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That night, Val woke with a start. She looked all around, trying to figure out what had disturbed her. Something had felt very off about the air.

She sat up. Marat slept next to her, his body sprawled out on his stomach to take up the greater part of the bed. The rise and fall of his breathing was even and peaceful. The air was cool, the windows opened, and the light curtains swayed softly. The very hint of light coming from them reflected a blue hue on the walls.

It smelled faintly of jasmine from the gardens below.

Careful not to let the bed squeak underneath her, she swung her legs out and down onto the tiled mosaic floors.

The feeling of unease got heavier. She felt eyes had been watching her but knew immediately they could not have been eyes at all.

Where are you…

Val scanned across every wall and by the door. There was nothing.

She walked to the half wall of the pool and peered around. It had been empty as well, the dark water barely disturbed.

She felt herself pause when something caught her awareness. Despite the open windows and the rise and fall of Marat’s normally fairly loud breathing, it had been completely silent.

She shut her eyes, not wanting to break the veil, but she could feel something nearby. Raising her hand, she felt for it in the dark. When she caught its presence, she realized that it had been above her.

Opening her eyes, Val was met with the gaping voids of the Upyr. As if a spider on the ceiling, the smile spread from the very corner of its jaw to the other. It showed all of the creature’s teeth, frozen, unsettling. Silent.

You left so soon. Why did you not wish to hear of the calm weather, Valeria?

Val reached up once more, this time grabbing hold of the tether and yanking it so hard before her hand could slip on its silk that the creature yelped, breaking the silence - and fell right on top of her. Both were sent toppling on the ground.

The creature’s long, ghoulish fingers went scratching at Val’s face.

She screamed.

The thing recoiled, and at that very same moment it was thrown aside, hitting the wall with a crunching thump as its frail bones crushed under the impact.

Marat grabbed Val underneath the arm, lifting her to her feet. Even before he let go, the creature’s teeth sank into the flesh of his neck from behind him, its fingers wrapping tightly around his head and its nails digging into his face.

Silence, again.

His mouth opened in what should have been a scream, but it was only silence.

Val lunged to pry the creature off, but its grip was too strong. Its teeth only sank deeper in. Blood appeared between them and slipped down Marat’s neck.

The thread tightened; she had it once more. It had not slipped this time; it had not numbed her fingers, forcing her to let go. She tried to snap it, desperate to get the thing off of him, and although it budged - it did not break.

The creature’s face fell, and it scampered to the side, letting go of Marat.

“Nasty thing!” It hissed.

Holding the tether, she felt her hands shake. She was afraid. The last time she had faced Lady Katerina, she could not even touch let alone get a grip. She could not snap it, she tried, but it would not break.

Marat fell to the floor on his knees, his hand over the blood, pressing on the wound beneath. The creature reached into the air with its monstrous hand, pulling its fingers together, and he doubled over farther.

“I may not be able to use yours, but I have his name.” It said, its breathing strained. “Let go.”

Val’s eyes fell on Marat, but she feared what the creature might do if she trusted it again and allowed the thread to slip.

“Let go!” It hissed again, its voice scratching and rolling in its throat.

“You lied!” Val screamed at it.

“We are all liars here!” It squeezed its hand tighter, and she heard Marat let out a wheezing breath. “Perhaps you mean to tell me that he knows all you have to tell?”

Val felt for the knots, the weave. Her fingers ran amongst the strings, and the creature screamed, its fist uncoiling.

It sprang against the wall and crawled further away from Val - as if strikes were coming at it.

“Let go, or I will tell your lies!” Lady Katerina screamed back at her. “Like he lies of whose life it is he took for his own! Whose name it is, he stole!”

She did not pause; she did not stop, feeling the tether shake and threads unwind.

The creature’s hand reached out, and Marat’s head snapped back to face it.

“Do you know who your lover sleeps with at night?” It mused. “Ask her who has shared her bed while you searched for her! Ask heeeeeeeeeeeeeer!!” Its words drew out into a scream as Val felt the threads pull apart.

