Blackness churned and coiled around me, dragging me deeper with every second, as though I were drowning in an endless sea of shadow. The darkness pressed in on all sides, suffocating and cold, and each time I fought my way to the surface, desperate for breath, visions lashed at my mind—memories that struck like iron-tipped arrows, each one filling me with a choking cocktail of terror, sadness, and sickening familiarity. They were moments I had buried long ago, hoping never to relive them, but the dream dragged them to light, prying open wounds I thought had scarred over.
The memories surged without mercy. Killian’s cruel face loomed large, his presence wrapping around me like barbed wire. The sound of his voice—cold, cutting, dripping with disdain—slithered through the dream, coiling around my mind until I could hear nothing else. His hatred was palpable, searing through me with the weight of every insult, every degradation, every moment he took pleasure in my suffering. His twisted vision of pain and control rose up like a tidal wave, threatening to swallow me whole. I could feel the bruises, the sting of betrayal, and the sharp edges of his laughter cutting through the dream.
Each memory dragged me deeper into the nightmare—flashes of my family, the Sanguine Watch, and the moment my foolish pride had led me to sign the binding contract that chained me to a fate I never intended. The memories came like a relentless storm, each one more vivid and agonizing than the last. I fought against them with everything I had, but each struggle only made them stronger, sinking their claws deeper into my mind. It was a merciless loop—surfacing, gasping, only to be dragged under again into a nightmare I couldn’t escape, suffocating beneath the weight of my own past.
Then, in one of those moments where the darkness seemed to relent, Killian’s face materialized before me, mere inches away. His blood-red eyes burned with amusement and cruelty, pinning me in place with their icy stare. I tried to look away, to break free from his gaze, but his hand shot forward, iron-strong fingers clamping down on my jaw. The crushing grip forced me to meet his stare, leaving no room for escape.
"Always such a foolish boy, Kieran," Killian sneered, his voice like a blade sliding into my ribs. His smile spread across his face, a vile expression of satisfaction that poisoned the air between us. "Did you really believe you had a choice? That you could say no to me?"
His laugh erupted, hollow and wicked, filling the dream with its terrible resonance, as if it had the power to break me apart from the inside out. "You don’t get to die," he whispered, his voice dripping with mockery. "No, no. You are far too amusing alive wallowing in the despair and misery that will plague you every moment, until nothing remains of who you once were, but a shell cracked under the weight of your suffering."
Tears burned down my face, not from sorrow but from the pure hatred that boiled inside me, poisoning my heart. His words settled deep into my bones like an infection, spreading through me until I felt as though even my soul was corroding under their weight. I gritted my teeth, hatred and despair mixing in my chest like molten lead.
But then—something shifted.
A flicker of movement appeared just behind Killian, subtle and fleeting, like a ripple across the surface of a still pond. My mind faltered, confusion sweeping in. I knew this moment. I remembered these words, the sneer, the grip on my face—but we had been alone when he said them. So, what was moving behind him now? My eyes darted around, desperately trying to glimpse the source of the disturbance in the shadows.
And then I heard it—a voice. Light and airy, laced with amusement, as if the speaker found the entire situation to be nothing more than a delightful game. "Right bastard, this one. A real prick," the voice chuckled, playful and utterly unconcerned by the weight of the nightmare.
My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to process what was happening. Killian, still gripping my face, gave no indication that he had heard the voice at all. His sneer remained frozen in place, his red eyes glinting with that same vile satisfaction. It was as though he couldn’t hear the voice—like the nightmare had no power over the intruder lurking just beyond its edges.
“Who are you?” I choked out, my voice strained against the tight grip of the dream. Panic swirled in my chest as I tried to look past Killian’s face, desperate to find the source of the voice—anything that might explain what was happening.
“Oh, me?” the voice replied casually, almost delighted. “No one of consequence, really. But to you? Well… I suppose I’m your moment of salvation.” There was a pause, and then the voice continued, carrying a note of mischievous glee. “Oh, this is going to be wickedly fun—I’ve never played the hero before!”
“I... I don’t understand...” I whispered, the words barely audible as they slipped from my lips, more to myself than to the stranger hidden in the dark.
Before I could say more, a soft green mist began to swirl at the edges of the dream. It coiled lazily around Killian, twisting and curling like smoke from a dying flame. His grip on my face loosened, his sneer faltering as the mist thickened, swirling faster and faster. His crimson eyes burned with fury as he began to fade, his sinister presence dissolving like a bad memory slipping away with the morning light.
The last thing I saw was his wicked smile, contorted with frustration as the green mist consumed him. And then—finally—his grasp released, and he was gone, pulled away by the unseen force that had intruded upon my nightmare.
As the dream crumbled around me, the voice returned, low and amused, like a whispered promise.
“Sweet dreams, Kieran. Sweet, chaotic dreams.”
And then, just like that, the nightmare faded, leaving only the faint, lingering scent of pine and mischief in its wake.
The darkness unhappy at losing its control of me fought again clawing at my mind, nightmares swirling like a relentless storm. Fragments of terror spinning around me—images of cold fangs, endless voids, and twisted laughter. The suffocating weight of fear clamped down on my chest, and the pain of unseen wounds burned as though carved into my very soul. My thoughts scattered like leaves in a gale, lost in a world where time did not exist, and hope was a distant dream. Every scream, every plea, dissolved into the shadow, swallowed whole by the merciless void.
