The late afternoon sun hangs over Kolob Reservoir like a burning coin, casting long shadows across a landscape that has held its secrets since before the first Mormon settlers arrived in the 1800s. At 8,000 feet above sea level, the air carries both the sharp scent of pine and the ancient whispers of the red rock formations that make this corner of Southern Utah unique.

Emma Carter stands at the edge of Kolob Terrace Road, her worn hiking boots planted firmly on ground that seems to pulse with an energy she can't quite explain. At 21, she's already spent countless hours in these mountains, but her recent environmental science studies at Southern Utah University have revealed patterns that challenge everything she thought she knew about this place.

She adjusts her backpack, double-checking her specialized equipment – an EMF meter, water testing kit, and the camera she never leaves behind. Her chestnut hair is pulled back in a practical ponytail, but a few strands escape to dance in the mountain breeze, much like her thoughts that refuse to follow the obvious path.

“You know,” Jake Thompson says, frowning at the topographical map spread across the hood of his weathered Jeep, “there's something seriously odd about these magnetic readings.” His sandy blond hair catches the sunlight as he traces a pattern on the map with his finger. Jake has mapped countless regional formations as a senior geology student, but nothing quite like this.

The road behind them tells its own story of transition – a dramatic climb from the desert floor through various ecological zones, ending here in this alpine sanctuary. Kolob Reservoir spreads out before them like a mirror, reflecting the surrounding cliffs that have been shaped by millions of years of geological forces. The water level is lower than usual for summer, revealing bands of red and white sandstone that speak to the area's ancient past.

“Look at this,” Emma says, pulling up a series of readings on her tablet. “The electromagnetic fluctuations form a pattern, almost like a pulse.” She shows Jake a graph where the lines dance in rhythmic waves. “And it's not just here. I've been tracking similar anomalies all along this elevation, but they're strongest near the reservoir.”

Jake runs a hand through his hair, a habit Emma recognizes as his internal struggle between scientific skepticism and undeniable evidence. “It could be industrial interference,” he suggests, but his voice lacks conviction. “Though I've never seen natural formations create this kind of consistent pattern.”

Emma's green eyes scan the tree line, where an unmarked trail disappears into the pine forest. “Did you know,” she says, her voice taking on the tone she uses when sharing her latest research, “that the first reports of strange sightings up here date back to the 1850s? The settlers described seeing a thin, white figure that seemed to be watching over the area. They called it the Watcher of Kolob.”

Jake checks his watch – 6:43 PM. The summer sun won't set for a couple of hours, but up here, weather conditions can change rapidly. The temperature has already dropped several degrees, and the wind carries a hint of autumn despite the season.

“The name Kolob itself comes from Mormon scripture,” Emma continues, checking her EMF meter one last time. “It's described as a celestial body near the throne of God. The early settlers thought these mountains held special significance.” She pauses, watching as her meter's readings spike unexpectedly. “Maybe they were right.”

A sound catches their attention – something between a whisper and a hum, coming from the direction of the unmarked trail. The evening light seems to bend strangely through the trees, creating patterns that don't quite match the wind's movement through the branches.

Emma takes a step toward the trail, her EMF meter's display flickering with increasing intensity. The device wasn't designed to handle readings this strong, and the unusual patterns remind her of the research she's been conducting on the Earth's magnetic field disturbances for her thesis.

“The geological composition here is unique,” Jake says, standing beside her. His academic instincts are warring with his natural caution. “The layers of Navajo Sandstone and ancient lava flows could theoretically create unusual magnetic fields, but this…” He gestures at Emma's readings, “this is something else entirely.”

The unmarked trail ahead winds through a grove of aspen trees, their leaves trembling in the fading light. Beyond them stands a dense forest of ponderosa pine, their reddish bark glowing like copper in the evening sun. The path itself seems oddly maintained for an abandoned trail, as if something or someone regularly travels this route.

A cloud passes over the sun, and for a moment, both students notice an unusual shimmer in the air, like heat waves rising from summer pavement – except the temperature is dropping, not rising. Emma's camera, hanging at her side, emits a soft beep, its digital display registering light patterns outside the normal spectrum.

What do you do?

Choice 1A: Follow Emma's instincts and take the unmarked trail deeper into the forest

Choice 1B: Convince Emma to stick to the main path and continue around the reservoir