11. Seren
SEREN
Prickles of panic pierce my skin, a thousand needles driving into my flesh, forcing me to wake.
My lungs seize, desperate for a ration of air. I clutch at my chest, fingernails biting through the fabric, carving tiny crescents into my palm.
I pull myself upright, finding the cold comfort of the rock at my back. My chin tilts toward the ceiling above, as my eyes flutter closed, waiting for breath to fill my lungs.
The dream still clings to me like a stubborn stain; the pale golden hair, the weight of her presence, and the way her voice wraps around my name.
Coldness strokes my face, forcing my eyes to open. The shadows stir restlessly, my eyes tracking their movements across the walls, landing at the top, poised like silent sentinels.
They swirl, circling like vultures around a mark that has suddenly appeared.
I recoil as if struck, the truth hitting me harder than a physical blow. I wipe away the fog clouding my mind with the back of my hand, until my thoughts become clear.
A crescent.
My palms fumble against the rocky ground, the stones leaving tiny imprints where my weight forces them into my skin. My head tilts, neck straining as I scramble to my feet.
It’s so clear now; the perfectly formed shape carved into the stone above, black and impossible.
But how? Who could have done this?
A gust of cold night air sends shivers cascading down my skin as the pendant at my throat begins to warm.
My hand drifts to the metal resting on my collarbone, fingers tracing the shape until the tip nicks my skin. A small bead of blood hangs there, threatening to topple.
In the Hollow, it marks those who once served Nyx—the same symbol etched into ruins, the one whispered about in warnings. But as the years passed, so did the days of her reign, and her mark withered and died along with her. Or so the stories go.
The pendant’s been mine for as long as I can remember, passed down from a mother I never got a chance to know. It stays hidden under my clothing, away from scrutinising eyes that see only its ties to a lethal faith, rather than its weight of loss.
Luminaries forbade her name—and her mark—after the Cleansing; anyone caught worshipping her was consigned to the pyre, their memory scattering like ash in the wind.
The metal feels heavier in my palm, as if it belongs more to this place than to me. Heat spreads down my fingertips, almost in acknowledgement of my thoughts.
I grasp tighter, welcoming the pain as the sharp points cut into my skin. It brings a sense of justice as blood trickles down through my palm.
Something stirs in the corner of my vision as my shadows flinch, slithering back to my side.
And then I see him.
A shadow in the cave’s mouth. Cloaked. Watching.
My stomach lurches, threatening to release what little food I have left in my body. Blindly, I sweep up the scattered contents, shoving them into the bag with a reckless haste. The threat of those watching eyes burns against my back, urging me to run.
The satchel swings as it lands on my shoulder, the straps of Yara’s bag weighing heavy as the secrets within turn to stone.
My heart takes off like a startled bird, fluttering wildly in my chest as the unwanted presence has me staring into the shadows. The faint outline of the figure I was so sure I saw, is nowhere to be seen. Still, I can’t risk staying here, I’ve got to go.
I bolt for the nearest opening in the stone. As if already knowing the way, the shadows surge ahead, and the tunnel swallows me whole.
* * *
Darkness becomes absolute, a lightlessness that eats at the edges of my vision. The pull at my spine only grows the further the shadows go, guiding me through this ink-stained maze.
Mustiness hangs like a sodden shroud. Ancient, acrid fumes writhe and coil, boring into my lungs until my very blood begins to hum with a restless static.
Damp spreads across my coat as the walls press in close. I’m glad I have no time to pause and observe my surroundings, claustrophobia would only eat away at my insides.
My boots slap against the layer of water that covers the ground like a film of black, the only sound that adds to my sawing breaths.
The path twists and turns in a never ending loop, until it opens into a wide chamber.
Luminescent grubs dot the room, casting an eerie, green glow, like fireflies on a Hollow summer’s day.
Four doorways are spaced evenly around the walls like the points of a compass.
The domed, circular ceiling has me trapped like a bug beneath one of Yara’s mixing bowls.
In the very centre stands a single black stone.
Its surface is smooth and flat; the light from the grubs making the exterior gleam like a shard of volcanic glass.
I stagger forward, clutching at my knees as I fight for air. My eyes dart to each doorway, searching for the mysterious figure that seems determined to make me his captive. But there’s nothing but an empty silence.
My shadows ripple across the stone tracing the perfect, angular lines. Gravel scuffs underfoot as the muscles in my legs shake, rebelling against the compulsion driving me closer.
