The Bridge to the Void

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The village of Cold Hollow was a place that time seemed to have forgotten. Its cobblestone streets, crumbling stone walls, and gnarled trees stood as relics of an age long past. But the villagers didn’t mind the isolation. They kept their lives simple and their traditions unbroken, save for one whispered caution that no one dared challenge:

“Stay away from the bridge.”

By day, the area beyond the village was ordinary enough—fields, forests, and the occasional marsh. But when night fell, a bridge would appear. Its timbers groaned and creaked, aged as if they’d been standing for centuries, though no one could recall its construction. The bridge didn’t lead to another shore or any known road; it disappeared into a dense, swirling mist.

And the stories said that the mist was alive.


When Arthur’s sister, Evelyn, vanished, the whispers began.

“She must’ve crossed the bridge,” said old Mr. Hargrove at the general store, shaking his head gravely.

“People don’t come back,” muttered another.

Arthur hated their resigned stares, their murmured condolences. Evelyn had always been reckless, fascinated by the bridge and its myths. But Arthur refused to believe she was gone for good.

He waited three nights before making his decision.


The bridge appeared as it always did, materializing out of the darkness just beyond the village. The fog was thick and impenetrable, swirling like smoke caught in a windless void. Arthur approached cautiously, a lantern swinging from his hand.

The bridge groaned under his weight as he stepped onto it, the air growing colder with each step. His lantern barely penetrated the mist, and the sound of his own breathing echoed unnaturally in his ears.

“Evelyn?” he called, his voice trembling.

For a long moment, there was no reply. Then, faint and distant, he heard it:

“Arthur…”

He froze, his heart pounding. The voice was unmistakable.

“Evelyn! Where are you?”

“Come,” the voice whispered, barely audible over the creaking of the bridge.


The other side was nothing like Arthur had imagined. The mist dissipated abruptly, revealing a barren landscape bathed in an eerie, colorless twilight. The ground was flat and dry, covered in a fine gray ash that clung to his boots.

Ahead of him stood a figure cloaked in shadow. Its shape was human but indistinct, its edges shimmering as though it were made of smoke.

“You’ve come seeking answers,” the figure said, its voice deep and resonant.

Arthur tightened his grip on the lantern. “Where is my sister? What happened to her?”

The figure extended an arm, and the mist around them shifted, forming an image in the air. Arthur saw Evelyn standing on the bridge, her face pale but determined. She stepped into the fog, disappearing into the same void Arthur had just crossed.

“She came willingly,” the figure said. “As must you.”

“What do you mean?”

The figure tilted its head. “The bridge offers a gift: the power to rewrite the past. But such a gift requires sacrifice.”

Arthur’s pulse quickened. “She wanted to change something in her past?”

The figure nodded. “And she paid the price. As will you, if you choose to proceed.”


Arthur’s mind raced. He had always known Evelyn carried regrets—guilt over their parents’ death in a fire, a tragedy she blamed herself for. She must have come to the bridge hoping to erase her pain.

“What price did she pay?” Arthur demanded.

The figure didn’t answer directly. Instead, it gestured to a path that stretched into the distance, lined with faintly glowing lights.

“She is there,” it said. “But if you wish to save her, you must take her place. She cannot return without another to bear the burden.”

Arthur’s breath caught. “And if I refuse?”

“She remains here, bound to the void, her past unaltered.”


Arthur followed the path, his lantern flickering as the ash beneath his feet shifted with every step. The air grew heavier, the silence oppressive. Finally, he saw her.

Evelyn stood at the edge of a shallow pool, her reflection shimmering on its surface. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, her eyes wide with shock.

“Arthur?”

“I came to bring you back,” he said, his voice cracking. “Why did you do this?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought… I thought I could fix everything. I thought I could bring them back. But I didn’t know what it would cost.”

“What did you give up?”

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground. “My memories of you.”

Arthur staggered, the weight of her words crashing over him.

“It’s how the bridge works,” she continued, her voice trembling. “It takes what’s most precious to you. And now… I’m trapped here.”

Arthur shook his head, stepping closer. “I won’t leave without you.”

“But you’ll have to give something up,” she whispered. “And once you cross, there’s no going back.”


The figure reappeared, its shadowy form towering over them.

“Choose,” it commanded.

Arthur clenched his fists. What was his most precious thing? His memories of Evelyn? His own identity? The weight of the decision crushed him, but the thought of leaving her behind was unbearable.

“Take me,” he said finally. “Let her go.”

The figure extended a hand, and Arthur felt an icy grip close around his chest. Evelyn screamed as the shadows wrapped around him, pulling him away from her.

“Arthur, no!”

But it was too late.


Evelyn woke on the bridge, the lantern clutched in her hand. The mist was gone, and the first rays of dawn lit the horizon. She staggered back toward the village, her mind a blur.

She couldn’t remember why she’d been on the bridge, or what she had lost there. But as she reached the edge of the village, she felt a deep, unshakable ache in her chest—like something precious had been taken from her.

In the void, Arthur stood alone, his memories of Evelyn already slipping away. The figure watched silently as he sank to his knees, the weight of eternity pressing down on him.

And somewhere, faint and distant, the bridge creaked, waiting for its next traveler.

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