Frozen with fascination, Catina Harte stood fixated on this single, peculiar seam in her room’s brick wall. Standing only a few inches away, her eyes set almost perfectly in line with the seam she had become engrossed by, she was afraid to even blink; the act could disrupt whatever the hell it was that was happening. On a normal night, with the thick curtains closed on her lone room window, Catina should have been standing in complete darkness. Tonight, however, Catina stood in a pulsating red light that cascaded between silhouetting the curves of her sex and illuminating the details of her naked body. Clothes were an afterthought, frivolous compared to the change happening in front of her now. No doubts were creeping to her now, this did not feel like one of the cruel phantoms of hope she sometimes dreamed of, and oftentimes cried over. Something was happening, really changing.

If something has changed, everything has changed. For Catina and the other ten imprisoned on the isle, their days of waiting were finally over.

Catina’s ears twitched. A sound, to the right of her just outside her bedroom door. It was the sound of footfalls, someone running in great haste and drawing closer. She was aware of this, yes, but made no movement or cared to inquire like it. Her stance was further cemented as the running drew nearer, and then passed her door, which aside from a dead end, led to only one possible room.

Simon, Catina thought absently, and on queue the opening and subsequent slamming of a door entered the absurdity.

Catina blinked then, and the glow in front of her remained. It had to have been nearly five minutes of paralysis before her brain began to work again. It wasn’t enough to be convinced that she wasn’t dreaming, for vivid dreams were nothing new to her. She would have to prove to herself that this was legitimate. Cautiously, Catina shifted her fixed gaze left, still locked on the same red seam. The red glow was only housed in this one line and it did not falter from its home all around the room, seeming to cut the room in two even halves. As the light began to grow again from its lowest hue, the room began to reveal the details of Catina’s face; two dimples separated by a slightly agape mouth, a once stunned look that was budding into wonder and awe.

This time, it has to be real!

Without thinking, Catina began to raise her right hand, bringing it within a couple of inches of the wall. Observing her hand, the glow grew to its peak, a bright hue of red filling the room. She examined herself; her long skinny, skinny hands first and then down her arm to her shoulder. The usual dark complexion of her skin was painted in this brilliant color similar to a rose budding if she remembered correctly what roses looked like. Her gaze returned to the seam as the light began to fade, the brightness now darkening, dying. As the shade seemed to pause at its low point, Catina cautiously moved her hand to touch the seam. Stuck in a moment that still seemed unbelievable, she immediately snapped wholey back into reality.

The seam was wet. The sensation blinded her the moment her fore and ring finger had met the joint between the bricks, not in surprise or fear but in amazement.

I can feel it again!

As the hue began to brighten again, Catina allowed her other hand to join, an act to confirm her right hand wasn't playing tricks on her. But it hadn’t, and in the growing red light, Catina found herself unable to stop feeling the forgotten physical experience that was wetness. How long had it been since-

Catina’s eyes grew wide. The red hue was back to its brightest point, illustrating the look of horror and confusion that stole over the woman’s face.

“Blood?” Catina whispered as if she did not want to disturb her realization. She was examining the tips of her hands, bringing the fingers of her right hand to her nose, and smelled. There was no mistake in the substance she discovered.

“Blood!” Catina screamed, reactively going to wipe her of it on her breast. But why she tried that, she would have to ask herself later as rapid breaths grew faster from the sight of the fresh blood she had applied to herself. Panicking, Catina ran towards her bedside table, her hands appearing to convey the same message an unarmed person may use to show they aren't a threat.

The bedside table housed a cup of water filled to the brim, but as Catina approached her goal, the dim red that she knew now was the color of blood had returned to dim the room, causing her to accidentally hit the cup over and onto the ground with a thump, finishing with a roll. As the room began to fill with red light once again, Catina fell to her knees and reached under the bed for where the cup had gone. Vulnerable in her nudity, no wet area from the cup touched her, and in the now illuminated room, there was no evidence that a cup had spilled at all. As Catina emerged from under the bed, breasts bouncing back into place, the cup was once again filled to the brim. On her knees, Catina poured the cup over her chest, running both blood and water down the length of her sex. She tossed the cup aside, adding another thump to the room and a prolonged rolling that echoed off the walls.

