Kael
I run, but there is no ground beneath me.
The world is nothing but darkness—endless, stretching in all directions, swallowing sound, swallowing breath.
My feet make no noise, my chest heaves with effort, but it feels like I am running through water, each movement dragging, each step sinking.
Ahead, the woman with white hair stands, her back turned. Her long, blood-matted strands ripple slightly, as if moved by wind, though the air around me is still and suffocating.
Her shoulders shake. Her fingers tremble.
I try to call out, but no voice comes.
Then, from behind me, the darkness moves.
A soundless scream rips through the void—deep and jagged, vibrating with unnatural force. The air shudders.
Figures rise from the blackness, their shapes flickering, shifting, their limbs too long, too sharp. They claw at the space between us, hands reaching, voices wailing.
They aren't normal. They aren't human.
Their voices don't carry like normal sound. Instead, color bursts into my vision—black edged with red, pulsing like open wounds, twisting and curling like smoke.
I run.
But the figures surge forward, dragging behind me like shadows stretched too thin. Hands tangle in my clothes, claw at my arms, my legs, my hair.
Their fingers are ice against my skin, pulling, dragging me back.
"No—"
I wrench forward, gasping, fighting against the weight. The woman is still ahead, still trembling, still just out of reach.
"Who are you?"
She turns.
And my breath dies in my throat.
Her eyes—her bleeding eyes—stare through me. Red runs down her pale face, her lips trembling, her mouth opening to form a single, fragile word.
"Kael—"
Pain bursts in my skull.
I scream.
The darkness swallows me whole.
----------
A hand grips my shoulder.
"Kael."
I jolt awake, my chest heaving, my throat raw. The ceiling of Elias's cabin tilts into view, but my vision blurs at the edges, my breath too fast, too uneven.
My skin is damp, my hands trembling in the blanket's folds.
Elias crouches beside me, his grip steady but firm. His face is tense, his dark eyes searching mine. "You were mumbling," he says. "Looked like a nightmare."
I swallow hard, trying to calm the hammering in my chest.
The woman. Her face. Her voice. The blood in her eyes.
Elias watches me carefully. "What did you see?"
I hesitate. My throat feels tight. "A woman. White hair. I don't know who she is."
His jaw shifts slightly. "Anything else?"
I force a swallow, gripping my hands together. "Black figures. They were chasing me. They weren't normal. Their voices… they screamed in colors."
Elias's expression darkens, but he quickly looks away, running a hand over his jaw.
A silence lingers between us before he sighs. "You should eat," he says, his voice lighter, though I can hear the weight behind it. "And drink something. I'll be training you today."
I blink at him. "Training?"
Elias nods, standing. He hands me a wooden mug filled with water, along with a bowl of stew, thick and fragrant with root vegetables. The warmth seeps into my fingers, grounding me slightly.
I don't realize how hungry I am until I take the first bite.
Elias sits across from me, arms crossed. "Don't push yourself to remember too hard," he says suddenly. "It won't do you any good."
I pause mid-bite, glancing at him.
"You don't need to figure everything out all at once," he continues. "Just focus on what's in front of you."
I stare at the wooden spoon in my hands.
I don't know what to say to that.
Elias shifts slightly, reaching into his pocket. A small bottle appears in his palm—the pills.
He sets one on the table, his expression easy. "This will help."
I stare at the pill.
I've taken it every day. Without question. Without hesitation.
But last night, Elias had pulled me away from the festival. He had been angry. Too angry.
Something inside me is telling me not to trust it.
I nod, picking up the pill. Elias watches as I press it past my lips, tilting my head back.
But as soon as he turns away, I tuck it under my tongue.
I wait until his back is turned.
Then I spit it into my hand, closing my fingers around it before slipping it into my pocket.
Elias walks to a wooden chest in the corner, lifting the lid. He pulls out folded fabric and turns back to me, tossing it lightly onto the bed. "These are for you."
I reach out, running my fingers over the material. A simple white tunic. Black pants.
Fresh clothes.
