Great.So, let's begin **CHAPTER 8**—the first in a new series, in a full, long, very dark, and atmospheric version.--

# **CHAPTER 8 — *Shadows That Have No Names***

### (full, extensive, novel version)

The night was thick as clotted tar, and the wind vanished into a silence so absolute it was unnatural—as if someone had simply **turned off the world**. The darkness didn't envelop the forest; it *devoured* it. Not a single star shone in the sky, not a single branch creaked in the wind. Everything remained still.

As if the forest waited.

The figure striding through this void was you—tired from the previous events, with blood beneath the crusted skin on your side, and the first signs of exhaustion, which was becoming your daily reality. But this time, the sense of danger was different than usual, more… personal. Something in the air stirred your instincts, as if someone unknown were whispering in your ear.

You stopped.

You already knew—**you are not alone**.

The forest was dead, but the darkness was alive.

And from it began to emerge… **shapes**.

They had no bodies, no contours, no faces. Their movements were fluid, as if composed of pure nothingness. They were human and inhuman at once. They resembled silhouettes without light sources, as if someone had cut several fragments of reality from the world and molded them into beings. Pure black hollows—**shadows that had no names**.

At first, three appeared.

Then five.

A moment later, a dozen.

None made a sound. None walked the ground. **They floated**, quivered, pulsated, reacting to your every step.

And you sensed they weren't just shapes. They… watched. Though they had no eyes.

One of them moved closer. Not abruptly. Slowly, very slowly, as if giving you time to retreat or run—but at the same time, knowing you had nowhere to go.

When she was a meter away from you, a streak of cold emanated from within her.

Not wind.

Not physical cold.

It was the **cold of emotion**, the cold of fear that didn't belong to you, but to *something else*—as if the memory of someone's death had touched you.

And then you heard it.

Not with a voice.

Not with words.

**Right in your head.**

*“Y o u r e m e n t.”*

You blinked. Your heart sped up. You struggled to recognize the emotion that had begun to grow in your chest—anxiety, doubt, a seed of paranoia.

*Do you remember her?*

You tried to find an answer.

But the being was already speaking:

*"I know you do. Your short life has a long shadow."*

At that moment, all the others began to approach, surrounding you in a wide circle. Their movements were synchronized—as if they shared one mind, one will, one desire.

But this wasn't an attack.

This was… an interrogation.

The shadows didn't want to kill you.

They wanted to **understand**.

Or **remind** you of something you hadn't remembered—something they thought was obvious.

Suddenly, one of the shadows closer to you "tore off" a fragment of its form, as if reaching out a hand. A thin line of light emerged from the void—the only bright spot in this sick landscape. The light wasn't warm. It offered no comfort. It was a blade that cuts through memory to reveal deeply buried layers.

A line of light approached your temple.

It touched it.

And then everything shattered—as if all your memories, dreams, and nightmares had shattered simultaneously. You saw images so fast, so intense, you couldn't make sense of them. You heard voices you'd never recognized, screams of people you didn't remember, fires you hadn't lit.

And then—a single face.

Too blurred.

Too close.

Too painful.

And then your mind told you:

This isn't your memory.

This is **their** memory.

Before you could take a step, the shadows moved away. Not in panic. Silently. Each one quivered, pulsated, as if they'd just changed their minds. As if one touch were enough for them to *recognize something in you*.

They all stopped.

They all turned towards you.

And then… for the first time, one of them made a sound—creaking, hollow, inhuman, like someone breaking stone. It wasn't a voice, but something that tried to resemble a voice.

— **We found it.**

The shadow closest to you pointed to… you.

— **From now on, we will follow you.**

And they began to disappear.

One by one.

Dissolving into the night.

They didn't go away.

They didn't leave you.

They simply… **stopped being visible.**

But you felt them.

In your bones.

In the back of your neck.

In your breath.

From that moment on, they followed you—invisible, hungry for the truth that only you could give them.

Your path, your body, your name…

everything became a key to them.

And you had no idea what.

--

If you want, we can move on.

Just write:

**“Yes — Chapter 9”**