She was frantically scraping herself now, feeling the cold water and thicker blood mixing, hearing the excess dropping mix with the sound of her hands trying to rid her body of the substance. As the light revealed more of the scene, Catina's horror grew as she looked down at her sex, unable to differentiate between the water and the blood trickling down to her thighs.

I’m making it worse! She was blood red nearly all over her hands and torso now, and as the light met its apex once again, her whole body became blood. Physically remaining in the room, desperately trying to rip off the sheets and use them as a towel, the sight and smell of blood brought her mind back to a place she had prayed to forget about.

“Father!” Catina yelled, hunched over her father as he struggled to breathe. Both her hands pushed on his chest, with the blood mocking her attempts to stop its wrath from exiting. The world around her was deafening; clashes of metal seemingly in every direction rocked at her core, prolonged screaming in both anguish and victory chorused in the castle’s main hall.

“C-Cat, you must go now. You must save us.” Her father struggled to say, eyes rolling back in surrender, and returning to her own in one final effort.

“I can't leave you, father! Please won't somebody help!” Catina wept and pleaded, droplets spilling onto the mess of blood her hands were drowning in.

“Go Cat...to th-the isle...w-wish it aw-away...my l-love.” He began to cough, blood squirting out of his final breaths so violently and quickly that Catina couldn’t avoid the spray. Blinded in red, Catina tried to wipe at her face, only to be reminded of her blood-soaked hands that only further added to the red world her father was now lost in.

A soldier came then, scooping her up with ease, and threw her over his shoulder with not the slightest of comfort. Footfalls of other men trailed them. She was screaming again, all she could hear was her screaming. All she could see, all that she had seen, was red.

“Catina!” A voice said, followed by a rapid succession of knocks. “Catina please open the door!”

She was back in her room, the red light on the verge of another peak. Entangled in her blankets and sheets, Catina furiously escaped and threw them aside, and with an effort she tried calming her rapid breathing.

“I’m ok…I’m ok.” Catina whispered to herself through labored breath. The knock began again.

“Catina!” A voice repeated its raspiness an identifiable trait.

“Modesto? Is that you?”

“Yes dear yes! Please do let me in, you’ve been screaming.”

“Ok, I’m coming.” Catina rose from the floorboard, allowing herself to breathe deeply a few times before making her way towards her room door on the opposite corner of the room. The door housed a single hook, on it hung a long black robe.

“Just a second Modesto,” Catina said as she took the robe and hurriedly put it on. As she tied the robe around her waist, a look of horror glanced at her face as she still saw deep red markings between her breasts. Frustrated, she opened the door without finishing tying the robe.

“Modest-”. Catina was cut off mid-greeting, the breath stolen from her lungs. In the doorway, Modesto stood wrapped in his black robe. Modesto Bosso was his full name, a short, dark-skinned man whose lack of age marks made it rather impossible to guess his ranking as third oldest on the isle. A true friend to Catina all her life, she momentarily ignored his presence altogether, an unlikely act with the amount of time they hadn't seen each other. Modesto seemed to luck out, as his diminutive size compared to her height leveled his line of sight to her chest, a full breast exposed and the other protruding.

Catina did not notice, and would not have bothered anyway. Her eyesight favored the hallway, the red glow that had never been there before. Each seam in the wall was pulsating, bringing a much brighter light to the hall that turned each of the once-grey bricks to a crimson red. Even at its lowest point, the hall was well-illuminated.

Flushed and looking away into her room, the ground, and anywhere else, Modesto cleared his throat and started, “Catina, your room bleeds as well.”

“But, bleeding?” She said, questioning Modesto’s unbothered tone rather than the ridiculous notion, “What does it even mean?”

“That is what I am trying to figure out as well. Care to help me?”

“Y-yes of course.”

A few more shakes overtook her suddenly, the red of the wall trying to lure her back to the battlefield. Modesto offered his arm in comfort, which similarly shook but Catina assumed it was age-induced rather than fear-driven. Catina accepted the favor with a smile, and the usually neutral Modesto offered an attempt at his own. They nodded to each other, and the two once again became integral forces in defending a world lost to them.

Stepping into the hallway, the entire sense of change stole back over them. Years of solitude and consistency had a way of addicting one's soul, Catina would later reflect on. While at least one of the members on the island craved change, she hadn’t realized how far she had gone to the opposite side of the spectrum. Did she want to be held up in her room, a destiny realized and fulfilled, for all of eternity? While the answer would fluid for quite some time, she had sincerely wanted that hall to stop glowing, to return to her room, and to return to her fate.