I lift them slowly, something unfamiliar curling in my chest. The tunic is slightly too big. The fabric rough but clean.
I glance up at Elias, my fingers gripping the cloth tightly. "Thank you."
He grunts. "Don't look so stiff about it."
A small, pained smile tugs at my lips.
----------
The air outside is crisp and cool, the morning light filtering through the sparse trees. Elias stands in the open space near the house, a wooden sword resting against his shoulder.
I hesitate, eyeing the second wooden sword lying at his feet.
"This is for you," he says. "Pick it up."
I bend down, wrapping my fingers around the hilt. The weight is strange—heavier than I expected, but not unmanageable.
Elias steps forward. "First rule. Don't grip too tight. You'll tire yourself out."
I adjust my hold.
He nods. "Good. Now, try to hit me."
I blink at him.
Elias gestures. "Go on. Don't hesitate."
I lift the sword, feeling ridiculous, and swing.
Elias moves effortlessly, knocking my attack aside like it's nothing. The force jolts up my arms, and before I can react, he taps his own wooden blade lightly against my shoulder.
"If that were real," he says, "you'd be dead."
I scowl.
"Again," he says.
I try. Again and again. Each time, Elias blocks, dodges, counters.
I land on the ground more times than I can count, my muscles aching, my frustration mounting. But Elias never laughs, never taunts. He just holds out a hand to pull me back up, every time.
"You're learning," he says. "Slowly. But you are."
I breathe heavily, gripping the wooden sword tighter. "Why are you making me do this?"
Elias watches me for a moment. "Because you need to be strong. One day, you'll need to protect people too."
I don't know how to respond to that.
But I don't get the chance.
A sudden, blinding pain spikes through my skull.
I stagger, the wooden sword slipping from my fingers. The pain spreads—like roots burrowing through my mind, down my spine, clawing through my veins.
I gasp, my knees buckling.
"Kael?" Elias is beside me in an instant, grabbing my arms.
I can't see. The colors are too bright, too loud. My head feels like it's splitting open, and something in me—something wrong—stirs.
Then, in the periphery of my blurred vision, I see Elias's face change.
His eyes widen in horror.
I barely register his voice, his hands gripping my shoulders, his mouth moving—but then I see it.
A lock of my hair, falling over my face.
Not brown.
White.
I gasp, pain turning into a raw, broken sound.
Elias's hands tighten around me as I tremble, as my vision wavers, as I feel like I'm slipping into something I don't understand.
And then—
His gaze flicks downward.
At the dirt beside me.
At the small pill lying there, untouched.
----------
Thom crouched behind the tree, his breath ragged, his pulse hammering in his ears.
He saw it.
The boy's hair had turned white.
Not a trick of the firelight. Not his imagination. Real.
A bone-deep fear coiled in his stomach, twisting tight like a snake.
His father's words echoed in his head—stories of demons with pale hair and gray eyes, of corpses rising from graves, of villages swallowed whole in the dead of night.
He had to tell someone.
His mother. The guards. Anyone.
His breath hitched, and he turned, legs tensed to sprint—
Then he stopped.
A few feet ahead, lying still in the dirt, were three dead birds.
Their tiny bodies were twisted at odd angles, wings bent, necks limp. Blood seeped from their beaks, staining the frost-bitten earth.
Thom's stomach lurched. A wave of nausea rolled through him. Had they been there before?
A gust of wind cut through the trees, rustling the branches above, but it wasn't the wind that made him shudder.
It was the silence.
The air pressed against him, thick and heavy, clamping down on his throat.
Then—
The birds twitched.
Thom's breath stilled.
A slow, jerking movement, one wing shuddering, a claw scraping against the dirt.
He took a step back.
One of the birds breathed.
A long, rattling inhale.
Thom's stomach dropped. His legs nearly gave out beneath him.
No. No, no, no—
The bird's head twitched toward him. Its beak opened slightly, as if gasping for something unseen.
A strangled whimper slipped from Thom's throat as he ran as fast as he could into the village, their twitching bodies burned into his mind