Chapter Six: Echoes

The smoke hadn’t even cleared, and already the room felt smaller. Tighter. Like the walls were closing in, choking out the air I needed just to think straight. The Wicked’s voice still echoed in my head—calm, amused, certain. Like he already knew how this all ended. Like he knew me. I stared at the spot where he’d stood, the haze of his disappearance still hanging there, taunting me. My fists wouldn’t stop trembling. Not from fear—at least, that’s what I told myself—but from something darker. Something that made my chest feel like it might split open.

“Carter?” Charlie’s voice came from somewhere behind me, soft and uncertain. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. If I opened my mouth now, I didn’t trust what might come out.

Snow’s voice broke through the silence next. “He knows,” she said, quiet but sharp enough to cut through my thoughts. “He knows who you are now.”

I forced myself to breathe. Knows who we are. That was supposed to mean something, right? Chosen Ones. Heroes. Fate. All the stuff that sounded noble until you realized what it really meant—death, sacrifice, betrayal.

The Wizard puffed on his pipe, the ember glowing like a tiny heartbeat in the dark. “And that means,” he said, “he’ll stop at nothing to get to you first.”

Charlie  turned toward him, jaw tight. “So what? We wait? Let him come find us?”

The Wizard gave him a look like he’d already lived a thousand versions of this conversation. “You do what heroes must when the darkness draws near.” He leaned forward, the firelight flickering in his eyes. “You run. You hide. And when the time comes—you fight.”

I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. The taste of smoke lingered, bitter and heavy. I didn’t want to run. I didn’t want to hide. I wanted to end this. And if that meant proving fate wrong, then so be it.

“I’m not running,” I said finally. My voice came out low, but the fire burning in my chest made every word feel like a shout. I looked up at them—Snow, the Wizard, Charlie—and saw the worry in their eyes. Pity. That’s what it looked like to me. “I’m not running like a coward. You guys can, but I won’t.”

Before any of them could say a word, I turned and pushed my way out of the hut, slamming the door behind me. The air outside was cold, sharp, biting against the heat under my skin. I stopped at the wooden fence where the horses grazed quietly, their breath ghosting into the night. The hills beyond rolled into shadows, endless and silent. I gripped the fence with both hands, letting the rough wood bite into my palms. It grounded me. Barely. Because all I could see was him. That face. That smirk. Those eyes. I didn’t need anyone to tell me what fear felt like—I already knew. I’d just never thought I’d feel it like that. Not the kind that chills your blood and makes you question what’s really inside you.

Footsteps crunched behind me. Charlie. Of course. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there like he was waiting for me to breathe again. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Careful. “You okay?”

I wanted to say yes. To crack a joke. To shove it off like I always did. But the lie caught in my throat.

“No, Charlie,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not.” I turned to face him, the words dragging themselves out of me. “The moment those eyes locked on me… I felt the room go cold. Like something inside me froze. My body went numb. My tongue—” I laughed bitterly, rubbing a hand over my face. “It felt like it swelled up three times its size. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.”

For a second, I saw the reflection of my own fear in his eyes—and that terrified me even more. Because if I was scared, then maybe Charlie had every right to be. I hadn’t just heard the Wicked’s voice echo in my ears. I’d heard something else. A whisper. Soft. Insidious. Like a thread of smoke curling through my mind—my own voice, but not.

Join me.

I blinked hard, trying to shove the memory away before it could take root.

“We’re going to get through this together, Carter,” Charlie said, his voice steady, grounding. He slung an arm over my shoulder—just like I used to do for him—and for a moment, the weight of it pulled me back to something real. Something good. “You’re not alone in this. Neither of us are.”

I nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yeah,” I managed. “Together.”

But even as I said it, the whisper coiled somewhere deep in my skull, quiet and patient. I wasn’t going to tell Charlie what I’d felt—how the Wicked’s voice had crawled under my skin, how something in me had answered. He didn’t need to know. Or maybe… he did.

When Charlie walked back toward the hut, I stayed behind, letting the night air bite at my skin. The sky above was smeared with clouds, the moon’s light barely breaking through, like it was afraid to see what came next. I gripped the fence rail until my knuckles turned white, my pulse thrumming in my ears. That voice—the whisper—still lingered. It wasn’t loud, but it was there, humming beneath the surface of my thoughts like a second heartbeat.

You felt it too, didn’t you?

I sucked in a sharp breath, glancing around, half expecting someone to be standing behind me. But the pasture was empty. Just the horses, grazing without a care in the world.

