid of getting hurt for the same reason.

****

Two years after a harrowing mountain incident where she was the lone survivor during a literature, Reynalyn trudged home late at night from a graveyard shift at the hospital. Exhaustion hung heavy on her shoulders, mirroring the weight of the memories she desperately tried to suppress.

The streetlights cast an anemic glow on the deserted sidewalk, and a cold wind whipped around her, whispering secrets through the barren branches of the night trees.

An unsettling feeling gnawed at her a sense of déjà vu that made her skin prickle. The uneven cobblestones beneath her feet felt eerily familiar, the way they did on the treacherous mountain path that led to her classmates' demise.

A shiver ran down her spine as a chilling whisper, faint yet distinct, echoed in the alleyway;

“Reyn!”

She spun around, heart hammering against her ribs, but the street was empty. Panic clawed at her throat, choking off a scream. In the flickering lamplight, she saw it a swirling mass of shadows coalescing in the corner, taking on grotesque forms that mirrored the distorted figures from her nightmares.

Terror propelled her forward. She sprinted back to her dorm, the shadows seeming to writhe and lengthen in her peripheral vision. They were everywhere now, clinging to the edges of her awareness, warping reflections in the glass doors and the polished surfaces of vending machines. Whispers, like echoes of laughter and terrified screams, seemed to emanate from the shadows, mimicking her classmates' voices.

Finally reaching her dorm room, Reynalyn slammed the door shut and fumbled for the lock. Back pressed against the cool wood, she gasped for breath, tears stinging her eyes. The shadows pressed against the door, their formless shapes shifting and twisting like a grotesque parody of a living thing.

Unable to bear it any longer, Reynalyn pulled out her phone. With trembling fingers, she dialed the familiar number. The familiar voice of Professor Roan Binley Bridges, her counselor, calmed her racing heart a fraction.

"Professor Bridges," Reynalyn choked out, voice thick with fear, "I… I need you. They’re here again."

"It"s okay, it's okay lock the door, I'll be there," Professor Bridges, always patient and understanding, assured Reynalyn she would be there as soon as possible.

Reynalyn collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow as the shadows throbbed against the door. Exhaustion and despair battled with a flickering spark of defiance. She wouldn't let the darkness consume her. Professor Bridges would be there, and tomorrow, they would face this horror together, one session at a time.

The wait felt like an eternity. Every creak of the building, every groan of the wind outside sent shivers down her spine. Then, a blessed sound the slam of a car door followed by hurried footsteps on the stairs.

Reynalyn scrambled to her feet, unlocking the door just as Professor Bridges reached it. The moment the door cracked open, the oppressive feeling in the room lifted. The shadows recoiled from the professor's presence, dissipating into wisps of darkness that clung to the corners of the room.

Professor Bridges, her face etched with concern beneath the owlish spectacles, ushered Reynalyn back inside. With a gentle hand on her shoulder, she guided her to the bed.

"There, there, Reynalyn," she soothed. "You're safe now. Tell me what happened."

As Reynalyn recounted the terrifying encounter, Professor Bridges listened patiently, her kind eyes filled with empathy. The professor's presence, a beacon of sanity in the storm of Reynalyn's fear, calmed her. The shadows seemed to shrink further back, their menacing forms flickering in the dim light.

"We'll get through this together, Reynalyn," Professor Bridges promised when Reynalyn finished. "Let's get some rest now. In the morning, we'll explore some coping mechanisms to help you manage these night terrors."

With a heavy sigh, Reynalyn leaned back against the pillows, a sliver of hope flickering within her. The shadows still danced in the corners, but they seemed less powerful now, diminished by the professor's calming presence. Perhaps, with Professor Bridges' help, she could finally confront the darkness and find a way to move forward.

Two months later . . .

The fluorescent lights of Professor Bridges' office buzzed overhead, a monotonous drone that seemed to amplify the silence in the room.

