In Vereluna, every shadow remembers.

Every silence, haunted.

Every answer, just out of reach.

What memories linger, when others have vanished?

Dusk blanketed the horizon. Orange light painted the still-crowded streets. The darkness pressed in, silent and somehow alive, Vereluna’s unmistakable fingerprint.

Ariel’s shoes crunched over gravel as she neared the south side, the last gold light faded to lavender. The cacti patch came into view. Her heart pounded; a lost memory sent a chill rippling across her skin.

This was the last place I remember.

Her memory was gone. Only fragments remained: flickers of the town’s lights, Maya’s few words, the taste of the lake’s cool air, the sudden, creeping cold that choked her bones.

Ariel scanned the cacti patch. Just ordinary cacti: stumpy, dull, spines tanned with dust. Nothing strange. No signs. No answers to her missing memory.

She knelt down, searching until dirt bit under her fingernails. No tracks, no sign that anyone or anything had been there. Ariel stood up in frustration, brushing dust from her hands. Her mind raced.

No footprints. No disturbances. There HAS to be something.

The sun dropped, orange and low at Ariel’s shoulder. Lost in thought, Ariel catalogued everything in sight—loose rocks, cacti needles, passing street vendors. Still nothing. No clues.

A sharp shutter snap jolted her.

Ariel flinched. City-honed instincts kicked in. Her eyes darted around to find the camera.

“Hey!” Ariel barked.

She pulled herself tight, masking her vulnerability with sarcasm. “Did you just take my picture?” Her voice cracked with fatigue. “Usually, people ask first. I hope you got my good side.”

A woman beamed. Her face was split by the kind of photographer’s smile reserved for children and cats. She was short but commanding—long flowing hair, camera slung loose, and a delight so pure it lit up the street. She chattered something in French, gesturing toward the sunset.

Ariel blinked.

The woman cleared her throat and motioned toward her.

“It’s a wonderful photo,” the woman said, her accent soft but still present. “Pretty girl, wonderful light, charming sunset. Simply perfect!”

“Was there a ‘pose here’ sign I missed?” Ariel grumbled. “Last I checked, I didn’t sign a modeling contract. Permission’s a thing you know.”

The woman paused, then chuckled and extended her hand.

“I’m Tina. Moved here last year from Marseille. I capture people’s ‘happily ever after’ moments. You learn a whole lot about people, and new places, from taking photos.”

A man approached from behind Tina, his steps booming with confidence.

He was a giant, tall and powerfully built, with rich dark skin and tight, coily hair. His voice, like his broad shoulders, could fill a room, but was warm, with the melody of a French-Caribbean accent.

“Ey Tina!” The man boomed. “How you be, cher? You shootin’ sunsets again?”

“Bob!” Tina exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm.

Bob smiled. He noticed Ariel as he crouched down to hug Tina.

“Making new friends, oui?”

“Inside voice Bob, you’re scaring her.” Tina teased.

Tina vibrated with energy. “This is my good friend Bob. Bob, this is—” She paused. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it,” Ariel chuffed.

They seem friendly. Loud, but harmless.

“Ariel.”

“How’s it, Ariel!” Bob bellowed, flashing a warm smile and extending his massive hand. “Tina give you much trouble, you let ol’ Bob know, oui?”

Ariel examined them—Tina with her observant eyes and camera. Bob with his mountain-sized warmth.

Maybe they might know something about that night…

Ariel squared her shoulders. Her mind raced for patterns.

“Have either of you seen anything…strange here? Or someone matching this description—a copper-skinned woman, possibly Nahua, taller than average, athletic, long dark hair?”

 She hesitated. “Maybe…last evening?”

Tina and Bob exchanged an unreadable glance. Bob shook his head first.

“Nope. First time seeing you, cher. Never met anyone exactly like that. But I have seen others who look alike who visit there cactus and the old tree by the east of town. Relatives maybe. Sometimes they bow, like praying almost, to that cacti patch. Ritual of respect, I think.”

Ariel squinted, deep in thought.

Maya did that to the old tree too. Connected, then.

Tina nodded. “Same as Bob. First time seeing you, and no one like that last evening.”

She tilted her head and leaned in toward Ariel. She studied her before stepping back with a sigh.

“Tell you what. I’ll give you this photo. Free. Stop on by my cart tomorrow, okay? You seem upset. Tired, maybe? Whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it tonight.”

She straightened up, wagging her finger. “And drink some water.”

Ariel measured the offer, forced a winced smile. It felt genuine, albeit invasive. “Thanks.” 

“Ey, there’s the small-town spirit!” Bob boomed. He gestured to his cart, half-packed, a few trinkets still hooked to the sides. “I be around. Next time you pass by, come say hi. I have many treasures all across the Caribbean. First doodad’s on me. A warm welcome to new faces.”

The warmth of their voices felt out of place. It contrasted sharply with the strange events Ariel had felt since arriving in Vereluna. Were they hiding something, or were her suspicions just running wild?

She lingered by the cacti patch as they drifted away, their laughter fading in the distance. Ariel made another sweep of the area: feeling the surrounding rocks, peering around the cacti needles, hunting for any overlooked clues.

Nothing.

Night had fully draped the sky, the moon now ruling in the sun’s place. An icy chill ran up her spine. Cold enveloped her chest.

A sharp, guttural hiss clawed into her mind. A hallucination? Memory? Something else? She couldn’t tell.

A pair of sharp claws, curved like obsidian knives, slashed at her face. A monstrous, iguana-like shape glared at her, fire-tongued, its breath foul with brimstone. Its gaping maw widened, the hissing roar echoed in the dark corners of her mind.

Ariel snapped back. Her heart skittered, breath short. The claws dissolved into memory. Street air bit her face. The night stitched itself back together. 

She hugged her chest, arms trembling, goosebumps rose throughout her skin.

Strange. This is eerily familiar.

Movement.

Something sleek and shadowy caught the corner of Ariel’s eye. 

Down an alleyway, across the street. 

A form darted—the size of a large dog, with quills, and a very long tail. Too wrong for an animal.

Ariel’s cryptid-obsessed brain surged.

Not a dog. Long fangs. Too long a tail.

She chased after it. Feet pounded against gravel as she raced to the alleyway.

She rounded the corner. 

Nothing. No animal. No cryptid. 

An unknown sliver gleamed in at the end of the alleyway.

Ariel bent down and squinted. A shard of obsidian, sticky with foamy black and red sludge, one side jagged.

Something torn off a weapon or from a struggle?

She glanced down the alley. Emptiness. Not a trace of anything. Yet her nerves tensed. Her skin prickled from the digging sensation of being watched.

Ariel pocketed the shard and scanned her surroundings again. The air pressed in, heavy and dense. Small tremors began to rattle her skull. Heat escaped her scalp.

Why was this unnatural feeling so familiar?

What was watching her—

And why does she feel drawn in by it?