[https://i.imgur.com/QSdrGiN.png]

From the blanket of heaven

The dust of time

The drop of water

The canyon so fine

We dance to the burn

The darkness of night

The copper slaughter

The stars light

The watchers look down

The eyes a glow

They birthed the mountains

Conceived the snow

The merciless rhythm

They set the tempo

Life of their fountain

For us down below

Cut away the skin

Reveal the bone

The ink is boiled

Marked and alone

From the blanket of heaven

The dust of time

The drop of water

The eyes now mine

-u n k n o w n

[https://i.imgur.com/QSdrGiN.png]

Prologue

[T h e F o r e s t]

The mountains stand verdant and lush, opulent in their flora-covered glory. They stretch to the horizon, and possibly beyond, formed when the earth was new and primordial, shaped over millennia by silt, debris, and the remnants of those who have passed into the beyond. Mottled trees form a green canopy, nearly impenetrable and impervious to the sun, allowing only small slivers of light to paint the densely vegetated floor below in an array of shifting green flitting rays that dance with every blow of the wind. Nestled within the embrace of these mountains, a valley rests, a deep crater whose dark soil whispers of a violent volcanic past. The mountains curve around the valley in a protective grasp, their rocky ribs guarding the heart inside.

The weathered hands of time have slowly eroded the once-protective spires into shadows of their former selves. They have become thin and tapered, leaving a circular gap above the center of the valley. Large rocky ribs jut from the lush green earth below, and plants still grasp and claw at the bases of these points, aspiring in vain to reach towards the bright light of the sun. Many scraggly trees persist in their growth, twisted and gnarled as they stretch their clawing branches towards the sky. Moss covers the undersides of these spires and continues down to the ground below, creating a soft, damp carpet perfectly content to exist within the shadow of these curved mountain crags.

Echoes fill the forested mountains, a cacophony of birdsong, the wind brushing against tittering leaves, and critters of all shapes and sizes shuffling through the moist underbrush. Small homes built against the sheltering mountain crags fill the valley. Made of dry earth and vegetation, they seem to almost grow from the ground itself. They exist in various states of packed dirt; some are red, filled to the brim with clay, while others appear darker, more sedate and stoic, constructed from the abundant darker soil found on the lip of the once-crater.

A small figure stands near one of the homes, shuffling their thin bare feet against the dirt. The home they stand in front of is a mixture of soil, with some areas dark and marbled with the rich reds and auburns of clay.

A carved wooden door dominates the outer wall of the home, adorned with twisted vines and foliage that is unrecognizable to her eyes, remnants of a long-gone landscape from another world of time. Animals with strange heads veer and dance along the floral scrollwork, their eyes wild and vigilant, watching for any who seek to open the door. A small circular window, filled with cloudy multi-colored glass, peeks at her. Wind chimes made of bone, wood, and stone create a raucous display in response to the child's hesitation. The wind whips her starlight-colored hair in a whirl, urging her forward. With a shaking hand, she reaches for the door, feeling the wood on her palm, worn soft by time and the many hands that have pushed and pulled on its surface. It's warm with familiarity, and for a moment, it seems as if a dragon's mad carved eye follows her, its curled tongue mocking her lack of courage.

For a brief moment longer, she contemplates simply tracing the spirals and curls along the door's edge, something she has done many times since infancy. A deep voice calls from inside, gravelly and rough as if chiseled from the very mountains he calls home. His words resonate as if spoken by two people in unison,

"Come here, child, before your toes root."

Her pale lavender-tinted cheeks flush brightly; it's not the first time he's caught her standing in place, stuck in front of her home's door, toes shuffling in the dirt, and worry gnawing at her gut. She pushes the door inward, and a wall of warm, musky air assails her; fragrant and full of the rich earthy smells of herbs, tinctures, and tonics that her entire village depends on, but now a bit too overpowering.

Her grandfather stands over a scratched but gleaming copper pot, worn through the ages yet constantly polished to a bright shine. He's tending to the pot of constantly boiling water, adding small leaves and stirring with a gnarled piece of wood. He reaches for a small jar behind him on a set of shelves, and she hurries over to push it fully into his outstretched hand. For a moment, he ponders the water with milky sightless eyes. Opening the earthenware jar, he shakes out a few seeds, rolls them in the cup of his palm, and then throws them into the pot. A rush of steam fills the room, smelling of sulfur. The whole room carries a mildewed, musty quality, the air itself bitter with the tang of herbs. He takes a deep sniff of the air, his eyes locking on something in the distance that only he seems to see.

"Rain will pay us a visit… perhaps it will enjoy the ceremony."

There it was, the crux of her fears, the weight that had been leaden in her chest since she turned eleven earlier this year. He saw into her whole being and spoke of her desperate fears alongside a nonchalant reference to the oncoming weather. Her hands felt cold and damp with panic, and the pot sat burbling and bubbling happily nearby, oblivious or perhaps apathetic to its forthcoming role in her future. Her eyes shifted to his hands, now outstretched over the pot, long nimble fingers and dark cracked nails, chipped from constant use.

His fingers were stained black with dark inks, the color of a moonless night stretching towards his elbows. It was a void of color, painstakingly applied to be as deep as possible. Everything but the half-moons of his nails, small crescents of resistance, had succumbed to the dark inks. His toes peeked from under his worn patterned skirts, equally dark, the color of pitch, the depth of a shadow, reaching towards his knees.

With small shuffling steps, she approached him and gripped the edge of his homespun skirts, idly fingering the loose coarse threads he had used on the edges to create a gentle looping pattern that mimicked the shifting leaves of the forest surrounding them. His hand came down to rest on her head, gently, softly, belying the strength of his worn fingers. He smelled of dirt and the sweet decay of crushed leaves in the underbrush.

“It is the path to wisdom, little one.”

“I don’t want to be wise! Never!”

Her voice cracked against itself, rising in pitch and anger. She slapped his worn hand away and flung herself from his gentle musings, stomping back to the foggy window and throwing her body roughly onto the small wooden bench built into the wall. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, to see the quiet expectancy and acceptance of her anger, the small smile that always tugged at the corners of his wide-set mouth, the way his hands began to reach for her before pulling back.

“It is too late; only the wise fear its gain.’’

His voice rumbled softly as she met his sighless gaze, the pupils overly large against the milky iris. She could feel his gaze, the weight and depth of it. she tried to decipher the unspoken messages that passed between them. His eyes held a knowing depth that she couldn't fully comprehend, and a mixture of reverence and fear swirled within her. She wanted to ask him questions, to demand answers to questions about their world that she did not know how to ask. But her words caught in her throat, and she could only lower her gaze, feeling both comforted and isolated by his cryptic guidance.

“I’m…just…I’m so scared...Nai-Nai?”