Reynalyn sat rigidly in the worn leather armchair, her knuckles white as they gripped the worn armrests. Her gaze darted around the sterile space, finding no solace in the framed diplomas or the neatly stacked psychology journals on the bookshelf.

Every fiber of her being wanted to bolt, to escape the confines of the room and the weight of the memories it threatened to unleash.

Across from her, Professor Roan Binley Bridges, a woman whose kind eyes seemed perpetually framed by owlish spectacles observed Reyn with a quiet concern that did little to ease the churning in Reyn's gut.

The past few months had been a blur of nightmares and exhaustion, punctuated only by the monotonous routine of therapy sessions. Yet, here she was again, facing the woman who had become a reluctant confidante.

"Reyn," Professor Bridges began, her voice gentle yet firm, "We've made some progress with your anxieties and night terrors. You've been able to talk about the isolation, the fear of the unknown. But there's still a missing piece. Can you tell me what happened… exactly?"

Professor Bridges believes that it is the right time to talk what really happened two years ago.

Reynalyn flinched at the question, the terror lurking beneath the surface threatening to erupt. The memories were a tangled mess, a visceral nightmare that defied explanation.

Closing her eyes, she tried to push them back, to retreat into the fragile silence she'd built around herself. But the images were relentless: the flickering gas lanterns casting grotesque shadows on the cavern walls, the bone-chilling silence punctuated only by the drip-drip of unseen water, the way the darkness seemed to writhe with a life of its own.

The air in the room felt thick and suffocating, as if the mountain itself had followed her back.

A choked sob escaped her lips, a guttural sound that shattered the sterile atmosphere. Taking a shuddering breath, Reyn realized escape was futile.

This story, this confession, was a debt she owed not just to Professor Dee, but to the friends she'd lost and to her own fractured sanity. With a voice hoarse from disuse and raw with emotion, she began, "It wasn't the darkness, Professor. Not in the way you might think…"

April, 2016

Cyperus Rotundus University

The air in Professor Jasmine Dy's Literature 102 class crackled with nervous energy. It was Cyperus Rotundus University's final exams week, and most students clutched the ghosts of past midterms, their grades a reflection of late nights and neglected studies. But in Professor Dy's class, a different kind of tension hung heavy.

Professor Dy, known for her unconventional methods, stood at the front of the room, a playful glint in her eyes. "Forget textbooks and essays," she announced, her voice cutting through the murmuring anticipation. "This semester's final is all about bringing literature to life."

A collective gasp rippled through the class. No final exam? Relief washed over some, replaced by a flicker of concern in others.

"We're making a short film," Professor Dy declared, a wide grin splitting her face. A low groan erupted from the back of the room. "And it is a group project."

Reynalyn Lizada, or Reyn as her friends (well, the one or two she had) called her, sank lower in her seat. She excelled at analyzing metaphors and dissecting symbolism, but collaborating with others? That was a different story altogether.

The excitement in the room was palpable. Students buzzed with ideas, forming tentative alliances based on shared fandoms and film preferences. Reyn felt a familiar pang of isolation, her stomach twisting with a nervous knot. She usually retreated into the quiet corners of the library, finding solace in the company of fictional characters, not their real-life counterparts.

Professor Dy clapped her hands, silencing the room. "Groups will be randomly assigned, chosen from this… lovely hat of mine." She held up a battered fedora overflowing with slips of paper.

Reyn watched with a clenched jaw as the professor drew names. Laughter and relieved groans filled the air as groups formed, students gravitating toward familiar faces.

"Last group, Fantasy." Professor Dy said with a hint of surprise in her eyes. "Mark Anthony Uy, Ezekiel Reyes, Bernadette Chua, Merciline Hernandez, Vonster Green, Aaron Ford, Primitivo Lopez…" The professor's voice droned on, finally landing on the last slip. "And…" she paused dramatically, "Reynalyn Lizada."