Then, without warning, the nightmare again faltered.
The shadows peeled away, retreating like smoke in the wind, and the suffocating darkness thinned until it unraveled entirely. Light flooded the edges of my vision, soft and golden, as if morning sunlight had pierced through a dense fog. My pain melted away, not suddenly, but gradually, like snow thawing beneath the first warmth of spring. The ground beneath my feet changed—cold stone gave way to soft earth, and the scent of damp moss, wildflowers, and sunlit wood filled the air, carrying with it the promise of peace.
I blinked, disoriented, and found myself standing on an arched bridge woven from smooth stone, worn by countless years of forest air. Below, a stream whispered softly, water sparkling as it meandered beneath the bridge and disappeared into the lush forest beyond. The world around me was alive—glowing mushrooms of vibrant purples and blues clustered beneath towering trees that arched high above, their branches adorned with twinkling golden lights. Flowers of every imaginable color bloomed along the edges of the path, releasing faint motes of light into the air that drifted like fireflies. The breeze stirred the leaves gently, and the forest seemed to hum with magic—an ancient, quiet magic that spoke of forgotten tales and untouched wonder.
Beside me, standing at the center of the bridge, was a figure who seemed to belong to this dreamscape as much as the trees and stars above. A woodland elf, his long, bright ginger hair falling in waves down his back, turned toward me with a curious smile. His golden eyes shimmered with a teasing light, the same way sunlight might play across the surface of a hidden pond. There was something both welcoming and chaotic in his gaze—a playful unpredictability that spoke of someone as likely to lead you into trouble as he was to pull you out of it.
The elf wore armor that hugged his form with a quiet grace, designed for silent movement—leathers dyed in earthy browns, dappled with gold accents that glimmered faintly in the forest's light. A delicate pin, shaped like a leaf carved from emerald, was attached to his chest, nestled against the soft folds of his armor. The craftsmanship of the pin was intricate, the veins of the leaf etched with tiny, swirling patterns that pulsed gently, as if imbued with a subtle magic of its own.
My breath caught as the elf turned to face me fully, folding his arms casually, as though meeting someone in a dream was the most ordinary thing in the world. The rogue’s smile grew, full of charm and quiet amusement, but there was an edge of unpredictability beneath it, a glint of danger hidden in those brilliant golden eyes—like a storm cloud hovering just behind the sun.
“Quite the dream you’ve stumbled into,” the elf said, his voice smooth, rich, and laced with the hint of a smirk. “Or maybe... it stumbled into you.”
I took a step forward, my senses still reeling from the abrupt shift between nightmare and serenity, but there was something grounding about the elf's presence—like a tether to reality within this enchanted world. The elf’s gaze softened, his golden eyes studying me with something almost like recognition, as if he’d been waiting for me for longer than either of us realized.
“Come Kieran,” the elf said, turning toward the forest path ahead. His movements were fluid, graceful, and utterly silent, as though he weighed no more than a whisper. “This place is as much yours as it is mine—for now, and we have much to discuss and even less time in which to do it.”
The dreamscape pulsed gently with life around us, and as I followed the elf off the bridge and into the forest, the last remnants of Killian’s nightmares dissolved entirely, swept away by the soft song of the stream and the magic of this strange, beautiful place. Here, in the presence of the impish elf and the quiet hum of the forest, it felt as if chaos and peace danced hand in hand—and perhaps, just maybe, the nightmare had only been the beginning.
As we ventured deeper into the dream’s shifting forest, the elf beside me cast a casual, sidelong glance in my direction. His golden eyes sparkled with a blend of mirth and mischief, as if the chaos of the situation amused him far more than it should have. “You’ve found yourself caught in the grip of the Mother of Endless Constriction. Unfortunate for you,” he said with a smirk, as if misfortune was something to be enjoyed. He shook his head lightly, his ginger hair catching the soft light of the forest in fiery waves.
I furrowed my brow, struggling to make sense of his words, but he only sighed. “No time for a history lesson,” he muttered dismissively. “One of your new companions in fate will fill you in on all the sordid details soon enough.”
“New companions?” I echoed, confusion thick in my voice.
He nodded, a fleeting smile brushing his lips, as if the thought of my ignorance was deeply entertaining. We continued forward, and with each step, the forest became stranger—chairs, tables, and bookshelves emerging from the underbrush at random, entangled with vines and moss as though they had sprouted naturally. We passed beneath two ancient willow trees, their branches twisted and interwoven to form an archway. As we stepped through, the dream shifted abruptly, and we stood within the dim stone chamber once more.
The room was eerily familiar—five stone slabs, each holding a lifeless figure ensnared by coils of slick, viper-like vines. My heart sank as I recognized one of the figures immediately: myself, lying bound to the cold slab. My eyelids fluttered, darting back and forth as if I were trapped in some fevered dream within a dream.
“But…” I whispered, trailing off as the surreal nature of the situation began to overwhelm me.
The elf crossed his arms over his chest, his expression shifting from amusement to mild exasperation. “You’re in the throes of the Eternal Night venom,” he said dryly. “Doomed to serve as a mindless puppet of the Mother of Endless Constriction.”