She looked at him pleadingly. She hoped for an alternative, a way out of this maze of obligation that had ambled its devastating course since before antiquity. She was lost in the twisted tangled history of her family. There was no path of disentanglement, and she didn't feel brave enough to sever the bonds of tradition. They were all trapped within this ritual, just as the giant had been trapped long ago on the mountain, his ribs jutting from his flesh as he was anchored alive to the earth.

“Ahh….”

He settled himself onto the moss-covered floor with an exultant sigh, crossing his legs despite their creaks and protests. With his worn darkened fingers, he pulled a long thin white bone pipe from his large sleeves. Carved dancing figures adorned it, mimicking those on his ancient door, eyes wild in their abandon, mythical creatures and mysterious shapes that only revealed themselves to those without temporal sight.

With practiced ease over decades, he retrieved a small leather pouch filled with herbs from his sleeves and filled the tiny opening of his pipe. He grabbed a small twig from the ground and lit it from the cauldron's fire. Holding it to the pipe, he inhaled, puffing lightly to stoke the small fire until a slightly sweet herbaceous smell filled the small house, drifting about in lazy smoky tendrils. It was the smell of home, of the past, of him. Inexorably tied to all that she had known. He took a few more puffs, seemingly lost in his thoughts, long moments filled with only the crackling sounds of fire consuming wood and foliage. When he finally spoke, she was almost startled, her body jerking to attention.

“Birth was your agreement, as were our forebears beyond the edge of creation. It is payment we give.”

Words that had been spoken to her over and over before. Cryptic, soft, and ultimately unyielding, they filled her with impotent anger. She wished beyond hope that she was ready to run, to flee her home, her ceremony, her family. She was tired of hearing ramblings laden with honor and laced with toxic compassion. She stood up, determined to channel this restless energy into an attempt at freedom, already mapping out escape routes in her mind. She knew the forest well and could hide within its boundaries for days, maybe even weeks. Her frightened heart began to lift with hope, fluttering inside her chest.

“The watchers dance wildly and burn bright to our fear.”

His words stopped her, the somewhat malicious tone directed at the watchers was surprising. While his words were always cryptic and seemingly open-ended, rarely did they echo with resentment. Yet here, now, looking at her while smoke swirled around him, he spoke with barely concealed anger pooling in his cloudy gaze.

“They have all things and grasp at us, who have nothing.”

Her sky blue eyes burned, tears pricked at the edges of her vision, threatening to spill against her white silvery lashes. She could only hear the futility of escape in his words. Fate could, and would, find her no matter where she went. Watchers lived in the heavens and saw all below, leaving no hiding place from the gods.

“...The forest is wild. Succor desired will not be given.”

He waved her off with one hand, intent on his pipe once more, his eyes closed in ecstasy as his white lashes brushed against the high planes of his weathered cheeks. She left slowly, shutting the door quietly, all the adrenaline of escape gone just as suddenly as it appeared. Her hands brushed against the softened wood, and she walked slowly towards the woods to check her rabbit snares, hoping in a small, dark, angry part of her heart that they were empty. She toed her way through brambles and vines, avoiding small skittering critters and the larger rocks that enjoyed the comforts of the underbrush.

Turning away from the eyes of her neighbors, who all looked at her with a sense of awe and fear that only grew with each passing moon, she carried on. People she had once called friends edged away from her, whispered behind their palms as they clung to their mothers' skirts and were quickly ushered away. A few adults bowed slightly at her, their inclinations growing stronger and more deferential by the hour.

There was a comfort in the indifference of the forest, the way life skittered on, inscrutable no matter how hard she looked for understanding and compassion. The forest, ever mutable, ever shifting, had not changed its opinion of her. She was the same small creature skittering through the underbrush, kicking leaves and pushing branches from her skin.

There was the stick with its earthen rope tied around the top. Her eyes locked with the small hare's as it gasped for breath, silently screaming, pleading with her to set it free. Leaning down, she quietly moved leaves and rocks away from the area, patting a small spot down before sitting with care and watching as life slowly seeped from its body until it was still. Its large dark eyes remained locked onto hers—wide, listless, and vacant. She wept. Salty bitter tears fell onto the ground, snot dripping from her nose into her mouth, until she was letting out hiccuping sobs. She cradled the small cold body tightly to her chest, hoping against hope that a flutter of heartbeat would echo against her, but it did not.Its soft fur was cold against her skin. She closed her eyes, feeling the stinging saltiness of tears pricking at their corners.The forest's song seemed distant now, she ran her hand along the still body of the rabbit gently striking the soft fur wondering if something would one day consume her? Why had the rabbit lived if only for it to end?

She got up and headed towards the winding river close by, finding her footing easily in the dark. It was a place she had been to many times before.

Holding the small body to her chest tightly, she avoided the stares of nocturnal critters that watched her with calm interest as she made her way through the night. An owl landed nearby, its large wings cutting through the air. Its wide luminous eye stared at her, or perhaps at the rabbit; she didn’t really know. It turned its head around, hooting at her and puffing its chest as it settled in the branches above.

Standing on the muddy side of the river, she looked into its depths, painted in silver shimmering tones by the light of the nearly full moon. Then she let the small form drop into the river. As its body touched the water, the owl rushed forward, its wings brushing against the leaves above. It grabbed the small corpse with clawed gnarled feet before it could sink further down, gliding back into the canopy for its feast. The owl stared at her with wide yellow, unblinking eyes, its large pupils deep and unyielding, black discs that bore into her, unwavering and unyielding. The tips of its claws were stained red, and the owl let out a contented, satiated coo, ruffling its feathers and cocking its head to the side while looking at her as the symphony of frogs, crickets, and birds sang in discordant verse. It was the will of the forest, and even, or perhaps especially, she was under its ever mercurial whims.

Tamsin began the slow walk home, bereft and empty, her tears dry and her heart heavy. When she entered the small dwelling she shared with her grandfather, he was quiet, still sitting smoking his pipe as if he had never moved. He was silent and did not ask about her traps or her hours-long venture into the woods they knew so well. Walking to the corner, she sat down on her colorful woven blankets and tried to find sleep, dreaming only of the rabbit's eyes, those large round listless pools reflecting her own face in their black depths.

The morning came along with wanton abandon, birdsong filling the air incessantly as the flaming sky of dawn split across the blue depths of night. She forced her heavy lids to open, her sky blue eyes thick with crusty sleep and worry. She shifted under the homespun blanket to look back into the center of their small home. Her eyes glanced over all the earthen jars on the shelves, the colorful rocks and shards hanging in windows to catch the light—everything was in its proper niche, tucked away in their homes. Her own space upon her blankets, near her special rocks, dried flowers, and other trinkets of sentimentality, felt foreign. Memories and adornments of her childhood life that she wasn’t sure if she was ready to leave behind.

The weight of tradition pressed against her, and while her heart whispered there must be another path her mind knew there was not.

