Her dreams were too vivid to merely be dreams. In her sleep, she watched memories that were not hers; again and again, one scene and then the next, she lived the life of an elf. But not just any elf. Not herself, if she had been born some other way.

No. She was Astera, each and every time. Like a stray sole trapped in someone else’s body.

She awoke while the others still slept. It seemed like an eternity had passed since she closed her eyes. She had the intense feeling that her body was not her own, and beneath it, as always, lurked the certainty that her life did not belong to her.

She dreaded the coming morning. She didn’t want to face Elysia. Telling these elves what happened to Astera was one thing. Explaining why, and what had happened since, was quite another.

She couldn’t take the brooding, and in the bright lights of the barracks—and of Eris—there was no hope of finding any rest. So she rose. She watched the others for a while, watching their chests rise and fall in somnolence, then slinked from bed and up the stairs.

Soon she was surrounded by the trees. The chill air of the forest greeted her. White puffs trailed from her lips.

Creatures like toads croaked from the nearby water. Insects like crickets chirped. Larger beasts roared and whined far out of sight, their calls echoing through the tall trees. It was neither bright nor dark there, within the grass and beneath the canopy, but she had no doubt that it was night.

She wandered toward the river. It was of a moderate size, fifteen or so feet wide, and deep. From the trunk of a tree she watched its current beneath the nearby bridge. The beauty of this dark land was astonishing. If she survived this adventure—and this time she intended to—she would never forget this place.

But it also brought back more invasive memories. Whenever she closed her eyes, something else darted through her mind.

“Get out,” she whispered. “This isn’t your head.”

“Not mine?” whispered back a distant voice.

Her eyes shot open. She drew her sword, which she had brought, and peered around her; but there was nothing except the dim glow of the forest.

Chirping clogged her ears. It became white noise, so that she felt like she was suddenly in ear-ringing utter silence. She wondered if the voice was her imagination.

It wasn’t.

“It is too bright there. The shadows cannot reach. Come closer.” It came from the water, faintly. “Come to the river. I wish to talk.”

Aletheia’s skin tingled. She should have been familiar with this monster by now—but it still terrified her. The Shadow Man fed on a primal fear. He was a creature from a nightmare.

But she had faced down foes far worse than anything her nightmares could think to conjure. She was not afraid. Once her silent startlement passed, she felt sound and composed.

“Why would I leave the place I’m safe?” she asked.

“You can conjure burning lights in a moment. I cannot harm you, unless by surprise; but I will not surprise you this time. Come closer.”

It had a point. And Aletheia was curious, and desperate for a distraction—and since she had met the Shadow Man, she had not shaken the suspicion that he could be negotiated with, with patience and empathy.

So she walked slowly down to the river.

The Shadow Man congealed along the banks. From the darkness formed the misshapen silhouette of a tarry man, with overlong arms and distended legs and a featureless black face.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

It wasn’t pitch black at the river, but it was much darker away from the trees and grass.

The Shadow Man kneeled on the bank. It turned its head to look its red eyes at her.

“You followed us a long way from home,” she said.

“I did not follow. The darkness did. And wherever the darkness goes, so do I.” It stared at her, and as she gazed into its eyes, she felt herself shudder. “Would you like to play?”

“No,” she said. She was ready to illuminate the river in a second, if needed. “I don’t trust you. And I don’t play with people I don’t trust.”

“Why not?”

“To which?”

“Why won’t you play?”

Aletheia was tense, but she tried to relax, to give the impression of comfort and confidence. “Melitas said you asked him to kill me. To kill us. Did you?”

“Of course I did. You kept my little crow from me, and I cannot kill the magicians myself. Yet.”

Maybe she had hoped it wasn’t true. Maybe she thought Melitas would give a false confession, or blame someone else. But now she saw the hope of a good solution fizzling away.

“That means we’re enemies,” she said.

“But we could be allies. If you only let me see my little crow again.”

“You’ll never be our ally. Or friends with Corvo. I’m sorry.”

“Can I be friends with you?”

She sighed. The sword seemed ridiculous, so she put it away. She wanted to reply honestly—but she decided to be devious for a change.

“Okay. We’re friends. My name is Aletheia, which you probably knew already.” She stuck out her hand to shake. “What’s your name?”

The Shadow Man’s eyes glanced down at it, blinking black once, and reached out to shake it. Its flesh felt like snowy tendrils, and it was solid as it wrapped itself around her wrist. But then it shook, and it let her go.

“Mother called me Skios.” The name wasn’t a real name, but meant Shadowman, literally. “But I do not think I have a name. I do not like names.”

“Everyone has a name. You should call me Aletheia, and Corvo is Corvo, and—well. You get the idea.”

He stared at her dumbly.

“Aletheia,” it whispered. “My friend. Will she answer a question?” When she shrugged, it continued, “Why did you spare the red one? Melitas? I watched as you walked through the darkness, bringing him to the place where he could become a bird and be free. But I cannot understand. I have been waiting to ask you for so long. Why?”

Aletheia hung her head. “I don’t understand either. But it felt right.”

“And you do what feels right?”

“Sometimes. But not always.”

“I do not have feelings that are right or wrong. I only wish to play, and have my little crow. My Corvo. Forever.”

“You can’t have him.”

“You have brought him so far, to such a dangerous place, simply because you fear me? Do you not love him? Would I be so bad a friend?”

“I love him more than even you do,” Aletheia said. “He means everything to me. His father was like my brother. That’s why we’ve brought him here. Because we can’t trust you.”

“You can trust me. I have never lied.”

Aletheia shook her head. She didn’t know what to make of this creature. “Skios,” she said. “You tried to have us killed. You would have killed me, if you could. What—what’s changed?”

“Melitas failed. I can only watch. I do not know what else to do, but wait. But I miss my Corvo so much. We have not played in months. Will you play with me?”

“You don’t want to play with me. I don’t have a good imagination.”

“My Corvo has the best imagination. He is the best playmate. But Aletheia is strong, and merciful, and does strange things that do not make sense. I wish to understand her. Will you play?”

A long moment.

“Okay,” she said. “What game?”

The Shadow Man stood from the riverbank; yet as it was about to say what it wanted, a sudden light appeared.

It glowed in Aletheia’s eyes, blinding her, until it was close and bright enough to wash out the darkness around her.

The Shadow Man vanished.

“I sensed that you were awake,” said a voice—the voice of a female elf. The light dimmed.

Elysia appeared.

“Can you do that?” Aletheia said.

“Yes,” Elysia said. “What are you doing here?”

Aletheia considered telling the truth, but she shrugged instead, finding it too complicated to explain. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not? Is something wrong with you?”

“No. I just—couldn’t sleep. I was having nightmares.”

Elysia gave her a suspicious look. “Do all humans have this problem?”

“A lot of us, yeah.”

Aletheia sighed and stood up. She didn’t know what she had intended to extract from the Shadow Man, except to persuade it to leave Corvo alone. But that would never do. If it was the darkness, it could always come back.

Aletheia pitied it. It was a monster, a freak, just like her—an amalgamation of two things never meant to be together. And for that, they would have to kill it. But what choice did they have?

She would never know its true feelings now. At least, not tonight.

“Good,” Elysia said after a pause. “Deror and I need to speak with you again. It’s urgent.”

“About Astera?”

She nodded. “Come with me.”

The elf turned and departed without more said, but Aletheia did not. She called out to her, saying, “What if I don’t?”

“What?”

“What if I don’t want to talk to you? What if—I’d rather go back to bed?”

Elysia scoffed. She rolled her white eyes, which was a very strange gesture to see, and said only, “Come. You will not want to miss this discussion.”