It Was Always Meant to Happen

The sky was crimson with flame and darkened by ash. Smoke curled along the horizon like ink spilled into water. Beneath, the forest smoldered in silence.

Trees were reduced to charred skeletal silhouettes. Branches twitched in the heat like dying nerves.

At the edge of the burn zone, Rowan stood in stillness; his boots sinking into the thick layer of iridescent ash. Under the emergency flood lights, it shimmered faintly in vivid colors that didn't belong to this world. Violet, green, and a shade of blue that made his teeth ache.

It clung to everything. His skin, his breath, along the folds of his coat. He hadn't planned on coming back. Eldritch forest was a memory he never wanted to relive. The breakdown . . .

The one that plagued him with nightmares even still. Cities constructed of glass and bone, machines fused into tree roots that pulsed like beating hearts, and a voice. Static, sentient, and wet with whisper, coating his dreams like a brush dipped in oil that called him by name.

Others were already inside the perimeter, their scanners humming softly. Rowan stayed back, watching the ash swirl in slow spirals. He could feel it. Something beneath the soil. Not sound exactly, not vibration either. A kind of pressure behind the eyes that wouldn't settle. A memory too deep to unbury.

Rowan blinked, and for a moment, the floodlights flickered. Not with failure, but with something else. A pulse. A breath. An irregularity. The ash shimmered in response, floating slightly from the ground, suspended midair as if listening.

He stepped forward. Just one pace. The scanners spiked. A voice crackled through the comms. Distorted and half-swallowed by static. "—don’t go further. It's—" Then silence.

His gaze drifted out toward the researchers, watching, waiting. None of them seemed to have heard it. No abnormal reactions. They simply continued to walk between the charred remnants, subtle beeping tones emanating from the temporal scanners.

A crack split the air like ice fracturing beneath weight. Rowan flinched but stayed still—watching.

Suited in dark green with a heavy mask over his face, a researcher stepped toward an unnaturally spiraling cloud of glistening ash, scanner held aloft. The air around him broke into a fracture. Jagged edges partially illuminated like a shard of glass held in the light.

Then he was gone.

Only a moment, hardly a second had passed before the researcher glitched back into the forest in a dead sprint. His mask was gone, and his eyes spoke volumes.

He ran until he was far from the reaches of the burn zone, shoving past Rowan with desperate urgency. Body fumbling and tripping almost as if he had forgotten basic motor skills.

Buzzing crept beneath his skin. Not fear, but recognition, and more so—dread. This isn't right.

From the blurred boundary of creeping ash and burnt foliage, he waved his arms frantically in signal. They were too busy looking at their devices and examining irregularities and potential hot spots.

They would never hear him with the mask over his face. He might as well have shoved a sock in his mouth and tried to scream. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the mask free, cupped his hands on either side of his face, and yelled, "Hey!"

A few researchers turned, and Rowan waved again. The supervisor, Anton, turned stiffly and began marching his direction.

Rowan pulled the mask back over his face, pulling the straps tight at the sides. He already knew what he was going to say. It wasn't the first time someone from their team had been exposed—since Rowan had been exposed.

"Goddamnit Reed," Anton ground out in a jumble of muffled sound as he neared.

"I'm sorry sir, but I had no other way to get your attention."

"You couldn't use comms?"

Rowan shook his head. "Comms went on the frits fifteen minutes ago. Nothing but static and . . ."

"And . . ." Anton stared expectantly, only a vague glint of expression visible through the ash caked mask.

He blew out a hard breath and shifted. "I really don't know. I heard something and then Jordan . . . he disappeared. It was a second at most but the air, or something in it." He shook his head, glancing over Anton's shoulder toward the growing spiral of ash. "Whatever it was, it spit him back out, but he took off. He saw something, and his mask was gone."

"Fuck." Throwing his head back and pacing three steps away before turning back, Anton said, "We need retrieval on him stat before shit goes haywire. We can't afford a contamination leak."

