The room was deathly silent, save for the distant dripping of water from the leaky ceiling. The air, thick with the remnants of their conversation, seemed to close in on Eric as the darkness of the night settled around him. His mind was still reeling from everything Alaric had said, the weight of the words heavy on his chest.
Eric lay down on the thin, worn mattress, his body exhausted but his thoughts racing. He tried to close his eyes, to find some semblance of peace, but Alaric's words kept echoing in his mind.
"Without him... I wouldn't be who I am today. "
That phrase lingered like a poison, creeping under his skin, making his pulse quicken. Who is this man, Eric thought. Who could have such an impact on someone like Alaric?
With a soft sigh, Eric tried to settle into the mattress, his back stiff against the cold, unforgiving metal frame. He closed his eyes again, but this time, it was more difficult to push the thoughts away. Alaric's voice echoed in his mind, the weight of his pain and history heavy in the air. The stories of his childhood, the darkness that had shaped him, the unrelenting coldness in his heart—it was all too much, and yet, there was something about it that made Eric want to understand so badly.
Despite the unsettling nature of it all, Eric couldn't help but wonder, in a place he hadn't allowed himself to explore before, whether he could become something like Alaric—something more, something free. Free from the shackles of his own past, free from the haunting memories of who he had been. Could he?
His breathing slowed as the weight of exhaustion finally took over. His thoughts became fuzzy, blurry, and before he knew it, sleep claimed him.
But even as his mind slipped into the abyss of slumber, the thought of Alaric and his twisted, dark past lingered. It was almost like a dream within a dream—there was no escaping it. The last thing he heard before drifting off was the soft sound of Alaric's voice, distant and almost forgotten.
"You'll remember in time."
--
Eric's eyes fluttered shut, and sleep pulled him under like a riptide.
The room dissolved into darkness, but instead of slipping into the detached haze he was used to when he was human, the dream hit him with startling clarity. It wasn't distant or muffled like the ones before—it was sharp, visceral. He wasn't merely watching like before.
He was here.
Eric looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. The sensation was vivid—the weight of his limbs, the faint chill in the air, the sound of his own breathing echoing unnaturally loud. It felt too real to be anything else, but it couldn't be, could it?
The world around him was unfamiliar—a cracked, desolate landscape where the ground shifted beneath his feet as though alive. The sky above was an endless void, fractured by streaks of blood-red light.
He took a hesitant step forward, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots confirming his presence in this bizarre realm. Every sound, every movement, resonated as if amplified, like the world itself was hyper-focused on him.
Eric's chest tightened. "This isn't a dream," he whispered, his voice swallowed by the oppressive silence.
But if it wasn't a dream, then what was it?
——
Eric's boots sank into the snow, a crisp, untouched blanket that stretched endlessly around him. The forest rose from the earth like skeletal fingers, their branches stripped bare, clawing at the ashen sky. The snow, thick and wet, clung to the twisted limbs of the trees, bending them under its weight.
The air was frigid, biting against his skin and cutting into his lungs with every sharp inhale. Yet, it wasn't just the cold that gnawed at him—it was the unnatural silence. No wind stirred, no animals called, no rustling of leaves broke the stillness. Only the soft sound of snowflakes landing on his shirt and the crunch of his footsteps filled the void.
The forest seemed endless, each tree identical to the last, their bark blackened and cracked, as if scorched by fire long ago. The ground beneath the snow was uneven, treacherous, hiding jagged roots and stones that threatened to trip him.
He tilted his head up, watching the snow fall. It didn't drift lazily like in the memories of winter from his childhood. No, it fell heavily, as if gravity itself had tightened its grip. The flakes were larger than they should've been, almost unnaturally shaped, with edges sharp enough to cut if you held them too long.
A faint, almost imperceptible sound broke through the silence—a distant crack, like ice splitting under pressure. Eric froze, his breath fogging in front of him. The sound came again, closer this time, echoing through the barren woods.
He turned in a slow circle, his eyes scanning the trees. Their dark, gnarled forms stretched endlessly, creating a labyrinth of shadows that seemed to shift and writhe. He couldn't tell if the movement was real or a trick of his exhausted mind.
