When the Land Remembers

I remember the sound first.

Not a crash or an explosion, but something deeper-like the earth shifting its weight. A low vibration rolled through the ground beneath my boots, subtle enough that I might have dismissed it if the stones hadn't answered back.

The carvings began to glow.

Not brightly. Not theatrically. A dull, internal light seeped into the etched lines, tracing the figures as if remembering them into existence. The wolves-men-things caught between forms shimmered faintly, the stone warming beneath my palms until I had to pull my hands away.

My heart hammered so hard it hurt.

"This isn't possible," I whispered, though the words felt childish the moment they left my mouth.

The forest responded with silence.

Then the ground shifted again. A shallow tremor, just enough to unbalance me. I staggered back, boots slipping on damp leaves.

Oisín caught my arm without thinking.

His grip was firm, steady. Protective in a way that felt older than either of us.

"Stay behind me," he said.

"I don't-"

Another tremor cut me off. This one stronger. Somewhere nearby, birds burst from the trees, wings thrashing wildly as they fled into the dark. The air thickened, pressure building in my ears like the moment before a storm breaks.

The slab at the centre of the stones pulsed.

Light leaked through the seam, pale and cold, illuminating the clearing in brief, uneven flashes. The forest around us seemed to recoil, shadows stretching and twisting unnaturally as if trying to pull away.

Fear surged through me, sharp and undeniable.

And beneath it-excitement.

A terrible, electric thrill curled low in my stomach, humming through my veins. I felt awake in a way I never had before, every nerve alight, every sound painfully clear. My breath came too fast, too shallow.

"Oisín," I said, gripping his sleeve, "do you feel that?"

He nodded once, jaw clenched. His eyes never left the stone.

"I feel something," he said. "And I don't like it."

The slab shifted with a sound like stone grinding against bone.

A crack split the seam wider, light spilling out in a thin, blinding line. Heat washed over us, not burning but heavy, pressing into my chest until I gasped.

Images flashed behind my eyes-too fast to grasp fully. Running. Teeth. Blood darkening soil. The sound of howling carried on wind that smelled of iron and rain.

I cried out, dropping to my knees.

Oisín was beside me instantly, crouched low, one arm braced in front of me like a shield. His body was tense, coiled, as if ready to fight something he couldn't see.

"Look at me," he said sharply. "Don't look at it. Look at me."

I did.

The light flickered.

The rumbling subsided, retreating back into the earth as suddenly as it had come. The seam sealed itself with a final, resonant thud, the glow fading until the stones were nothing more than stone again-cold, inert, ancient.

The forest exhaled.

Crickets resumed their song. Leaves rustled. Somewhere in the distance, laughter drifted faintly from the party, unaware that anything had happened at all.

I realised I was shaking.

Oisín didn't let go of me until I stopped.

When he finally stood, he offered me his hand. I took it, surprised at how reluctant I was to break the contact.

"We don't tell anyone," he said.

It wasn't a suggestion.

I nodded. "No one would believe us."

"That's not why," he replied.

I searched his face for an explanation and found none-only resolve, heavy and unearned, like he'd stepped into a role he didn't know the name of yet.

As we walked back toward the lights of the party, I glanced over my shoulder.

The stones sat quietly in the darkness.

Waiting.