Here in the close confines of the hall, enough room for Modesto and Catina to walk side by side but nothing more, blood might as well have run down their heads and faces. Magnified all around them, it was like a lens forced onto them, the world only the color of crimson, gore, or an apple. Whichever object she likened in her mind to the red, there it was through her squinting eyes. She just wished she could stay away from thinking of blood.

Are we wading through blood? Trying to see under an ocean of death?

“Modesto? Catina?” A voice called out, as the hue dimmed to a low intensity. Approaching them in an identical robe was an even shorter man than Modesto, the height barely reaching Catina’s midsection. Drawing the hood back, there was no mistaking the pointy, elvish ears.

“Aluin!” Catina said, reaching out her hand to him in an unconscious gesture to further confirm this dream-like reality. He took it in both of his pungent, course hands with a hint of a tremble, and kissed the back of hers.

“Beautiful and kind Catina, how I missed your voice. And Modesto, my old friend.” Aluin shifted his sight, his pitch-black eyes seeming to repel the scarlet color growing around them. “How long has it been?”

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“As is the case of such aches, too long, old elf,” Modesto replied.

“Too long indeed.” Aluin said, beginning to squint, “This light, it’s…”

“Blood.” Catina said, “It’s like the walls are beating and bleeding. What can this mean?”

“Blood, yes,” Aluin said, stroking a beard of length that tucked into his robe. “It’s blood, and it may also be time, my friends.”

“Time. Yes, yes you must be correct my wise friend.” Modesto said, nodding and puzzling his thoughts.

Catina was stunned, “What? Time? You can’t seriously think that it’s been...a thousand years…” Catina trailed off, a trance of disbelief coupled with memories being recalled of a time that was so long ago now.

Modesto and Aluin could only share her silence, equal parts wanting to assess the situation and numb to the act of confirming Catina’s worries.

“W-we can’t know that Catina.” Modesto managed, “We simply can’t know the truth.”

Catina was elsewhere again, her gaze fixed on the end of the hallway, yet her mind was far away from the scene. She trembled slightly, her hands fidgeting and attempting to comfort one another. She was five years and twenty again, running as fast as her legs would allow, hearing and unhearing the sounds of battle that seemed always to be following her like a shadow. The fighting was in front of her, on both sides, and it seemed the ground wanted a piece of her as well as she fought back several attempts to trip her stride. Her soul fought the struggle to give up entirely, the pull of thoughts to join her mother and father.

Soldiers held the path to her then rescue and present imprisonment, though they were all but blurs in her peripherals. Vividly, all she could make out was her destination; a ship at the dock, its mass half raised, the anchor jutting out from the water dripping wet, and a bridge that was moving away from her.

She ran desperately, pleading to any higher power to make it to safety. Her heart was in her throat, louder now than the sound of battle. The only sound more distinct, came from the toddler she was holding onto, wails of terror rushing back into her memory.

“Catina?” For a moment, as Catina’s reality settled back into place, her gaze fell onto a younger Modesto, his face in a desperate state as he was reaching out for her and the child, an act that would save everyone, they had hoped.

“I-I’m sorry, I...went back for a moment,” Catina said, only now tasting the salt of the tears she hadn’t realized spawned.

“Never apologize dear,” Aluin said, “We bear that pain with you, forever.” Aluin reached out his hands, one extended to Catina, and the other towards Modesto. The two followed his lead, as the three stood draped in robes glowing red, heads bowed. For a few seconds, they were all enveloped in the horrors that brought them here, that they had braved together.

A door opened down the hall. Each of them had a start, like waking from a bad dream, and were present in the hall once again. As Modesto shifted to see what it was, Catina saw one figure concealed in their matching robes and hood enter the hall. This figure precluded another one, and another, so similar in size that Catina needed to rub her eyes to ensure the light hadn’t made her vision double. There were surely three of them, with another figure following in their path, a much taller figure this time, then a rather short one, and finally, a slim figure exited and closed the door. The first two were now facing them, as the other formed two lines of three.

“Aluin of the family Qiro,” A booming, low voice said, unmistakable in its captivation, “Modesto of the family Bossio, and Catina of the family Harte. It seems our final duty has come at last.”

Catina, as would anyone, matched the voice to Winfred Whitewood, a man who had once time ruled all of Angea. She was once again telling her mind not to wander, trying to stave off their introduction on the ship all those years ago. Catina won this internal struggle.