Then he noticed something odd: footprints.
They trailed ahead of him, weaving through the trees, partially obscured by the fresh snowfall.
Eric's breath hitched as he crouched to examine the tracks. They were small—too small to belong to any grown man or animal he could think of. Tiny, almost delicate, like a child's.
The prints wove through the snow in an erratic pattern, as though whoever made them had been wandering aimlessly, their path unsure and unsteady. The edges of each footprint were crisp, untouched by time or weather, as if they'd just been made.
Eric reached out and brushed the edge of one with his gloved hand, but the snow around it didn't collapse as he expected. Instead, the imprint seemed to resist him, almost defiant, as though it didn't belong to this place.
He stood slowly, his eyes following the trail. The footprints meandered between the trees, disappearing into the forest's oppressive darkness. He felt his chest tighten, his pulse quicken, but he couldn't tell if it was fear, curiosity, or both that pulled him forward.
The snow fell heavier now, blanketing the world around him in white, but the tracks remained untouched, unburied. Eric's boots crunched over the pristine snow, the sound deafening in the unnatural silence.
As he followed the trail, he noticed subtle things in his surroundings—things he hadn't seen before. The bark of the trees seemed to twist unnaturally, curling and knotting as though in pain. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision, fleeting but unmistakable. The snowflakes, once pure white, now seemed faintly tinged with gray, like ash.
A soft sound cut through the stillness.
It was faint, almost imperceptible, but Eric heard it clearly: a child's laughter. High-pitched, light, and utterly out of place in the cold, dead forest.
He froze, his breath fogging in front of him. The laughter echoed faintly, coming from somewhere ahead. His stomach churned as a sickening sense of dread settled over him. It wasn't the kind of laughter that brought warmth or comfort. It was hollow, brittle, like glass about to shatter.
"Hello?" Eric called out, his voice breaking the eerie silence. It sounded foreign, out of place, swallowed almost immediately by the oppressive quiet.
The laughter stopped.
The sudden absence of sound was deafening. Even the snow seemed to hang in the air, frozen mid-descent, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
Then, faintly, the laughter returned—closer this time, playful and mocking, as though it were daring him to chase it. It echoed through the forest, bouncing off the twisted trees, and Eric found himself moving before he could think.
"Wait!" he shouted, his voice trembling with both urgency and frustration. "Who's there?"
The laughter didn't answer—it only grew fainter, more distant, like the sound of a bell carried away by the wind. Eric's boots pounded against the snow, his breath coming out in sharp, visible bursts. His heart thudded in his chest, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
Every time he thought he was close, the voice slipped further away. "Come on!" it called, the words light and teasing, the tone almost… delighted. Like it was enjoying the game.
Eric ducked under low-hanging branches, the rough bark snagging at his clothes. Snowflakes stuck to his lashes, blurring his vision, but he pushed forward, his body burning with a strange mix of fear and determination. He felt like he was being drawn somewhere, compelled by forces he didn't understand.
And then, suddenly, the forest opened up.
Eric stumbled into a wide, snowy clearing, the sheer vastness of it startling after the claustrophobic maze of trees. The snow here was untouched, glistening like a sea of diamonds under a pale, gray sky. The silence was suffocating, heavier than ever, as if the forest itself were watching, waiting.
His eyes scanned the clearing—and then he saw him.
A child stood at the center of the expanse, barefoot in the snow, yet completely still, unaffected by the cold. The boy's skin was as white as the snow beneath him, almost translucent, and his hair was equally pale, falling in soft waves that barely moved despite the still air.
The boy's gray eyes lit up with a sudden, unrestrained joy, and before Eric could react, the child broke into a run, his bare feet leaving no trace in the snow.
"You came! You actually came!" the boy exclaimed, his voice filled with an innocent excitement that seemed out of place in the desolate forest. He clapped his hands together, hopping from one foot to the other like he couldn't contain himself. "I've been waiting forever for someone to follow me!"
Eric froze, his chest heaving as he tried to make sense of the situation. The boy's happiness was disarming, the kind of pure glee he hadn't seen in… years. Maybe longer.