He snorted, as though the title itself was an insult to his sensibilities. “Idiots meddling with chaos they barely comprehend… and, frankly, lacking in artistic flair.” His golden eyes narrowed slightly, as if the Serpenthir’s incompetence offended him personally.
“I don’t understand,” I admitted, shaking my head in frustration.
“Of course you don’t,” he replied with a smirk, reaching out to tap the top of my head with a slender finger. “Allow me to simplify it for you. The venom running through your veins is a mind control toxin, powerful enough to render you a puppet for eternity. But my intervention—brief as it may be—has weakened its hold for the moment, giving us the opportunity to have this little chat.”
He gave me a pointed look, not bothering to wait for my response. “This version of the venom is… special. A refinement of sorts. The Serpenthir won’t need to continue dosing you to keep you under their thumb. Unless you take steps to counter it, you will become theirs—fully and irreversibly.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” I demanded, still reeling from his explanation.
He rolled his eyes as if my confusion were tedious. “You’ll need a druid to suppress the venom’s influence. There’s a grove not far from here that will serve as a temporary solution. But that’s not the important part.”
“Then what is the important part?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
The elf’s smile widened into something wicked, a grin that hinted at all the trouble I was about to step into. “You misunderstand, Kieran. I’m not helping you. You are helping me.”
I stiffened, my confusion deepening. “Helping you with what?”
Without answering immediately, the elf strolled over to one of the other figures bound on the stone slabs. His sly demeanor softened as he gazed upon her—a woman so striking that her beauty seemed to defy the gloom of the chamber. He reached out with reverence, his fingers gently brushing through her raven-black hair as it spilled across the cold stone in soft, glossy waves.
She radiated elegance, even in slumber, as though her very presence commanded the air to move differently around her. Her almond-shaped eyes, closed in dream, were framed by subtle, arched brows that hinted at a balance of wisdom and mystery—an enigma that would linger in the mind long after meeting her. Her skin glowed faintly with an ethereal pallor, as if lit from within by starlight, giving her a fragile, porcelain-like beauty. Even the delicate points of her ears, adorned with silver cuffs, exuded a quiet sophistication.
Around her neck rested a simple pendant—an unassuming silver charm nestled at the deep V of her robe, as if it belonged there, as naturally as the stars belong to the night sky. Her robe, a masterwork of black velvet and silver embroidery, clung to her figure with graceful precision. The bodice’s cut revealed just enough of her collarbones to entice without excess, the flowing fabric trailing down into a skirt that shimmered like moonlight on water. Tiny beads scattered across the fabric sparkled like stars woven into the night.
The elf stroked her hair once more, his gaze lingering on her with a tenderness that made my skin crawl. “A most beautiful creature, don’t you agree?” he murmured, almost to himself. “One of my favorites.”
Then, as if flipping a switch, the softness in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a deadly intensity. He turned back to me, and the light in his golden eyes became sharp—cold, calculating, like a predator toying with prey. “You will take her and the other unfortunate souls from this place. Far from the nest.”
“And then what?” I asked warily, unable to tear my gaze from the beautiful elf lying on the slab.
The elf beside me grinned again, a smile laced with dangerous amusement. “Then, Kieran, you will do what fate demands.”
I exhaled sharply, irritation prickling at the back of my mind. “Why can’t anyone ever just speak plainly?”
The elf chuckled, clearly delighted by my frustration. “If I had the power to fully free you, do you think I wouldn’t have already done so for her?” He motioned toward the raven-haired beauty, his grin widening into something almost cruel.
“I don't understand.” I met his gaze, narrowing my eyes. “If you could weaken the venom’s grip on me, why not cure her—or free her entirely?”
He leaned in, his golden eyes gleaming with dark humor. “Oh, Kieran,” he whispered, his voice dripping with amusement. “Where would be the fun in that?”
I clenched my fists, frustration rising like bile in my throat, but the elf only laughed—a sound as light and carefree as it was dangerous. “Don’t mistake my assistance for kindness,” he added, his voice turning sharp. “I only help those who help themselves. And it is in your best interest to bend to my will... unless you’d rather leave destiny to unravel without you.”
I stared at the woman on the stone table, her beauty and stillness pulling at something deep within me—a strange mix of awe and unease. But it wasn’t her presence that unsettled me the most. My gaze shifted back to the elf standing beside me, studying him closely, trying to peel back the layers of his expression, his posture, his every subtle movement. After centuries of torture under Killian’s brutal thumb, I had become an expert at spotting evil—real, suffocating evil. Yet this elf didn’t carry the same stench of malice.
There was cruelty within him, yes, but it wasn’t the kind born of hatred or violence. It felt more like the sharp edge of a knife wielded for amusement rather than harm. Mischief clung to him like a second skin, a restless energy that promised trouble not out of spite, but because chaos was simply the path he walked. And something else lingered beneath his presence—something familiar. I couldn’t place it, but I had seen that glimmer of playful unpredictability before, though where and when eluded me like a fleeting dream.
