The Day I Turned To Stone

Chapter 5

It was like time froze the moment our eyes met.

Benji's face twisted in fear, as if he thought I might attack. I wouldn't—of course I wouldn't—but how could he know that? To him, I was just a monster carved from stone.

Benji... do you remember? I reached for him through the mental link, pushing my voice into his mind as gently as I could.

Wh—what? How are you in my head? His thoughts struck back sharp and terrified, echoing through me like a blade against rock.

I hesitated, the weight of it settling in. He didn't know me. Not even my name.

Maybe he never would.

And yet, I pushed. The Passage Program, I said simply, ignoring his question.

Recognition flickered across his face—hesitation, suspicion, then something deeper. He stared at me for a long moment before motioning for me to follow him away from the others.

I glanced toward Melantha, still deep in conversation with the commander, before lumbering toward the edge of the alcove. As I approached, the knight flinched, his hand twitching toward his sword. I slowed, lowering myself to the ground in an attempt to seem less threatening, my massive frame settling into the earth with a low rumble.

"How do you know my old name?" he asked, skipping over pleasantries—not that I expected any. "And what do you know about the Passage Program?"

Because I'm the same as you. Or at least, I think I am. I was part of the program once—and I remember you. I don't expect you to remember me. I paused, letting the silence breathe between us as I gathered my courage. I'm honestly surprised you remember your old name.

"I didn't..." His voice faltered, eyes unfocused as if the memory was forcing its way back. "At least I didn't until I heard you say it."

I studied him quietly, the wind carrying faint whispers of the camp behind us. What do you remember, then? I finally asked, my voice low—half afraid of the answer.

He hesitated, glancing toward the others before his gaze dropped to the dirt at his feet. "Bits and pieces," he admitted. "A facility... white walls, the hum of machines. Screaming. Then nothing. Just flashes I can't make sense of."

His hands flexed against his armor, restless. "Why do you remember more than I do?"

I'm not sure that I do, honestly, I admitted after a long pause. I've been given snippets of my past here and there—memories that don't always feel like mine. Faces without names. Voices that fade before I can catch them.

Benji's expression softened, the suspicion in his eyes giving way to something closer to pity—or maybe fear. "Then how do you know me?"

Because I remember the way you laughed, I almost said. Because you were kind to me when no one else was. But the words stuck in my throat, and all that came out was, I just do.

He looked away, jaw tight. "If you're really from the Program... then you shouldn't be here. None of us should've made it out."

And yet here we are, I murmured. Somehow our deaths led to a new world. Not quite the one they expected—but a new one nonetheless.

A low, humorless laugh escaped me, reverberating through the link between us. The sound felt strange even to me—half amusement, half despair—echoing off the corners of his mind until it faded into silence.

Benji shifted uneasily, the sound of my laughter still echoing faintly in his head. His hand hovered near his sword again, though he didn't draw it. "You sound like you've made peace with it," he muttered. "With... whatever this is."

Peace? I almost smiled at the thought. No. You don't make peace with becoming something else. You just learn to not fight it.

He frowned, searching my face—or what passed for one. "Why did you become this... creature?"

Before I could answer, a familiar pulse brushed the edge of my consciousness. Melantha. Her irritation burned bright through the bond we shared, sharp and insistent.

Garvel, her voice cut through like a bell. What are you doing? You're drawing attention.

I turned my gaze toward her, catching the commander's suspicious glance in my direction. Just... a conversation, I replied, though I could feel her skepticism tightening the link.

Benji followed my look, lowering his voice. "She your handler or something?"

Something like that.

Her presence pressed harder now, an unspoken warning threading through the bond. Whatever I was stirring up here, she could feel it—and she didn't like it.

I sighed and rose slowly, the earth shifting beneath me as I straightened to my full height. The shadows stretched long across the alcove, swallowing the space between us.

We'll have to continue this conversation another time, I murmured, turning to leave.

But a hand pressed against my knee—small, trembling, human.

I froze and looked back down at him.

Benji's eyes were wide, conflicted. His fingers curled slightly against the stone before he realized what he was doing, but he didn't pull away.

"Wait," he said softly, his hand holding my knee, hesitant. His eyes searched mine, as if trying to place something just beyond reach.

"I... I think I've heard your voice before," he muttered, almost to himself. "It's... familiar. Like a dream I can't remember all the way."

A shiver ran through me. Recognition—so faint, so fragile—flashed across the distance of our broken pasts. You don't remember me, do you? I asked quietly, my voice low, almost afraid of the answer.

