9 Among all the creatures, and all the plants, and all that lived, there was one whose spirit was most fierce and boundless with joy. She danced across the land, and the seas, and the skies, visiting all living things and lifting her laughter unto the Heavens. 10 And she spoke to the Heavens, “Behold, are they not wondrous and beautiful? If it pleases, let me be named Belhad, Force of Life. Ancestors, grant unto me the keeping of these children.”

11 The Elements could not turn their hearts against Belhad’s earnest request. 12 Thus, their essences remained intertwined as One World, allowing Life to endure and flourish, just as the Primordial Siblings had sheltered within themselves Arakhan’s Creation.

13 From then on, Belhad watched over all the creatures, and all the plants, and all that lived, and she walked among them. 14 But in the shadow of her steps walked a dark and quiet figure who gathered those who could follow Belhad no longer. 15 And she whispered tenderly, “Tend well to the living, O sister, and let your heart be untroubled. For I, Urabi, Force of Death, will guard their final sleep.”

– Book of Provenance 4:9-15, Revised Imperial Version.

-

Remembrance 10, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport

Annet Templeton awoke just before dawn, feeling remarkably refreshed despite the short rest—barely a few hours. With a contented groan, she stretched, her hand instinctively padding across the bed—only to find Kaydence’s side empty.

A soft sigh passed her lips.

For a moment, the motley fabric draped across the ceiling was all she saw. The colourful canopy was among her efforts to make their tiny cliffside cave feel like an actual home, a place where her daughter, her Light, could feel cherished and welcome.

But Kaydence was not one to let herself be loved easily. Annet’s daughter was a free spirit. Holding onto her was like trying to catch sunlight with your bare hands. From the moment she could walk—absurdly soon, according to Naela—she could not be contained. It was perhaps the only thing Kaydence had inherited from her mother—though Annet doubted it. Her Light raised herself. She had no need for her silly mother. She was stronger, smarter, and more talented than Annet could ever hope to be. Kaydence was a barely contained hurricane, a force of nature, overflowing with life and momentum, even in her sleep.

Especially in her sleep.

Annet wished she could offer more than a hug and a song when her Light screamed herself raw at night, when she clawed at her face in tears, and her unseeing eyes stared at horrors Annet could not fathom.

For nine years, Annet had felt woefully inadequate. And yet, she was the happiest she had ever been! Nine years. She could hardly believe nearly a decade had passed since Kaydence bloomed into her life—like a beautiful crimson rose growing out of barren soil; nine years since Annet’s unfocused world clicked into place and her days filled with endless joy and purpose.

If only she could share a fraction with the person who gave her so much.

A resounding slap pierced the tiny abode. Annet’s palms left red imprints on her freckled cheeks, and a bright smile blossomed on her face. “Alright!” She swung her legs off the bed.

The Split opened westward to the Leonine Ocean, which meant little to no daylight graced the canyon in the mornings; besides, the weather was too cold to open the shutters. Shuffling through the darkness, a dissonant ditty on her lips—ones whose lyrics she had forgotten—Annet added a log into the firepit, blew the embers back to life, and lit a tallow lantern. In the dancing light, she changed from her nightwear into warm pants and dress and a paint-dappled apron. She forwent shoes, enjoying the feel of solid stone beneath her feet, even icy.

Naela would not wake until midday, Lenril was watching over his son today, and Kaydence was out somewhere. Annet had her whole morning free! Humming still, she hopped across the cheerful clutter. Busy house, busy mind, her mother used to say—or something along those lines. She was probably misremembering. That old biddy never had a cheerful bone in her body.

Annet stretched on her tippytoes to nab a blank canvas from the pile haphazardly stuck in a narrow gap above the wardrobe. Her tall daughter would not have had such trouble. Annet unfolded her easel and sat her petite posterior on a crocheted cushion, atop a knotty tree stump, which she fondly remembered having Kaydence carry home from the forest.

Taking a breath, she invoked the fading strands of the night’s dreams and let them flow into her brush.

Ever since she was little, drawing, and then painting, had always helped settle Annet’s nerves. When she feared this blissful daydream she called life was too good to last, when the shadow of a dead woman called from beyond the grave, naming her words Annet used to believe, when she caught herself wondering why everyone always left… It helped.

And while the darkness rarely seemed to creep in as it once did, she still found comfort in the familiar ritual. Putting the flimsy meanderings of her mind into shapes and colours grounded her. It made her world feel real, concrete, under control—instead of a wishful figment of her imagination that a too-strong breeze might shatter.