“Ask her why she smells of the Mother! Ask her why she hears them scream!” It scampered further up the wall as if to get away. “Ask her where the Nothing took her soul!”

The creature’s screams weaned into a whisper, then disappeared. In its wake was left nothing, nothing but a few bloody fingerprints upon the smooth stone wall.

The last thread unbound from the weave.

Val let out a breath, her hands feeling weak and quivering just a bit. She did not have her gloves, but no cuts appeared. She rushed to Marat and helped him stand. His face was pained, and blood flowed down his chest, and when she touched him, she felt his body tense.

She looked at him and met his eyes.

“Val, what did she mean…”

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It’d been quite a while since Yaro had been in a true city, especially one as large as Barzah.

He’d arrived in town with the Ember Sword, a man he believed to be a common fellow with a knack for hunting, who turned out to be a high-ranking representative of the Western King. Had Yaro known ahead of time, he would have likely held himself to higher standards regarding the amount of drink he had and the proximity to the camp he relieved himself –mostly just not on the fire.

He’d liked the man right away. He knew upon setting his eyes on the disfigured bloke that he had not only been a hunter but a lifer as well. He’d tried to lure the Ember Sword into revealing who he was over some drinks, but the man had been stubborn and secretive. Yaro had known of every hunter in the kingdoms. This one, however, had given him more than a little pause.

He was someone, but Yaro could not figure out who.

In his youth, Yaroslav had been the hotheaded son of a somewhat noble man who had made a very prosperous business out of fisheries on the Western Sea. He had grown up with enough money to do as he pleased and the lack of supervision to accomplish just that.

From an early age he was already hunting. He visited many hotspots and even the Western Wound, although in secret. There, the creatures crawling out of caves and across nearly fully vertical mountainsides reminded Yaro of wild goats, the way they seemed to find any ol’ foothold on the rocks.

Of course, unlike wild goats, those things would spit digestive juices at you in an effort to get the first part of eating out of the way.

He loved the hunt so much that he left his home as a young man to travel the world in search of the thrill of the chase. There, Yaro had also found the thrill of the women in the kingdoms outside the West.

Outside of the Iron Wall, anything went. The inns and taverns were full of stories and warm beds. Even better, though, warm meals.

So many had gotten out of the sport by the time their wives bore children or their fathers pulled them into politics or landkeeping. He, on the other hand, had no such plans.

He’d been to Barzah on a few occasions, although he despised the heat of the South.

The Wound there had been dormant so long that the only creatures to speak of were only found near the sea or out in the desert mountains where the barbarian tribes roamed. That is where he enjoyed his stays as their rowdy, untamed nature called out to his mortal soul. The only fault he could find was that their women resembled him too closely in both height and build.

That is until he met Anushka.

She was tall, althought not as tall as he. Her body had reminded him of the mermaid figureheads on the noses of large ships back home. Her skin was dark as robust ale, and she was just as bold and satisfying. Of course, her name hadn’t truly been ‘Anushka’, that was just the endearing one he called her when they had been alone. Her full name was Anukk’a. She was a priestess of the Shattered God in her nomadic tribe. The priestesses collected Nothing-touched trinkets, keeping them as holy relics. Like the nobility of the West, they also provided status to the tribes.

That had been how they met. At first, the things he brought would be handsomely paid for with the treasures of the desert mountains.

Then, he began bringing these items willingly and eagerly as gifts.

As he spent more time there, he began getting far too involved with the affairs of the chieftain. This often ended in drunken nights smoking tobacco and betting on who could most accurately hit a gopher with their pee stream.

She begged him to stay.

He was so well-liked there, and she had more trinkets than she could ever use. Anushka would tell that the gifts of the Wounds could wait, that his trips took too many months away and that she wished to see him more than twice a year. But Yaro had been obsessed. He felt that everything he had done out on the road was for her. And he would do anything… anything but remain behind.

And then, she was no more.