I cast those thoughts aside. Whatever this elf was, he wasn’t Killian. That was enough for now. This opportunity—however dangerous—was still my best chance to escape the nightmare I had been dragged into. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I was beyond Killian’s reach. Perhaps this was the beginning of my freedom, the first step toward breaking free from the chains that had bound me for so long. And if that meant playing along with this strange elf’s game, so be it.
A sly grin spread across his face, as if he could read my intentions even before I could voice them. His golden eyes sparkled with knowing mischief. “I knew you’d see it my way,” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with satisfaction.
Before I could respond, his grin widened, and he leaned in closer. The playful edge in his voice vanished, replaced by a sudden, commanding sharpness.
“WAKE UP.”
The words hit me like a thunderclap, shattering the dreamscape. The forest, the chamber, the figures on the stone slabs—all of it imploded in a rush of soundless motion, falling away like ash on the wind.
My eyes shot open, and I gasped, the sharp intake of breath flooding my lungs as if I had been underwater moments before. Cold air stung my skin, the pressure of the real world crashing down on me all at once. I stared at the ceiling, heart pounding in my chest, the remnants of the dream still clinging to the edges of my mind like cobwebs. Reality settled around me slowly, and yet the elf’s grin—the glint of playful chaos in his golden eyes—remained seared into my memory.
The constrictor vines burned away in an instant, leaving only the faint scent of charred leaves in the air. I gasped as the tension holding my body slackened, and without a moment’s thought, I leapt from the stone slab. Landing on my feet, I stumbled toward the door and peeked into the hallway beyond—and what I saw made my head spin. Chaos didn’t even begin to describe it.
Fires raged sporadically, leaping across walls and furniture, while a full-blown rainstorm poured down in a room opposite mine. Serpenthir fought desperately, but not just with intruders—they were being assaulted by wild forest animals, inanimate objects, and even each other. I squinted as I spotted a coat rack beating a hapless Serpenthir into submission, while a deer chased another through a curtain of flames. The absurdity was staggering, and I found myself staring, slack-jawed, at the madness unfolding in front of me.
Just as I started to wonder if I was still dreaming, a voice hissed urgently in my ear, as though it had never truly left. “Wake them and leave!”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
I sighed, reluctantly tearing myself away from the bizarre spectacle. Turning back to the others lying motionless on the slabs, I moved quickly to peel away the constrictor vines that bound them. But even as the vines loosened, none of them stirred. I grimaced and shook the nearest figure—the beautiful elf wrapped in the same sinister sleep that had just claimed me. Gripping her shoulders, I shook her firmly. “WAKE UP!” I shouted, mimicking the booming voice from my dream.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and for the first time, I truly saw her, fully and without the haze of dreams clouding my vision.
Her heart-shaped face, framed by flowing ebony hair, was striking, even with the grimace that twisted her plump lips—evidence of the nightmares she had just escaped. But her beauty paled in comparison to the force that radiated from her eyes.
Her left eye shimmered like molten silver, reflecting the ethereal glow of moonlight on still water. Enchanting on its own, it would have easily captivated anyone’s attention. But it was her right eye that stole my breath. A swirling tempest of greens—emerald, jade, and viridian—churned within its depths, as though the colors were alive, dancing and shifting in fluid chaos. Each pulse of light within it felt like reality bending at the edges, a spell that defied explanation. There was power in that gaze—dangerous, chaotic, and completely hypnotic. I was ensnared, unable to look away, as if that eye held the very essence of magic itself.
Her expression shifted from confusion to wary fear. I forced myself to shake off the trance, clearing my throat. “I don’t have time to explain. I mean you no harm—just help me wake the others.”
Her eyes studied me for a long moment, weighing my words, my intentions, and perhaps even something deeper. Finally, with a curt nod, she sat up, still watching me with a mix of caution and curiosity.
I pointed toward the wizard lying on a nearby slab, his robes a deep blue that shimmered faintly under the dim light. “I’ll get him. You take care of the others.”
She glanced at the two remaining figures across the room—one glowing softly with an aura of light and serenity, while the other seemed to radiate a darkness that made the air grow cold. Without another word, the elf rushed toward them, brushing away their loosened vines and shaking them awake with quick, whispered explanations of our impending escape.
Meanwhile, I turned my attention to the wizard. Shaking him gently at first, I whispered, “Hey, time to wake up.” He didn’t stir. I shook him harder. “Wake up!” Still nothing. He lay limp, lost to whatever dreams still held him prisoner.
Frustration welled up inside me. I tried again, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a good shake, but it was useless—he remained stubbornly trapped in slumber. The others joined me, each taking a turn shaking the wizard, but nothing worked.
A puckish grin crept across my face. I pulled my hand back, savoring the moment, and then brought it down hard on his cheek with a sharp smack. The sound echoed through the chamber, and I couldn’t help the brief flicker of satisfaction that surged through me.
The wizard’s eyes snapped open, his hand flying to his stinging cheek. He blinked blearily; confusion etched across his features. “Valneas… splendid… will that hurt,” he muttered groggily, as if still half-caught in his dream.
“Apologies will have to wait,” I said quickly, suppressing a grin. “As will introductions. If we want to survive, we need to leave. Now.”
The others exchanged glances and nodded in silent agreement, a collective understanding that there was no time for questions or arguments.