He fears you, the voice murmured, smooth and knowing. They all do. And they should.

I shook my head hard, digging my palms into my eyes. “No. No, that’s not me,” I whispered under my breath. But the words didn’t feel true. Because somewhere deep down, I remembered that moment—when the Wicked’s gaze met mine—and the shiver that tore through me wasn’t just fear. It was recognition. And that terrified me more than anything.

I straightened, forcing myself to breathe, to move, to think. We had a journey to finish. Answers to find. And if fate wanted me to fall—if it wanted me to become whatever monster it showed in that damn cauldron—it was going to have to fight me first. Still, as I turned back toward the hut, the whisper slipped through one last time, soft as silk:

We’ll see, Son of the Shadow. We shall see.

When I stepped back into the hut, the warmth from the hearth hit me like a wall, but it did nothing to chase away the chill crawling under my skin. Charlie sat across from Snow, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. The Wizard had returned to his chair, his eyes half-lidded like he’d seen every secret the world had to offer—and a few it wished he hadn’t. Snow’s gaze lifted first. For just a second, her eyes lingered on mine a little too long. I froze under it, the hair on my neck prickling. There was something about her stare—sharp, searching, as though she could see straight through me.

“You alright?” she asked finally, her voice calm but laced with curiosity.

“Yeah,” I said quickly. Too quickly. I forced a crooked grin, the same one I’d used a hundred times before to brush off concern. “I just needed some air.”

Snow didn’t smile back. Instead, she exchanged a glance with the Wizard—one that said more than words ever could. I caught it, and my stomach twisted.

Charlie turned, oblivious to the tension stretching between the three of us. “We should rest before dawn,” he said. “We’ve got a long road ahead.”

“Indeed you do,” the Wizard murmured, smoke curling from his pipe. “And longer still if the path ahead goes astray.”

My grin faltered. I didn’t know if that was meant for both of us—or just me. I sank into my seat beside Charlie, staring into the flames. They flickered gold and crimson, twisting and curling until, for just an instant, I could’ve sworn I saw my reflection in them—my eyes black and red, my face half-hidden in shadow. I blinked, and it was gone. But the whisper in the back of my mind wasn’t.

Soon.

“Where are we headed now?” I asked, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. From the way Charlie and Snow shared a look, I could tell they’d already been talking—making plans while I was outside trying to shake off… whatever that was.

Snow adjusted the clasp of her cloak and glanced toward the door, her tone low and steady. “The Wizard says we need to move quickly—before the Wicked makes his next move.”

Something about the way she said it—we need to move—made my stomach knot. Like we weren’t just traveling anymore. We were being hunted.

Snow’s gaze flicked between us, her expression unreadable beneath the shadow of her hood. “There’s a place called the Shadowvale,” she said finally. “A valley hidden beyond the northern cliffs. It’s where the First Wizard believes the Wicked draws his power. If we’re going to stand a chance, we need to go there—and destroy the source before he gathers his army.”

A chill crawled up my spine at the name. Shadowvale. Even saying it in my head felt wrong, like a word dipped in poison. “And if we don’t?” I asked, though a part of me already knew the answer.

Snow didn’t hesitate. “Then the prophecy becomes truth. And one of you will fall.”

Charlie stiffened beside me, and I felt his hand brush against mine for the briefest second—a silent reminder that we were in this together. But as her words echoed in my mind, that whisper I’d heard earlier—the one that sounded like it came from somewhere inside me—rose again, low and serpentine.

Only one of you can survive.

I blinked, shaking my head as the chill deepened. Maybe it was just nerves. Or maybe… it was something else.

“So… we’re leaving in the morning?” I asked, already bracing myself for another long trek through whatever cursed terrain waited beyond the horizon. Routine. Predictable. Safe—at least, that’s what I told myself.

But the Wizard didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around his staff, eyes flicking to the window as if the shadows outside might be listening. “You must approach with extreme caution,” he said finally, voice low and deliberate. “The Shadowvale isn’t just where the Wicked’s power thrives—it’s where he was born into what he is now.”

The air shifted, colder, heavier. My throat tightened as the words sank in, tasting like ash.

If the Wicked’s power had been forged there… What would it do to me? Could darkness that strong tell the difference between us—or would it simply… take me too?

Charlie must’ve seen the way my jaw clenched, because he stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. “Hey,” he said, eyes flicking toward the Wizard, then back to me. “Whatever’s in that place… we’ll face it together. Just like before.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the Wizard’s words were still echoing in my head, wrapping around my thoughts like smoke.