Reyn felt a spotlight illuminate her corner of the room. Everyone turned, eyes scanning the class. She shrank back, a wave of nausea rising in her throat.

"There you are," boomed a voice from the back. A tall guy with a mischievous grin waved at her. He was the last one left, a collection of mismatched faces beside him. Reyn's heart hammered against her ribs. Her worst nightmare was a group of strangers, a project requiring collaboration, and a looming deadline.

A knowing smile appears on Professor Uy's lips. Among her students, the last group is quite, special!

A varsity team captain, a supreme student council officers, a campus beauty queen, the troublemakers, and lastly the loner princess.

****

Professor Dy's classroom buzzed with a different kind of energy now. Gone were the groans and despair, replaced by the flurry of excited chatter. Groups huddled together, ideas flying like sparks across the room.

Mark Anthony Uy, the charismatic president of the Supreme Student Council, held court in the center. His easy smile and confident demeanor earned him immediate nominations for group leader from the rest of his classmates. The cherry on top? Mark, a Development Communication major, boasted a treasure trove of filmmaking equipment a filmmaker's dream come true.

"Alright team," Mark boomed, his voice tinged with excitement. "Let's brainstorm! We need a location that screams fantasy, a place that'll transport viewers to another world."

Merciline Hernandez, the quiet but intelligent fourth-year Hospitality and Tourism Management student (and rumored ex-girlfriend of the notorious Vonster Green), pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe an old, abandoned castle ruin? It would have a certain mystique."

Vonster, the undeniable campus playboy and captain of the basketball team, his sculpted physique making even the most mundane tasks seem effortlessly cool, snorted. "Ruins are overdone, Mercy. We need something fresh, something that'll blow people away." He winked, earning a playful nudge from Bernadette, his best friend and Mercy's closest confidante.

Bernadette Chua, the undisputed "Campus Queen" and a third-year HRTM student, chimed in with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "What about a hidden waterfall? Imagine the ethereal beauty, the mist cascading down…"

Aaron Ford, the resident troublemaker, and a third-year Civil Engineering student, leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Too cliché, Chua. Let's think outside the box. Maybe an eerie cave system filled with glowing crystals?"

Ezekiel Reyes, a second-year Mechanical Engineering, pushed his thick glasses further up his nose as a nervous tremor ran through him. "Caves? Are we sure that's safe? What if there are… bats?" A chorus of groans and playful shoves greeted his question.

Primitivo Lopez, known only as "Yvo," the enigmatic first-year Psychology student, remained silent, his gaze fixed on a point beyond the group. His stoicism offered a stark contrast to the animated discussions swirling around him.

Just then, Reynalyn Lizada, the shy and reclusive second-year Nursing student, hesitantly piped up. The room fell silent, all eyes turning towards her, surprised to hear her voice pierce through the group.

"There's this place," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "Blackwood Mountain. My grandpa, he was a hunter, used to tell stories about it…"

Vonster, ever the pragmatist, scoffed.

"Blackwood Mountain? Come on, Lizada. That place is nothing but creepy stories and lost hikers. We need somewhere epic, not a potential disaster zone."

A flicker of defiance sparked in Reyn's eyes. "My grandpa always said it was beautiful – a hidden meadow untouched by time, bursting with rare flowers. Perfect for a fantasy setting."

Bernadette, ever the mediator, intervened. "Hold on. A hidden meadow sounds intriguing. But Von's right, safety first. Maybe we can research it, and see if there are any reliable trails?"

Mark, his gaze fixed on Reyn, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows, interjected. "Blackwood Mountain… actually, that could work. It's remote, untouched, perfect for creating a whole new world. The challenge of finding this hidden meadow could even be part of the plot."

He scanned the group, his enthusiasm infectious. "But like Bernadette said, safety comes first. We'll need to do our research, make sure it's accessible, and avoid any danger zones."

Ezekiel, still harboring some trepidation, cautiously chimed in. "Maybe we could contact the local park rangers, and see if they have any information about trails or safe routes."