"W-wait, who are you? What is this?" Eric stammered, stepping forward, but something about his voice didn't sound right. It wasn't his voice—too high-pitched, too soft, too childish. His confusion deepened, and a flicker of panic ignited in his chest.
The boy stopped clapping and tilted his head, his white hair falling over one eye as he grinned. "Finally, someone to play with!"
"Play?" Eric blinked, his thoughts racing. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. Something felt off—everything felt off. His hands clenched instinctively, but when he looked down, his heart skipped a beat.
His hands were small. Tiny, even. The long, slender fingers he was used to were gone, replaced by short, childlike ones.
Eric's gaze darted down further. His boots were gone, replaced by bare feet that somehow didn't feel the biting cold of the snow beneath them. His legs were small and frail-looking, peeking out.
His pulse roared in his ears as he caught sight of a strand of black hair falling over his eyes. Not the short-cropped, familiar locks he knew—this was long, unruly, and impossibly dark. He reached up, grabbing a handful of the hair, as if pulling on it might snap him out of whatever nightmare this was.
"What the…?" he whispered, but even his own words felt alien, tumbling from a voice too young, too vulnerable.
The boy giggled, clearly delighted by Eric's reaction. "You look funny!" he said, pointing at Eric with a wide grin. "Your face is all scrunched up. Don't you like how you look?"
Eric stepped back instinctively, his mind whirling. "What did you do to me?" he demanded, but the tremor in his voice betrayed his fear.
The boy only shrugged, his grin never faltering. "I didn't do anything. Isn't it great? Now we can play, and I won't be alone anymore!"
Eric's stomach churned as he stared at the boy, his mind struggling to reconcile what was happening. He felt trapped, disoriented, like the world had shifted under his feet and left him dangling in an impossible reality.
The boy grabbed Eric's hand suddenly, his grip surprisingly firm. "Come on!" he said, tugging him toward the edge of the clearing. "There's so much to see! I've been waiting so long to show someone!"
Eric hesitated, his body rigid, but the boy's enthusiasm was relentless. He couldn't seem to tear his hand away or form the words to protest.
As the boy pulled him forward, Eric glanced down at his small, unfamiliar body once more. The sight made his chest tighten, and a singular, haunting thought echoed in his mind.
What is this place? And who—no, what—is this boy?
The boy's mischievous grin widened as he suddenly darted forward and grabbed Eric's hand. His grip was surprisingly warm despite the icy surroundings, and Eric felt a jolt of confusion rather than resistance as the boy began to pull him along with an excited tug.
"Come on! Don't just stand there," the boy said, his voice light and full of childlike glee. "You're so slow! Let's go!"
Eric stumbled slightly, his small, unfamiliar feet struggling to keep up with the boy's boundless energy. "Wait—where are you taking me?" he asked, his voice trembling, still not quite believing the sound of his own youthful tone.
The boy glanced back at him, his pale face lighting up with a hint of pride. "To my mama! She's gonna be so happy to see you!"
Eric blinked, his mind struggling to process the words. "Your… mama?" he repeated, his voice a mix of confusion and unease.
The boy nodded eagerly, his snow-white hair bouncing with every step. "Uh-huh! She's been waiting too, you know. She says I should always bring someone nice to meet her, and you're nice, right?"
Eric didn't know how to answer that. Nice? Was that what this boy thought of him? He stared down at their clasped hands, the boy's pale fingers entwined with his own smaller ones. The warmth of the touch felt real—too real—but it did little to quell the growing unease in his chest.
"What is this place?" Eric asked, his voice quieter now as he glanced around the clearing, the wide expanse of snow seeming to stretch endlessly in every direction. "Why are we here?"
The boy didn't answer immediately. He just giggled, his laughter light and airy, as if Eric had asked the most obvious question in the world. "This is where we live, silly. Me and mama. It's just us, but now there's you, too! Isn't that great?"
Eric's chest tightened as the boy continued to pull him forward, toward the edge of the clearing. His feet dragged slightly, but the boy's enthusiasm was relentless, and Eric found himself following despite the unease gnawing at the back of his mind.
The snow seemed to grow thicker as they moved, the cold biting at Eric's bare feet, though the boy didn't seem to notice—or care. The forest loomed ahead again, dark and twisted, the shadows between the trees growing deeper with every step.