"Yes, sir. I know. I can go back and send the team off in his direction—"

"No, I need you on site. You know what you're looking for."

Rowan tensed. He had no plans of entering the burn zone, but if Anton ordered him . . .

What was worse, Anton was right. He alone knew what to look for. Those almost invisible signs like scattered memories from a dark dream. The ones that nearly broke him.

Anton continued past him and Rowan cast an apprehensive glance toward the smoldering forest. "Wait." Anton paused and partially turned. "Can we do something about the comms?"

Raising his wrist, the flickering blue band active, Anton pressed a button and said, "They working?"

Flinching at the loudness in his ear, Rowan nodded. "Yeah, that was loud and clear."

A blurry smile peeked from behind the mask. "Good. Get to work then. I'll keep you updated on Jordan."

With a sigh, Rowan turned back to the forest. To where the ash spiraled and swirled. To where . . .

***

Breathless, his legs couldn't carry him further. They burned, muscles taut and aflame. Not just from the raging fire he sprinted through, but from doing so for so long. Rowan collapsed, heaved himself under the shelter of a jutted rock from the ridge at his back, and tried to catch his breath.

It was too late. He had been without a mask for too long and contamination wasn't a risk—it was reality. He coughed, the taste of metal and decay thick on his tongue. Blue flames were scorching the ground. Closer and closer. They crept forward, tendrils of flames reaching, searching.

Before he could fully revive his lungs, or the muscles in his legs, Rowan pushed up from the ground, reaching above for a handhold to climb the ridge. Rock bit into his fingers as he pulled himself higher.

Flames followed like a sentient being, and perhaps they weren't just following—they were herding him like cattle. The thought was chased away as his foot dug into crumbling rock. Pieces broke away as he fought against the ridge for purchase. Fingers searched as he glanced at the flames below, finally finding grip in a crevice.

Voice cracking with an escaped cry, he pulled himself further up the ridge, finally reaching the rocky surface of the top. Patting his hand around for anything to grab, he pushed upward from the foothold, bracing his hand on the ground as he struggled against his weight. He made it.

And there—just beyond the ridge was the city. He was right, and he was back.

***

Static crackled through comms as he stepped into the burn zone. Every cell in his body begged him to retreat. Go home. Stay away. Someone else could . . . No. He couldn't let anyone else fall prey to what he knew was waiting.

Anton appeared as a silhouette in the distance as he dipped into the trees. It was only a matter of time before Jordan began exhibiting symptoms. Hopefully they could find him in time.

Cautiously, Rowan walked further. Each step a descent, each breath a prayer. Avoiding the more heavily spiraling ash zones, he made his way toward Burke, the senior researcher, and usual pain in the ass. "What have you got so far?"

Burke turned, raising his head from staring at his scanner. He smirked. "Finally found the balls to set foot in the zone I see." He lowered his scanner and nodded once to the left. "We've been monitoring a gravitational anomaly. It's been behaving strangely. Fluctuations in temporal matter and what looks like phase displacement. The scanners picked up a chronometric instability about twenty minutes ago—right before Jordan ran off."

"Jordan didn't run off. I saw it happen."

​Turning sharply Burke wiped ash from his mask. "What exactly did you see?"

"He was walking toward the ash," Rowan said as he pointed, "but as soon as he neared it, it looked like . . . a rift, or some sort of fracture opened and he vanished. A second later he was running as hard as he could without his mask."

"Fuck." Burke shook his head, turning to yell over his shoulder. "Corden off zone E-13. Possible fracture in the field—temporal displacement confirmed."

​***

Spires of translucent bone rose in spiraling helixes, some cracked open to reveal pulsing cores of light. Red, violet, and that aching shade that made each of his teeth feel as if there was an exposed nerve. Bridges arched between towers like veins, trembling with movement. The skyline shimmered, not with heat, but with distortion. Buildings flickering between states, as if undecided whether to be solid or memory.

