Exhausted, he reached the car, finally letting go of the flute before fleeing. He would always remember the hell he had endured. Only time would tell what would become of him and his life, but he would never forget what he had seen and lived through.

  The legend of Xerebah continued, but that night, the flute remained silent, waiting for its next victim. And Taron, the only survivor, never stopped playing it, for he knew the creature would never let him go. It only watched from the shadows, waiting for the exact moment to claim his soul.

  He alone remained there, at the edge of the forest, struggling to breathe. Liria and Ery were gone. No one was there. The flute, now in his hands, no longer made a sound. Trembling, Taron gazed into the void. He had survived—but at the cost of something he would never understand.

  At last, when Taron thought he could go no further, a sudden burst of light blinded him, and the sound of the flute ceased. The darkness vanished, and when he opened his eyes, all was silent.

  The air stirred around him again as the world grew heavier and denser. The creature began to fade, absorbing the air, time, and existence itself. With the last breath he had left, Taron played, and the flute let out one final, low note—almost a sigh of farewell.

  Xerebah froze, her anguished face twisting into unfathomable rage. But before she could do anything more, Taron began to step back slowly, playing the flute with skill, never allowing the sound to falter for even a second.

  Liria, tears streaming down her face, felt her strength slipping away. And in that moment, the flute fell silent. The melody ended.

  The creature lunged at her, but Taron, in a desperate effort, snatched up the flute. With the last vestige of energy left in him, he blew hard, and once more, the flute’s sound echoed through the air.

  The air thickened as each of the youths struggled to breathe, but the melody did not stop. Desperate, Ery tried to rip the flute from Liria’s hands, but it was useless. The creature watched them, knowing its time had come. With a grim smile, Xerebah lifted her hand, and one by one, the youths began to vanish, swallowed by the dark mist.

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  Xerebah’s voice rang in their minds, an echo of pure terror.

  "The flute must never stop playing... or you will all die."

  Suddenly, a dark shadow materialized before them, taking the shape of a tall, gaunt woman with hollow eyes like bottomless pits. Xerebah. The creature gazed at them in silence as the flute’s melody grew frantic, like a chant summoning something dreadful.

  The three tried to flee, but their bodies refused to move. The shadow drifted toward them with unnatural speed.

  Without thinking, Liria raised the flute to her lips. Immediately, the melody intensified, resonating through the air as if the entire forest were listening. A deathly silence fell upon them.

  As they walked through the dense forest, the darkness swallowed every corner, and a strange wind rose between the trees, as if the earth itself were whispering warnings. Suddenly, Taron stumbled upon something strange. As he leaned in, he saw the flute—an instrument carved from bone, adorned with ancient symbols, covered in dust. The melody it emitted was soft, barely perceptible, yet hauntingly beautiful.

  One night, three youths—driven by fear but also by curiosity—decided to venture into the forest to uncover the truth about the flute. The first, Ery, was brave but inexperienced. The second, Liria, was skeptical, her trust in rational explanations making her doubt the myths. The third, Taron, was sensitive to stories, but also desperate to escape his own torment.

  The flute was a peculiar object. It was not played by hand; its sound emerged only when the air passed through it. Whoever found the flute and played it would be marked by Xerebah. And though no one knew how or why, those who tried to escape its melody died—one by one—until none remained. But, like all legends, there were those in the village who dared to defy it.

  In a secluded village, where the shadows stretched like restless fingers at nightfall, there was a legend the inhabitants feared to speak of. The story told of Xerebah, a dark entity that roamed the edges of the nearby forest. It was said that Xerebah had once been a woman—a priestess of ancient cults—but after betraying her people, she was cursed and condemned to become a soul-devouring specter. Her presence was heralded by a mournful melody, drifting from a flute of bone, said to be her only companion in eternal damnation.

  Every story begins at the beginning... but sometimes, the beginning is also the end.