The Great Golden Desert stretched endlessly, a sea of undulating dunes shimmering beneath the sun’s relentless glare. A caravan moved steadily through the sands, the rhythmic creak of its wheels and the occasional snort of camels breaking the desert’s eerie silence. The lead camel was guided by a man wrapped in tan and brown robes from head to toe, a thick scarf covering his face against the biting sand. His eyes, the only visible part of him, narrowed beneath the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat.
The man leaned forward, his voice muffled by the layers of cloth. “What do you mean you didn’t feel it? The ground just shook.”
Beside him, another man dressed in similar desert gear shook his head, his tone laced with irritation. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. The sands here shift more than my wife’s mood.”
The first man huffed, leaning back and muttering something inaudible before his attention was drawn to the faint glow emanating from a pouch on his belt. He pulled out a smooth, oval-shaped stone, its surface alive with flickering runes. He tapped it lightly, and a woman’s voice crackled through.
“Darling, where are you now?”
His tone shifted instantly, becoming smoother, almost indulgent. “Yeah, darling, I’ll be there soon. Let’s have some fun when I reach Qina. I’ll be staying for a day.”
The voice on the other end purred with mock concern. “Oh, baby, when will you be back? You’re always running off somewhere.”
The man chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at the back of the caravan. There, a young boy sat slumped against the side of the wagon, his chestnut brown hair was a mess and his skin was pale. “A couple of months, give or take. I’ve got business in Irbid to handle first.”
He ended the call with a casual flick of his wrist and pocketed the stone, turning to the other man. “Hey, Archie! It’s feeding time. Do you really need me to remind you every single time?”
Archie grunted, pulling a small jar from within his robes. The glass was darkened, etched with faintly glowing runes. A thin, coiled pipe extended from the jar, ending in a needle that caught the sunlight as he twisted it into place.
Climbing onto the back of the caravan, he approached Silas. Silas’s head was lolling against the wood, and though his body remained limp, his fingers twitched faintly, a subconscious rebellion against his captors.
Archie knelt down and said “I sure am curious about this stuff we feed him is. The poor brat just sleeps all day long.”
His heavy hands were steady as he pierced Silas’s left arm with the needle, pushing the dark crimson liquid into his vein.
“Yeah well, I’m not too keen on finding that out,” the man on the camel replied.
The process was quick and efficient, the refined blood vanishing into Silas’s bloodstream almost unnaturally. His breathing, shallow and ragged, steadied slightly, though his body remained limp.
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Oblivious to his present state in the real world, Silas was dreaming—a dream that felt so real and indistinguishable from reality.
He leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, its gnarled surface pressing into his shoulders as his chest rose and fell with laboured breaths. His legs, trembling from days of relentless running, sprawled out before him, and his parched lips cracked as his tongue grazed over them in a futile attempt to ease the burning dryness.
The jungle around him was unusually dark and eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves with a sinister undertone. The air was heavy and oppressive, pressing down on him like a tangible weight. His gaze flicked to the faint outline of the canopy above, where dark clouds obscured the sky entirely, robbing him of even the faint comfort of starlight.
Silas had been searching for a way out for what felt like days, his body teetering on the edge of collapse. Exhaustion gripped him like a vice, his legs trembling with every laboured step. Hunger gnawed relentlessly at his insides, a dull ache that sapped his strength, but the thirst... the thirst truly tormented him.
His throat burned as though scorched by invisible flames, every shallow breath scraping against raw, parched flesh. Despite the oppressive humidity, the accursed jungle offered little dew or water to quench his agony.
But the emptiness inside him ran deeper than hunger or thirst—it was the ache of faces he might never see again.
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The faces of Layla and Rowan flickered in his thoughts, their expressions frozen in uncertainty. Were they safe? What about Luther? The lack of a shared pair of communication stones meant no word could reach him, leaving his fate shrouded in silence. And his father—was he still alive? The question echoed in his mind like a dirge, threatening to drown him in despair.
But amidst the fear and doubt, a fragile hope flickered. He clung to it desperately as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. If they were still out there, fighting, surviving, then he had to do the same. He forced himself forward, his nails biting into his palms as he drew resolve from his pain. Still insidious and unrelenting, the fear of losing them lingered, driving him onward through the unyielding darkness.