Eric's pulse quickened, his grip tightening on the boy's hand. "Are you sure we should—"
"Don't be scared," the boy interrupted, his voice soft but firm. He glanced back at Eric, his gray eyes bright with an innocent kind of reassurance. "Mama's really nice. You'll like her. I promise."
Eric swallowed hard, his throat dry as the boy's words hung in the air. Nice. He doubted that word could describe anything about this place—or whoever this boy's "mama" was. But the boy's smile was so sincere, so hopeful, that Eric couldn't bring himself to resist.
"Okay," he murmured finally, his voice barely audible. "Lead the way."
The boy's grin widened, and he tightened his grip on Eric's hand before pulling him into the forest once more.
The boy tugged on Eric's hand, practically skipping as they wove their way through the dense, frostbitten forest. Eric's gaze darted between the crooked, skeletal trees, their bare branches seeming to reach out like claws. The air grew colder the deeper they went, though the boy didn't seem to notice.
Then, abruptly, the forest parted, opening into a small clearing. Eric's breath hitched as his eyes landed on what stood in the center of the space.
It was a hut—if it could even be called that. The structure was old, its walls made of warped, dark wood, gnarled and knotted as if the trees themselves had twisted into its shape. The roof was a mess of uneven thatch, draped with strips of tattered fabric that fluttered faintly in the icy wind. Small, grimy windows dotted the sides, their glass cracked and clouded with age, and a heavy wooden door sat crookedly in the frame, sagging under its own weight.
But what unsettled Eric most was the area surrounding the hut. The snow that blanketed the rest of the forest stopped abruptly a few feet from the hut's base, leaving a ring of bare, cracked earth around it. The ground was dark and dry, as if it had been scorched by fire, and the plants within the circle were little more than shriveled, lifeless husks. Thorny vines clung to the base of the hut, creeping upward like they were trying to strangle it.
Eric's stomach twisted at the sight, an inexplicable wave of unease washing over him. The air here felt... different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was heavier, charged with something that made his skin crawl.
The boy stopped just shy of the edge of the clearing and turned back to Eric, his pale face bright with excitement. "This is it!" he said, gesturing toward the hut with both hands like it was some grand treasure. "This is where mama lives!"
Eric's gaze lingered on the hut, his unease deepening. "This is... her house?" he asked hesitantly, his voice almost a whisper.
The boy nodded eagerly, oblivious to Eric's discomfort. "Yep! Isn't it neat? No one else comes here, so it's just me and her. And now you!"
Eric's eyes swept over the lifeless circle of earth again, his brow furrowing. The contrast was jarring—the forest beyond was blanketed in thick, pure snow, yet here, the ground looked like it hadn't seen life in years.
"Why is there no snow here?" Eric asked, unable to keep the question to himself.
The boy tilted his head, as if the question didn't make sense. "Because mama likes it this way," he said simply, as though that explained everything.
Eric's grip on the boy's hand tightened slightly. "Who is your mama?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
The boy just grinned and started pulling him toward the hut again. "You'll see! She's gonna love you!"
As they approached the crooked door, Eric's heart pounded in his chest. Something about this place was wrong, deeply wrong, and every instinct he had screamed at him to turn and run. But the boy's grip was firm, his small hand warm and steady in Eric's own.
"Come on," the boy urged, his voice softening slightly. "She's nice. You'll like her, I promise."
Eric's feet moved reluctantly, his long black hair brushing against his cheeks as the boy led him closer to the ominous structure. He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the dark, heavy door as they stopped in front of it.
The boy knocked once, the sound echoing unnaturally in the eerie silence. "Mama! I brought someone!" he called out cheerfully, his voice light and innocent.
Eric held his breath, his unease growing as the door creaked open slowly, revealing nothing but darkness beyond.
The air inside the hut was dense and suffocating, thick with the scent of dried herbs, ash, and something faintly metallic. The dim interior was illuminated only by the flickering light of a fire in the center of the room. Its flames crackled weakly, casting shifting shadows that danced across the warped walls. Bundles of dried plants and bones hung from the low ceiling, swaying slightly as if moved by an invisible breeze.
