Chapter 83 Falling Upwards Inside of the Out
Bella
Something is very, very wrong. Wrong, like the world has slipped half a step out of place, and no one bothered to put it back. Like I’m walking through a memory instead of a forest, and the memory is lying to me. Or maybe it's telling the truth and my feet are lying to me...I'm suspicious of both. The fog is everywhere. It presses into my lungs, cold and sweet, and every breath tastes wrong, like I’ve bitten into something I shouldn’t have, like that damn stupid apple. Did I eat another apple? I could have sworn I told myself no more apples. My head swims almost immediately, vision blurring at the edges, colours bleeding into one another as the forest stretches and bends around us. I grip Damien’s hand harder. His palm is solid, warm and real. I hope it's real. Either way, I'm not letting it go. Don’t let go, I tell myself. Whatever else happens, don’t let go of him. Real or not, Damien would never hurt me. My other hand is clutched tight around someone else’s fingers. Ashlyn, I think, though she looks… off. Her face wavers when I try to focus on it, features sliding slightly out of alignment, eyes too dark, mouth stretching too wide when she grins at me through the fog.
“This is,” she says, her voice familiar but distorted, like it’s echoing through water, “the strongest shit I’ve ever hit before.”
I swallow. “Ashlyn, just— just hold onto me, okay?”
She squints at our hands, then laughs, a sharp, breathless sound. “I think I am.”
That doesn’t help.
Behind us, the line stretches on. Soldiers. Big, broad men who have faced monsters and fire without flinching — now reduced to shadows in the fog, hands locked together in a long, unbroken chain like children afraid of being lost, or ducklings following their mother. That makes me laugh as I picture Damien as a mother duck. I look back at the soldiers' faces, their features warping and blurring as I glance, eyes too bright, mouths moving without sound. The images of ducklings fade into something scarier as the forest moves around us. I swear it does. Branches loom closer than they should, bending inward, bark splitting as shapes press against it from beneath. Roots writhe under the fog, lifting and sinking as though the ground itself is breathing. Something brushes my arm. I scream and stumble, clutching Damien’s hand with both of mine now, my heart hammering so hard it feels like it might tear free of my chest.
“It’s not real,” I gasp, though I don’t know who I’m trying to convince. “It’s not real, it’s not—”
“Bella.” Damien’s voice cuts through everything.
Not loud or panicked, but clear.
“Three steps forward,” he commands. “Then we turn right.”
I obey instantly. My body moves before my mind can argue, feet carrying me forward through the fog as terror coils tight around my ribs. Ashlyn stumbles beside me, muttering something that sounds like a curse and a prayer tangled together as she clutches at my arm to keep the ducklings in line.
“This is not a good trip,” she says. “I really hate this.”
“I know,” I whisper. “Just stay with me.”
“I am,” she says, then hesitates. “I think.”
Something whispers my name then, not Damien or Ashlyn but something else. It sounds like my voice, younger, softer, calling from somewhere deep between the trees. I turn instinctively, breath hitching—
“Don’t,” Damien snaps.
I freeze mid-step.
“Do not turn,” he orders. “Do not listen.”
The command wraps around me like armour as the trees lurch. Faces press into the bark now — not fully formed, just suggestions of eyes and mouths stretching toward us, shadows pulling themselves into familiar shapes. I see my own reflection staring back at me from the fog, eyes hollow, lips moving in silent accusation. My vision doubles, and the ground tilts. I think I'm falling, but not the right way. It's like the sky is the ground and the ground is the sky and I'm falling upwards inside of the out. Is that even possible? Damiens's hand squeezes mine, and some semblance of reality snaps for a second as the world rights itself. I realise I'm still on two feet and I would have fallen if Damien hadn’t tightened his grip, hauling me back against his side. His arm comes around me, solid and immovable, anchoring me against the storm tearing through my senses.
“I’ve got you,” he says, and the bond flares warm and steady, cutting through the fear just enough for me to breathe. “I’ve got you.”
The fog screams. High and distant, like a million children crying somewhere distant and close all at once.
Ashlyn sobs suddenly, squeezing my hand hard enough to hurt. “Tell me you see that too,” she begs. I don’t know what she means, and I don’t ask.
“Eyes down,” Damien calls. “Follow my voice. Nothing else.”
We move. Step by step. Breath by breath. I don’t trust my eyes anymore — they lie to me with every blink — so I follow sound instead. Damien’s voice. Ashlyn’s ragged breathing. The scrape of boots on earth. The pressure of hands locked together behind us. The dragon is there too, I realise dimly, not for me, not in my head, but in Damien’s steadiness, in the way he never hesitates, never falters, even as the forest tries to tear us apart with nothing more than fear and breath. The fog thickens, then suddenly there's light. I stumble forward as the world snaps back into place, the fog thinning and then vanishing entirely as though it was never there at all. The forest stills and the whispers die as birdsong and reality return. The dragon's voice filters through my mind, as though he's been pushing to get through this whole time. Breathe, Snowflake. You're okay. Breathe. I drop to my knees, gasping, hands still clenched around Damien’s like if I let go, I might fall back down whatever backwards rabbit hole that was.
Ashlyn collapses beside me, laughing breathlessly. “Okay,” she wheezes. “Okay. Never doing that again.”
I can’t speak. My hands are shaking. My heart is still racing. When I look back, the woods stand silent and ordinary, trees straight and unmoving, no fog, no faces, no reaching branches. As if none of it ever happened.
Damien crouches in front of me, cupping my face gently, forcing my eyes to his.
“You’re safe,” he says. “It’s over.”
I nod, even though part of me knows—Whatever that place was…It's now on my number one list of nightmares.