Some days were easier than others.

Her brush caressed the canvas, conjuring abstract semblances of towering, coal-black trees with leaves like burning sunsets. A tiny, indistinct character meandered amidst the giants, leaving a crisscrossing, looping trail in the ash-grey snow. An enormous, twisted shadow extended from the figure’s feet, curling inward as if about to swallow the lost, lonely wanderer. Annet’s hand halted with a sigh.

Today was not an easy day.

Kaydence’s absence weighed on her mind. She knew her Light could handle herself, and yet…

A mother’s heart worried.

A sudden rap on the door started Annet. She blinked, reorienting herself. At this hour? Who could it be? The pattern of knocks was unfamiliar. It was not any of the neighbours. Kaydence never knocked. Lenril’s were sharp and efficient, and Sarmin’s always sounded like he was apologising for being there. Naela never visited uninvited.

Another impatient knock demanded her attention.

“Coming!” Annet called, setting aside her paints. Wiping her hands on her apron, she formed a bright smile as she approached the entrance, smoothing the edge of her nerves.

Her smile dimmed at the sight of Flynt Lobeck darkening her doorway. His guard’s tabard was unwashed and clinging awkwardly to his broad, bulging shoulders. His pale face gleamed with sweat despite the crisp morning, and his grin was a mix of bravado and misplaced arrogance. And he used to be such a sweet boy, Annet reminisced briefly, quietly mourning a friendship that could not survive the man’s one-sided obsession.

“Hey, Annie,” he greeted her, with a familiarity he could no longer pretend to.

“Flynt,” she returned, her tone only a touch colder than usual. “Good morning.” She glanced up and down the path, searching for Carl—the man’s hulking, taciturn shadow. But Flynt was alone. “What brings you here so early?”

“Ah, well…” He blushed, showing an awkward smile, and for a fleeting moment, Annet caught a glimpse of her old friend—before a ghoulish smirk swallowed him whole. “Maybe I just hoped to see a beautiful someone?”

Annet released a small, exasperated sigh. “Flynt…”

“I know, I know.” He waved her off and pulled a flat wooden box from behind his back. “You forgot this at the guardhouse yesterday.”

“…But I didn’t go yesterday.”

Ignoring her, he flipped the box open with a flourish, revealing a glittering gold necklace studded with gemstones.

Her chest tightened. “Flynt. That’s not mine.”

“It is now,” he said, his grin widening, showing off yellowed teeth. There was something unpleasant in his gaze, like he was not truly seeing her. “I saw it at a stall last night and thought of you. A beautiful thing–” His tongue wetted his chapped lips in a nervous tick. “–for a beautiful woman.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Annet never reached for the necklace. Her paint-stained hand closed around the small black scale strung around her neck, like a protective talisman. “Flynt.” Her voice was quiet—but firm. “No.”

His grin wavered, then disappeared entirely. His face darkened, jaw tight, brows furrowed. “Why not? It’s just a gift, Annie—Heaven’s sake.” His knuckles turned white around the box. “Why must you always make things so difficult?”

“Because with you, it’s never just a gift.”

The air seemed to thicken as Flynt’s brows furrowed deeper. “…I don’t get it,” he muttered. “Why are you being so stubborn? I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t.” Annet sighed softly. “Please. There are so many women in town who would be grateful for your kindness. I’m not–”

“I don’t want them!” Flynt snapped; his free hand slammed against the doorframe. Annet held back a flinch, eyes widening. “Don’t you get it, Annie? It’s you. It’s always been you.” He stepped closer, crowding her against the threshold. The acrid stench of alcohol and cheap perfume rolled off of him. “Listen to me. I’ve been considered to join the duke’s guard—his personal guard! We could leave all this crap behind, move to the good side of town, to a better life. Better than–” He gestured at her cramped home with a disdainful sneer. “–this.”

Annet could only return a pained look.

“Annie, come on. Be reasonable,” he tried to coax her as if she were a defiant child. “We had good times, didn’t we? Why can’t things be like they used to?”

“We had one time,” she corrected. “It was a long time ago. We were just kids.”

“Well, I’m not a kid no more!” Flynt roared. He straightened to his full height, his presence looming over her. “You’re right. That was a fucking long time ago. I’ve changed! I can protect you now! Don’t you see? That’s all I want! All I ever fucking wanted!” His voice was desperate, but his expression warped into a snarl. “It’s him, isn’t it? The Elf?”