The elf—the one with the kaleidoscope eyes—gave me a sidelong glance. “So, what’s the plan? How do we get out of here?”
I blinked, suddenly aware that everyone was now looking at me expectantly. “Uh…” I muttered, glancing toward the chaotic hallway. “I have… absolutely no idea.”
The elf’s lips twitched with amusement; a sly grin forming. “Winging it, then. Got it.” Without another word, she darted toward the door, slipping gracefully into the corridor’s madness like a fish slipping into a stream.
For a moment, I stood there, stunned by her audacity, barely able to believe what I had just witnessed.
She reappeared at the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, her expression equal parts smug and impatient. “Well? The exit isn’t in this room,” she called, arching an eyebrow as if daring us to dawdle.
The wizard rubbed his cheek, muttering curses under his breath, but shuffled toward the door. The others hesitated only briefly before following her lead, moving with the urgency of people who knew better than to question good fortune.
I shook my head, exasperated but oddly entertained, and chased after them. Because really—what else could I do? This was already shaping up to be the strangest escape of my life.
As I caught up to the others, I skidded to a halt beside the wizard, both of us frozen by the sheer madness of the battle unfolding before us. Fires crackled across the room, casting flickering light onto the three women as they seized weapons scattered in the chaos and launched themselves into the fray. They moved with deadly elegance, slicing through packs of snarling wraith fangs and writhing gloombeasts like dancers performing to some invisible, violent symphony.
My eyes remained glued to the fluid choreography unfolding before me. Every step, every strike, was perfectly measured. The trio moved in flawless synchronization, a deadly dance that blurred the lines between elegance and lethality. Their blades flashed through the dim room, cutting down foes with surgical precision. Not once did they stumble—each motion flowed into the next like water, each parry and strike part of a seamless, silent rhythm that only they could hear.
“Ugh, I hate gloombeasts,” the wizard muttered beside me, shuddering as he watched the serpentine creatures slither through the shadows.
I knew why. Gloombeasts were the stuff of nightmares—small but vicious, their slick, leathery bodies shimmering between shades of black, gray, and deep violet. Their spindly legs clung unnervingly to walls and ceilings, allowing them to skitter like insects in places no predator had any right to be. With fangs dripping pale venom that glowed faintly in the dark, they were creatures born for ambush. Their soulless black eyes gleamed with cold malice, betraying the eerie intelligence of creatures bred for death and destruction.
Despite the gloombeasts’ unnerving presence, the three women carved a path through them with ease, their bodies a blur of slashes and spins. Even in the chaos, they moved like they were invincible—unstoppable forces cutting down shadows that barely had time to react.
But the battle was anything but simple. At the heart of the skirmish, two Serpenthir had turned on one another, their combat a vicious struggle filled with wild strikes and venomous insults. They were locked in a savage dance of betrayal, enchanted to see each other as enemies. Each impact between them sent vibrations reverberating through the chamber, like the chamber itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.
I felt a flicker of hope as the trio made their way toward the door—an exit that shimmered at the far side of the chamber, promising escape. But just as they closed in, a fresh wave of gloombeasts and wraith fangs slithered into view, blocking their path. I expected the women to make quick work of them—after all, they had fought through worse with ease. But what happened next defied all expectation.
The elf—the one I now recognized as a sorcerer—stepped forward. With a subtle grin, she raised her hand and cast flutter, her form vanishing in a shimmer of arcane light. I marveled at her precision, fully expecting her to reappear behind the enemy lines and dispatch the beasts with graceful efficiency.
But when she reappeared, something went horribly wrong.
A swirling orb of chaotic green energy exploded from her hands, expanding rapidly in every direction. The light flickered and pulsed with unpredictable intensity, warping the air around us. Then, with a sudden snap, the chamber was transformed.
Thorn-covered spikes erupted from the ground like serpents, twisting and coiling around everything in their path. The once-fluid battle was replaced by confusion and pain as the thorns ensnared both friend and foe alike. Gloombeasts hissed in frustration, writhing within the thorny prison. Wraith fangs flailed helplessly as the spikes closed in around them. And we—all of us—were trapped in the tangled mass of twisting brambles, their jagged points digging into flesh and armor alike.
For a moment, all I could do was stare, stunned by the absurdity of it all. The battlefield that had been a seamless dance of combat had devolved into pure chaos—thorns wrapped around limbs, spikes pinning bodies in place, and curses echoing through the chamber as everyone struggled against the painful, coiling growth.
"Fuck. Me," the sorcerer groaned, scrambling to undo the mess she had just unleashed. She tugged at the thorns wrapped around her legs, cursing under her breath as they dug deeper with every movement.
"Whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast!" one of the others shouted, thrashing against the vines as they tightened painfully around her.
The panic in her voice seemed to snap the sorcerer into focus. Her mismatched eyes—one shimmering silver, the other swirling with chaotic green—flashed with both determination and desperation. She raised her hands, her fingers crackling with energy.
“Please work,” I heard her mutter under her breath, a silent plea carried on the chaotic current of magic that flowed through her.
With a flick of her wrists, a wave of fire burst forth. The flames roared to life, racing hungrily over the thorny growths. The vines shriveled and blackened under the heat, crumbling into ash in seconds. But the flames didn’t stop there. They swept across the room in an unrelenting inferno, scorching everything—and everyone—in their path.