After a particularly long excursion into the Deep Wood, he returned to find the tribe gone.

He searched for months, even entering the wildest parts of the desert canyons. The only thing he would find is the headstones of the chiefs.

This wasn’t uncommon. The rival tribes would leave nothing behind after a battle was won. It was the way of their people.

He was sure she was no longer alive. The priestesses would be executed first. They were the tribe's pride - the first to die as a foretelling of the other’s fates.

He had not returned since.

But, this was still far from the mountainous deserts, and when he found out that the friends he met in the North were there in the city, he decided that he may make himself comfortable for a while. He cared nothing for the war, but that would not stop a marksman from taking him out at a hundred paces if he were to venture out.

Although, the man, Ivan, had seemed to look worse for wear since he last saw him.

Yaro found him in an alehouse far from the citadel.

His face was dark, and his head lowered, slumping against his chest. When Yaro first met him while playing cards, the man had been one of the most charismatic people he had ever met.

Besides himself, of course.

He’d fought by his side in the mountains and even came for him when Yaro was taken to the Northern army’s medical tents. Unnecessary, but valiant nevertheless.

“What-s got you down?” He said, his body falling on the chair, creating an alarming creak of wood and bolts.

Ivan had barely even acknowledged the question.

Yaro realized just how intoxicated the man had been.

“Ah, well, let me catch up.”

They sat in silence and solidarity.

Finally, Ivan spoke.

“People coming back from the dead.” He said, his words fluctuating in tone throughout the sentence. “Should just stay dead, but they don't. Mind their own business.”

“You know,” Yaro patted him on the back lightly. “Life-s too good - like a milkmaid - not to take a s-econd ride. Who-se bothering you?”

“Just appears out of nowhere, nothing. Everyone acting like its the All-Father himself.” Ivan muttered. “Probably right there from the wood, too. With his sorcery and weird face.”

“Fa-ce, huh?” Yaro’s interest piqued. “What s-or-cery fa-ce?”

Ivan waved in an uncertain direction.

“That one!” He took a deep breath as if trying to will himself sober, but his eyes would not open all the way.

“Ah, buddy.” Yaro shook his head. “Too much.”

“I’m gonna go, and I’m going show her.” His head nodded slightly. “Find the Sister or something.”

“If s-he ha-s a s-is-ter, I’m coming with!” Yaro laughed, waving for the bartender to make his way over.

“No. The other one.”

“I mean, I’ll take whichever one.” Yaro shrugged.

“Never even heard of him…” A hiccup, then a disgusted face at the bitter-sour taste in his mouth. “I’ve been around the entirety of the war, and I’ve never even heard of him…”

“Entirety, huh?” Yaro raised his head from the glass, foam lining the red thicket of hair above his upper lip. “What’d you s-ay about the dead?”

“He was supposed to be dead…” Ivan threw his head back, running his hands over his face in frustration. “She said he was dead.”

Yaro considered him for a moment. There were some strange ramblings going on here, and although he had a hint of what Ivan had been talking about, there were some interesting implications.

“I’m gonna find the water one. Gonna show I can protect her. Unlike some people.” Ivan slipped from his chair, steadying himself.

“Ey, watch for tho-se water one-s!” Yaro called after him as the man disappeared out the door. “They’ll tell you all s-orts of s-tuff and then leave you for a younger man!”

Although Ivan had not been a fully reliable source at that time, some of the things he said made Yaro think.

Surely, it was the Ember Sword he spoke of.

The feeling was only solidified when he saw that the girl, Valeria, had attached herself to his side. The mystery had only become more tangled and complicated.

Ivan’s words almost made sense.

Perhaps he was growing soft in his old age that gossip had sparked such an interest in him, but frankly, he had not even known how old he was. He and the water nymph lived for what felt like a lifetime in the river in the woods.

Oh.

But how he missed her. He could not for the life of him rememeber a thing about her - a side effect of courting a Nothing-touched, but his hands could, and that was what mattered.

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