Her grandfather, with his long snow white hair, stood over his copper pot, a constant and vigilant sentinel, stirring at the now tar-black substance. Sticky, slow bubbles thicker than tree sap popped and belched on the shining surface. He took a deep breath, his sightless eyes closing in concentration as he wafted the thick steam billowing from the pot with an open palm towards his long hooked nose. He hummed a quiet song that made her stomach roil and flip in unease, forever able to see into her heart.

‘The hares a breadth away, Hopping through the day. She licks the dew Sips of stream Straying far away from you…’

His rough voice faded in and out, the song distant and out of focus as he stirred his ever-burbling pot. A song he had sung to her for years, a song all the family had sung to the children of the forest.

‘All feed the forest And nourish the stars All are ensnared though the trap not ours…’

His voice abruptly cut off, the pot letting out one more large belch of bubbles before the surface began to shine as slick as oil.

‘Ahhh…. ready…’

Where the statement ended and the question began was a blurry, ill-defined line. Was she ready? Her stomach roiled and flipped against itself, the words of the song banging against her mind, the rabbit's eyes staring deeply into hers. Her eyes caught her grandfather's, milky and sightless, looking at her, beyond her, flat and knowing. He brought his ladle up to his face and blew the steam away before testing the consistency between his fingers. He never broke his gaze with her, until she had to look away, breaking the shared gaze as she felt herself shrink in unease. It was his, and her ancestors before him, ability to see the beyond of time, to grasp at what was once and what would be. Their unwavering cryptic knowledge had placed her family on the periphery of their village's existence—revered and feared in equal measure. Even she had a hard time under the full force of this knowing, sightless gaze. She wondered if that fear would remain once they completed the ceremony. Once she lost sight, would she lose her fear?

It felt like a wish made upon an eyelash—fleeting, desperate, and easily lost to the wind. Somewhere in the distance, the long sound of thunder echoed against the mountains. They both looked past the walls of their home, brows knit in confusion, and their nostrils flared against the air trying to find any slight whisper of ozone that portends a storm. Suddenly, her palms felt moist with worry and perspiration. The air was thick with anticipation. She shook off the feeling of slithering dread that was creeping its way under her heavily freckled skin. Then, with every ounce of courage, she lied.

‘Ready…’

The silence was long, poignant. His eyes flickered left and right in frantic motions while his lips mouthed unheard words. His empty gaze rested on her for a brief moment before he set his large mixing spoon down. He was slow to move, cautious as he stepped away from the worn copper vessel to lay the worn tool on its hook. He rubbed his fingers along the spoon's surface, a whimsical look of domesticity filling the folds and creases of his skin. Then, with a wide smile, he faced her, walked over to her corner of blankets and memories, and swept her up in a warm, crushing embrace. Tightening her arms, she hugged back reflexively at first, then with desperation, buried her nose against his clothes and filling her mind with the scent of him, imprinting it into her memories.

A deep, resonant ring echoed from the heart of the village, each strike of the wooden mallet against the metal plate producing a sound that vibrated with the very pulse of the land surrounding them and expanding through the air.

The trees of the forest seemed to dance and sway to the rhythm as their leaves tittered against one another. As the echoes subsided, a steady rhythm emerged, the heartbeat of their community and the call to ceremony. Tamsin intertwined her fingers with her grandfather's rough skin catching on her own. They pull away from the warm embrace reluctantly, her arms trembling anticipation and uncertainty . Their focus shifted to the heavy wooden door of their dwelling, a portal of the known, and the threshold of their memories. A soft knock sounded and the door swung open, ushering in a rush of cool air that played with the strands of hair framing Tamsin's face. Standing there was the hunter Umar, her skin nearly a hue of purple, twilight on the cusp of night.

Her hair cascaded in silver rivulets down her back. her dark eyes shifted towards the copper pot resting nearby, her gaze laden understanding of the task that awaited them. Behind her emerged two figures, each with hair as white as snow and silver, and eyes that spanned a spectrum from pristine white to deepest black. Freckles adorned their purple-tinged skin, like vast constellations scattered upon a canvas of shifting purples. With graceful movements honed by years of hunting within the forest's embrace, they deftly hefted the copper pot between them on a long metal rod. Carved figures twisted and spiraled along the rod's surface—a dance captured in metal, a design that was echoed throughout the village.Tamsin grips his hand tightly within hers, their long fingers locking together as they follow the small procession stepping away from their small home.The warmth of the humid air they left behind seemed to linger, clinging to their skin as they ventured onward. Yet, within her gut, a sense of dread weighed heavily, its presence insistent and inescapable.

She couldn’t help but wonder what was waiting at the end of the path stretching in front of her. She had walked the path many times, watching the wildflowers shift through their short lives by the season. their death and regrowth inevitable against the backdrop of time. Buds break through the snow no matter how withered.

Small pebbles shift beneath her toes just as they had done each time she had taken this path. the soft squelch of mud yields beneath her feet, from a recent rain. A large toad sat nearby its downturned yellow eyes unblinking and unbothered as it let out a warbling croak in her direction. She had hopped over small baby toads in the early days of summer giddy with excitement that once they aged the toads would sing their warbling symphony in the night. She enjoyed sitting by her window warm with laughter surrounded by the smell of spices and crackling of cooked food listening to the forest surrounding them.

The path was a well worn winding river of packed earth,its contours shaped by the footfalls of many who had journeyed before her.

Even her parents, whom she had never known, had walked this path and left their imprint—a legacy of love and yearning passed down through generations.

She knew what lay at the end of the path, and yet, did not. The carved stone wind-chimes by the door sang their tinkling notes and clinking melodies, the breeze pushed her onward.

The dandelions below writhe against in the wind, a cloud of seeds gently float through the air catching in the folds of their clothes and strands of their hair, whispering softly against their skin.

She felt compelled to try to memorize every pebble, twig, and leaf, as if capturing these small details would anchor her in the moment and etch them into her memory.

The beat begins to blend with the hum of the forest. Small houses line the path, extending toward the tall, moss-covered rock spires that surround them. The homes are adorned with bright ochres and blues, many nearly blending in with the forest and lichen-covered rock sentinels that surround them. The canopy of trees above thickens, their branches intertwined in a nearly eternal embrace, painting the path ahead with shifting dappled sunlight.

People begin to step out of their homes, emerging from the verdant landscape to join the procession. They come forth with quiet steps, holding offerings of food and drink.

A vast array of Quartz jewelry catches the slowly fading light, glinting like stardust against their skin; the air feels alive with anticipation.

Her own heavy jewelry sits heavily against her chest, the many necklaces shifting and clicking loudly as she walks in time with the beating of the metal plate.

A tall figure waits ahead: Brynn, who leads them in all things but the word of the watcher, stands tall and stoic, his lavender skin glowing in the light.

