“I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to…” A young child around the age of seven sobbed, staring down at his trembling hands. They dripped crimson red, warm and wet, staining the pristine white ceremonial robes he wore. The golden inscriptions woven into the fabric were now tainted, soaked in a spreading pool of blood.

His breath came in short gasps, his small chest rising and falling in a panic. Before him lay a headless corpse, lifeless, motionless. The metallic scent of blood choked the air.

Frantic, he swung his hands wildly, trying to rid himself of the gore, smearing it further across his robes. His tiny fingers trembled as the reality of what had just happened settled deep into his bones.

“Son…”

A sharp gasp filled the room.

Denwen turned, his wide, terrified eyes locking onto the woman standing frozen in the doorway. Her face was a portrait of horror, hands clasped over her mouth.

“Mother… No, no! I didn’t mean to!” His voice cracked as he took a shaky step toward her.

She recoiled.

The air shifted. A low, resonant clanking filled the room.

Chains, dark as an abyss, slithered from the shadows like hungry serpents, coiling around her wrists and ankles.

CLANK. CLANK.

“No! No, no, no! You killed him! And now you want to take me too!” Her screams echoed as the chains yanked her backward, dragging her into the darkness beyond the door.

“MOTHER!” Denwen lunged forward, fingertips grazing the hem of her robe just as she was swallowed whole by the void.

A new presence filled the room.

The temperature dropped. The air thickened, suffocating. Shadows lengthened unnaturally, creeping toward him like living things.

A man stepped forward, his form shrouded in abyssal darkness, his face an empty void save for two glowing white singularities where eyes should be. A crescent-shaped grin stretched across his shadowy face.

“Oh my, oh my… Look what you’ve done,” the figure crooned, bending to pick up the severed head. Blood still dripped steadily from the stump, pooling at his feet.

Denwen's legs locked. The room felt as if it had lost all color and life. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.

The faceless man tilted the head, observing it with eerie delight. A crown of congealed blood formed atop its head, intricate royal inscriptions shimmering within the coagulation.

Then—the eyes snapped open.

Denwen’s stomach lurched.

The head’s lips twisted into a grin, mirroring the faceless man's.

“Yes, this feels right… doesn’t it?” the figure asked, his voice oozing with sick amusement.

The severed head’s grin widened, its voice merging with the abyssal man’s.

“Yes, it does.”

An eerie laughter erupted from them, growing louder and more twisted, twisting the very air around him into a nightmarish spiral.

“And it’s all thanks to you,” they whispered in unison.

“No, no, NO!” Denwen screamed, clutching his head, shaking violently.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Darkness closed in.

And then...

—

“Den…”

A soft voice drifted through the haze.

“Denwen…”

His body jerked awake, a strangled gasp ripping from his throat. Sweat drenched his skin, sticking his hair to his forehead. His blue eyes, wild with terror, darted around the dimly lit room.

“It’s alright,” a gentle voice soothed.

Denwen turned his head slightly, his breathing still ragged. Rachael, a woman in her thirties with warm brown eyes and a kind face, pulled him into her embrace, gently stroking his hair.

“You saw them again… the figure and the head,” she murmured, her voice a quiet comfort.

Denwen gave a weak nod, still struggling to steady his breath.

“Mom, is big brother going to be okay?”

A small voice, filled with concern, came from the doorway. Nicole, only twelve, peeked inside with worried eyes.

Rachael turned with a reassuring smile. “Yes, sweetheart. He’ll be fine.”

Nicole frowned. “If big brother isn’t fine, then I’m not fine either.” She folded her arms stubbornly.

“Oh, stop that,” Rachael chuckled, pulling her into the embrace as well. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, you two will always be safe.”

“By the way,” she added, “Roy is almost here.”

Denwen shot up like a rocket.

“Ouch!” Nicole yelped. “Mummy, he pinched me!”

“You can’t prove anything,” Denwen smirked, rushing toward the bathroom.

Nicole scowled. “Mum! You’re just going to let him get away with that?!”

Rachael smirked mischievously. “Don’t worry. Justice always finds its way.”

Nicole sighed in relief.

—

Varek trudged into the house, his armor stained with dried green blood. He pulled off his chest plate with a grunt, placing his axe on a hanger by the wall.

“Daddy!” Nicole ran into his arms.

Varek lifted her effortlessly, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Miss me, squirt?”

Rachael took his armor, examining the deep scratches. “Looks like it was a rough one.”

“Rank 1 and 2 dungeons are being monopolized left and right, but you know me. I always find a way,” Varek said, stretching his aching limbs.

Denwen grinned. “Still taking down orcs like it’s nothing, old man?”

“You bet. Though I could do without the smell.” Varek raised an arm and sniffed. He gagged. “By the gods, that’s awful.”

Denwen took a step back. “Yeah, you definitely need a shower.”

“And a week of sleep,” Varek groaned.

Rachael smirked. “After you take a mana pill. You’re not missing the ceremony today.”

Varek paled. “Come on, I already took some this week—”

“Take more,” she said sweetly. “End of discussion.”

Varek turned to Denwen helplessly. “She’s going to kill me.”

Denwen nodded apologetically. “I know, I know.”

DING DONG.

The doorbell rang.

“I got it,” Denwen called, heading to the door.

He swung it open, only to be greeted by a blonde teenager, grinning with a peace sign.

“Yo.”

GBAM.

Denwen slammed the door shut.