I coughed, blinking through the thick smoke that filled the chamber. The heat still clung to my skin, and the acrid smell of burned vines mixed with the scent of singed clothing and hair. Around me, the others groaned as they pulled themselves free from the ash-covered remnants of the spikes.
The gloombeasts and wraith fangs had been reduced to charred husks, but the room now resembled a battlefield abandoned by both sanity and reason. Blackened debris littered the floor, and smoke swirled in lazy tendrils, hanging in the air like the remnants of a fever dream.
The sorcerer exhaled sharply, wiping soot from her brow. She glanced around at the destruction she had caused, her expression a strange mix of relief and sheepish guilt. “Uh... oops?”
I couldn’t help it—a chuckle escaped me, low at first, then building into a laugh I couldn’t suppress. I shook my head in disbelief, the absurdity of what had just unfolded hitting me all at once. Of all the ways that battle could have gone... what in the hells had I just witnessed?
The wizard beside me groaned, still rubbing his cheek where I had slapped him awake earlier. “Remind me to keep a very safe distance from her in the future,” he muttered under his breath.
One of the others coughed, glaring at the sorcerer as she offered a sheepish shrug. “What? I fixed it, didn’t I?”
“Fixed it?” the dark elf barked, gesturing to the scorched ruins around us. “This looks like a fix to you?”
Another chuckle slipped from my lips, despite the lingering pain in my limbs. The sheer absurdity of it all had somehow lightened the weight of the danger we were still in.
“Well,” the sorcerer said with a grin, brushing ash from her robes. “Winging it seems to be working so far.”
She darted toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance over her shoulder at the rest of us. “Come on, unless you prefer it here?”
We exchanged bewildered glances before scrambling after her, singed and battered but alive—and, somehow, still in one piece.
The forest stretched before us, an endless canopy of emerald and teal filtering sunlight into shimmering beams. Every step we took was cushioned by moss so thick and vibrant it felt like walking on velvet. The ancient trees, their trunks twisted with age, towered overhead like silent guardians. Their roots sprawled in intricate patterns across the forest floor, some dipping into crystal-clear pools. The surface of the water reflected the surrounding foliage with a mirror-like clarity, only to shiver with airy ripples whenever a breeze drifted through.
I glanced back over my shoulder. The nest, though now hidden behind layers of thick undergrowth and distance, still lingered in our minds—its chaotic noises faint, but not forgotten. A small sigh escaped my lips, and I took in a deep breath, letting the forest air fill my lungs. The scent of damp earth mingled with blooming flowers and a subtle, honeyed sweetness, as though the forest itself exhaled in rhythm with us.
We pressed on, weaving through soft clusters of blossoms. Hues of lavender, coral, and sapphire colored the undergrowth in gentle bursts, glowing faintly under the shifting light, as if each flower carried a secret waiting to be told. Streams of liquid light trickled between the roots and stones, their glimmering flow more magic than water, illuminating the forest's heart with a dreamlike luminescence.
Above us, the canopy drifted like waves on a distant sea. Vines draped from high branches, brushing the ground and surface of pools as if seeking something forgotten long ago. Strange creatures—bird-like, with translucent wings—flitted between sunbeams, leaving trails of sparkling dust in their wake, each motion accompanied by a delicate, chiming sound too faint to be music, yet hauntingly beautiful.
The hours passed in silence, our footsteps blending with the forest’s hum. It was a peaceful place, but that peace carried a sense of watchfulness, as if the woods were measuring us, weighing us, waiting to see if we were meant to pass unchallenged. Though the nest was now far behind, the forest felt no less like a puzzle, ancient and alive, eager to test those bold enough to walk its paths.
At last, the sorcerer raised a hand, signaling us toward a small clearing ahead. Relieved, we pushed forward, the weight of exhaustion catching up to us now that the immediate danger had passed. The clearing was quiet, carpeted with soft moss, and nestled beside a small brook that trickled gently over smooth stones.
The wizard dropped to his knees by the brook’s edge, scooping the cool water into his hands and splashing it over his face with a sigh of satisfaction. The sorcerer settled into a mossy patch near a boulder, leaning back against the stone with a groan of relief. The other two, clearly not yet ready to speak to each other, chose separate boulders on opposite sides of the clearing, their gazes locked on the trees rather than one another.
I found my place beneath the low-hanging branches of a tree at the clearing’s edge. Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned back into the rough bark, feeling it press reassuringly against my spine. For the first time in what felt like days, we had a chance to breathe. Here, far from the dangers of the nest, we could finally let our guard down, if only for a moment.
The silence between us lingered, not uncomfortable but loaded, as if we were all waiting for the right moment to speak. I could feel the questions resting on the edge of our minds—each of us holding pieces of the puzzle, yet unsure how to begin sharing them. But the time would come soon. For now, we rested, each of us lost in thought, grateful for the forest’s quiet and the small, fleeting safety it offered.
“Well, someone needs to speak,” the sorcerer said, her gaze sweeping over us. She paused for a moment, as if waiting for one of us to break the silence, then let out a small sigh, rolling her eyes. “Fine. My name is Lyra. And you are?” She turned toward me expectantly, her silver and green eyes swirling with quiet insistence.
