Time itself had shuddered, the world grinding to a halt. The crackling fire at the hearth froze mid-flicker, its light trapped in a ghostly glow. Reed's breath hitched as the air around him grew still, heavy, and cold. The warmth of the room was replaced by a damp chill that crawled over his skin.
A humid breeze brushed against the back of his neck, carrying the faint, metallic scent of something otherworldly. The hair on his arms stood on end. Slowly, as if compelled by forces beyond his control, he turned.
And then he saw it.
Hovering just beyond the edge of the firelight was the creature. Its enormous, unblinking eye—the size of a wrecking ball—stared down at him with a gaze that seemed to pierce through his very soul.
Its scrawny, elongated arms ended in three spindly fingers, each flexing with a deliberate, unnatural grace. When it smiled, its uneven, jagged teeth glinted like shards of broken glass.
"Speak," a voice sounded in Reed's head, dry and rasping like leaves in a tomb.
Reed's heart pounded. He expected this—but he was not ready for it. How could any sane person be ready for such a horrifying scene?
Speak...
The one word lingered in Reed's head. He was too afraid to speak and too afraid not to. He opened his mouth over and over, but no air escaped from his lungs.
Then, a soft, lady-like voice echoed in his mind. It was almost playful—yet laced with something unspeakably cruel.
"The Wilted One requests a trade. What offering lies in thy grasp?"
Reed's panic swelled. "Where! Who is here?" he screamed internally, eyes still locked to the creature's enormous eye. Fear rooted his gaze in place.
"You do not have to fear me or look for me," the woman's voice cooed. "I am only here to witness the trade. The Wilted Ones are not known for their patience. I suggest you make haste."
"How did she—did I speak aloud?" Before Reed could complete the thought, the rusty voice returned.
SPEAK.
The pressure in that word crushed him. It was no longer just a sound—it was a command. A weight.
"Trade? My family is poor," Reed thought desperately. "We can't afford artifacts. I refuse to trade. I have nothing to offer. I refuse to burden my family—even if it costs my life."
A chilling pause. Then, the woman's voice returned. Calm. Final.
"Very well. The Wilted One shall take whatever it pleases from you."
The creature's smile widened into a twisted mockery of joy. It opened its gaping mouth—large enough to swallow Reed whole.
With its right hand, it reached into its maw and pulled out something small and round—the size of an eyeball. Live roots dangled from it, twitching gently as if sensing the air.
The Wraith approached, slow and deliberate.
Reed tried to move, to scream, to escape—but he couldn't. Some invisible force held him in place. Unyielding.
The creature raised its left hand and gently touched Reed's lips. Three strands of soft light—thin, delicate, and radiant—rose from Reed's mouth. They floated upward, trembling.
The Wraith seized them with its spindly fingers and tugged.
Then, without ceremony, it stabbed the round, root-bound object into Reed's chest.
Pain exploded—white-hot and all-consuming.
Reed collapsed to his knees, every nerve in his body screaming. He tried to shout but no sound came out. Tears and snot streaked his face. His bloodshot eyes bulged in agony.
Then it began.
His skin shifted and pulsed unnaturally. His dark blue hair drained of color, fading into a stark, ghostly white. Blood welled from his eyes, his nails, even his pores.
It was as if his body was being hollowed out, squeezed dry by an invisible hand.
Through the haze, he caught sight of his reflection—distorted in a pool of his own blood.
His once-strong frame withered before his eyes. Muscles shrank. Cheeks hollowed.
In the background, his family remained frozen in time. His mother mid-reach, Jade mid-smile.
They knew nothing. Could do nothing.
A choked sob escaped him, merging with the blood on his cheeks.
Then, at last, the pain ebbed.
Silence returned. Cold and infinite.
He lay there, barely breathing, his body foreign and frail. Time felt broken—minutes stretched into eternity.
Then, through the void, came the whisper.
"The trade has been witnessed. Thy roots now drink deep of the Sink."
***
Reed gasped as his eyes fluttered open. He was alive—but not the same. His body was frail, his strength nearly gone. He saw the blood he had vomited slowly seeping into the ground, disappearing as if nothing had ever happened.
The world around him had resumed, yet time flowed as if in slow motion. The fire crackled once more, and voices from the other room were faintly audible.
