The moment Callie opened her eyes, the golden sun was already spilling across the wide glass doors of her villa, scattering diamonds of light onto the marble floor. For a second, she forgot where she was. Bacnotania still felt like a fever dream—too vibrant, too alive. The ocean’s steady roar was louder here, punctuated by the faintest hum of cicadas hiding in palm fronds outside.
She rolled onto her side and stretched, phone buzzing softly on the nightstand. Notifications. Always notifications.
“Morning, Queen! Your reel hit 2.1M overnight!”
“Babe, your Bacnotania gown clip is trending globally.”
“Everyone’s saying you look unreal—like a goddess.”
Her lips curved into a practiced smile. She’d worked her whole life for this—millions of strangers hanging on her every post. And yet, when her eyes flicked toward the balcony, that smile faltered.
Something about this island tugged at her bones in ways likes and comments never could.
Callie pushed the covers off and padded barefoot to the balcony. She opened the doors, letting the warm, salt-laced wind wash over her. The air was heavy, thick with scents she couldn’t name—like damp earth after rain, but sharper, wilder. It clung to her skin, sank deep into her lungs.
And then, she heard it.
A low hum. Almost like a growl.
It was faint, hidden beneath the crash of waves, but unmistakable.
Her breath caught. “Okay… that’s creepy.”
She spun, half expecting to see someone behind her. No one. Just the pristine villa, sunlight glinting off the infinity pool below. She shook her head and forced a laugh. “You’re being paranoid, Callie. Get your content, then coffee. That’s the plan.”
---
By midmorning, she was dressed in a flowing white sundress—light enough to flutter with the ocean breeze but cinched perfectly at the waist for that effortless chic aesthetic. Her hair cascaded in soft waves, lips brushed with coral gloss.
Camera mounted. Microphone clipped. The influencer mask slipped back on.
“Good morning, sun chasers,” she cooed into the lens, voice smooth and honeyed. “Today, I’m exploring one of Bacnotania’s most exclusive resorts, hidden along the cliffs of the island. And trust me… this place is unreal.”
She panned the camera over the villa’s view—crystal water shimmering turquoise under the sun, jagged black cliffs rising like guardians around the beach. Her smile widened for the lens, but inside, her chest still felt tight.
As she walked the resort’s winding paths, locals in crisp uniforms greeted her with polite bows and smiles. She returned them with her practiced warmth, but her attention kept slipping elsewhere—to the forest that loomed just beyond the manicured gardens.
The trees were impossibly tall, ancient, their trunks wide enough for three men to wrap their arms around. The leaves whispered in the wind, not like rustling, but like… words.
She froze mid-step, camera still recording.
“…Did anyone else hear that?” she whispered into the mic. Her laugh came too quickly after. “Maybe it’s just me.”
But the sound was still there. Soft, rhythmic. Like chanting.
She tilted the camera toward the forest edge. Shadows stretched unnaturally between the trees, long fingers curling over the ground. She couldn’t see anything moving, yet her pulse leapt, faster, harder.
“Okay, creepy forest. Check,” she muttered, lowering the lens. “We’re done here.”
But her feet didn’t move.
Instead, she found herself drifting closer, as if some magnetic thread was tugging her toward the tree line. Each step deepened the déjà vu. Her skin prickled, her chest tightened, and flashes rippled across her mind—running barefoot under those very trees, breathless laughter, silver eyes glowing in the dark.
What is happening to me?
“Callie?”
The voice snapped her back.
A staff member—a young woman with long black hair pulled into a sleek bun—stood behind her, holding a tray of refreshments. Her expression was polite, but her eyes were wide, watchful.
“You shouldn’t wander near the forest, Miss Veyra,” the woman said softly, almost urgently.
Callie blinked. “Why not?”
The woman hesitated, then forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s easy to get lost. The paths are… not safe.”
Not safe.
The words sent a shiver down Callie’s spine.
But the woman quickly added, “Would you like something to drink? Fresh calamansi juice. Very good for the heat.”
Callie studied her for a moment, but the woman’s composure was unshakable. She accepted the glass with a nod, turning her camera back on with a practiced flourish.
“See, sun chasers? The service here is unbeatable. Fresh juice in paradise. I could definitely get used to this.”
Her smile was flawless, but her hands trembled against the glass.
---
The rest of the morning blurred in a haze of vlogging and staged shots—sunlit pools, exotic dishes, luxury suites. Callie moved through it like muscle memory, every gesture perfect, every laugh melodic. But under the surface, her nerves thrummed like a wire pulled too tight.
Because the forest kept calling.
Even when she sat for lunch overlooking the ocean, the wind carried faint echoes she swore the mic picked up—low growls, hushed whispers, the snapping of twigs.
She replayed the clip on her camera.
At first, nothing. Just her own voice, cheerful and bubbly.
Then—crack. A heavy footstep. Followed by a sound like… breathing.
Her fork clattered against her plate.
“Jesus Christ…” she whispered, pressing the camera closer to her ear. She adjusted the audio, isolating the background track.
The sound was there again. Louder. Ragged. As if something—someone—was watching her, just beyond the frame.
Her stomach twisted.
And then—clear as day—came the faintest murmur: Zyphira.
Callie shot to her feet, chair scraping against the deck.
Nobody looked up. Guests chatted idly around her, sipping wine, laughing. The staff moved with calm efficiency. She was the only one who seemed to hear it.
Her heart pounded as she clutched the camera to her chest.
---
By late afternoon, she was pacing the edge of the pool, phone pressed to her ear.
“Liv, I’m telling you, something’s off about this place,” she whispered.
Her best friend and assistant’s voice crackled on the other end. “Callie, you’re always saying that whenever you’re in some remote paradise. Creepy noises, weird vibes—it’s part of your thing. Your audience eats it up.”
“This isn’t just vibes, Liv. I have it on camera. There was a voice. It said…” She hesitated. Saying it out loud felt like making it real. “It said a name. Zyphira. Do you know how insane that sounds?”
There was silence, then a sigh. “Babe, you’re exhausted. Jet lag, pressure, all that. Take a break, okay? Swim, sleep, drink champagne. Forget the forest.”
Callie chewed her lip. Forgetting was impossible.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll try.”
But when the call ended, her gaze immediately drifted to the treeline again. The sun was sinking, painting the sky in streaks of fire. The forest shadows stretched longer, darker, as if reaching for her.
And she knew, with bone-deep certainty, that something inside those woods was waiting.
---
That evening, dressed in another designer gown, Callie forced herself through the motions of a sunset shoot. She twirled on the beach, laughed at the waves, let the camera catch her glow. But the entire time, her skin tingled, her ears tuned to every shift in the wind.
And then it happened.
A howl split the air.
Low. Powerful. Not far.
The sound froze every muscle in her body.
The camera slipped from her fingers, landing softly on the sand, still recording.
She turned toward the forest.
Another howl rose, answered by a chorus—wild, haunting, and close enough to rattle the ground.
Guests gasped, some pulling out phones, thinking it was just local wildlife. Staff hurried to usher them inside, faces tight with something like fear.
But Callie stood rooted, her pulse thundering.
Because in the fading light, just beyond the tree line, two silver eyes gleamed—locked on hers.
The world narrowed to that single gaze. Cold fire rushed through her veins, her chest tightening like it might burst.
The howls grew louder. The shadows moved. And the last thing she heard before everything drowned in noise was that same word—
Zyphira.
