Damaine woke up startled with his body drenched in a cold sweat. The wooden walls of his cabin were shaken by the wind, and the candle by his bed cast shadows on the discolored wooden surfaces. His mind was clustered with echoes of his dream as sharp gasps of air escaped from his lungs.
The same dream.
The same voice.
A whisper that turned into a wail, ice-cold fingers gripping his spine.
"It's your fault."
The woods outside grumbled, the branches moving like agitated souls. He could nonetheless hear it underneath that, beneath the rustling leaves and the distant roar of the wind.
Breathing.
At the periphery of his vision was a shadow. He turned abruptly, but the room was empty. Only the remains of a sleepless night, a half-burned candle, and a stack of books.
And yet, he knew better.
He wasn't alone.
….
Dragolina saw the change right away. His silences were deeper, and his smiles were stiffer. He barely mentioned the nights anymore, though she knew they plagued him. His hands trembled occasionally, as she saw him looking into empty spaces as though he was waiting for someone or something to show up.
She sighed. "You look exhausted, Damaine," she said to him resting her gazing on his void eyes and placing her hand on his arm. He flinched.
"I'm fine," he muttered, voice hollow.
She didn't believe him. Not when the circles under his eyes darkened by the day, not when she found him pacing near the edge of the woods past midnight. And certainly not when she heard him whispering under his breath, arguing with someone who wasn't there.
"Damaine…" she started, but he turned away.
"Not now."
….
That night, the dream returned.
Except this time, he wasn't dreaming.
Damaine sat up in bed, breathing in quick exhalations causing his chest to rise and fall.
The candle near him flickered faintly, its flame tilting unusually as if something hidden exhaled on it.
From the darkness, a figure stepped forward.
It was him.
His face, partially concealed by shadow, seemed both familiar and alien. Deep cheeks, sunken eyes, a contorted face of misery and wrath.
"You left me," the voice whispered, thin as wind yet heavy as stone. "You let me die."
Damaine's throat tightened. "No… I—I didn't."
The candlelight shuddered, the presence unstable.
"Come with me," it urged, stepping closer. "It's the only way."
A cold dread spread through Damaine's limbs. He wanted to do something, run or at least scream, but he couldn't move. It was like something held him there. Something unknown. Something stronger than fear.
The voice softened, almost pleading. "I don't belong here. And neither do you."
The walls seemed to close in. The air turned thick, the room colder. A thousand thoughts screamed in his mind, but his body betrayed him. He was leaning forward, drawn by a force he didn't understand.
Then
A sudden knock at the door shattered the moment.
Damaine gasped, breath rushing back into his lungs. He whipped around, and when he looked back
The shadow was gone.
Dragolina's voice came through the door. "Damaine?"
He swallowed, heart hammering. Its presence had vanished, but the ghost of its voice remained, clouding his mind.
"It's not over."