“My King, it seems you are right indeed.” Modesto said, his cordialness raising a few on the scale, “Time surely has a way of sneaking up on one.”

“Where is Simon?” The King said, seemingly unhearing Modesto.

“I can all but assume he is still in his room sir.”

“Would you three fetch the youth, as we assess the main hall.” Said the King, not quite asking.

“Of course,” Aluin chimed in cheerfully, “We shall see you in there. Might I add, it is good to be together again.”

“Yes Aluin, together again for the grand finale.” The King turned then, the other five splitting to either side of the hall. In the glow of the red light, Catina stole a glimpse of the slimmest figure’s face, a woman’s.

Skyla Truemane, Catina thought, as the face was gone in the low glow, the figure falling in line with the other and exiting from sight as they all turned left.

“Some things change, but not those six,” Catina said.

“Kings tend to do that sort of thing,” Aluin mused, “While the court falls in line.”

“Let’s not mock his grace you two,” Modesto said, “Let’s carry out these remaining tasks, shall we?” Modesto spun on a heel, beginning in the opposite direction.

Catina frowned, he’s not the King anymore, she thought we were all equal now. Your presence is equal to his, Modesto. She did not have the harshness in her to say this aloud, nor would she say this to the five who had always fallen in line since the days aboard the ship. She assumed the others reflected on how meaningless titles and accolades mean to all of them now, but if holding onto these values had helped them to remain sane, she couldn’t argue with their comfort.

“Oh Simon…” Catina said to no one in particular. The opposite of sanity may as well be called Simon Harewell. While each of them shared the grief of losing friends, family, and the entire world they had known, not even Catina could share the grief of an entire life lost. A young woman of twenty years when she arrived, the child she had carried to safety was all but four years old, and would never experience youth in the open world.

“Simon of the family Harewell,” Aluin said, seemingly adding to her thoughts, “You know, I was quite close to his parents at a time.”

“Is that so?” Catina replied, “Are you sure you’re not mistaken with his great-great-grandparents?”

Aluin chuckled, “Oh I’m old, maybe that old, but no. I remember the boy’s parents very fondly. His mother and yourself share a lot in common.”

This caught Catina off guard, “Really? Is that so?”

“Two women as brave and fierce as they are beautiful, unafraid to speak their mind, even unflinching in the presence of a King. Yes, yes, you two would have got along well.”

Catina smiled, a common reaction to the always-warm Aluin. “Thank you for those kind words, friend.” She sighed, dipping her head a bit, “I always have a strong sense of failure when my thoughts begin to dwell on Simon. If I had been warmer with him, he may not have secluded himself..”

Aluin shook his head, “Catina, you did not lay this fate for him. May They hear me when I say the Gods are at fault for wasting such a boy and such a mind on this task.”

Ahead of them and only a few paces from the end of the hall, Modesto spun on a heel to face them. Catina had already cringed, knowing the subtle argument about to take place.

“It was our Divine Spirit that protected Simon on his way to fulfilling a destiny so important that only those on this isle can liken their own to its impact. Is that what you meant, friend?”

Aluin snickered, “Yes but of course my wisest friend, I’m all but positive the boy marvels at his inclusion in such a noble fate. While we sulk in our rooms, he must’ve been thanking the heavens above.”

“Speak for yourself, Aluin,” Modesto said coldly, “I reflected in my isolation. If Simon or any other member dare say they’d sooner switch fates with those on the mainland of Angea, I would have to assume that age has deteriorated your memories, or that you are a liar. Which of these plague you, elf?”

Aluin was not intimidated, “All that reflection and yet your mind’s eye only sees what it wants. There is real sympathy to be had for Simon. His mind and talents would surely be essential to rebuilding Angea. That’s what hurts the most.”

Catina was quiet and uninterested in joining the squabble. Her own time alone in her room, marred with nightmares, visions, and an overwhelming sense of loss for the world had left a bitter taste and harsh tongue for those spirits Modesto still held dear. While joining and siding with Aluin would be tempting, the response from the always stubborn and already growing irritated Modesto was not one she was eager to see.

“How about we ask Simon himself and follow through with the King’s request?” Catina said, making sure to emphasize the latter half of her question. “Stalling on his final command? Wouldn’t that be unbecoming Modesto?” Catina went passed the two, more feeling the flush of red than seeing it rise on Modesto’s face.