Where he became what he is now.

That didn’t sound like a place that let people walk away unchanged. The wind outside howled through the cracks of the hut, rattling the lanterns and making the shadows dance across the walls. For a second, I swore I could hear that same whisper again—the one from before—curling at the edges of my mind. Only this time, it didn’t sound like the Wicked. It sounded like… me. But darker—

Be prepared, Carter. Be prepared.

A shiver slithered down my spine at the soft, almost imperceptible whisper, making my knees tremble as if they might betray me. A voice deep inside warned me—I wouldn’t leave Shadowview Valley the same way I came in.

“You should get some rest,” the Wizard finally said after a long, loaded silence. “The journey to Shadowvale won’t be short—or easy. You three will need every ounce of strength for tomorrow.” He gestured toward the adjoining room. “You boys can take that one. Snow, I need a word with you.”

Charlie and I exchanged wary glances but nodded, heading toward the room. Just before the door clicked shut behind us, I caught a glimpse of the Wizard gently taking Snow’s hand. The way he held her—it wasn’t just care; it was the tenderness of a grandfather, steady and unshakable.

“Are you all right, dear?” His voice was soft, almost a murmur, yet it carried a depth of concern that made my chest tighten. His gray eyes shimmered with warmth—and something else, a glint of knowing that sent a strange thrill down my spine.

Snow’s lips curved into a quiet smile. “Yes… Thank you, Grandfather.”

Charlie and I froze mid-step, our eyes widening as the words sank in. I felt my jaw slacken slightly, and Charlie’s expression mirrored my disbelief.

“We… we just found out he’s her grandfather?” Charlie whispered, awe threading his tone.

I chuckled softly, still shaken by the revelation. “Yeah… who would’ve thought this place could hold the kind of anti-aging magic you’d only ever read about in Neverland?”

Charlie huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as we stepped farther into the dimly lit room. “Guess we’re not the only ones with surprises,” he murmured.

The wooden door closed behind us with a soft creak, sealing us in a small chamber that smelled faintly of smoke and pine resin. The air was thick—too thick—with the weight of everything that had just happened. The Wicked. The Oracle. The whispers that still echoed in my head like ghostly threads. I sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair. The silence between us wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, like we were both afraid to break it and unleash the storm hanging over us.

Charlie dropped into the chair beside the window, moonlight carving silver lines across his face. “You think we can really trust him?” he asked after a while. “The Wizard, I mean.”

I exhaled slowly, watching the flicker of the single lantern by the door. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But if Snow does… maybe that’s enough.”

For a moment, the world outside seemed still. Then a soft wind swept through the cracks in the window, carrying with it the faintest whisper—low, cold, and unmistakably real.

Carter…

I stiffened. My blood ran cold.

Charlie turned toward me, brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I lied, forcing a shaky breath as the whisper faded into the night. “Just the wind.”

But deep down, I knew better. The Wicked wasn’t gone. He was waiting. And somehow… he knew my name.

—————————————————————————————————

After tossing and turning for what felt like forever—an hour and a half by my best guess—I gave up on sleep entirely. The air in the room was thick, pressing down on me like the weight of a secret I couldn’t shake. Charlie was out cold on the bed above me, his breathing steady and even, untouched by the thoughts gnawing at my skull. Careful not to wake him, I slid off the cot, the thin blanket pooling at my feet. The floorboards creaked under my toes, loud as thunder in the silence. I froze, holding my breath until Charlie shifted, mumbled something in his sleep, and went still again.

I eased the door open, the old hinges whining in protest. The cool night air kissed my face the second I stepped into the hallway. My heart only began to slow once I slipped outside, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The world was still—eerily still. The stars stretched endless above me, cold and sharp, like shards of glass scattered across ink. I leaned against the wooden fence, rolling the tension out of my shoulders and letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding since the Wicked appeared earlier. Wiz bumped my shoulder with his nose, snorting softly. I smiled, fingers brushing through his sleek mane.

“What’s gonna happen to us, huh?” I murmured, my voice barely above the hum of the night. He blinked at me with those calm blue eyes, steady and knowing, as if he understood more than I did.

For a moment, everything was almost peaceful—the quiet rustle of grass, the whisper of wind through the trees, the rhythmic chew of the horses nearby. Then, as I turned to go back inside, the world seemed to still entirely.

My breath hitched. Standing a few paces away, half-shrouded in moonlight, was him.

