I’d expected the creature to falter, to collapse beneath the weight of exhaustion. But it never did. It ran with a kind of unnatural endurance, tearing across the land like a beast unbound by this world. To any onlooker, we would’ve been nothing but a stroke, a blur vanishing into the horizon. Something was aiding us. I could feel it. Yet, it asked of nothing in return, only pushing us forward with urgency.
Onward. Onward. Onward.
And onward we went. The land shifted beneath us, plains gave way to mountains, then to marshes, bogs, forests, and dense woods, all drawn forward by the single, unwavering call.
There was no need to stop, no hunger or thirst to slow us down. The path took us farther from civilization, deeper into isolation. But thecloser we got to whatever waited at the end, the louder the call grew. By then, I knew nothing could pull me away. Not hunger, not fear, not even the past I left behind.
I knew we were close when the black and white of the world started to blur into silver. The sky shimmered with starlight, and the air grew still. I’d felt this before. Rarely, briefly. I’d always wrote it off as a fantasy, some imagined grandeur. But now I understood. These were echoes. Warnings. Invitations.
This was the darkness calling me.
The same darkness that had followed me for as long as I could remember. Never too far, it gave more than it took, and stood between me and the worst the world had to offer. Whether it was a friend or something else, I had never thought to question why it was there.
The flashes of silver. The pull in my chest. The sense that I belonged. It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t madness.
The darkness was guiding me home.
It was leading me to Torhiel.
I woketo find the creature gone.
My stomach clenched with a hunger so strong it felt like it might tear me apart. Every muscle ached, my head pounded, and pain shot through my shoulder like it had just been reopened.
Then my memory returned to the gates of Falhurst. How the darkness took me. I remembered letting it in, how it grew inside me.
Through it all, I was helpless, like a bystander watching my own life unfold as if it belonged to someone else.
The thought of the carnage made my stomach lurch, bringing a different pain settling deep inside me. The blood, the destruction; it was overwhelming. It wasn’t the violence that discomforted me, it was theawakening of a power. For years, I dismissed what the darkness revealed, always brushing it off as a dream or some trick of my mind.
But now, the pieces started to click into place. Back when I was a child in Brier Len. Years ago, at the Rustwood Mill. And now, at the gates of Falhurst.
These weren’t mere coincidences. Something dark and calamitous lived within me.
Call it delusion, a rude awakening, or simply acceptance, but now, more than ever, my thoughts drifted to what little I knew of my mother. I knew she was born in Torhiel, that this land had been her home long before Brier Len. My earliest memories began around the age of four or five, always rooted in the outskirts I called home. But something about this place stirred a strange familiarity. The air felt warm, almost inviting, as if it was a homecoming. And yet, beneath that comfort, there was an undercurrent of unease, a deeply rooted sense that danger lingered close.
I didn’t need a sign to know I was in Torhiel. And I was completely alone.
My stomach growled again, sharp and hollow, the kind of hunger that felt like your stomach was folding in on itself. I shifted, trying to sit up, and pain flared through my left shoulder like fire.
I gasped, the sound barely more than a whimper.
I switched to my right arm, my wrist mottled in deep purples and yellows from when the sentry crushed it under his boot. It throbbed, but it worked. That was enough.
My hand found the satchel still slung across my chest. I fumbled at the flap, then reached inside. The coin pouch was still there, but my pocketknife was gone. No chance of getting it back now. My fingers found a small bundle tucked in the corner. I grabbed it without thinking, driven by desperation. It felt softer than it should have, but I didn’t care. I tore it open and let the contents fall into my hand.
Two shriveled, moldy apples dropped out, followed by the pulpy remains of something that might’ve once been an apricot.
My heart sank.
I rummaged through the satchel, searching for anything else, any bundles I might’ve overlooked. I tore into three more, unwrapping them with trembling hands.
The cheese had gone rock-hard and dry, speckled with mold. The cured meats were stiff as old leather, and the bread was stale to the point of danger. Any bite from it would tear up my mouth. The crackers had crumbled into dust, but I held the cloth to my lips and funneled what I could in, chasing every last dry grain. They scraped down my throat, and I coughed violently as the dust hit my lungs.
After the fit passed, I reached for the meat. It was salted, sure, but I had no idea if it was still safe. My stomach didn’t care. I tore off a piece and chewed. It was tough, tasting of musk and dirt. It was hardly edible, but I forced it down, my jaw aching with every grind of my teeth. I kept going, tearing off another piece, and another, until my jaw felt like it might seize up.
But as the edge of hunger dulled, an unbearable thirst came rushing in. It felt like I hadn’t drank in weeks. I swallowed again, and my throat rasped in protest. The dry, raw walls scraped against each other, threatening another coughing fit. The discomfort was maddening. It was a slow, grinding torture.
I needed water. More than anything, I needed water.
