The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient secrets. "Here," Hazel declared, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. I kicked at the dirt, expecting something, anything, to signify the spot where a powerful Alpha, Sire, lay entombed. Centuries, they said. Cursed, they whispered. And I, Meara, was just here for the hike, the lore, the thrill of a good story.

But as the moon climbed higher and the air grew colder, a strange unease settled over me. Hazel, ever the pragmatic witch-in-training, was setting up her gear, muttering about harnessing residual magic. I, on the other hand, found myself drawn to the very spot we’d come to investigate. "Can I touch the dirt?" I asked, a childish urge to prove or disprove the legend stirring within me.

Hazel shrugged. "I suppose."

Stooping down, I scooped a handful of earth, letting it sift through my fingers. Nothing. "Nothing," I sighed, half-relieved, half-disappointed. Then, a thought, born from pure, unadulterated curiosity: "Should I lie on it though?"

Hazel, distracted by her preparations, waved a dismissive hand. "It needs to be under the full moon, which isn't for another hour." But then, a quick glance at the sky and the approaching dark clouds. "Fine. Lie down then, we don't have time for this." She motioned to the ground.

I obliged, quickly lying amongst the dirt, a ridiculous smile on my face. "I don't know what words I'm meant to—"

Suddenly, a low, guttural rumble tore through the earth. The ground beneath me began to shake violently, and a panicked shriek tore from my throat. I tried to sit up, but an invisible force pinned me down, dragging me, mercilessly, into the suffocating darkness below.