His gaze dropped to the ground. "No... but something about you... it feels like I should."

A pang of guilt twisted in me, sharp and unwelcome. I had reached into his mind, pulling at threads of memory that weren't meant to be disturbed. The realization pressed down like stone: I was forcing fragments of his past on him, and for what? My own need to remember?

"I... I shouldn't have done that," I admitted quietly, my voice almost lost in the space between us. "I shouldn't have stirred what you've buried."

He glanced up at me, confusion and something like concern flickering in his eyes. "It's... okay," he whispered. "It's not your fault I can't remember everything. I—"

I raised a hand, stopping him. "No. It is mine. I touched your mind without asking. I forced you to feel what I remember. That's... unfair."

His gaze lingered on me, searching, and for a moment the silence stretched between us, heavy but not unbearable. I could feel his pulse—small, human—and it reminded me why I had stopped myself from fully unraveling his memories.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made me whirl around a fraction too quickly. My gaze met cold steel—face to face with the commander's sword.

"Care to explain what's going on here, witch's pet?" His words dripped with venom, the word pet tasting like poison on his tongue.

I remained perfectly still, the weight of my stone form pressing into the ground like an unyielding monument. The faint pulse of Melantha's magic vibrated in my mind—a quiet warning, urging restraint.

How could I explain what we were talking about? Before I could project a thought, Benji spoke up.

"Sir!" His voice rang out with an air of professionalism I had never heard from him before. "I was questioning this golem. I found it... fascinating that such a creature could have complex thoughts, and even project them outward."

The commander looked between us with suspicion but then smiled softly at Benji. "Lieutenant Erin... I understand your fascination but lets stick to the mission." His smile then formed into a scowl as he turned towards me. "We can't afford to allow such distractions."

Lieutenant Erin? I thought sharply, staring at Benji, but he didn't acknowledge me. His gaze stayed on the commander, posture rigid, voice calm. "Yes, Sir!"

I stared at him, searching for a trace of the boy I remembered — the crooked-toothed smile, the warmth, the spark of mischief that used to dance behind his eyes. But there was nothing of that left. What stood before me now was a soldier — precise, composed, and utterly unreachable.

A pang of guilt pulsed through my chest, heavy and sharp. Had I done this? Stirred something buried that should've stayed forgotten?

The commander's voice snapped me out of the thought. "We make camp here," he ordered, turning to bark commands to the nearby soldiers. "Set a perimeter and get the scouts out. We march after sundown."

The camp moved with grim efficiency — armor clattering, voices rising in sharp, clipped orders. The scent of smoke and iron filled the air as fires began to k****e.

Benji — Lieutenant Erin — turned away without another glance, moving to help the others as if our exchange had never happened. I watched him go, the faintest ache settling in the hollow where my heart once was.

He didn't remember me... and maybe that was for the best.

I slowly approached Melantha, whose lips were pressed thin, brows furrowed as she watched the knights settle in as if they owned the place. Their laughter and the clatter of armor rang out across her land, the sound almost mocking in its ease.

I could feel the pulse of her magic beneath the surface — restrained but volatile, like a storm barely contained behind glass. Every breath she took was measured, deliberate, as though she were reminding herself not to turn them all to ash for their arrogance.

You're trembling, I noted softly through our link, the thought more observation than accusation.

Her eyes flicked toward me, a faint shimmer of violet tracing the edges of her pupils. "I'm restraining myself," she muttered, voice low. "They're desecrating my home, Garvel. My wards, my soil—everything I've tended for years."

I sank down beside her, the ground shifting under my weight. If I can endure their presence, so can you.

That earned me a sharp glare, though it softened quickly into something weary. "You're made of stone," she said. "I'm made of nerves."

I was human once, I reminded her quietly. I still feel — even if my heart is stone.

The words hung between us, heavy and honest. Her expression faltered; the anger softened into something closer to grief. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Only the sounds of the camp—armor clinking, voices murmuring, the crackle of a small fire—filled the silence that pressed at the edges of her garden.

Melantha let out a slow breath. "Then maybe that's why I trust you," she whispered. "Because you still remember what it means to feel."

Melantha said nothing more after that, but she didn't move away either. We sat in uneasy quiet as the sun dipped lower, the sky bleeding into gold and crimson before surrendering to dusk. The commander's men settled into their watch rotations; the firelight painted them in shades of suspicion and exhaustion.

