Where Fireflies Dwell

Prologue

W ithering away, his breaths dwindle within the cold prison walls as his abdomen weeps crimson.

He doesn’t remember how he ended up in this poorly lit chamber, soaked in a haunting pool of his own blood. His thoughts are foggy, and all he can grasp is the searing pain coursing through his body.

He blinks his tears back.

The man behind his injury has already fled, but the knife marred by his blood still lies on the floor. He’s not so sure what he’s supposed to do now.

Maybe, die?

The clock ticks.

Slowly.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Wispy, delicate orange and yellow embers appear. Is the room on fire? Or is something else burning?

He can’t tell, but whatever it is—it’s creeping in, engulfing everything it touches before blinding him, forcing him to screw his eyes shut and hold his breath.

The clock continues ticking.

This time, it picks up speed, never ceasing.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

It goes on and on, echoing through the walls like a bell chiming through time .

Then silence falls upon him.

And with it, all his pain wanes to nothing.

The next time he flutters his eyes open, he finds himself in a strange realm, a setting unlike jail. There’s no fire, no knife, no wall clock hammering in his ears. He’s not even wearing his slate-blue prison garb. And he’s definitely not dying on a blood-stained ground anymore.