I could see the smooth, unbroken surface of the stone floor beneath the thin layer of snow, undisturbed and ancient. 

The silence here felt heavier, like the ruins were holding their breath, waiting. 

I knelt down and swept more of the snow away, revealing the markings underneath—symbols similar to the ones outside, spiraling and sharp, but these were more defined. 

It was like they were trying to tell a story, a warning maybe, but I couldn’t make sense of it. 

The markings seemed to extend deeper into the ruin, almost guiding me.

I followed them, moving further away from the group. 

I didn’t know why I was so drawn to these symbols, but something about them felt important. 

Maybe they were connected to the impact we’d been talking about. 

As I walked, the walls around me narrowed, closing me in, and the floor smoothed out even more. 

The markings thickened, covering nearly every inch of the stone. 

It felt like I had stumbled into a forgotten part of the ruin, untouched for centuries.

I found myself in a small, enclosed chamber, the ceiling low, the walls etched with more spirals and lines. 

But at the center of the far wall, there was something different. 

A crack in the stone, jagged and rough, split the surface, and within that crack, just beneath the markings, was a spiral larger than any of the others I had seen. 

My heart pounded in my chest, but not from fear—curiosity burned inside me. 

I reached out, almost instinctively, and pressed my palm against the cold stone.

The moment my skin touched the surface, a sudden tremor rippled through the wall. 

The crack widened slightly, and I took a step back, startled. 

Then, from within the shadows of the crack, I saw movement. 

My breath caught in my throat as something thin and dark slithered out—a centipede, its segmented body writhing as it crawled free from the stone.

I froze, watching as it slowly made its way toward me, its legs clicking against the stone floor. 

My pulse quickened, but I didn’t move. 

Before I could react, the centipede darted up my arm, its tiny legs scraping against my skin. 

I gasped, trying to shake it off, but it was too fast. 

It coiled itself around my wrist, and in an instant, it began to dig.

The pain hit me like a knife. 

I cried out, clutching my wrist as the centipede burrowed into my skin, forcing its way beneath the surface. 

My vision blurred, my world narrowing to the searing agony radiating from my arm. 

I stumbled back, gripping my wrist tightly, trying to pull the thing out, but I could feel it moving deeper, slithering under my flesh. 

The sensation of its legs crawling through my muscles made my stomach churn.

I dropped to my knees, my breath ragged as I fought to keep from screaming. 

The pain wasn’t just sharp—it was alive, pulsating and burning as the centipede pushed further up my arm. 

I could feel it twisting under my skin, coiling itself tighter, its body moving in waves that sent bolts of agony through every nerve in my arm. 

My hand trembled violently, the skin around my wrist swelling as the creature burrowed deeper.

I pressed my fingers into my wrist, desperately trying to dig it out, but it was useless. 

My nails scraped against the skin, but I couldn’t reach it. 

It was already too deep, too far beneath the surface. 

I clenched my teeth, fighting the urge to scream, my whole body trembling from the pain. 

I could feel it moving, inching its way toward my elbow, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

I gripped my arm harder, my vision blurring from the tears that welled in my eyes. 

Every movement of the centipede sent fresh waves of pain shooting through me, each one worse than the last. 

I wanted to tear it out, rip my arm open if I had to, anything to stop the agony. 

But my hands were useless, fumbling and shaking as the creature continued its relentless crawl up my arm.

And then, suddenly, it stopped.

For a moment, the pain didn’t ease, but the burning sensation dulled. 

I gasped for breath, still clutching my arm as I waited for the next wave of agony to hit. 

But it didn’t. 

Instead, a cold numbness began to settle into my arm, spreading from my wrist up to my elbow. 

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I slowly lifted my trembling hand to look at my arm.

There, where the centipede had burrowed, a mark had appeared—a dark, jagged line that snaked its way up my arm. 

It was a twisted, blackened shape, like a centipede made of thorns, etched into my skin. 

It coiled around my wrist, looping up my arm, wrapping tightly around the muscles and veins beneath the surface. 

The mark pulsed faintly, almost like it was alive.

I stared at it, horrified, and without thinking, I tried to dig it out. 

My fingers clawed at the mark, desperate to rip it away, but it wouldn’t budge. 

The more I scratched, the deeper the lines seemed to set into my skin. 

My nails scraped against my arm, drawing blood, but nothing changed. 

The centipede, or whatever it had become, was part of me now. 

I could feel it, just beneath the surface, a constant reminder of the pain it had caused.

I sank to the floor, my breathing ragged, my arm burning and throbbing with each pulse of the mark.

I tried to calm myself, to focus, but the pain lingered, sharp and relentless. 

No matter how hard I pressed, how much I tried to claw it away, the mark remained, dark and permanent.

I stared at the twisted mark on my arm, the black lines curling around my wrist like sinister vines, pulsing in time with my racing heart. 

Each throb sent a wave of heat coursing through my veins, mixing with the cold sweat of panic that had settled over me. 

My breathing came in ragged gasps as I struggled to comprehend what had just happened. 

The pain still lingered, a raw ache that radiated up to my elbow, but it was nothing compared to the realization that something dark had invaded my body, intertwining itself with my very essence.

As I knelt there, trembling, a chilling silence enveloped me. 

It was a silence so thick that it seemed to press in on me from all sides. 

The ruins around me felt more claustrophobic than ever, their dark stones looming like silent sentinels, watching and waiting. 

I wanted to scream, to claw at the mark until it bled, to rid myself of this intruder. 

But deep down, a part of me feared that it was too late.

And then, amidst the chaos of my thoughts, I heard it—a voice, smooth and silky, echoing inside my mind.

"Hello, child…”