When the first stars broke through the haze, I felt Melantha's hand brush the side of my arm. "It's time," she murmured.

—

The forest came alive once the sun died.

Every creak of branch, every whisper of leaf sounded like a warning. The air was thick and damp, heavy with the scent of rot and wet bark. The knights moved in tense silence, their armor dull beneath the dim glow of their torches.

Melantha led the way, her cloak brushing against ferns slick with dew. She didn't speak, but I could feel her unease through the bond that hummed faintly between us. The forest watched us — I could feel it in the roots beneath my feet.

This place remembers blood, I murmured into her mind.

The commander's voice cut through the night. "Keep formation! No one strays."

Even he sounded nervous.

A strange noise followed his words — not an echo, not the wind — something wet, dragging across bark above us. Several knights spun toward the sound, torches lifting. Nothing. Only hanging vines, swaying faintly.

We pressed on.

After some time, the trail narrowed into a shallow ravine. The mist pooled thick there, curling low around our legs. That was when I noticed the change — the vines weren't vines anymore. They were pale. Glossy. Threadlike.

"Webbing," Melantha breathed.

The forest was silent now. Even the insects had stopped.

The knights tightened their grip on their weapons.

The first cocoon appeared hanging from a tree — man-sized, glistening faintly in the firelight. Then another. And another. Dozens, maybe more, stretching into the dark above us.

"Ltoloxa preserve us..." one of the soldiers whispered.

Something moved in the branches then — a ripple of motion far above. Long, spindly limbs clicked against the bark, and a wet hiss rolled through the trees.

"Hold!" the commander barked.

Melantha stepped closer to one of the cocoons, her expression unreadable. "There's still life in this one," she said quietly. Her knife flashed as she cut through the sticky silk.

The smell hit first — copper and rot — then the body slumped free, heavy and scaled. A Lizardman. But not just any of them — his armor marked him as chieftain, his body scarred with ceremonial ink.

He wasn't dead. His chest rose and fell faintly.

Melantha looked up at me, realization dawning. "This is why they attacked," she murmured. "They thought I killed him."

The commander stepped forward, eyes wide. "If he's alive—"

The rest of his words drowned beneath a shriek from above. The forest exploded with motion as a massive shape descended — half woman, half spider — pale as bone, her many eyes gleaming in the torchlight.

The knights shouted, forming ranks. I moved on instinct, stepping between Melantha and the creature as the air filled with the sound of snapping silk and steel being drawn.

Her voice was a rasping whisper that scraped along my mind.

"Thieves... trespassers... he was mine."

The commander's face drained of color at the sight of the creature. "By the gods—form ranks! Shields up!"

The knights scrambled into position, torches scattering through the mist like frantic fireflies. The spider creature dropped lower, her pale limbs flexing, claws biting into the earth with a noise like cracking bone. Her human torso bent unnaturally forward, long black hair hanging like a veil as she hissed, fangs glistening with venom.

She was fast.

Before the nearest soldier could even scream, she struck—one limb whipping out and impaling him through the chest, lifting him from the ground like a broken doll. The rest of the unit broke formation instantly, chaos erupting through the ranks.

"Fall back!" the commander shouted, but his words were swallowed by the creature's shriek.

I moved before I could think, my heavy steps shaking the soil as I intercepted her second strike. Her clawed leg slammed against my arm with enough force to leave a c***k along my stone plating. I grunted and shoved back, the sound of grinding rock echoing through the trees.

Melantha! I roared over the din. Now!

She didn't need me to tell her twice. Melantha ducked beneath a sweeping limb, her cloak snapping behind her as she darted to the fallen chieftain's side. His breathing was shallow, eyes half-open, the glaze of poison shining across his scales.

"Stay with me," she hissed, cutting the rest of the web from his body with quick, sure motions. "You're no good to me dead."

The spider-woman's eyes—dozens of them—snapped toward her, fury flashing through their cold gleam. I slammed my shoulder into the creature, forcing her back a few steps. Her shriek tore through the clearing like steel on stone, and every knight still standing flinched.

Get him out of here! I projected into Melantha's mind, my voice low and urgent.

She didn't argue. Slinging the chieftain's arm over her shoulders, she staggered toward the tree line, her boots sliding in mud and blood. The commander caught sight of her and shouted, "Where do you think you're—"

A claw crashed into the ground between them, forcing him back with a snarl.

"Move!" Melantha barked.