“It-it would, Catina. Let’s get the boy, for our King!”

There were eleven identical doors total in the hall, each perfectly spaced apart by five to six paces. Only five of the doors were used; Catina’s, Modesto’s, Aluin’s, the King including his five loyal subjects, and Simon’s. Three doors separated Simon and Aluin’s room, making the boy's chamber as distant as their small world would allow from the nearest person. Though the last door, Simon had been the first to choose a room, and the first to lock it tight all those years ago.

What does he even look like now? Will he even let us in? Intrigue and anxiety grew ever pressing in Catina, questions long-wanting answers that she had not realized until now. Mingling with these, the epiphany that it was only when she saw the bright hue of red pulsating in her room did her mind felt like it was moving again. For better or for worse, she thought, unrealizing she was now standing in front of their destination.

“Well, we aren’t getting much younger here Catina,” Modesto said, bringing her back to reality.

“Right, yes. Well, here goes.” Cautiously, Catina reached a closed fist to the door. Pausing, Catina looked over her shoulder to Aluin. Wrapped in his cloak, Aluin offered a reassuring nod and smile. Glancing at Modesto, the old man offered an expression of readiness, sliding off his hood and revealing many cracks and wrinkles in his skin that did not match the alert eyes more common on a younger man. With the two behind her, Catina began to knock.

“AHHHHH!” A muffled but sudden and prolonged scream interrupted Catina’s third knock, sending the three into surprise. Modesto and Aluin quickly joined Catina in a chorus of pleas.

“Simon! What is it, Simon? Let us help open the door!”

At this, the voice on the other side went into a sort of hyperventilating, the three listening closely as Simon struggled between breaths.

Modesto moved to the front, and began banging on the door, “Simon young one, let us in! What is the matter?”

“D-D-D-Dying,” The voice faintly said through chattering teeth and heavy breathing, “I..I’m..dying...dying!” Reaching a scream, Simon was now hysterically laughing to the bewilderment of the three outside.

“Dying? Simon how are-”

“I’m bleeding!” Simon shrieked between laughs, “Bleeding and dying!”

Catina’s concern to second place to her confusion, trading questioning looks with Modesto and Aluin.

“Dying?” Catina whispered to the two, “He can’t be dying, can he?”

“Impossible,” Aluin replied, shaking his head and proceeding past Catina and Modesto. “Simon! Please listen. It’s Aluin, do you remember me?”

The muffled sound of a battle between terror and hysterics softened down to a low point, “Aluin...yes...I’m Simon.”

“Yes, we know Si-”

“I’m...dying Aluin...I’m Simon and I’m dying…

“How are-”

“Dying Simon...Simon the dying…”

“Oh Spirits! This is ridiculous!” Modesto said, agitation growing on his brow.

“Wait,” Aluin replied, and turning back to the door, “Simon, could you open the door so that I may pronounce your tragic death? After all, if your death is unpronounced, men and spirits alike will never know of it.”

Complete silence returned to the other side of the door, the first time since Catina’s knocking began. The three swapped curious looks as they waited for a response. Then, unceremoniously, the door handle turned, then opened inward on its hinge.

The young man standing in front of them could only thank his bright, fascinated blue eyes for being the lone outlier in what was a horror of a sight. Aluin could only muster sounds of shock and disgust, Aluin looked away as if blinded by light, and Catina fought back a scream of horror as her hands met her mouth.

The bright red glow of the hall amplified the sight; nudity couldn’t accurately describe the boy's appearance, as a deep red coat covered the majority of his torso and legs. Long hair both on his head and chin was caked in blood, the clumps and snarls making the boy look inhuman. He seemed to be looking beyond the three that looked at him, eyes beautiful in color but too tired, almost in defeat. The three weren’t amiss that the boy was bare, his pride apparent in the peak of the red hue that also was still party to the spectacle.

“Oh, Simon..” Catina began, trying to fight back tears conditioned to act when seeing bodies and blood together.

“Am...I dead?” Simon said, never wavering from his inspection of the hall’s wall or his ideal outcome.

“No boy, you are not,” Modesto said exhaustingly, “Now you need to dress. The King has called upon you.”

Simon broke from his spell to begin a smile, “King? Yes...the King…” Absently, Simon slowly turned into his room, “Not dying...one thousand years...not dying…”