Zane woke to a murmur of voices, drifting in and out of his consciousness like distant echoes. Each voice carried its own distinct tone and inflection, blending into a low hum that seemed to pulse through his foggy mind.
"I told you it was risky. He might not even wake up," came a deep, gravelly voice, heavy with concern.
"Relax. I've handled worse. We need to focus on getting him back on his feet," countered a smooth, confident voice with a playful edge.
"And how exactly do you plan to do that? You're not a healer," chimed in a calm, almost purring voice, laced with skepticism.
"Enough, you two. He's stirring. Let him wake up before we continue this discussion," the confident voice commanded again, now more authoritative, cutting through the others like a blade.
Zane's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurred as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching and shifting across the walls, thrown by a single flickering candle. As his sight cleared, he saw three figures around him: the same mysterious young man from the night before, a raven perched on his shoulder, and a sleek black cat lounging nearby, its green eyes gleaming in the dim light.
The young man, who Zane recognized from the alley, looked even more enigmatic in the faint glow. His crimson eyes seemed to cut through the darkness with an unsettling intensity. His long, wild hair framed his face in thick, raven-black strands that seemed to move with a life of their own, and his clothes—somewhere between casual and ceremonial—hung off him in a way that made him look both ancient and otherworldly. A large, eerie crow skull-shaped mask was perched atop his head, adding a menacing touch to his otherwise youthful appearance.
He wore a tight-fitting bodysuit that accentuated his pale, almost translucent skin, with two long, baggy sleeves tied around his shoulders, leaving his arms free. The rest of his outfit consisted of baggy harem pants, cinched at the waist with a thick, dark rope. Everything about him seemed both playful and dangerous, as if he were an actor in some celestial drama.
As Zane tried to sit up, the young man moved swiftly to his side, his hand surprisingly gentle as it steadied him. The crow let out a soft caw, almost as if it were approving, while the black cat—Mora, Zane recalled from some distant part of his memory—watched intently, her gaze steady and unwavering.
"Easy there," the young man said, his voice warm and teasing. "You took quite a beating last night." He flashed a mischievous grin, though there was a serious undertone in his eyes. "Found you in a pretty sorry state. You're lucky I happened to be passing by."
Zane's mouth felt dry, his throat parched like he had swallowed dust. He croaked out, "Who… who are you?"
The young man chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, I'm just someone who happened to be in the right place at the right time. But for now, what matters is that you're safe. Let's save the introductions for later."
Zane looked around, disoriented. The room seemed to sway around him. "What happened?" he muttered, his thoughts still sluggish and unclear. "I remember… I remember being attacked—"
"You were," the young man interrupted gently. "And you were lucky to survive. You're in a place where you can recover, where nothing and no one can hurt you… for now."
Zane's heart pounded against his ribs. "I need to get home. My family—they'll be worried. I can't just—"
"Go home?" The young man's voice was light, but there was a firm undertone that made Zane pause. "And do what exactly? Collapse on your doorstep? You need to rest first, heal."
Zane tried to rise, but his body refused to cooperate. Pain shot through his limbs like hot knives, forcing him back onto the bed with a gasp. The young man leaned closer, his expression shifting from playful to something colder, more serious.
"Listen to me," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "You're in no condition to leave. I've seen wounds like yours before. If you push yourself now, you might not make it through the next few hours."
Zane glared, frustration boiling up inside him. "I don't need your help. I don't know who you are or why you're doing this, but I can take care of myself. Just let me go!"
The young man's smile faded. His eyes grew hard, like polished stones, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. "If you were truly capable of that, you wouldn't be here now, would you? You're stuck between worlds, Zane. And I'm the only one who can help you cross over… whichever way you choose."
A shiver ran down Zane's spine at the way the young man said his name—like a secret, like he'd known him for years. Zane fell back against the pillows, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. "Fine," he muttered, teeth clenched. "But this isn't over."
The young man's playful demeanor returned in an instant, and he gave Zane a light pat on the shoulder. "Of course not," he said cheerfully. "Rest now. We'll talk more when you're stronger. For now, think of this as an unexpected vacation."
The crow ruffled its feathers and cawed softly, as if in agreement, while Mora, the black cat, blinked slowly and curled herself into a tighter ball.
Zane's gaze lingered on the two creatures. "They… they're yours?" he asked, half-wondering if he was still dreaming.
The young man nodded. "Corvus and Mora. They don't speak, but they're quite good company. Mora has a talent for sensing trouble before it arrives, and Corvus… well, let's just say he has a sharp eye for detail."
Zane's eyes grew heavy, but his mind was buzzing with questions. "Why did you… why did you help me?" he whispered, feeling the pull of sleep dragging him down.
The young man's face softened, a look of genuine thought crossing his features. "Why not?" he replied after a moment. "Maybe I just like keeping interesting people around. Maybe you remind me of someone. Or maybe… I'm just bored." He winked.
Before Zane could respond, his eyes closed, and he slipped back into unconsciousness, the soft murmurs of the voices fading away into silence.
---
When Zane awoke again, the light had changed. The single candle was gone, replaced by a small lamp that cast a warm, golden glow across the room. The air smelled faintly of herbs—lavender, maybe, or chamomile—and something else, something sharp and metallic. He blinked, trying to adjust to the light. This time, the room seemed less oppressive, less alien.
He noticed, for the first time, that the room was filled with curious objects—a tattered tapestry depicting a battle between mythical creatures, shelves lined with dusty tomes, strange artifacts that seemed to hum with an inner energy. A small, intricately carved wooden box sat on a nearby table, its lid slightly ajar. He felt an inexplicable urge to open it, to see what secrets it held.
As he reached out, a sharp voice cut through the air. "Curiosity is a double-edged sword, you know."
Zane jerked his hand back, turning to see the young man standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Feeling better?" he asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
"A bit," Zane admitted, still feeling weak but more alert than before. "Where… where exactly am I?"
The young man sat down on a chair opposite the bed, crossing one leg over the other. "Let's just say you're in a place that's between places," he replied cryptically. "Somewhere that doesn't quite exist in your world, but isn't entirely separate from it, either."
Zane frowned. "That makes no sense."
The young man laughed. "Most things worth knowing rarely do at first." He leaned forward, his crimson eyes catching the light in an unsettling way. "But you'll learn, Zane. In time, you'll learn everything you need to know."
A shiver of anticipation, or perhaps fear, ran through Zane. He had the sense that whatever was coming next would change his life—what remained of it—forever.