The procession slowed as she stepped towards him. Brynn extends his strong, large hands, offering a quartz headpiece. As he places it gingerly upon her head, the delicate ropes of quartz sway gently in front of her eyes, each glimmering stone reflecting light in her path. Her shoulders begin to shake, and Brynn lets his hand rest quietly on her head where he had just placed the headpiece. His pale eyes, soft with sympathy, hold a depth of understanding—a silent affirmation of the weight she carries. Looking to the ground he removes his hand and steps to the side. Her grandfather squeezes her hand and she continues forward. The procession falls in line behind, Brynn following beside Umar, and they begin to sing with voices as clear as the mountain streams.

Others join in, singing alongside the resonant rhythmic clang of the metal plate. Their lilting voices resonate against the canopy of trees, melancholy and lilting. Ahead lies the heart of the mother, a pocket of raw quartz growing from the earth toward the tree's canopy. The rough stones reflect sunlight in prismatic hues that dance around them, casting a mesmerizing play of light upon the ground and trees.

A large altar, carved into the walls, waits for them at the entrance. A gently smiling quartz figure with closed eyes sits with open hands, holding a stick of fragrant wood. With one last squeeze, her grandfather lets go of her hand and steps forward toward the altar, lighting the wood as the song continues behind.

The air was quickly leaden with a heady spicy scent. Tamsin was beginning to feel dizzy, her vision blurring as all of her friends and loved ones' faces began to meld together around her. The beat began to quicken in pace, a large fire was lit in the middle of the grove within a clear quartz fire pit. The copper pot was placed upon an ornate metal tripod over the licking flames, its tar-like substance eliciting a large bubble upon being jostled.

The procession files into the quartz copse, the area just large enough to fit their small numbers. Each one places their offering on and around the carved altar, surrounding the statue in bounty.

Umar, Brynn and nine others surrounded the fire. Tamsins limbs felt heavy and clumsy as she moved forward, steered by some unknown force. She looked into Umar’s dark and familiar eyes, she had learned to hunt from her, they would sit by the river during cracking chestnuts.

Her grandfather begins to chant, his deep gravelly voice rough and rumbling with emotion as it fills the space,

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‘From the blanket of heaven

The dust of time

The drop of water

The canyon so fine’

He pulls a small homespun pouch from his leaves pulling out a feather that he feeds to the flame. He throws a handful of dust that erupts in a large black cloud, with bleary eyes the figure of a shadow dances before her, red eyes boring into her.

She can feel her chest heaving, her breathing becoming faster and faster.

‘Nai…’

her voice dies off in her throat as he turns towards her away from the fire, his face bleak as he pulls a small vial of fragrant water and drips it down her forehead. The words begin to blur her mind only latching onto bits and pieces. He cuts his hand drawing a vertical line of blood down the bridge of her nose. his chant resonated through the air.

“Cut away the skin

Reveal the bone

The ink is boiled Marked and alone…”

With ease, Umar pulled her long hunting knife free from its sling at her waist, the pommel adorned with dancing figures that writhed and undulated. Their eyes locked for a terrible moment.

A small wooden dowel wrapped in herbs was placed in her mouth over her heavy breathing. The surrounding circle of villagers—her neighbors, friends, and loved ones—began to sing in a frenzy. Many were now dancing, their limbs flailing in unnatural shapes, casting ghastly shadows against the backdrop of the forest around them. Her eyes drifted toward the sky, and she bit down on the dowel as Umar began her awful task.

"From the blanket of heaven

The dust of time

The drop of water

The eyes now mine"

With the swiftness of practiced hands, the task was completed, Umar’s dark eyes unreadable as she focused on the task of peeling away the flesh of Tamsin’s hands and arms while others held her small frame in place.

Tamsin felt herself falling, bright flashes of light and color spinning before her, she wasn’t sure if she screamed, if she cried, or if she simply collapsed. She had a vague recollection of an acrid smell as someone threw a mass into the fire with a hiss, fueling the ever bubbling pot.

broken fragmented images of her bloody skinned limbs being dipped in the bubbling black substance flitted across her mind, vague and blurry as if in a dream.

She awoke sometime later, her arms and legs ablaze with pain, and she whimpered. The sky was dark, stars twinkling in the expanse above, while the crystals reflected only the flickering firelight. Licking her lips, she attempted to speak but only managed a shuddering breath. Nearby, Umar watched with sharp eyes filled with regret, while children worked to wash blood off the ground using buckets of cold mountain water.

‘Nai-nai…’

Her voice emerged as a hushed whisper. He had been by her side, vigilant for any signs of movement, occasionally checking her now-bandaged wounds. They stretched from her fingertips to her elbows and from her toes to her knees, the ink deeply penetrating the open wounds. During her recovery, they had paused to feast while she lay on the cold, unforgiving ground.

she reached for him and he lifted her small body closer and held her while she wept hot tears into his clothes.Whispers fluttered around her, subdued chatter that hushed momentarily as she stirred. Many eyes cast fleeting glances in her direction, then quickly returned to the food before them, deliberately avoiding any lingering eye contact with her grandfather's cold, sightless gaze. Umar had long departed from the quartz circle and now sat surrounded by family and friends, sipping the heady dark flower mead crafted in the village.

The distant rumble of thunder rang through the mountains, a low and foreboding sound that seemed to vibrate within Tamsin's chest.he hair was heavy with anticipation her thoughts spiraled into a frenzy. She clenched her hands into painful fists, her palms moist with a mix of blood perspiration, and trepidation.

and an abrupt silence settled over the forest. Even the wind seemed to cease its rustling through the leaves. The atmosphere tensed as hundreds of cawing crows erupted into the sky, a dark cloud of birds scattering beyond the tree line in a frenzied retreat. All conversation abruptly halted, and the air grew heavy with an impending sense of urgency.

‘it is time little one.’he spoke, his voice low and soft.

He attempted a smile, lips curving in a mockery of merriment, crooked teeth gleaming in the firelight. His familiar and weathered face took on an almost ghastly appearance in the dancing flames. Umar's attention snapped from her cup, her alert eyes tracking the hundreds of birds flying in the distance. Their vocal displeasure reverberated through the ancient caldera, a cacophony of caws and screeches splitting the air.

Her fingers clenched in a white-knuckled grip around the earthenware, her lips pursed in a severe line. Swiftly finishing the contents of her cup, she rose on strong, muscular legs, her expression taut with intensity. Gathering her fellow hunters, she led them toward the forest's edge.

Her grandfather's weathered hands supported her, guiding her gently yet firmly, ensuring she remained steady on her feet. Her vision remained clouded and hazy, the light too harsh, shapes swirling and merging before her. From his sleeve, he produced an overly long needle, his words a distant murmur, resembling crashing waves—loud, furious, and pounding against the shores of her consciousness. He pulled down her lower eyelid with calloused fingers, then reached back. The needle glinted and twinkled with wild abandon in the light, the smell of smoke filling her nostrils, the distant sound of someone's scream. He looked away briefly before standing very still, his sightless eyes facing the edge of the forest.