He felt so weak that he could barely stand. He tried calling out for his parents, but they did not respond—as if he were invisible.
A disembodied, lady-like voice echoed in Reed's head: "Give up, child. The world no longer remembers you."
The sudden words shocked him, but he remained silent.
Before he could muster a reply, the voice continued, "You no longer carry their blood. You no longer exist in their memories. And you are no longer you." The statement sank into his heart.
He was now a shell, filled with nothing but his own thoughts. He tried again to call out—he even approached Jade and shook her gently, crying out—but received no response.
"It is useless. Say your goodbyes and leave."
Even as life resumed its gentle hum around him, Reed understood that he must surrender.
Stumbling to his feet with legs that trembled with each monumental step, he forced himself toward the door. He could not stay.
Outside, the winter night was merciless. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped into the biting cold, each gust slicing through his weakened frame. The moment the door closed behind him, his legs buckled.
Reed collapsed into the snow, leaning heavily against the door. His breath came in shallow, labored gasps as he clawed at the frozen ground, desperate to rise. His trembling fingers betrayed his struggle.
He clenched his fists and tried repeatedly to stand, but his body refused to obey. The snow soaked his clothes, its chill numbing his skin, yet he pressed on.
Through the doorway, voices from inside—warm and familiar—floated to him.
"Honey, did you make extras tonight?" his father's voice called, comforting and gentle.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," his mother replied with a light laugh. "Something must've come over me."
Jade's voice, light and cheerful yet tinged with confusion, joined in as if nothing were amiss.
Reed gritted his teeth and, with trembling arms, finally forced himself up. The pain was overwhelming—not just physical, but an ache that gripped his very soul.
He tried to open the door, but it felt immovable—a barrier separating him from the warmth he once knew. In desperation, he banged on it, screaming for his parents and for Jade. Regret and panic mingled in his tears as he realized how much he hated leaving.
Inside, his father's voice floated through the night: "I don't remember the last time my belly's been this full."
"I feel more energized now after this meal. Hehe. Mother, you should make extras more often!" Jade chimed in happily.
Oh. This is just too cruel isn't it?
Reed stopped his baning and stood motionless. He slowly walked up to a window. He starred at the warm glow of the home he had just abandoned. Slowly, he pressed his forehead against the frost-covered window. He watched his father lean back, patting his stomach with a satisfied smile.
For one long moment, he wished he could be part of that warmth. But at the same time he felt guilt, sadness and a faint anger.
This smile. Is it not cruel? I know. I am the reason why none of you get to enjoy full meal every night.
He paused, his heart heavy with longing—just for a brief beat—to hope someone might turn and see him. But no one did. They were warm, whole, and unaware.
But who am I to complain? Did I not receive love? Did they ever complain.
He turned away, limping into the endless white of winter, his figure soon swallowed by the cold, unyielding night.
A faint smile tugged at Reed's lips.
Maybe this is better.
***
After the laughter and chatter of dinner faded, the house fell silent.
Jade hummed softly to herself as she prepared for bed, her tune light and carefree. She padded across the room toward the haystack bed where she slept, her mind already drifting toward dreams.
With a small leap, she plopped down onto the haystack—only to yelp in pain.
"Ouch!"
She sat up, rubbing her back with a wince. Something hard and unyielding had jabbed her.
Puzzled, she pushed aside handfuls of hay. Her fingers brushed against a solid object buried beneath.
After a moment of digging, she unearthed a wooden sword.
Jade held the wooden sword up, turning it over in her hands. Confusion flickered across her face as she examined the carvings. The weight of it was familiar, the smooth grain of the wood carefully polished.
Her fingers traced over the patterns etched along the blade—patterns unmistakably hers.
Then her gaze landed on the base of the hilt, where a name had been carefully carved.
"Reed."
Her breath caught. A tear slipped unbidden down her cheek, catching her completely off guard.
"Huh?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Her free hand flew to her chest, clutching at her heart as it raced. An ache bloomed deep within, sharp and unrelenting—as if something precious had been ripped away, leaving a gaping void.
The sword trembled in her grip as she held it closer. Her tears fell faster now. The inexplicable loss consumed her entirely—a void felt in every fiber of her being.