A slow grin spread across Reyn's face. It was the first time she'd smiled since the group was formed, and a sense of tentative camaraderie began to settle over them.

"That's a great idea, Ezekiel," Mark confirmed. "We'll split the tasks. Reynalyn, you can tell us more about your grandpa's stories. Bernadette and Mercy can research online for reliable trails and maps. Andrew," he shot a playful glare at the troublemaker, "You can see if you can find any climbing or survival guides just in case."

A collective nod of agreement rippled through the group. The chaos of brainstorming had morphed into a collaborative effort, a spark of shared purpose uniting the group.

Blackwood Mountain, once a place shrouded in whispers, was now a destination, a challenge, and the potential setting for their fantasy film.

They might be a ragtag group of classmates thrown together by a project, but a sliver of excitement, of something bigger than themselves, began to bind them. The journey to find the hidden meadow, fraught with potential danger and sprinkled with local legend, had just begun.

****

April 17, 2016

The hum of twin turboprop engines faded as Ezekiel's sleek private plane touched down at the Nan Yue airport at precisely 11:00 am.

Sunlight glinted off the polished fuselage as the group disembarked, blinking in the unfamiliar brightness. Nan Yue, a bustling city nestled amidst lush greenery, was a stark contrast to the urban sprawl they'd left behind.

Their next leg of the journey was a car ride through winding roads, leading them ever closer to the imposing silhouette of Blackwood Mountain. The air grew cooler, the verdant landscape gradually morphing into dense forest as they neared the foot of the mountain.

Their destination is the local ranger station. It was a rustic building tucked away at the edge of a sleepy village. Inside, a wood-burning stove crackled, casting warm shadows across the room. Her back to the door, a frail figure sat in a rocking chair, her hands gnarled with age resting on a worn cane.

As the group approached, the rocking stopped. A voice, raspy yet surprisingly strong, filled the room. "Welcome, young travelers. You must be here for Blackwood Mountain."

Startled, the group exchanged glances. Mark, ever the leader, stepped forward. "Yes, actually. We're a group of students, here for a film project. We're looking to scout some locations for our short film."

The woman turned, her face hidden in shadow. But her milky-white eyes, clouded with age but still sharp, seemed to pierce right through them.

A long, heavy silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. Then, the woman spoke, her voice laced with a chilling portent. "Blackwood Mountain… it ain't for the faint of heart. Legends whisper of its secrets, of paths that twist and turn, and shadows that linger. Many have ventured in, seeking adventure, seeking… never to be seen again."

A shiver ran down Reyn's spine. The stories her grandfather had shared suddenly seemed more real, more terrifying, than she'd ever imagined.

Vonster, however, scoffed. "Legends are just stories," he muttered, but a flicker of unease flickered in his eyes.

The old woman continued, her voice a low murmur. "The mountain holds a power, young ones. A power that can entice and beguile, then swallow you whole. Turn back now, and save yourselves the heartache."

A heavy silence descended upon the group. The weight of the woman's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the potential danger they were about to face. Bernadette, ever practical, cleared her throat.

"We appreciate your concern, ma'am. But we've come a long way, and we're determined to see this through."

The old woman shook her head, a look of deep sadness etched on her face. "Foolish pride leads to a cold grave," she whispered. "Remember, the mountain doesn't care for your stories or your films. It demands respect, and sometimes… a sacrifice."

As the old woman's words echoed in the silence, the group exchanged wary glances. The initial spark of excitement had dimmed, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease.

The silence stretched on, heavy with the weight of the old woman's words. Even the crackling fire seemed to sputter in response to her grim warning. Just as Bernadette opened her mouth to speak again, the creak of the ranger station door broke the tension.

A young woman in a worn ranger uniform entered, her face etched with concern. Her gaze swept over the group, settling on the old woman who sat rocking silently. "Granny Cheng," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Is everything alright here?"

