CHAPTER 1 #2
He reeled back, wiping his daggered hand on his tunic, though the sensation of his action adhered to him like a curse.
“Shite, not now,” he begged quietly.
He avoided looking at the boy again.
He couldn’t. So, he ran, his heart hammering with every step.
Branches whipped at his face. Raised roots tried to trip him. Memories from a past life began to flood his mind: a night running, burdened by guilt as he raced through these very woods.
His breath ripped from him in ragged bursts.
He didn’t know how long he ran, maybe minutes, hours, or maybe for an eternity.
When his legs finally gave out, he collapsed against a tree, sliding down to the forest floor on his knees.
His stomach convulsed; he hunched forward and retched whatever little he had, until there was nothing left.
He pressed his forehead to the cool bark, eyes shut tight, as the image of the young guard flickered, then shifted—morphing into another face, another moment. Brown eyes. Fire raging around him. A scream engulfed by smoke.
He doubled over, dry-heaving again.
Alcohol numbed his mind; it helped him forget the demons of the past. But as he knelt there, catching his breath, another memory emerged as if dragged unwillingly from the depths of his mind. He heard his name echo softly, filled with confusion and betrayal.
Cian?
He was a man fleeing from the world… and his nightmares.
???
A young girl sat beside the river; her legs tucked beneath her as water whispered over smooth stones.
A woman knelt behind her, fingers gently weaving through her hair with slow, practiced tenderness while softly humming a song passed down from generation to generation.
The braid tightened with each pass, the tug grounding her.
The sense of familiarity and safety lulled the girl into that twilight state between wakefulness and sleep.
She looked down at the crest of a silver tree resting in her lap and traced the branches with her tiny finger, her senses still enveloped by the presence and song behind her.
“Look at you, Fy un bach,” she murmured, her voice like sunlight on water.
A small child, not yet eight, sat there with a perfect braid of dark hair framing her elf ears, hazel eyes with golden-amber highlights, gazing back as the gentle hum continued.
Next to her reflection, another image appeared within the gentle, flowing river: a young woman with hair spun from gold and eyes that mirrored her own, a nurturing spark shining brightly, lit up by her smile.
The image rippled—and broke, swept away by the river’s current and the steady hum behind her.
She was twelve, sprinting through tall grass that rose to her waist. The stalks brushed her palms as she ran, whispering against her skin. The breeze was scented with earth and new blossoms; the sky stretched endlessly, a bright spring blue overhead.
She laughed. Free and breathless. The girl let herself fall backward into the field. The grass cushioned her like a cradle. Clouds drifted lazily overhead, soft and shapeless, drifting wherever the wind pleased.
For a fleeting moment, she floated—untethered and light.
For a heartbeat, she was safe.
She closed her eyes.
Heat. Blinding, suffocating, all-consuming, it enveloped her.
Her eyes snapped open.
Flames surrounded her. Smoke clawed at her throat as her home burned, collapsing in on itself as human soldiers shouted and steel clashed. She stumbled backward, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
The next moment, the girl found herself crouched behind a cart, tears streaking her ash-covered cheeks.
Her village burned around her—flames devouring the wood, smoke choking the sky.
Screams echoed through the chaos. She couldn’t find her parents.
She couldn’t find anyone.A growl rumbled through the smoke.
She froze, every inch of her refusing to breathe, to blink, to run.
Through the swirling ash and smoke, she saw him—a black wolf with silver eyes reflecting the fire like molten metal. His form flickered, shifting between man and beast, as if the flames themselves couldn’t decide what he was.
The wolf lowered its head, teeth bared, and lunged.
With a jolt, Faelith awoke, gasping as she sat upright in her bed.
Cold sweat clung to her skin; her long, dark hair was plastered to her brow and pointed ears.
Her breath was quick and uneven. The covers lay tangled around her legs, twisted from another night of restless sleep.
The nightmare had ended, but its echoes lingered.
The dreams never changed.
The soldiers. The fire. The wolf with silver eyes.
Memories she could never escape.She raised a trembling hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, grounding herself in the quiet of her room.
Dawn’s early rays peeked through the balcony opening, soft and pale, a stark contrast to the inferno in her mind.
The dreams grew more frequent as days warmed and lengthened, begging her to remember—but she could never grasp what.
She forced down the knot in her throat.
A new day had broken, indifferent to distant dreams or incorporeal dread.