Glass domes nested within the roots of colossal trees; their surfaces etched with symbols that crawled like insects. Machinery bloomed from the trunks—delicate, metallic petals twitching in rhythm with the ground’s pulse. Somewhere deep within, a low hum resonated, not sound but sensation, vibrating through Rowan's ribs like a forgotten name.

Above it all, a monolithic structure loomed—half cathedral, half reactor. Its surface was slick with condensation, or perhaps blood. A halo of static circled its peak, whispering in languages he almost understood. The city was alive. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. It breathed.

And it remembered him.

At the top of the structure was a massive red light casting the hue across the mechanical forest below. But it was more than just a red light. When Rowan reached the top of the ridge, it had turned. Watching, focusing like an eye that saw him. That knew he was there.

Rowan descended the ridge, boots slipping slightly on loose stone. The city loomed ahead, casting long shadows across the ash-choked terrain. But it wasn’t the skyline that held his gaze—it was the fracture.

It hovered just above the ground, shimmering like a shard of broken glass suspended in air. The same impossible geometry that had swallowed Jordan. It pulsed faintly, edges twitching like a wound trying to close.

Inside the rift, he saw movement. Jordan walked slowly, unaware of what was right in front of him as he read data from his scanner. The light bent around him, refracting his outline into a thousand mirrored fragments. Rowan’s breath caught.

He raised his wrist, thumb already pressing the comms. "Jordan! Don’t go further. It’s a temporal fracture, stay back!"

It wasn't enough, and perhaps he didn't even hear. Rowan froze with realization, and Jordan walked right into the rift.

Stumbling to the ground as if he tripped down a short flight of stairs, Jordan scrambled, eyes darting every direction before falling on Rowan. "I tried to fucking warn you!"

Jordan pushed back along the ground, either still in shock or just completely bewildered. He gaped at Rowan before he said, "How . . . you were just—" He pushed up from the ground and stood. "Where the hell are we? How did you get here?"

Before Rowan could respond, the fracture collapsed in on itself and vanished.

A sound split the air.

Not a crack, not a growl, but something deeper. A resonance that bypassed the ears and settled in the spine. Rowan turned sharply, instinct overriding thought. Jordan flinched, backing toward him.

From the tree line, something moved.

It didn’t walk. It shifted. A blur of limbs and angles, too many joints bending the wrong way. Its surface shimmered like wet obsidian, but beneath that sheen, something pulsed—like organs stitched into machinery. Eyes, if they were eyes, glowed faintly like bioluminescence. Rowan felt it. Recognition. The creature knew him.

Ash spiraled upward as it stepped forward, each movement fracturing the air around it. The forest responded. Branches twitched, scanners beeped erratically, and the ground itself seemed to recoil.

With terror lacing through every word, Jordan whispered, “What the fuck is that?”

Rowan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. There was no name for it. No taxonomy. Just dread.

The creature tilted its head, and the static halo above the city pulsed in reply. Then it lunged.

They ran.

Ash kicked up in clouds behind them, the terrain warping with each step. A branch knocked Jordan's mask clean off as he failed to duck.

"My mask!"

"Leave it."

The creature gave chase. Its movements were wrong, like time stuttering around it, like it didn't even have to move fast because catching them was inevitable.

***

"Can you get me some readings on zone K-6? There was something strange going on over there. Steve reported noises and Anton picked up on another possible displacement and gravitational flux." Burke shifted and turned to watch zone E-13 being roped off.

"K-6? Isn't that near the river?"

Burke adjusted the parameters on the scanner, its blue light flickering erratically. "That zone’s been quiet for weeks. If something’s waking up over there, we need to know."

Rowan nodded, already turning. "I’ll check it out."

He moved quickly, boots crunching through layers of ash. The forest thinned near the river, trees warped and leaning as if pulled by invisible tides. The air felt heavier, denser, like walking through memory buried in mud.

Then he saw it.