Granny Cheng gave a curt nod. "Just some young travelers, seeking adventure on Blackwood Mountain." Her voice held a hint of accusation, directed at the group.

The ranger's eyebrows shot up. "Blackwood Mountain? Are you sure about that?"

Mark, mustering a confident smile, stepped forward. "Absolutely. We're a group of students working on a film project, and we think Blackwood Mountain could be the perfect setting."

The ranger exchanged a worried glance with a burly man who had just entered behind her. He was older, his face weathered by years spent outdoors.

"Blackwood Mountain isn't exactly the most… forgiving place," the older ranger rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. "Especially for young folks like yourselves. Lots of legends, lots of…unforeseen dangers."

Ezekiel, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the exchange, piped up, his voice trembling slightly. "But… the internet said there are marked trails. We'll just stick to those, right?"

The older ranger sighed, a humorless sound. "Trails can get lost, young man. Especially in Blackwood. And believe me, you wouldn't want to get lost up there."

A tense silence descended once more. The carefree excitement that had fueled their journey had been replaced by a chilling sense of foreboding. Yet, a flicker of determination still burned in some of their eyes.

Bernadette, ever the pragmatist, finally broke the silence. "Look, we appreciate your concern. But we've come all this way, and we're prepared. If you're worried about safety, perhaps you could assign us a guide?"

The ranger exchanged another glance with his partner, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, the young woman spoke. "Alright, listen closely. We wouldn't normally allow inexperienced hikers like yourselves anywhere near Blackwood, but seeing as you've come so far… We'll assign you both of us as guides. But make no mistake, this is a risky venture. One wrong turn, one misstep, and…" she trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

"You're dead!"

A wave of nervous excitement rippled through the group. The prospect of danger now seemed strangely intertwined with the thrill of adventure. With a mix of trepidation and determination, they accepted the rangers' offer.

The seemingly straightforward film project had taken a sharp turn, leading them deeper into the heart of Blackwood Mountain, a place where legend intertwined with reality, and where the line between adventure and danger had become frighteningly thin.

The true test, it seemed, was just beginning.

The sterile office walls seemed to press in on Reyn as she finished her initial story. Her voice, hoarse from emotion, trailed off. Shame radiated from her like a heat wave, twisting her insides.

Professor Bridges sat across from her, an unreadable mask on her face. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Reyn reached for the glass of water on the side table, its coolness a fleeting reprieve from the heat of shame scorching her insides. With trembling hands, she brought it to her lips, but the water only moistened her parched throat, doing little to quench the fire of guilt.

Finally, Professor Bridges spoke, her voice surprisingly gentle for someone who looked like she could be Reyn's older sister. "Take your time, Reyn. This isn't easy."

Relief washed over Reyn in a wave. The professor's unexpected empathy, a balm on her raw emotions, gave her the strength to continue.

Steeling herself, Reyn set the glass down with a soft clink.

"It was my fault, Professor. All of it. Grandpa always told me stories about Blackwood Mountain, about the hidden meadow teeming with rare wildlife. It seemed perfect for our project."

Shame burned in her gut, a hot, acrid coal. The old woman's words echoed in her mind, a haunting melody of warning.

‘Remember, the mountain doesn't care for your stories or your films. It demands respect, and sometimes a sacrifice.’

"We were young, Professor," Reyn continued, her voice thick with self-loathing. "We thought we knew everything. Even Bernadette, the most cautious of us, was swept up in the excitement."

The memory of their laughter, their carefree trek up the treacherous slopes, twisted like a knife in her gut. Each joyous step had been a step closer to the darkness that awaited them.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the image of Professor Bridges across from her. "We should have listened. We should have turned back." The guilt was a monstrous weight, crushing her spirit. She, the one trained by her hunter grandfather in the ways of the wild, the one who should have known better, had led them into a nightmare.