The tree line split, war machines tearing and devouring the foliage as armored feet crushed the underbrush. The air was suddenly filled with metallic rings, shouts of terror, cries, and the coppery tang of blood. His grip on her loosened, and she almost fell to the quartz-covered ground. His body swayed, and he looked back to her, a large arrow piercing the center of his left milky white eye, as the needle fell against the stone below, clattering and rolling away.

His breath was shaky, uneven, blood seeping from between his lips, staining his teeth red. His body crumpled, and her heart was filled with cold terror. She reached out to him, shaking his shoulders as hard as she could, as the only home she had known was burned to ash.

His chest moved erratically, breathing labored and uneven. She felt herself sobbing as she frantically felt at his chest and face with her bandaged, fluttering fingers. Salty tears and snot dripped against her lips and fell onto him. She held the metal shaft of the arrow and tried to pull, he let out a guttural sound that burbled in his throat, pushed her hands away with clammy palms, and jerked his head toward the forest before letting out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

She tried to grab him once more, determined to drag him away from the smoke and screams. He looked at her, his gaze still deep and piercing even with only one cloudy eye. There was little surprise etched in his earthworn face.

“Go…before your toes… root…”

His words were mangled and choked out, gritty with pain. Then he was suddenly still, his whole body at peace, his one eye fluttering under his white lashes as if looking towards the heavens. He let out a small, burbled, bloody laugh before the light of his soul extinguished.

Standing up shakily, she finally looked around her, anywhere but at her grandfather. Chaos surrounded them. Arrows flew with wanton abandon, the clank of armor resounding through the caldera, echoing off the stone walls. In the distance, one of the reptilian mounts shrieked, its rider pulling tightly on the iron bar under its tongue to force its obedience. Time seemed to freeze as she looked toward the rider, their form the only distinctive shape she could discern. Sharp and honed amidst the blurred figures around her, their armor glistened in the humid air, bright and pristine silver despite the blood and smoke they brought in their wake. On the side of his mount, a creature more fiend than friend.

Umar's head dangled in a macabre dance against the flanks of the creature. It was severed in a jagged line along her slender neck, her sightless gaze fixed on the sky.

The armored figure wore no helmet, dark black wavy hair dampened with sweat against his forehead, brushing his shoulders. The harsh planes of his face were sharp and unyielding. Their eyes locked, the air seemed to still, and time slowed to a crawl around them. His eyes were cold, slate gray and flat, devoid of warmth. The pupils seemed overly small, pinpricks of darkness against stone. But as he watched her, a spark of emotion entered the gray depths until she could look no longer. Cold fear inched its way along her skin, and she broke away from the trance that seemed to hold them both captive. She turned her gaze back to her grandfather; his body had begun to still and quiet, his lungs no longer struggling to gain purchase.

With gritted teeth she turned around and fled for the treeline her body enduring the pain and anguish, blocking out the screams, and suppressing the pounding of her heart. The three-toed footfalls of the warrior's mount reverberated behind her its high keening wail scratching against her eardrums and filling her mouth with saliva and the bitter taste of fear. She pushed past those she had known and loved, smashing against warm bodies caught in a perilous, and futile, struggle ducking under the swinging arcs of blades, blood spray and arrow shafts. The mountains shone purple under the raging sunset rioting above.

She needed to reach the tree line.

Sweat soaked her clothes, blood seeping from the soles of her feet, staining her bandages with muddy gore. The warrior was drawing nearer, his mount's scales reflecting red and gold in the fiery light. The air was dense with the acrid smell of smoke and suffering. Its amber eyes fixated on her, diamond slits of pupils honed in on her fleeing form. Glancing back, she saw Umar's tongue lolling out of her once merry mouth , the head bouncing against the mount's muscled thigh. Other hunters dangled beside her, their mottled purple skin now flat and sallow with death. Nausea washed over her as she realized how close she was, feeling the brush of leaves against her cheeks.

She had to reach the cave.

Thin branches whipped and tore at her skin, clawing her arms and cutting her face, sending searing pains through her body. Other animals had long ago run off, the portends of birds are rarely wrong, their warning call had sent the whole forest skittering away in search of shelter from the encroaching storm of armored figures.

The image of the hare's lifeless body flashed before her eyes, etching itself into her mind as she sprinted towards the riverbank. She could almost feel its warmth against her chest, the thump of its heart echoing in her own. The bridled reptile hiss and shrieked, its claws gouging the earth at edge of the trees ripping and tearing at the tangle of leaves and branches with its small clawed arms flailing, trying desperately to tear through.Briars and thorns scraped against its tough skin, a meager defense against its intrusion. Nostrils flaring its hot breath steaming in the cooling air it managed to tear its way through the branches. The armored figure steered the reins with a swift tug, his grip unwavering as his eyes remained fixed solely on her amidst the dense undergrowth.The creature carefully toed through the thick underbrush avoiding holes and traps in its wake, moving with care and intention as his armor slid against itself filling the forest with the scraping of metal, the once lively birdsong silenced, the forest abandoned.

The river was stained red by the setting sun. Clouds drifted lazily about, funnels of smoke whirled frantically in the breeze.Casting one final glance over her shoulder, her gaze locked with his. His inhuman pupils, dilated and consuming, bore into hers with a desperate hunger. , his smile appeared ghastly, the corners of his mouth pulling his skin into deep furrows against his strong features as he approached her.Though he could easily reach her by urging his mount a little, he held back . His hand cast an iron grip around the reins, controlled, waiting for the edge, the finality of defeat to spur him onward. He seemed to relish in the anticipation of it all, a predator in armor relishing the impending capture of its prey. Her heart thudded wildly within her ribcage, threatening rebellion against her own body if she dared to continue the perilous chase.

Her resistance was undeniable, her fear tangible, and as she locked eyes with those abyssal depths that glimmered with excitement, she found herself unable to deny the urgency of the moment. A lingering gaze into his fevered eyes, and she surrendered herself to the capricious hands of fate, leaping into the wailing river. The water churned and surged all around her, ensnaring her in its relentless grasp, pulling her downwards toward the rock-strewn bed beneath. Her long hair became a white tangle, ensnaring her limbs caging her in the rushing current.

The very air was squeezed from her lungs as she gasped in shock from the pinprick cold, her body assaulted by the jarring current.The relentless flow buffeted her form, her arms thrashing against the water as she fought to find a hold amidst the slippery, algae-coated rocks. The river’s forceful current carried her downstream, Her limbs struggled against the water trying to gain any sense of purchase before she bobbed to the surface gasping for air in a state of panicked desperation before being drawn under anew.

Her arms pumped against the current, pulling her body above the water's surface as she gulped greedily for air, her fingers desperately clawing for purchase against the ravenous river. The water tossed and turned her, oblivious to the sounds of terror and pain above, as she tumbled against rocks and the riverbed before being unceremoniously spat out onto the shore. Coughing and hacking, she found herself thrown against the muddy, silty, detritus-ridden bank. Stumbling, her toes scrabbling for purchase in the moist soil, she tried to regain her footing after the disorienting ride downriver. Her vision spun around her, turning the forest canopy into a whirlwind of green, light, and endless sky. In the distance, something glinted like a beacon in the quickly fading light.

