A kind of dark whirlwind disturbed their bodies. By Carlos del Puente

 The road: a hilly stretch, at the western end, surprised him. Although most of the roads were disrupted. Beyond the port, in the afternoon, sometimes at night... so much so that they should catch him. A kind of dark whirlwind disturbed their bodies. Yet fear hung heavy in the air, thick as the fog that rolled in from the sea. They could hear whispers, muted conversations carried by the wind, as if the very road were alive with secrets. The shadows grew longer, their shapes twisting unnaturally against the craggy hillsides, as if beckoning him to join their eerie dance. He hesitated, the unsettling energy compelling him forward, yet warned him to retreat. Stumbling upon a forgotten path, he felt it—a pulse of something ancient and untouched, a remnant of the past clawing at the edges of his memory. He took a deep breath, the salt of the ocean mingling with the earthy scent of moss and decay. Each step felt like a surrender, the ground shifting beneath him as if it had a heartbeat of its own. The whispers grew bolder, language fragmenting into jarring syllables that danced on the cusp of comprehension. Shadows beckoned, a swirling confluence of light and dark, wrapping around him like an old cloak. He pushed forward, curiosity igniting a flicker of courage within him, as forgotten truths clawed their way back to life, waiting to be uncovered in the twilight's embrace. His heart raced, each beat resonating with the unspoken fears that lurked just beyond his sight. The path narrowed, brambles reaching out like desperate hands seeking to hold him back. But the allure of the unknown tugged at him, igniting a fire in his chest that he couldn’t extinguish. Shapes began to materialize, faint outlines shifting in the periphery, their presence both inviting and menacing. He could taste the salt of old stories on his lips, the weight of their histories promising revelation if only he dared to venture deeper into the gathering dusk. He pressed on, the rhythm of his breath synchronized with the heartbeat of the land beneath him. Just beyond the next rise, a flicker of light broke through the gloom, drawing him like a moth to a flame. He could feel the air change, charged with a significance that pulsed in time with the growing intensity of his heartbeat. The whispers crescendoed into a symphony of yearning, a chorus calling him to uncover the mysteries hidden in the shadows. With each step, the fog coiled tighter around him, a shroud both protective and suffocating, as he crossed the threshold into the unknown. Emerging into a clearing, he found a circle of stones, ancient and weathered, their surfaces etched with symbols that glowed faintly in the dim light. The air thrummed with energy, a palpable force that made his skin prickle. He stepped closer, drawn by the promise of understanding, as if the stones were whispering his name in a language older than time. Moonlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the circle, revealing the intricate patterns that danced beneath his fingertips. As he reached out to touch the cool stone, a surge of vision erupted in his mind, unraveling the past and intertwining it with his own fate. Visions swirled around him, fragments of lives lived long ago blending into a tapestry of emotions. He saw figures beneath the twilight, their faces a mirror of anguish and hope, intertwined in a ritual that echoed through the ages. The ground vibrated softly beneath his feet, alive with the whispers of ancestors urging him to remember, to embrace his lineage. As he touched the stone, the world warped and twisted; time stretched, and he was no longer just an observer but a participant in an ancient dance, the rhythm of the stones syncing with the pulse of his own heart, urging him further down the path of discovery. He felt the warmth of their presence envelop him, a welcome embrace amidst the chill of the night. The visions sharpened, revealing a tapestry of triumphs and failures, joys tinged with sorrow, all illuminated by the flickering light of flame. Each heartbeat carved a new memory into the fabric of his being, unearthing the stories long buried within his soul. He was not alone; the spirits of the stones wove through him, and he could hear their laughter, their cries. In that moment, he understood—this was not merely a call to explore the past, but an invitation to become the architect of his own destiny. A sudden rush of clarity surged through him as the air thickened with purpose; every heartbeat echoed a promise of rebirth intertwined with ancient wisdom. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the flow of time that spiraled around him, embracing the echoes of existence that reverberated within the stones. The shadows danced closer, coaxing forth the courage he never realized he possessed. As the final remnants of doubt slipped away, he opened his eyes, now filled with a fierce resolve. The night awaited, brimming with potential and untold stories, ready for him to carve his name into its ever-unfolding narrative. He stepped back from the stones, the weight of their legacy still wrapped around him like a second skin. The clearing pulsed with a newfound energy, whispering promises of transformation and strength. Each breath was a reminder of the power that lay within and around him, beckoning him to rise and take command of his journey. As shadows shifted subtly, he knew the path would not be easy, but the flicker of hope within burned brighter than the uncertainty. He turned towards the darkened woods with newfound determination, ready to forge ahead into the unknown, ready to unravel whatever awaited him. The forest loomed ahead, a labyrinth of shadows and whispers, beckoning him with the allure of revelations hidden within. Branches swayed gently, like fingers urging him onward, while the scent of damp earth permeated the air. Each step felt destined, weaving him deeper into a story not yet written. The wind carried forth fragments of laughter and sorrow, echoes guiding him through the dense foliage, and as he moved, he sensed eyes upon him—watchful, ancient, alive. His heart thrummed with the pulse of the world, urging him to trust the journey and the magic waiting in the depths of the dark.

By Carlos del Puente