The Wicked.

His black and crimson robes pooled around him like smoke, the hood drawn low over his face. Only his grin—sharp and glinting with fangs—cut through the darkness.

“Out for a midnight stroll, are we, Carter?” he drawled, his voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.

My stomach plummeted, an invisible trapdoor opening beneath me. Every instinct screamed to run—but I didn’t. My fists curled tight at my sides, anger burning through the fear clawing at my throat.

“What do you want?” I growled, my voice low, shaking with more fury than fear.

The Wicked’s smile widened, slow and deliberate, the moon catching in the crimson gleam of his eyes. “I just want to talk,” he said, voice low and velvety, like silk brushing across a blade. “If you’ll allow me?”

“There’s nothing you could say that would be worth my time,” I shot back, cold and sharp.

He tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I doubt that.”

I said nothing. But inside, something coiled tight—a strange, magnetic pull whispering that maybe I should listen. Maybe he wasn’t here to fight. Maybe, for once, he meant what he said. After all… he looked human enough.

He’s a murderer, a voice hissed in the back of my head. A monster. He doesn’t deserve to be heard.

You don’t know that, I argued silently. Not for sure.

“What do you want to talk about? The weather?” I asked dryly, masking the unease creeping up my spine.

The Wicked’s grin deepened, revealing a flash of fang. “No,” he purred. “I want to talk about us.”

Before I could respond, he lifted his hand. A swirl of red smoke unfurled around us like a living thing, tendrils coiling up my legs and across my chest before I could move. A crushing force slammed into me, stealing my breath. The world blurred—and then snapped back into focus. We were no longer outside.

I stumbled, catching myself on the arm of a black velvet chair. Around us stretched a vast, lavish lounge bathed in shadow and firelight, every detail dripping in gothic luxury—black marble floors, silver chandeliers, emerald glass glowing faintly in the sconces. The air smelled faintly of smoke and metal.

“Where the hell did you take us?” I demanded, heart hammering against my ribs.

The Wicked lounged back in a throne of obsidian, the red of his robes spilling over it like blood. “My living room,” he said smoothly. “Sit.”

I didn’t move. His gaze flicked toward the seat again, and suddenly my knees felt heavy, as if the air itself demanded I obey. Reluctantly, I lowered myself onto the black sofa, never breaking eye contact.

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked, my fingers gripping the armrest hard enough to ache.

“For comfort,” he said simply, conjuring a goblet from thin air. The liquid inside shimmered a deep, dark red. “How are you, Child of Shadow?”

“My name is Carter,” I snapped, heat rising to my face.

“Of course,” he said, almost amused. “Your human name. If that’s what makes you comfortable, I’ll respect it.”

My pulse skipped. “What the hell do you mean, human name?”

He raised a brow, his gaze piercing as he sipped his drink. “Well, you were assumed human when you were named, weren’t you? So that name—‘Carter’—anchors you to that belief. A false comfort.” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you and I both know there’s something else buried underneath it. Something older. Something truer.”

My fists clenched, nails digging into the fabric of the couch. “You couldn’t be farther from the truth. My real name is Carter. Nothing else.”

He chuckled softly, almost pitying. “I’ll let you believe that… for now.”

I glared at him, every nerve screaming. “Then what do you believe?”

The Wicked paused mid-sip, eyes narrowing slightly. Slowly, he stood. His robes whispered against the marble floor as he paced, each step echoing like the ticking of a clock.

“I believe,” he said finally, his voice smooth and haunting, “that we’re the same, you and I.”

I felt my chest tighten. “I’m nothing like you.”

He stopped, turning to face me fully. The flicker of firelight caught on his grin—cold, knowing, and terrifyingly calm.

“That’s what I said,” he murmured. “Once.”

The Wicked’s blood-red eyes locked onto mine, unblinking and merciless. “I don’t mean hypothetically when I say we’re the same.”

A pulse of unease rippled through my chest, but I ground my teeth and stood my ground. “Then what the hell do you mean?” I spat, though my voice came out tighter than I intended.

His grin spread—slow, deliberate, poisonous. “We’re not just the same by Fate, Carter,” he said softly, every word heavy as stone. “We’re the same—period.”

My heart stuttered. The room seemed to shrink around us, shadows creeping closer with every breath. “What do you mean?” I demanded again, though the edge in my voice had dulled, replaced by something that sounded a lot like fear.

The Wicked reached up, fingers curling around the edge of his hood. “Let me show you.”