Her heart pounded against her chest, its rhythm erratic and dissonant, a tumultuous pulse reverberating against her ribs. She stumbled forward through the copse of trees ahead, pushing through brambles and vines until her wrinkled, waterlogged palms met the touch of soft, ancient wood. Umar's knife sat abandoned in the brambles below, far from its owner.

For a moment, confusion washed over her. Umar had been in another part of the woods. She had rushed to the heart of turmoil and destruction only to have her head a macabre companion to the man with eyes of steel.

The pounding of footsteps grew nearer, and the reptilian mount let out an angry, pained shriek. She snatched the knife hastily, clutching it close to her body. The blade felt warm against her skin, the scent of chestnuts filling her senses. She quickly shoved the knife into her clothes, narrowly avoiding cutting herself on the sharp edge that had already exacted its tithe of flesh.

Before her stood a door, ornately carved and weathered beyond time, ancient and enigmatic. It had been hewn long ago into the mountain caves, the very heart of the earth. With weak legs, she approached it, her clammy toes seeking purchase as she pushed with all her might, hoping to open the thick, rough door. Straining and grasping for purchase she felt the bite of wood against her fingers through bandages and gore as splinters tore through her flesh.

Pushing harder, her throat parched, her tongue heavy, she prayed fervently that the door would yield, allowing her passage. The sound of footsteps echoed around her, her breath grew faster and faster, escaping in warm, quick bursts through her gritted teeth as she strained against the door, feeling it dig into her palms.

Salty tears edge against the corners of her eyes, as the sun inched ever closer to the horizon. The river nearby babbled uncontrollably, a restless companion to her tumultuous journey. The wind picks up, gripping at the edge of her hem as she stumbles through the door and darkness enveloping her entirely.

For a fleeting moment she turns, catching sight of the gray eyed man, his armor shining in the light as he races along the river's edge, eyes wild as he spurs his foaming mount onward spittle framed the edges of his dry cracked lips.

With an iron grip on the worn bridle, he maintained total control with the lightest pressure. The spurs jutting from beneath the pointed armored toes of his boots showed little signs of wear. As he drew nearer, his eyes locked onto hers, a direct assault on her iris with his unwavering gaze. The door slammed shut just before he could reach it, a flicker of desperation blazing within him before the consuming darkness swallowed her whole.

Screams are replaced with near silence, the drip of water echoing into the depths of darkness and eternity. For a brief moment, she wishes the needle had pierced through her eyes so that the darkness would not be quite so assaulting. But at least she is far from the gray-eyed man.

With shaky, bloody, bandaged hands, she pushes against the door for certainty, but there is no budging it. For one fleeting moment, she rests her forehead against the hewn wood, only to jerk back seconds later as the sound of a pounding fist reverberates through her head.

She could feel him looking at the ancient wood, his fist scraping against it in a fervor. She pulled away, inching down the moist stone stairs that led into the deeper darkness below.

Her bandaged hands grasped at the rough, damp stone wall as she attempted to navigate the slippery stairs, distancing herself from the pounding above and behind her.

Eventually, her heel hit the edge of one of the seemingly never-ending stairs, and she found herself tumbling downward towards the depths below with no foothold or certainty, the way ahead shrouded in darkness.

As the echoes of the knocks faded, her body continued to spiral downwards, spinning and colliding against the rough rock, the sound of waterlogged stalagmites dripping providing her only company.

Finally, her bruised and battered body landed abruptly on a flat surface, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she gasped for air. The world around her was empty, stripped of color, an infinite darkness as deep as ink enveloped her, and water dripped from an unknown source.

Drip. Drip.. Drip…

She scanned every direction, her eyes darting to find the origin.

Drip…. Drip….. Drip…..

It enveloped her from all sides, the echo pulsating against her mind. Suddenly, the ground shifted, and moist air rushed in, surrounding her. The leathery sound of skin meeting skin reverberated in the air as the creature's lips snapped shut. A quick panic-filled breath escaped her lips as darkness consumed her world, and the ground quivered beneath her.

The sensation of moist, leathery skin pressed against her, and she let out a shrill shriek, her cries echoing within the creature's insides. Its wet, spongy tongue coiled around her ankle, pulling her inexorably downward. The weight of its esophagus crushed around her, contracting, pushing, pulling her past ridges and bumps

Her screams were muffled and crushed within the innards of the beast.

Time slowed, she was unable to remember when she last gasped for air, her desperate attempts to claw at the rubbery walls of the creature's throat slowing before she stopped. The world became an endless cycle of pushes and pulls, an unending rhythm that threatened to drown her.

Amidst the darkness, the acrid scent of sulfur stung her nose, and for a fleeting instant, she remembered. She remembered the burning gaze of those gray eyes, the pungent smell of sulfur and suffering that filled the air. The thick, coppery tang of blood coated her senses. And in the depths of time, a memory surfaced, almost indiscernible — her mother's face, a brief flicker of warmth in the abyss. The air grew heavy with the scent of burning sulfur as stomach acid churned around her, threatening to consume her in its depths. Desperation drove her to claw at the blubbery, rubbery walls, her nails scraping against the slimy surface and she opened her mouth wide clamping her teeth until they broke through flesh, then bit again, and again, determined to tear and claw her way out.

Frantic wails echoed around her, distorted and resonant, vibrating with force and pain. She continues, almost delighting in the creature's distress while she fights passage to its bowels. Bitter liquid fills her mouth, acrid to her tongue, angry and vile against her palette. Clawing and scratching she points all of her hand into the shape of a blade before stabbing with all of her weight against its insides where she had shredded ragged holes with her teeth. It wails louder, trembling around her. Repeats the motion over and over, panting with effort her tears nearly turning to laughter.

Finally, the walls surrendered with a resounding rush of liquid and air, her body goes tumbling into the darkness, the warmth that encapsulated her is now gone, falling with a loud splash into dark waters as she falls flailing against warm wet insides before flopping back against a stone slab.

Driven by desperation, she frantically combed the wall, her fingers navigating solely by touch in the overwhelming darkness. A water laps at her heels against the stone slab below. A puddle of water lapped at her heels, its gentle ripples brushing against the stone slab below. Breathing became a struggle, fear's suffocating grip constricting her lungs. The oppressive darkness cocooned her, and in her disoriented state, she couldn't help but wonder—where was the creature that had consumed her whole?

Bile rises in her throat as she frantically gropes in front of her, eventually encountering a solid wall. Her trembling fingertips grope for anything to guide her forward, and she shuffles cautiously, her heart pounding, sweat beading in salty droplets on her upper lip. Her toes make contact with the edge of something weighty and slimy before it quickly slinks away. With slight sobs, she crawls forward, pulling her aching body further onto the slab as her nails catch into a disused latch. Somewhere close by, a shriek burbles against the water, cutting, painful, and close by. Before she can react, she tumbles once again, hurtling further into the abyss.