Professor Bridges reached out, her touch a gentle anchor in the storm of emotions. "Reyn," she said softly, "You couldn't have predicted the horror that awaited you. What happened wasn't your fault."

But the words did little to soothe the tempest within. Generations of hunters flowed through her veins, a legacy built on respect for nature's power. Yet, she had failed to heed its ancient warnings. The weight of their loss, the chilling memory of the darkness, was a burden she felt she alone could carry.

Taking a shaky breath, Reyn forced herself to continue. "There's more, Professor. Things I haven't been able to… articulate." She closed her eyes, the terror clawing at the edges of her consciousness. "The darkness… it wasn't just the absence of light. It felt alive, Professor. It pulsed with a malevolent energy that seeped into your bones, and stole the very breath from your lungs."

The raw terror in her voice spoke volumes. Professor Bridges listened patiently, her eyes filled with empathy and a quiet strength that helped ground Reyn.

As Reyn continued her harrowing tale, the memories, though no less horrifying, began to lose their stranglehold.

With each word spoken, a sliver of the burden was lifted, replaced by a sliver of hope. Perhaps, by facing the darkness within, she could finally begin to heal.

- - -

April 17, 2016: Blackwood Mountain

5:30 PM

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the mountainside as Pearl and Bobby, the ranger guides, led the student group to a clearing. Here, nestled amongst towering pines, they set up camp. Laughter mingled with the clinking of mess kits as the students pitched their tents and prepared dinner.

Despite the unsettling whispers at the ranger station, Blackwood Mountain unfolded before them in breathtaking splendor. Lush valleys carpeted with wildflowers gave way to jagged peaks that scraped the azure sky. The air, crisp and clean, carried the sweet scent of pine and damp earth.

As the campfire crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows on their faces, the students huddled together, their faces aglow with the warmth of the flames and the excitement of their project.

"This place is unreal," Vonster, exclaimed, leaning back on his elbows. "Beats any studio set, hands down!"

Ezekiel, squirmed on his log, his eyes flitting nervously from the darkening forest to the confident faces around him. "The view is, uh, amazing," he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly.

Bernadette, nudged him with her elbow. "Relax, Ezekiel," she whispered. "We have the rangers with us, remember?" Her own gaze, however, flickered towards the dense woods with a hint of unease.

Primitivo, the filmmaker of the group with a brooding air, sat silently across from them, his gaze fixed on the flames. He rarely spoke, his communication limited to intense eye contact and cryptic gestures, he remained an outsider, a mystery wrapped in a hoodie

Mercy, offered a wry smile. "Legends or not, we still need to be careful. This mountain demands respect, even from those of us who haven't exactly scaled Mount Everest." Her pointed glance landed on Vonster deflating his bravado a notch.

Vonster scoffed. "Respect? Come on, Mercy, lighten up. We're all, like, totally prepared. Besides, haven't you heard? The bigger the risk, the better the footage!"

Bernadette shot him a withering look. "And the bigger the chance of ending up as a cautionary tale for future vloggers."

Vonster waved her dismissively. "Don't be such a downer, Badet!  We'll be fine. We have a plan, right?" He looked expectantly at Aaron, who was staring thoughtfully into the fire.

Aaron finally spoke. "Yeah, we have a plan, Von. But plans can change in the wilderness. We need to be adaptable, listen to our instincts, and most importantly, respect the mountain, even if it means stepping outside our comfort zones."

Mark, ever the leader, watched his team with a sense of pride. Blackwood Mountain, with its beauty and its whispers of danger, was the perfect setting for their project. He raised his hand, silencing the excited chatter.

"Alright everyone," he said, his voice ringing with confidence, "Let's get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, we will capture the magic of Blackwood Mountain on film!"

A chorus of agreement rose from the group. As they settled into their tents for the night, the stars began to emerge, painting a dazzling scenery  across the inky black canvas of the sky.

Little did they know, the darkness held secrets far more terrifying than any local legend.

