Chapter 6
Outskirts of Sattoriya, Tartareia.
The storm rages outside. Lightning strikes the protective shield surrounding my house. Immediately upon contact, sparks erupt, creating a fireworks display outside my window.
I sit quietly, staring at the drops of rain that quickly put out the sparks, my mind still in the throes of a nightmare.
Though deep asleep, I heard whispers at first. Unintelligible words that got louder and louder. Sounds that verged on the grotesque.
Someone yelling in my ear finally woke me up.
I’ve been unable to sleep since.
It’s a frequent occurrence at this point, these nightmares. Just when I think my sleep settles down and becomes tranquil, the nightmares happen again.
It’s always the same sequence. It starts with whispers. Unclear sounds that almost sound human. Then they become louder; a cacophony of screams and wails. Sometimes it’s someone asking for help. Other times it’s someone blaming me for their death.
And sometimes, I hear them clearly. They call me cursed: the harbinger of death.
It’s only the knowledge that my house is safe that keeps me sane at this point. Everything is just in my mind.
My father had been planning my future for a long time, and he had bequeathed me one of the properties that were not entailed to the title.
It was a small house at the outskirts of Sattoriya, but it was fully equipped with everything I needed, including a rich library to keep me entertained for the millennia to come.
The house also came with magical guards that ensured that no one without an express invitation could step inside.
Now I wonder if the house also came with wandering spirits…
A sudden sound breaks from behind me, sending a jolt through my spine.
I freeze.
The storm swallows the noise almost immediately, thunder rolling over it, but I know what I heard. It wasn’t the wind. It was something else. Something similar to the sounds of my nightmares.
Slowly, I turn. Sweat gathers over my forehead as I take in my surroundings.
The living room is exactly as before—chair by the hearth, curtains pulled tight to the side, the faint shimmer of the protective barrier casting pale light across the walls. Nothing moves. Nothing breathes.
And yet…
A pressure lingers at my back. The unmistakable sensation of being watched.
I rise from my seat at the window, careful not to make a sound. My bare feet meet the cold floor, grounding me, even as something in my chest begins to unravel.
My veins pulse with trepidation. Those odd whispers from my dreams echo in my mind, almost as if they’re seeking to break the boundary between imaginary and real.
Another creak.
Impossible. No one can come inside this house with a direct invitation.
My face falls as realization sweeps through me.
No one with a physical body.
“Hello?”
My voice comes out thinner than I intended. It doesn’t carry any of the authority I wanted to convey.
But just as it rings out, it dissipates into a void. It feels as though the walls swallow it whole before it can travel.
Silence ensues.
Then… A soft drag.
Not loud or particularly scary. Just the faint scrape of something shifting across the floor behind me.
I turn sharply this time.
Nothing. Still nothing.
What’s happening?
My nightmares have been ever present for as long as I can remember, but they’ve never been mirrored in real life.
I scan the area again, searching for the source of the sound.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary. At least I think so… Right?
I frown, until something dawns on me. The shadows have changed.
They stretch longer now, pooling in the corners where the shield’s glow doesn’t quite reach. One of them—near the doorway—seems deeper than the rest, more defined.
My pulse stutters. I gulp down uncomfortably.
“That’s not possible,” I whisper, more to myself than anything else. It’s just a dream, Nykander. You’re sleeping, dreaming… It’s not real!
But why does this feel so real? Why does the air feel so cold and stale when the temperature is controlled by the runes, always ensuring the perfect temperature.
Something is seriously wrong, but I don’t know what.
Another sound.
Closer.
Right behind me.
A breath brushes the back of my neck. It’s cold, damp…familiar.
I spin—
No one is there.
But the air shifts, thickens, as if something has just stepped away from me. As if it’s circling. Watching. Waiting. Taunting me.
And then I hear it.
A whisper.
Not from the other side of the room. Not from the door.
From behind me.
Sharp claws sink into my shoulder blades. They infuse me with terror unlike I’ve never known.
My body cannot move. It can only stand still, frozen on the spot, paralyzed from a mix of fear and actual frost.
The weight of a person climbs onto my back, perched atop my shoulders. The claws continue to push deeper into my skin, drawing blood.
My heart thuds dangerously in my chest. Still, I cannot move.
The wounds bleed. First, it’s small drops. Then it’s rivulets.
Wet patches appear on my shirt before it becomes entirely soaked through.
“It’s all your fault,” the voice whispers. So close to my ear, it’s almost as if its mouth is stuck to it. “It’s always your fault.”
A whoosh of air strikes me in the face, pushing me backwards. Finally, my limbs are freed from whatever chains were holding them immobile.
But that relief is short-lived.
I fall on my back, my head hitting the floor.
The weight shifts. No longer on my back, now it’s atop me, pinning me down.
I squint to make sense of what’s pressing on me, but all I can see if a haze of red. It’s barely there, almost see-through. But it’s clearly sentient. Once it sees my efforts to figure out what’s going on, it releases a loud bout of laughter, mocking me.
Your fault.
Your fault.
The voice continues to echo, louder each time.
As my eardrums are about to split open from the nauseating sound, a spurt of liquid squirts on my face.
Bitter. Thick. Red.
My eyes roll back in my head as sleep claims me. But just as before, the nightmares never stop.