The knocks against the door are long done. The wooden door itself is a distant memory.

Past the door, there are only more steps leading downward toward the edge of eternity. The memory of their beginning lapses, and her wounded hands feel numb against the cold stone wall as she continues downward; light has long been a forgotten companion.

Drip Drip Drip

Her bandaged feet thump against the stone stairs, and eventually, the pain fades, the bandages fray and rot away as she heads deeper into the depths of the cave. She is blind to the changes, blind to time and difference. There are blissful moments where she forgets her grandfather, his smile, his voice—had she ever truly lived within the emerald canopy of the forest?

Then there are moments where she remembers.

Time passes, onwards, downwards. One step, then another, and another. The rough edges of the cavern walls blur and blend under her fingertips as she trudges forward, more afraid to turn back than to continue onward. Something warm and slick grasps at her fingers, but she swats it away, rushing downward until the long tendril pulls away with deliberate remorse. Lichen pops up in gnarled tufts along her path, moist and warm against the hard stone. The stairs below are worn smooth from water and time, the incessant drip of water from above echoes beyond antiquity.

Water touches the edge of her toes and she lets out a sharp hiss in surprise and suspicion, quickly pulling her feet back. The walls of the cavern feel suddenly more constricting, as if a throat is closing, pushing her downward. Her chest tightens, and she leans down, crouching on the damp stone, hyperventilating, shaky cries echoing in her throat as she clasps her arms tightly around herself. A dim red light blinks in the distance, rippling towards her against the dark water's surface. The light is incredibly bright to her starved eyes, and she shies away, covering her face. The light pools and ebbs forward, insistent and probing. She stands shakily, the pull of the light stronger than her fear. Her throat suddenly feels dry, her legs ache, her palms are blistered and scratched from the rough stone wall's surface. With desperation, her thin and starved hands reach out to the light. The stairs stop with abrupt finality, causing her to stumble. The light flickers, taunting. Water laps at her ankles, cold and tinged red by the blinking light ahead.

With desperation, she wails, her voice hoarse from disuse, cracking at the edges and drying in her suddenly parched throat. Edging forward, the water grasps at her as she heads deeper and deeper into the inky depths towards the light ahead. Gasping, she frantically pushes on, trepidation seeping into her bones at the press and pull of the water. All she can think of are those fleshy leathery lips closing in around her, pushing her into the depths of an unknown creature's belly. The light blinks all around her as if excited, blinding her to her surroundings, taunting her with its sheer existence after the absence of light for the entirety of her trek through the underground.

Her toes slip on the algae-covered ground, and suddenly she is under the water. Shapes dart about in the blinking red light, and she gasps, water rushing deep into her lungs and belly. She flails her arms, trying to gain purchase and grasping towards the surface. Something scaled and cold drifts against her legs just as her fingers smash against a ledge. She claws her way up, soaked to the bone, shivering violently as she coughs and vomits water onto the stone surface.

For a while, she huddles there, gripping her legs tightly, trying to close her eyes to the ever more insistent blinking light that surrounds her. She misses the complete and total darkness that had surrounded her before. A splash sends her reeling to her unsteady feet, and she rushes forward, attempting to escape the water's edge. The red light now surrounds her, filling the seemingly infinite space. It has stopped its blinking and beckoning, knowing she has little place else to go.

Before her stands an altar, carved from quartz and crystal, much like the edifice in her village. It gleams in the red hue surrounding her. A small pillar nearly reaches her chest, with a cupped bowl filled with darkened water. In the center, a small red ball of light rolls around, splashing in joy against the black water. She reaches out, trying to cup the fantastical ball of light. Her starved eyes glow with wonder, but the light flickers and sparks against her blackened, barely bandaged fingers.

‘You see?...’

The ancient voice echoes around her, and sparks lap at her fingers, biting at her nails and encircling her knuckles. Laughter fills the void, and red sparks rush up her arms, encircling them. It is a seemingly innocuous question, filled with surprise.

She has been so alone. She is so alone. Her grandfather's flat, dead eyes flash before her. Umar's tongue lolls out of her purple-lipped mouth. ‘We will do wonders.’

The red orb elongates, shifting and undulating against itself as it begins to expand upwards, surrounded by shadows and dark electricity crackling against the stone walls, filling the darkness with red and purple light that glows with more and more intensity. She finds herself staring right into a set of eyes filled with a depth of darkness beyond her perception. She stares into the edifice of shadow, the guardian of the depths. The eyes shine red as the shadow grows taller and taller, towering over her. Dark tendrils of darkness grasp at her, her ears fill with an incessant buzzing. The hairs of her arms stand up, a bitter metallic taste fills her mouth as her entire being screams at her to run away. But just as suddenly, it is gone; the world seems quiet. She can hear the drip of water from above, the trickles against the walls, the small waves lapping against stone.

All goes still as she stares into those beseeching eyes filled with kinetic movement and energy but no pupils. Dark lines dance in a circular frenzy where iris and pupil reside on all other creatures she had ever known in her short life. They writhe amongst themselves, shadow-embroiled sparks of electricity coiling against one another, twisting and rotating. They stare into her, pulling and grasping at memories, caressing the darkest parts of her mind and offering parts of its own. The voice crackles and purrs against her before she spreads her arms wide around the shadow and pulls herself close to it, her skin melting and burning against its enshrouded form, energy crackling and surrounding them as they embrace.

‘We will be together… always…’

And the world is once again consumed by blackness. Her body feels as though it's tumbling, and her mind follows suit, descending into the depths. Her heart beats erratically before everything becomes engulfed. Flashes of color flicker against her closed lids—memories, sounds, screaming, the smell of sulfur and smoke. A chorus of voices echoes against her eardrums, while the shade laughs through it all, joyful and effervescent. It had waited so long.

She falls into a dreamless slumber upon the hard stone.

Time passes, and eventually she opens her heavily crusted eyes. Forcing herself upright, she brushes her hands against the warm wood of the cave door. The stairs fade into the depths below, no longer as dark and foreboding. A soft presence brushes against her thoughts, and a coppery electricity fills her nose as the shade tickles her consciousness, whispering of the wonders she will now behold in the darkness.

Standing on stiffened limbs, the feeling of pain from her flayed skin is gone, her aches now a mere whisper of memory. Her healed, ink-blackened hands reach for the carved wood, and she opens the door into the forest, feeling the rush of fresh air beat against her skin. Verdant woods surround her, larger and thicker than she remembered, leaves rustling in the breeze. She follows the edge of the river back towards her home. The smell of smoke is long gone, the clash of metal forgotten. Small critters chitter and rush about their daily lives, birds chirp and trill their songs with wanton glee all around her. Sunlight surrounds her, blindingly radiant and overly bright. She squeezes her eyelids tightly shut against the burning, blocking the glow with her arms in vain hope of escaping the sun's rays.