Marks carved into the flat top begin merging, intertwining into a pattern I’m unfamiliar with.
Lines. Curves. Pictures moulding into shapes I now recognise; Pantheon’s Peak, the Lantern Market, the canals, the tunnels leading to the City of Light: Auria.
Of course. It’s a map.
My brows furrow, the skin on my cheeks cracking from where the salty tears left their tracks.
This can’t be right.
In between the grand palace that sits atop my world, is another layer of dead space. But this dead space isn’t empty—it’s filled with more tunnels, more chambers, more crescent marks—some I’ve never seen before. I should know, I’ve wandered through them many a time in my years living here.
My head shakes from the shivers running through me, but my hands are still, tracing the lines, feeling the smooth groove within the stone.
How on earth was this made?
My shadows curl toward me, one tendril moves to my wrist, its shape replicating my hand, tracing its own fingers above my own. Before I even have time to blink, a whip of black lashes against my wrist, sharp as glass, slicing skin.
Hot pain bites at the incision, sending dark blood to drip onto the surface. As if starving for it, the stone drinks the blood soaking through the grooves until it spreads, completely filling the lines in the map.
The chamber stills, caught in a pause before the exhale, as veins of red illuminate the stone, bleeding life into an image awoken from the life of my own.
My hands reach for the map, the glare from my blood sears my vision, sending white hot pain through my skull. I pull away, my palms flattening against my eyes, as I clench them tight in an effort to distinguish the iron rod of fire building behind them.
But as the curtains of my sight remain closed, the darkness gives way to the same red light. Lines begin to take shape, blending into the same pattern etched onto the onyx stone. Every detail, every nuance, imprinted as if I’m staring directly at it.
Left to right, up and down, my gaze travels across the map now infused behind my eyelids. The longer I focus on one area, the larger the image appears; the more detail is shown, as if my mind were a candle flame, illuminating the darkest corners.
Slowly my vision returns as I open my eyes, looking back to the map that has now withered to a dull ember on top of the rock. My shadows stir restlessly at my feet, as stone shifts behind me.
My muscles freeze, but the current within my veins grows warmer the harder my heart pumps. A molten core ready to erupt.
A feverish need to unmask my stalker takes hold, my neck stiffening as I’m drawn toward the noise. A jagged rift in the darkness takes form—the unmistakable outline of a man.
My pulse bolts, a wild animal thundering against the bars of my ribs.
Run.
A tug deep in my spine pulls me toward another opening, diverting me into another dark passageway. Another step into the unknown.
Without hesitation, I sprint towards it. Agony burns through my legs, every fibre of muscle trapped within a corrosive firestorm, as I push harder and faster away from my pursuer.
Sweet, coppery liquid fills the back of my throat, as my lungs are stripped raw, but I refuse to stop, not daring to chance a look back.
A beam of light from the opening ahead points the way to freedom, like a lone star on an artificial night.
The claustrophobic weight of the stone breaks, giving way to a vast, open hollow. The air is brittle and thin, smelling of ancient decay and new growth, but I drink it in—a desperate fuel that stifles the rising fire in my chest.
My head twists, losing a vital second of focus on the terrain before my foot catches on a root, as I fall hard onto the mossy ground.
The impact forces the breath from me; Yara’s bag tumbling from my shoulder, the contents spilling onto the ground like fallen leaves. Dragonious trees spin, a haze of scales blurring in my vision as the shadows close over me. No, this can’t happen now.
The world breaks once more.
* * *
I’m not in the forest anymore. I’m standing in black, endless and suffocating. Stars burn too close above, bejewelled grains of light in a ceiling of velvet. The ground hums beneath my feet, pulsing like a steady, resonant thrum.
And there, in the distance. A woman.
Waves of cold reach out with icy fingers, trying to pull me closer. Pale hair drifts on a wind like golden smoke. Eyes as black as coal shift, as the gaze slides over me. Fear dries my tongue, which swallows all sound. Not like screaming would do any good here.
Pounding echoes in the quiet chamber of my mind, as my ears give noise to my heart beating frantically in my chest. The corners of her mouth turn upward into a genuine smile, as the words she doesn’t give voice to slither in my skull.
Well done my child. You’ve taken the first step.
Her voice is everywhere and nowhere at the same time, pressing against the marrow in my bones. I try to speak, but the pressure in my throat seals the words away, drowning them before they can reach the surface.
The space where she stands yawns into an open void, until it consumes me.
I fall—and this time, the dark reaches back.