Back in that cursed mountain.
Weak. Helpless. On the cold white marble floor.
The stinging smell of disinfectant floods my senses. The harsh lights above blind me. Andhestands there—The General.
His scar, carved jagged down his face.
His boots, polished to a cruel shine.
His eyes—those menacing, merciless eyes that promised pain with every blink.
A predator.
A ghost.
A nightmare with a pulse.
And I am right back at his mercy.
“Miss me?”he taunts, dragging his blade across the marble walls with a sound so sharp it slices straight through my bones.
No, this can’t be happening… I beat him already in the cottage. I faced my fear…
“Stop!” I choke out as my heart slams violently against my ribs, “Let me go!”
My voice cracks as tears pool at the edges of my eyes, trembling and hot. It doesn’t matter how loud I shout—he keeps coming with his knife low and his steps steady. Intent unmistakable.
“Get away—!”
I try to lift my hands. Try to summon strength. But nothing moves. My limbs are trapped. Frozen. Betraying me.
Then—
“Whoa, whoa.”
A voice cuts through the nightmare like a blade through fog.
The General flickers. His face distorting and melting back into shadow.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice says again, softer this time.
I blink hard, breath scraping my throat.
The mountain fades. The white floors dissolve. And the man standing in front of me is not the General.
It’shim.
The man from the tent. Wide-eyed. Hands empty. No weapon. No armour. No polished boots.
“Are you okay?” he asks carefully, concern written across his face
The question doesn’t land. Not at first.
I squeeze my forearm—hard. Hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to tether myself to the present. Pain blooms under my fingers, familiar and grounding. I glance around—the tan fabric walls, the glow of the small fire, the heavy pelts.
Real.
This is real.
