The well responded — but not with the boy they were hoping for.
Something else rose slowly from the surrounding darkness instead, formless at first, then gradually gathering itself into a shifting, unstable approximation of an actual person, features sliding and reforming continuously like reflections disturbed on the surface of restless water.
For one profoundly disorienting heartbeat, it resembled Vihaan’s own grandfather.
Then it shifted into Aanya’s aunt.
Then, briefly and quite horribly, it took on Vihaan’s own face entirely.
“You cannot properly finish what you have only begun with mere words,” it said, its voice an unsettling chorus of every borrowed face speaking simultaneously.
“Memory functions only as a door, never as an actual key.
Something genuine must be freely given, not merely spoken aloud.” “Given like what, exactly?” Vihaan demanded, instinctively stepping in front of Aanya without consciously deciding to do so.
“A true thing,” the shape replied, gradually settling now into something considerably more featureless, more honest in its complete lack of any disguise.
“Something neither of you has ever spoken aloud to another living soul.
This forest doesn’t particularly want your grief.
It specifically wants your truth.” Aanya’s jaw tightened visibly.
Vihaan felt something genuinely cold settle deep into his stomach — not fear of the creature itself, precisely, but a much deeper fear of what it was actually demanding from them.
“I’ll do it,” Aanya said quietly, before he could even attempt to stop her.