***

The insistent tug of nature pulled Reyn from her sleep. Grabbing her flashlight, she unzipped the tent and stepped into a night thicker than ink. Behind a nearby tent, a figure detached itself from the shadows and melted deeper into the woods. A primal instinct flared in Reyn's gut, urging her to follow.

She crept forward, the oppressive silence broken only by the frantic thudding of her pulse. Not a single cricket chirped, a sound usually as constant as her own heartbeat. The forest held its breath, waiting. Twenty yards in, a crunching of leaves ripped through the quiet.

Reyn whipped around, the flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. It landed on the figure she'd seen earlier, bathed in a sliver of moonlight. He was broad-shouldered, his features obscured by shadow. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig sent a jolt through her. With only a flimsy hunting knife as her protection, she braced herself for whatever might unfold.

Reyn spun on her heel, the forest floor crunching under her retreat. Panic gnawed at her to break into a run would scream "guilty," yet she couldn't shake the feeling heavy footsteps echoed behind her.

Trapped between flight and pursuit, she maintained a forced pace, her hand gripping the useless weight of the hunting knife.

The walk back was a silent torture, the weight of her secret a suffocating cloak. Back at camp, sleep refused to come. Every rustle of leaves in the wind sent her heart hammering against her ribs.

Dawn brought a harsh light, revealing the toll the night had taken. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, her hand trembled with fatigue.

"Rough night?" Aaron's voice cut through the fog clouding her mind, his concern a welcome intrusion into the turmoil in her head.

She forced a smile, but her gaze flickered across the campsite, landing on Primitivo emerging from his tent. Her breath hitched as she recognized the jacket he wore the same one from the figure last night. His face, however, was an unreadable mask. Did he recognize her?

Suddenly, Primitivo stopped mid-stride, a cryptic phrase escaping his lips, "Dreams may be real, as reality may be a dream." He hadn't spoken a word during the entire hike yesterday, and now this cryptic message. Was he toying with her, or did his words hold a deeper meaning?

"Hey, are you even listening?" Aaron's hand connected with a sharp crack, snapping Reyn from her daze. She whipped her head around, searching for Ashton, but he was gone.

"Did you hear what Lopez said?" she asked Aaron, her voice barely a whisper.

"Are you losing it? It's just the two of us here." Aaron's brow furrowed in concern.

A cold dread seeped into Reyn's bones. Was it just her imagination earlier?

"You're probably on drugs, lass. He's in our tent, still asleep." Aaron's words held a hint of exasperation.

"Wake up those still sleeping, we'll start after breakfast."

Mark's voice pulled her back to the campsite routine. She joined him at their makeshift table, but every stolen glance towards Primitivo sent a jolt of nervous energy through her.

Despite the chatter and activity around him, he seemed enveloped in an unsettling silence. He hadn't spoken a word since yesterday's hike, and now his very presence felt like a tangible threat.

Their breakfast went smoothly on the surface, yet a thick tension hung in the air. Aaron playfully adjusted a strap on her costume a flimsy fairy getup that felt a million miles away from the reality gnawing at her.

"Take one and action!"

Mark's voice jolted them into action. Their first scene began, where they were supposed to marvel at their surroundings and suddenly time would freeze, rendering them immobile.

"Hey Guys, wake up! wake up!" Vonster shook his teammates, pretending they are immobile.

Only Vonster could move. As Reyn waited behind a tree for her cue, the memory of the figure in the woods flashed before her eyes, the same jacket Primitivo wore now. It was more than a coincidence. Something wasn't right with him, and she was determined to find out what.

Mark's signal, a barely perceptible flicker of his hand behind the camera, sent a jolt through Reyn. She emerged from her hiding spot, fingers brushing through her hair in a practiced gesture. A rare, saccharine smile bloomed on her face, utterly at odds with her usual demeanor.

"W-who are you?" Vonster stammered, his voice choked with a mix of fear and confusion. Merciline had emphasized realism, and for a moment, the line between acting and genuine terror blurred.