He pulled it back—slowly, agonizingly—revealing features I wasn’t prepared to see. The flickering firelight illuminated the harsh lines of his face, the scars that carved across his cheek and over one eye. His hair—dark and disheveled—fell across his forehead in a way that made my breath catch. Because it was my face. Older. Harder. Twisted by years of something dark and unforgiving.

“I’m you,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And you’re me. Two halves of the same whole, separated by time… and the choices we make.”

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. My reflection—my future—stood before me, smirking like he already knew how this story would end.

“You’re lying,” I finally managed, though the words trembled.

He took a slow step forward, eyes gleaming like fire and blood. “A part of you already knows I’m not.”

My pulse hammered so loud I swore he could hear it. I stumbled back a step, shaking my head hard enough to make my vision blur. “No. No, that’s impossible. You’re not me.”

The Wicked chuckled—a low, guttural sound that crawled up my spine like a cold hand. “You think time moves in a straight line, Carter? You think destiny just happens?” His smirk twisted into something cruel. “It doesn’t. It bends, it loops, it repeats.”

He raised his hand, and in a flash of crimson light, the air around us shimmered like rippling glass. Images bled into the room—fleeting, ghostlike. Me—older, harder, my hands dripping with blood that wasn’t mine. Shadows clawed at my back, whispering words I couldn’t understand. Charlie’s voice echoed through it all—screaming my name. Then silence.

My knees almost buckled beneath me. “Stop!” I shouted, the word bursting from my chest before I realized I’d said it. The vision shattered like glass, fading into nothing but the smell of smoke and something burnt.

The Wicked—my older self—watched me quietly now. His tone softened, but that made it worse. “You think you can save everyone,” he said. “That you’ll never make the same mistakes I did. But it starts small, Carter. It always starts small.”

“Shut up,” I hissed. “You’re not me.”

He tilted his head, the faintest look of pity flashing in his crimson eyes. “You’ll understand soon enough. When the light starts to fade, and the darkness starts to feel like home.”

“I’ll never be you.”

He smiled—sadly this time, as if he’d heard those exact words before. “That’s what I said too.”

A gust of cold air swept through the room, and the Wicked began to dissolve into smoke once again, his last words curling through the air like a curse.

“See you soon… me.”

The next thing I knew, I was standing outside the Wizard’s hut again—heart pounding, breath shallow. The sharp chill of dawn bit at my skin, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d ever actually left. The horses shrieked at my sudden reappearance, rearing back and galloping to the far end of their paddock, their panic echoing through the gray morning air. I just stood there, frozen. The dew-soaked grass pressed cold against my boots, but my legs refused to move. The first strands of sunlight were breaking over the hills, streaking the sky in soft pink and gold, but it didn’t feel like morning. It didn’t even feel real. It felt like I’d blinked, like I’d only spoken to him for minutes—not the hours the dawn insisted had passed. The memory of it replayed over and over again, a film reel I couldn’t stop. His voice—my voice—echoed in my skull until it made my stomach twist. Every word he said carved itself deeper, branding itself into me like some twisted prophecy. Then, without warning, fire erupted beneath my skin.

“Gah—what the hell?!” I gasped, stumbling back and clutching my forearm as pain seared through it, white-hot and merciless. My sleeve fell back, and I froze. The sigil there—the one that had always been faint and harmless—was pulsing, glowing a violent red and black, like it had come alive and was trying to claw its way out of me. Each throb sent a jolt up my arm, into my chest, into my skull. I dropped to one knee, gritting my teeth to keep from crying out. And then—just as suddenly as it started—it stopped. I stared down at the mark, heart hammering so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. The original sigil was gone. In its place was a new one: an X struck through by a vertical line, encased in a circle. The moment my eyes landed on it, something deep in me stirred—a flicker of recognition I couldn’t explain. I didn’t remember it, but my bones did.

Shoving my sleeve down, I forced myself to move, stumbling back toward the hut with shaky breaths. By some miracle, the common room was empty. I slipped quietly into the room Charlie and I shared, my pulse still thrumming in my ears. He was sprawled across the bed, fast asleep, mouth slightly open like nothing in the world could bother him. I lowered myself onto my cot, my body screaming for rest but my mind refusing to slow down. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—that face, my face—grinning back at me from behind the smoke. The words he’d left me with twisted like a blade in my chest.

See you soon, me.

And for the first time since stepping into this cursed world, I wasn’t just afraid of what lay ahead.

I was afraid of myself.