A rustle in the brush to her right sends her body on alert. A steamy hiss scrapes at the air, and she begins to run forward, the edges of her vision blackened by brightness as she stumbles through the thicket. A snap sounds to her left, sharp and fast, before a thin rough metal wire tightens around her ankle and heaves her through the air until she is hanging upside down. The area has been cleared of tree branches, so there’s nothing for her grasping long fingers to hold onto. She panics, trying to throw her body upwards, flailing her three free limbs about her in an attempt to gain purchase in the open air.

Footsteps crunch against the underbrush just out of her sight, circling her at first before coming close enough for her to see the branches and leaves shift against their form. A rhythmic whistle sounds through the air, and in the corner of her vision, she catches sight of a lightly leather-clad figure emerging partially from the bushes and brush. His dirty, gloved hands are clasped around his mouth, funneling the sound far into the distance. His fingers move rhythmically against each other, offering a slight trill to the beacon. Dirt is smeared across his bloodshot, focused eyes, and leaves and debris have made their home in his hair, making him more forest than person. He smiles towards her, his teeth surprisingly white against the grime covering his skin, before receding back into the forest. She dangles above the ground, finally giving in to the exhaustion and vertigo that have settled in.

Birds chirp around her, oblivious to her plight. Bugs bite at her in an erratic frenzy, and she finds no way to swat them away. The sun shifts around her, throwing golden light in disarray through the shifting leaves as the day moves closer towards dusk. Her vision eases in and out of focus, gently swinging in the breeze as blood rushes ever onwards toward her head. The metal wire bites at her swelling ankle, cutting into her flesh. She tries to swing upwards in futility, hoping to alleviate some of the weight pulling against the snare. Her head begins to pound and spin, the birdsong and forest chatter hitting sharply against her ears and echoing in her skull.

Birds begin to quiet, their sharp trill ending their reverie as sudden silence spreads around her. A distant thumping reverberates through the ground. It becomes louder and louder, thundering closer and closer. The scraping and shredding of claws against wood and leaves surround her on all sides, and suddenly he is upon her, looking up, his gray eyes alight. The sun gives them a ghastly glow. He is surrounded by other mounted, armored figures. He makes a clicking sound against his teeth, and someone quickly dismounts, pulls a weighty knife from a belt on their thigh, and slams it against the bark of a nearby tree, cutting the rope holding the snare and sending her tumbling through the air.

Her feet leave the ground, and suddenly she's dangling in his grasp, her weight insignificant as he had moved forward to catch her mere feet from the ground. The tips of her hair brush against the rocks and dirt, and she finds herself face to face with her distorted reflection in his worn, war-battle-scarred armor. His smile widens unnaturally, recognition sparking in his gaze. His voice is slick as oil in his native tongue.

A slimy crawl edges against her skin, his knights laughing quietly, whispering amongst themselves as their mounts paw restlessly against the earth. She can feel his grip tighten on her ankle as his eyes roam, assessing her from head to toe. He leans over, reaching for a long, greasy lock of her white hair, gently caressing it between his thick leather gloves. He tests it between his fingers, inspecting it as if expecting it to disappear from his battle-scarred hands. Bringing it under his long, sharp nose, he inhales deeply.

He leans in close to whisper in the shell of her ear, but the cadences of his language are unfamiliar to her. His tone makes her squirm, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin and a chill to run down her spine. The shadow hisses within her thoughts as if burned before slithering away beyond her consciousness. She has no more energy to fight, no more strength to twist and tug against fate. She knows she will never escape the grasp of this battle-hardened figure towering above her.

Her eyes scan the circle of armored warriors all around her, their mounts' eyes gleaming in bright jewel tones, the long black slits of their pupils trained on her. His fingers loosen, and he drops her unceremoniously to the ground in a tangled heap of limbs. He dismounts, and as he approaches, she looks up with frantic, wide eyes at the full sight of him. His imposing height looms leagues above her as she skitters against the ground, her thin fingers fluttering through the underbrush as she tries to back away. She reaches into her torn clothing, retrieving Umar's knife. The delicately carved handle feels thick and unwieldy in her grasp, the blade shines red in the fading light, and she points it directly toward him, holding it tightly with both thin hands. Her long fingers brush against the blade, making her grimace and shake involuntarily with memories.

His smile only widens, stretching the edges of his face, ghastly and unsettling. Briefly, she is reminded of a snake ripping flesh from bone. Slate gray eyes reflect her own worn, thin face back to her. He steps forward, undeterred, unfettered, and filled with a raging confidence. A chiding clicking sound echoes from his mouth, his tongue slamming against the back of his teeth, mocking her desperation and the futility of her escape. Metal-pointed boots glint and wink in the sun as he strides forward, barely needing to take his full stride before reaching her. Her back hits the rough bark of a thick tree, and she's forced to crane her neck upwards, looking straight into his glinting eyes. He leans down, angling himself towards her, his armor clinking against itself as he positions himself at eye level.

She flails with the blade, clumsily stabbing and slicing at the air around him, barely nicking his face. A small rivulet of blood makes a lazy trail down his cheekbones and towards his chin before his tongue darts out to lick it away. His gloved hand grabs her blade before sliding down, the blade hissing as if burned against the hardened leather. He grips her wrist with his armored hand, squeezing until her black-dyed fingers throb and crack, causing Umar's blade to fall to the ground.

A member of his entourage steps forward to pick up the blade, avoiding her gaze, and seeming at ease within himself in the face of confrontation. The large sigil on his breastplate winks in the light—a golden sun surrounded by rays of light above a sword and gauntlet, looking impassively back at her. The crown decorated in red gems seems to glimmer with ill intent. A few soldiers shuffle and murmur amongst themselves, their blank, hollow eyes seeming to look through and beyond her. Banners with the same sun insignia on a field of yellow and blue flap gently in the breeze, slapping lightly against their wooden poles. The staring sun seems to wink at her, its unmoving mouth tugged into a mocking smile by the ministrations of the wind.

The gray-eyed man grabs hold of her chin, turning her face left and right in wonder. He releases her face almost gently before slamming his hands down on her thin shoulders and lifting her upwards. Her feet dangle above the ground before he walks back towards his saddled beast and throws her onto it, jumping behind her and pressing firmly against her. His heart pounds against her back in excitement. He whispers something warm in the shell of her ear once more, something only she can hear, but has yet to understand. Then he spurs forward, rushing through the leaves and weaving between the trunks of ancient trees with more dexterity than he had displayed in the previous chase. His hand grips tightly on the leather reins, encircling her in a wall of flesh. The forest blurs around her, branches rip at her skin, and they leave the forest firmly behind them as stars begin to pepper the darkening sky above. The deep purple expanse of night slowly creeping along the edges of the sky.

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