I stared back, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me like a damp cloak. I wasn’t ready for this—not yet—but Lyra’s gaze didn’t waver. When she raised her hand slightly, beckoning me to speak, I exhaled through my nose, as if the act of giving my name was more exhausting than it should be.
“Kieran,” I muttered, my voice flat.
Lyra gave me a small nod, as if to acknowledge some unspoken effort, then shifted her focus to the Lunethari. “And you?” she asked, giving her the same subtle gesture of invitation.
The Lunethari woman studied Lyra with a steady, piercing gaze, her sapphire-blue eyes cold and calculating. For a long, uncomfortable moment, it seemed she might refuse to answer at all. But at last, her lips parted, and her voice, sharp as the edge of a dagger, slipped out.
“Mylena.”
Lyra nodded again, this time slower, reading something in Mylena’s expression. Then she turned to the Nocthyris elf, eyebrows raised in silent expectation. The elf shifted her weight, crossing her arms in front of her chest as if the very act of giving her name tasted bitter on her tongue. Her expression twisted into one of disdain.
“Emre of the house Abilron,” she said curtly, her words clipped and precise, like she was reciting something she’d rehearsed a thousand times but no longer cared to say aloud.
“How formal,” I muttered under my breath, earning a sharp glare from Emre that all but warned me she was in no mood for foolishness. Her eyes, dark as storm clouds, promised that even one misstep would cost me dearly.
Before the tension could deepen, the wizard stepped forward, breaking the uneasy silence with an easy smile. “And I am Alexander,” he announced, dipping his head slightly toward Lyra before offering her his hand. She shook it firmly, her expression softening slightly, though only just.
Alexander turned toward the rest of us, one hand half-extended as if to offer a handshake, but he hesitated. His gaze flickered between Mylena’s icy stare and Emre’s scowl. Sensing the palpable resistance hanging between us, he let his hand drop back to his side, the smile on his face faltering ever so slightly.
For a moment, none of us spoke. It was as if we had all handed over something more than just our names—something fragile, like trust, and yet too brittle to offer again. Each of us knew that names carried power, especially here, in a place where everything seemed to listen. But whether that power would bind us together or pull us apart remained unclear.
Lyra shifted slightly, glancing between us, reading the room with a subtle tension in her jaw. “Well,” she murmured, as if trying to break the heaviness that had fallen over the clearing, “at least that’s a start.”
No one answered. We just stood there, our names hanging between us like a bridge none of us were ready to cross. Not yet. "Look, we’re going to have to trust each other if we want to get anywhere," Lyra said, her swirling silver and green eyes flicking between us.
"Trust! Ha." I rolled my eyes, feeling the weight of the word settle uncomfortably between us.
Lyra let out a sigh, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Alright, if not trust, we at least need to share." She fixed me with a steady gaze. "You freed us. Why?"
For a moment, I hesitated, the truth hovering on the tip of my tongue. "I..." I began, but then stopped, carefully choosing my next words. "I honestly haven’t a clue what possessed me. One moment I was minding my own business in Everdare, the next I’m bitten by some damn snake and drowning in a sea of nightmares. Then..." I faltered, debating whether to mention the elf who had appeared to me, urging me to save her. Something gnawed at me—a warning that revealing too much would be dangerous. If that elf had wanted her to know, he would have saved her himself. I swallowed the truth and shrugged. "Something jolted me awake, that’s all."
The others stared, their eyes sharp with suspicion, as if they knew I was withholding something. I sighed, adding just enough to keep them guessing. "There was a voice… It spoke of Eternal Night venom and druids, but I don’t know what any of that means."
Alexander’s expression darkened, his grey eyes narrowing as though a troubling thought had lodged itself in his mind. "Oh dear," he muttered, half to himself. "This is more dire than I imagined." He stood there, lost in thought, his hands absently brushing over the brass clasps of his cerulean robe. His belt, inscribed with arcane symbols, glinted in the soft light, suggesting both utility and magic. The long brim of his wizard’s hat curled slightly at the edges, tendrils of faint magical energy trailing from it, flickering with a soft glow.
"Do share," I said dryly, throwing Lyra’s own words back at him.
"Hmm? Oh, yes..." Alexander blinked, as though surfacing from deep waters. "Apologies. There have been whispers throughout Veldrathen about the return of Eternal Night venom. Are you certain that’s what you encountered?"
"That’s what the voice in my head told me." I grinned, though the humor fell flat. No one else shared the joke.
"It’s no laughing matter, Kieran," Alexander warned, his sharp gaze pinning me in place. "If we don’t find a druid quickly, we’ll slip back into the nightmares... and never wake again."
"Never?" Lyra asked, her voice sharp with concern. "How are we awake now?"
Alexander shook his head, his face grim. "I’m not certain what freed us, but we mustn’t delay. The venom of the Nightcoil is relentless. Few ever escape its grasp, and those who do are haunted forever fragmented by the serpent’s essence, plagued by visions, and driven mad by hallucinations."