She didn't answer, instead gliding closer to him and extending a palm. Ezekiel responsible for special effects, would handle the ethereal dust she supposedly held. He'd assured her it would appear as such on camera.

"Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess," she intoned, her voice laced with an unsettling theatricality that scraped against her nerves. "We seek it thus, and take to the sky. Ripples form on the water's surface. The wandering soul knows no rest."

Vonster remained speechless, his wide eyes locked on hers. She offered him another saccharine smile, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning in her gut. "Come and follow me, Son of Adam," she whispered, and to her surprise, Vonster fell into step beside her without a word.

"Cut!" Mark's voice broke the spell. Relief washed over Reyn as the scene ended. "Good job everyone, let's change locations."

Andrew approached her, chatter spilling from his lips as usual. She took the clothes he offered and retreated to the tent to change.

As she folded her costume, the memory of Primitivo's enigmatic presence earlier gnawed at her. His silence, the strange jacket it was all a little too coincidental.

Fear, sharp and cold, prickled at her skin. She had to find out what Primitivo was hiding, not just for the sake of the film, but for her own sense of safety.

*****

They shoot in different locations capturing the very essence of the beautiful scenery, the two rangers are silently following them and ensuring their safety.

After a few minutes of rest . .

"Alright everyone, pack it up!" Mark announced, his voice booming across the campsite. The scene was done, and the crew bustled around, dismantling equipment and packing supplies. "Let's move to the next location and find our next campsite."

As they dismantled the equipment, Pearl and Bobby reappeared, their earlier sternness replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"Found a potential spot for your next scene, Mark," Bobby announced, pulling out a worn map of the area. He unfolded it on a nearby rock, his finger tracing a path towards the east. "See this meadow here?" His finger landed on a patch marked with vibrant green, bathed in the last rays of the sun setting over the mountain.

A collective gasp rippled through the group. The map depicted a sprawling meadow, just like Bobby described, with a winding stream marked in glistening blue.

"Wow, that's amazing!" Mark exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with inspiration. "Looks like a perfect spot for our fairies to frolic."

Pearl and Bobby exchanged a worried glance. Pearl cleared her throat. "That meadow lies just beyond that ridge, folks. See that structure marked there?" Her finger pointed towards a small, crumbling icon on the map, positioned at the edge of the meadow. "That's Blackwood Manor. Been abandoned for years."

A shiver ran down Reyn's spine. The name sent a jolt of recognition through her it was the same place Primitivo had vanished into the night.

"Is it safe to film there?" Bernadette asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bobby tapped the map with a grimace. "Blackwood Manor itself shouldn't be a problem. But listen close. This meadow is roughly a thirty-minute walk from here, and the terrain gets tricky. Steep inclines, loose rocks, not exactly a walk in the park."

He traced a thin red line on the map, extending beyond the manor icon. "Now, beyond here…" His voice dropped to a low murmur. "That's the real danger zone of Blackwood Mountain. Uncharted territory with well, things best left undisturbed."

Mark, oblivious to the tension, rubbed his hands together. "Intriguing! We can use the manor as our base camp for the night. Film the meadow scene tomorrow, then maybe explore the outskirts of the danger zone for some establishing shots!"

Reyn's heart hammered against her ribs. The meadow was their designated filming location, but the abandoned manor, looming ominously on the ridge, now presented a new challenge. It was a potential haven from the elements, but also a gateway to the forbidden zone.

A silent plea flickered in Pearl's eyes as she met Reyn's gaze. The ranger's unspoken warning hung heavy in the air.

As the crew began packing their equipment, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over Reyn.

The beauty of the meadow offered a chance to film their fantastical scene, yet the ominous Blackwood Manor and the danger zone beyond whispered of secrets and potential threats. With a determined glint in her eye, Reyn decided to confront these mysteries head-on.

To be continued . . .