“Flynt. He’s not–”

“That knife-ear tree-fucker!” The words were spat like venom. “You think he loves you? Gods damn it, Annie, wake up! He’s lying. He’s using you!” Flynt’s breath came faster as his agitation grew. “That’s what they do! They’re not like us! They don’t think like we do. They don’t feel like we do! Their minds are... twisty, like roots. He’s not Human, Annie!” he shouted as if she were the one acting insane. “His kind don’t belong here! They come into our city, into our lives, and they ruin EVERYTHING!! They’re rats! Parasites!

“And he’ll ruin you too. Like he ruined his fucking wife—Gods pity her soul. Stupid bitch. Mary let that slant-eyed leech latch onto her, and now she’s dead. Fucking DEAD! Because of him.” His face twisted further into something vile, heinous. Veins bulged at his temples. Sweat coated his clammy brow. His eyes quivered, wild and bloodshot. His pupils narrowed to pinpricks as he leaned deeper into her doorway. “He’ll do the same to you—pump his hybrid spawn into you, and leave you to rot. He’s fucking KILLING you!” His voice cracked to a hysterical pitch. “And you’re too blind to see!”

“Flynt. That’s enough,” Annet said, her voice suddenly icy. “Lenril has nothing to do with it.” She breathed in deeply, trying to tame her rising anger—a rare occurrence—and retreated into her home, beginning to close the door. “Please. Leave. You’re making a scene.”

Flynt had always been overly conscious of how people saw him. Appealing to his sense of shame for acting the fool in public usually made him back off.

Not today.

Whether anger or alcohol overwrote his self-consciousness, Flynt’s hand shot out, slamming against the door. It was blown open—ripped from Annet’s hands. “Then it’s her! That… thing you call a daughter!” Heavy boots thudded over the threshold as the man forced himself inside her home. His bulk blackened the doorway, blotting out the pale outside light. “You think I don’t see it, hey? She’s not right, Annie. She’s a demon! I know it. We all know it. You’re the only one that’s blind! Those two have you under their spell!”

A strange realisation flashed through Annet’s mind, as if a veil had been ripped from her eyes. How did I miss it? She had never seen Flynt’s advances as worse than a passing irritation—unwanted, unpleasant, but—ultimately harmless. Somehow, she had still thought of him as that awkward, gangly, sad boy who trailed her through their childhood games, when they used to sneak onboard ships in the docks, or into the temple’s attic, or out into the woods, acting out silly make-believe adventures, away from their stifling homes.

She had treated his wounds when his father’s drunk fists found him. He held her when her mother’s loathful belittling made her want to fade away from the world.

But that boy was gone.

In his place stood a man—towering, broad-shouldered, corded with muscles and bristling with pent-up rage. His uneven breathing misted the air. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Veins bulged in his thick neck and forearms. With a start, Annet realised he was at least two heads taller than her. His presence dominated the space, his shadow stretching into her home.

Her heart pounded as she backed away. Her eyes darted to the sides, searching for something, anything she could use to defend herself. A stool. Cooking pots. Painted rocks. A book. The lantern by her easel. “Flynt, stop!” she pleaded, working to keep the dread from her voice. “You’re scaring me.”

He did not stop. In fact, he stepped closer. “I don’t want to scare you, Anniebun,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I just want you to see. I’m doing this for you. I’m trying to save you! I love you, Gods damn it!” He hurled the jewellery box across the room; it smashed violently into the wall. “Why can’t you see that?!”

Annet swallowed, steeling her heart even as it thundered. “If you love me, then stop this. Leave. Please. This isn’t the way to show you care.” She held his gaze. “You’re not helping me. You’re scaring me. Just go.”

Flynt finally paused. His steps halted as he seemed to turn her words around in his head.

“…No.”

His bloodshot eyes locked onto her—steady, determined, unhinged. “It’s not your fault,” he whispered with the conviction of the true believers. “It’s them. They’ve twisted your mind, poisoned you against the truth, against me! I see it. I see it now.” He shook his head, resuming his slow approach. “I won’t let them hurt you anymore. I’ve been patient. I’ve waited—for you to come to your senses on your own. But they won’t let you, will they? They’re too deep inside your head! And I… I won’t let them destroy you! You’re coming with me. Now. I’ll save you. I’ll fix this!”

He lunged forward, hands outstretched, moving with a desperation that poured icy terror through Annet’s veins. Her fingers closed around the lantern’s handle. Acting on pure instinct, she swung the heavy lantern with every ounce of her strength. She heard a sickening wet crunch, the noise of shattering glass, and a hollow metallic clang. The light went out.