Mylena’s sapphire gaze hardened. "Why a druid? Why not a cleric or an alchemist?" I glanced at the Lunethari, true to her kind, she had an aura that shimmered like moonlight filtering through a canopy of ancient trees. Her porcelain skin was flawless, carrying the soft glow of twilight. Her striking, ocean-blue hair cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, as if kissed by the night’s breeze. Interwoven throughout were delicate sprigs of ivy, blooming flowers, and soft moss, giving the impression that nature itself embraced her as one of its own.
A luminous crown of foliage encircled her head—a living wreath of emerald leaves, pale blossoms, and vines that seemed to grow with every step she took. The flowers bloomed in shades of blue and violet, subtly shifting their hues with her emotions.
Alexander gave her a solemn look. "Because only a druid can fully cleanse the venom. It isn’t just poison—it’s a curse. If we find one capable, they may explain more."
"Then it’s settled," Lyra said firmly. "We stay together and find a druid."
Emre sneered. "What makes you think I want to travel with you?" I expected nothing less from a Nocthyris Elf. She was the epitome of lethal grace, embodying the dark majesty of the Nocthyris elves—warriors born from moonlight and shadow. She stood tall and composed, her presence commanding and enigmatic, like the calm before a violent storm. Her features were sharp and refined, as if sculpted from obsidian, yet her pale, moon-kissed skin glowed faintly under the light filtering through the twisted branches around her.
Emre’s hair cascaded in long, silken waves of pure white, gleaming like frost under the night sky. It flowed freely over her shoulders and down her back, a stark contrast to the gleaming black armor she wore. Her orange eyes burn like embers in the darkness, holding both ancient knowledge and a quiet fury that simmers just beneath the surface.
A pair of curved, jet-black horns curled back from her temples, reminding me of her infernal ancestry. They gleam under the sunlight like polished stone, blended seamlessly with her pointed elven ears, which are sharpened to a deadly precision. Across her forehead, delicate but ominous black sigils are etched in arcane patterns—runes of power and protection, inscribed through ancient rituals performed by the House of Abilron.
Lyra whirled on her, matching her sharp tone. "What choice do we have? Kieran’s the only reason we woke up. If you want to leave, fine. But I’m not going anywhere without him. If I fall into that madness again, he may be the only one who can pull us out."
As Lyra spoke, the others turned to me, their stares heavy with unspoken expectation. I tilted my head, studying Lyra. So far, she’d proven herself to be capable—quick-witted, resourceful, and unyielding in the face of danger. Having someone like her by my side could prove useful. More than useful, in fact—she could be the key to breaking free from Killian’s grip. That bastard wouldn’t let me escape his brutality for long, not without a fight. But with Lyra at my side, I might finally have a chance to send him to the depths of the hells where he belonged.
Doubt flickered in the back of my mind—what if I couldn’t wake them again? The elf from my nightmare had made no promises of further help. But that was my burden to carry. The others didn’t need to know about him, nor the uncertainty gnawing at my thoughts.
Returning to the present, I let a confident smile spread across my face, the kind I’d worn many times when luring prey into my traps. I locked eyes with Lyra, my gaze soft but calculating, already planning how I could steer this alliance to my advantage.
"Yes," I murmured, my voice smooth as silk. "What choice do you have, darling?" I gave her a playful wink, watching her reaction closely.
The pieces were in motion now, subtle but moving all the same. If I played this right, Lyra would become more than just an ally; she’d be a formidable weapon in my fight against Killian. And when the time came, she’d never know she was being used... until it was too late.
"Does anyone know where we are?" Lyra asked, her voice low but tight with tension.
Mylena's eyes scanned the forest, her gaze darting from shadowed underbrush to towering, unfamiliar trees. She turned slowly, as if trying to pull some memory from the chaotic tangle of wilderness around them. After a long moment, she exhaled. "No... I don't recognize any of this."
The others exchanged uneasy glances, their gazes sweeping the thick mist curling between the gnarled roots beneath our feet. The forest felt alive, oppressive, as if it might close in on us at any moment. Every creak of branches overhead and rustle in the foliage hinted at something unseen lurking just beyond sight.
"We can’t linger here," Alexander urged, a sharp edge in his voice. His expression was grim, his eyes flicking toward the darkening horizon. "We need to move—now. I do not know how long we have before the venom takes hold again.”
I stepped forward, scanning the dense forest ahead with sharp, practiced eyes. When I spotted a narrow road cutting through the trees not far from where we had stopped, a slow grin curled across my lips. "Roads mean villages. Civilization," I murmured, satisfaction lacing my words.
Without a moment's pause, Lyra strode toward the road. As she reached it, she paused briefly, her swirling silver and green eyes flicking right, then left. She gave a quick, certain nod, as if confirming some silent decision, and turned left, setting a brisk pace down the path.
My grin widened. Smart. Decisive. She’d chosen correctly—the right turn would have dragged us back toward the nest and the dangers we had barely escaped. More importantly, the others followed her without question, as if tethered to her quiet authority. She had influence over them.
Perfect.
I slipped into the group, my mind already weaving the role I would need to play. This would require precision. I would have to stay close, watch her every move, every choice. Trust was a delicate thing, and I intended to masterfully craft just the right version of myself for her—just enough to pull her strings.
If I want her trust... if I want my little puppet, I must be flawless.