A shimmer. Not light, not shadow. A fracture in the air, hovering near the riverbank. Smaller than the last but pulsing with the same impossible geometry. The edges twitched, folding inward like petals made of glass.

Rowan stepped closer.

The scanner in his hand spiked. Symbols flickered across the display, unreadable and shifting too fast. He reached out, not touching, just feeling. The pressure behind his eyes intensified. The hum in his ribs grew louder.

He knew this place.

Not from maps. Not from memory.

From dreams.

The rift pulsed once, and Rowan felt the world tilt.

Then he fell.

The fracture spit him out in a scream of color and heat.

He landed hard, knees buckling against scorched earth. The sky above was no longer crimson, it was electric blue, pulsing like a heartbeat. Flames licked across the ground in tendrils, not wild but intentional, curling toward him like they knew his name.

The air was thick with static and ash, but beneath it all was a sound. Low, wet, and wrong. Like something breathing through water. Like something waking up.

He scrambled along the ground for his mask that came off with the impact. On his hands and knees, he found it just before blue flames swallowed it whole. But it was cracked.

"Fuck," Rowan cried. His desperate frustration ebbing toward an overflow. He chucked the mask into the fire and pushed to his feet. Flames were beginning to encircle him. There was no time to complain or worry about contamination.

He sprinted.

The ground beneath him warped with each step, ash lifting in spirals, flames chasing like sentient threads. The forest twisted around him—trees bending inward, branches twitching like nerves exposed to open air. Symbols flickered across bark and stone, crawling like insects, whispering in languages he almost understood.

Behind him, something moved.

Not the flames. Not the wind.

Something else.

***

The creature was close. He could feel it in the pressure behind his eyes; in the way the ground trembled with each of its steps.

Jordan stumbled, nearly falling. Rowan grabbed his arm, yanked him forward. "Keep going!"

They broke through a thicket of twisted mechanical trees, and there, just ahead, was another fracture.

It hovered midair, larger than the last, its edges folding inward like glass petals caught in a slow implosion. Symbols flickered across its surface, crawling like insects. The air around it pulsed, vibrating with memory.

Rowan didn’t hesitate.

He shoved Jordan toward it.

“What—Rowan, wait—”

“No time!”

Jordan turned, eyes wide, but Rowan was already pushing him through. The rift shimmered, pulsed, and swallowed him whole.

Gone.

Rowan stepped forward but the ground buckled beneath him. The creature emerged from the smoke, limbs bending in impossible angles, its surface slick with iridescent sheen. It didn’t lunge.

It watched.

The city loomed behind it, spires flickering, the red light casting long, trembling shadows. The static halo pulsed again, whispering in a language Rowan almost understood.

He looked at the rift. It was closing. He could feel it, like a door being sealed, like a memory being buried alive.

He ran.

The creature moved, slow and deliberate, each step fracturing the air. Rowan reached the rift just as its edges began to collapse. He reached out—

Too late.

The fracture folded inward, vanishing with a sound like breath held too long.

Rowan stood alone.

The ash around him lifted, swirling in slow spirals. Listening.

The creature didn’t move. It didn’t need to.

Rowan turned toward the city.

The red light at its peak narrowed—no longer casting but focusing. The static halo pulsed again, louder now, like breath caught in a throat. Symbols across the trees flickered in unison, crawling faster, converging.

He felt it.

Not fear.

Recognition.

The city remembered him. Not as he was—but as it had reshaped him.

The hum in his ribs grew louder. The pressure behind his eyes sharpened. Something beneath the soil stirred.

Rowan stepped forward.

The creature tilted its head.

The ground fractured.

Light spilled upward. Not blinding but revealing. A thousand mirrored fragments of himself, flickering in the air like broken reflections. Some running. Some screaming. One smiling. Familiarity flickered. The dreams. It was always meant to happen.

He didn’t stop.

The city opened.

Not like a door.

Like a mouth.

And Rowan disappeared.