Flynt screamed—a visceral, animal sound. His hands jerked to his face as his massive form lurched forward. Annet scrambled out of the way; he crashed into the easel in the dark. The wooden frame splintered under his weight. Pieces of wood and canvas clattered on the ground. Her foot caught on something hard. She fell, landing hard against the side of the bed. The impact punched the breath out of her lungs.

“You whore!” Flynt’s wail cut through the dark. “Look at what you’ve done!”

He rose from the wreckage like a monstrous shadow. Glints from the firepit danced on his gory face, reflecting off the glass shards embedded in his flesh. One jagged fragment protruded from his brow, another from the edge of his cheekbone. His nose was crooked, the bridge split. Blood poured freely from the wounds, streaming down his face, into his right eye, pooling in the corner of his lips and dripping from his chin. The blood looked almost black in the dim light.

Annet bolted for the door. With an enraged bellow, Flynt leapt after her. His feet caught the mess on the floor; he collapsed, but his outstretched hand found her ankle, clamping onto it like a vice. She screamed as she was yanked off her feet, crashing to the floor. Her palms scraped against splinters and shattered glass as she desperately tried to crawl forward—the door was so close—but he dragged her back shrieking into the dark room.

“Let me go!” she shrieked, striking out with her free foot. It connected with his face in a wet, meaty thud. White-hot agony shot up her leg as shards of glass pierced her bare sole. Another scream tore itself from her throat. But she did not falter. “Let! Me! Go!” She kept kicking, feeling the crunch of glass and bone under her heel.

Flynt’s screams joined her own, yet his assault barely faltered. The man seemed impervious to pain, and it only drove him on, angrier and more determined.

A fist shot out of the darkness and socked Annet in the jaw. Her head snapped back, stars exploding across her vision. Before she could recover, a hand yanked her hair and brutally rammed her face into the floor. Once. Twice. Thrice.

The world blurred, her ears ringing; the taste of iron filled her mouth. Darkness encroached on her sight. A heavy weight pinned legs to the ground. Large, calloused and bloodied hands wrapped around her throat, shaking but merciless.

They started to squeeze.

A face loomed above her, barely human—mangled, streaked with blood, its only visible eye wide and wild, veins bursting red against the white. Spittle flew from his lips as he snarled. Annet’s vision narrowed, the room collapsing into blackness as her struggles grew weaker.

“You filthy whore!” Flynt’s grip tightened, his breath hot and ragged. “I should have known! As soon as I saw that monster crawl out of you. You were already too far gone! The tree-fucker had already gotten to you!”

Annet’s struggles waned as her lungs failed to draw breath, her blows against his sides feeble and ineffective. Her fingers clawed at his arms but slid off, limp, her strength spent. Her vision wavered, spots swimming in the encroaching black. Her chest heaved in vain, and the reality of her imminent fate finally settled in her slipping consciousness.

“I’m… sorry…”

Her words were little more than a breathless murmur, her unfocused gaze fixed on the colourful fabrics draped across the ceiling.

Flynt froze, briefly, and a grotesque smile curled across his mangled face. “I forgive you, my love,” he whispered hoarsely, his hands trembling as they tightened, triumphant.

But Annet was not talking to him.

I’m sorry, my Light.

Her thoughts flew away, beyond her failing body, beyond her desecrated home, to the daughter she had failed one final time. Because she was too weak—just a foolish, helpless woman, who could not keep darkness away from her beautiful, fragile little Light—Annet knew, deep in her heart, what would come next. Whether Flynt dared to go after her Light or not… Kaydence would kill him.

Annet understood more about her daughter than Kaydence probably wanted her to. She was not blind—no matter what anyone claimed. She saw the potential for brutal, unspeakable violence dwelling in her sweet, brooding girl. But she also saw the toll it took on her daughter.

Please. A fresh wave of anguish surged through her. Tears welled in her eyes. Not like this. She did not fear Death. Though not the most devout, Annet knew Urabi was the kindest and gentlest among the gods. A small part of her was always curious to meet Her. As a child, she even dreamed of the beautiful goddess taking her away.

But not like this.

Not now.

Not when her passing would scar her Light’s soul with hatred and regret.

Annet’s chest burned, her body trembling as darkness closed in.

She had no words left, only a silent, desperate plea.

Don’t blame yourself.

* * * * *