Just as the faintest ember of determination began to rekindle within him, he froze. A chill raced down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The jungle’s oppressive silence thickened, suffocating, as though even the insects and animals had vanished. Then the underbrush stirred, faint but deliberate, and the weight of unseen eyes pressed down on him, colder than the humid air. And Then a feeling struck him to the core of his being. It was primal and undeniable, a predator’s gaze piercing through the shadows, locked onto him with a cold, calculating malice.
A sound broke the stillness—a soft, wet, slither-like viscous liquid being dragged across the ground. His blood ran cold as every muscle in his body screamed at him to flee, but he couldn’t move. His head snapped up as the silence shattered completely, a low, guttural growl echoing through the air.
A shape emerged from the shadows, amorphous and shifting, its form like black ink dissolving into water, ever-changing and alive. Its edges constantly changed—tendrils sprouted only to be reabsorbed as new ones erupted. Its body was composed of darkness itself, a swirling mass punctuated by faint, pulsing orbs of dim light scattered like stars in a malevolent sky. But its face—or what passed for one—held him captive.
A massive, jagged mouth, far too wide and lined with teeth like curved obsidian shards, stretched in a grin that promised agony. Above it, two brilliant, glowing white eyes pierced through the dark like twin beacons of malice, radiating a cold, unnatural light that bore into Silas’s soul.
The growl deepened into words, a raspy, slithering voice that seemed to echo from all directions at once. “You can try running... But this forest... breathes with you... you can’t escape... You can never escape.”
The creature shifted closer, its tendrils dragging along the earth like grasping hands. Silas scrambled back, his movements jerky and desperate. “W-What are you?” His voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and trembling.
The thing laughed—or perhaps it was the forest itself that made the sound, a deep and guttural vibration that resonated in Silas’s chest. “I am your nightmare.”
Silas barely registered the blur of movement before the creature struck. Its tendrils lashed out with a speed that defied comprehension, the first slamming into his chest like a battering ram. The sheer force sent him airborne before he crashed onto the forest floor, the impact jarring his bones and knocking the air from his lungs. He gasped a strangled, broken sound, his ribs screaming in protest as he struggled to breathe.
The creature’s tendrils hovered for a moment, as though savoring his agony, before striking again with renewed ferocity.
Another tendril coiled around his torso, squeezing with bone-crushing strength. His chest caved slightly under the pressure, a sickening pop echoing through the suffocating darkness as one of his ribs gave way. Silas’s scream caught in his throat, his vision spotting with bursts of white-hot agony. The creature’s grip tightened, lifting him off the ground as though he weighed nothing.
Before he could move, a searing, white-hot pain erupted across his chest. Silas screamed, his voice raw and guttural, as the creature’s appendage, jagged and glistening with an unnatural sheen, carved a jagged, sinister line across his chest, shredding fabric and flesh alike. His scream tore through the suffocating silence, a primal sound ripped from the depths of his agony. Blood spilt in rivulets down his torso, staining the ground beneath him in dark crimson pools.
As he struggled, the forest seemed to close in, the gnarled roots curling like claws, trapping him within the nightmare.
Silas’s body convulsed violently, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as the creature lifted him effortlessly, holding him suspended in the air. His vision blurred, and a cold sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the blood that now trickled from the grotesque incision.
The creature’s glowing white eyes locked onto him, its jagged mouth stretching wider in a macabre grin. “This is my gift to you,” it hissed, its voice laced with sadistic amusement. “The first of many. Consider it a mark of my favor... a reminder that I will always find you.”
It dropped Silas to the ground like a broken doll with a dismissive flick. He crumpled, clutching at his chest as waves of pain wracked his body. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.
The creature loomed over him for a moment longer, its tendrils retreating into its amorphous form. “I suggest you hide… The next time I find you, I’ll give you another mark,” it rasped, its voice dripping with malice. “I wonder which will shatter first... your fragile body, or your delicate mind?” It cackled, a chilling, guttural sound that echoed through the forest, twisting the silence into something sinister.
As the last echoes of its laughter faded, the creature dissolved into the darkness, its form melding seamlessly with the shadows. The air grew still once more, as though the forest itself had been holding its breath.
Silas lay on the ground, trembling and gasping for air. His hand hovered over the wound on his chest, his fingers brushing the jagged line. It radiated an unnatural heat, and he could feel something vile lingering within it.
The darkness around him seemed thicker now, heavier, pressing down on him like a living thing. The creature’s parting words echoed in his mind, a cruel promise of torment yet to come. Silas’s heart pounded in his ears as he forced himself to sit up, the pain nearly unbearable.
He didn’t know what the creature was, but one thing was clear: this was only the beginning.