Eric stepped hesitantly inside, his bare feet brushing against the uneven, dirt-packed floor. The boy let go of his hand and skipped ahead, disappearing into the shadows with a cheerful "Mama, he's here!"
Eric didn't follow immediately. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and the details of the room became clearer. Along one wall stood shelves carved from rough, splintering wood, holding jars filled with strange, murky substances. Animal skulls, polished and gleaming, lined the mantel of the fire, their hollow eyes staring out at him.
He felt a shiver run down his spine, and as he turned to take in the rest of the room, his gaze caught on something reflective. A surface shimmered faintly in the low light—a basin of water set on a heavy, uneven table. The water was still, unnaturally so, as though even the air here dared not disturb it.
Drawn to it, Eric approached slowly. As he leaned over the basin, the flickering firelight illuminated his reflection, and his breath caught in his throat.
It wasn't his towering, muscular adult frame staring back at him, but the fragile, gaunt figure of a child. His face was thin and hollow, his cheeks smudged with dirt, and his black hair hung in tangled, matted strands around his face. Scratches crisscrossed his pale skin, some fresh and angry, others faded into thin white scars. His eyes, wide with disbelief, were still his own—a piercing, haunted blue that seemed out of place in the frail body he now inhabited.
His clothes—or what passed for them—were crude and primal. He wore the fur of a wolf, its coarse, dark gray pelt draped over his thin shoulders and fastened at the front with a strip of rawhide. Around his neck hung a c chain of wolf teeth, their points dulled from time and wear. The fur barely hid the bruises and marks on his arms, and his legs were wrapped in strips of leather that provided little protection from the cold.
Eric's hands trembled as he raised them, watching the reflection mimic his movements. His fingers were small and bony, the nails chipped and lined with dirt. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he turned his gaze back to the scratches on his face, each one a reminder of something he couldn't quite place.
"What...?" he whispered, his voice trembling and higher-pitched than he was used to.
Before he could think further, the boy's voice called out again from the shadows, pulling him from his thoughts. "Come on, she's waiting!"
Eric tore his eyes away from the basin, a strange mix of fear and confusion gnawing at him. He looked down at his frail, childlike body, his hands clenching into small fists as he tried to steady himself.
Reluctantly, he turned toward the boy's voice, the wolf fur brushing against his bare skin as he moved. The hut seemed to close in around him, its walls too close, the air too thick. Every step felt heavy, like the floor was trying to hold him back.
The air grew heavier with each step, thick with the scent of decay and something sharper—coppery and metallic. A soft, haunting hum reached his ears, lilting and sweet, but somehow wrong.
He paused at the threshold of a room, his pulse quickening as he peeked inside. The sight froze him in place.
The boy knelt by a woman, her frail figure hunched over something on a low wooden table. Her long, stringy hair fell around her face in a curtain of tangled gray and white, almost blending with the pallor of her skin, which was mottled and thin, stretched taut over sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin. Her back was slightly hunched, her shoulders angular, and her fingers—long, bony things—worked methodically, peeling strips of flesh from a carcass.
The thing on the table was unrecognizable, but it bled sluggishly, pooling dark, viscous liquid onto the warped surface and dripping onto the floor below. The woman hummed softly as she worked, rocking back and forth in time with her song. She didn't seem to notice Eric's presence—or if she did, she didn't care.
Her clothes were little more than rags, stitched together from mismatched fabrics and animal hides, their edges frayed and stained with blood and grime. A necklace of bones hung low around her neck, the largest one—a polished rib—resting against her hollow chest. Bracelets made of sinew and teeth clinked faintly as she moved her hands.
Eric's stomach churned as he watched her hands work with practiced precision, peeling and slicing, her nails dark with dried blood. The carcass on the table seemed smaller than it should have been—was it an animal? Something else? He didn't dare look too closely.
The boy's pale face was lit with a smile so pure, so innocent, that it sent a shiver down Eric's spine. The boy looked up at her with unfiltered adoration, his gray eyes shining as though he were in the presence of a goddess.
"Mama," he said softly, his voice filled with reverence.
The woman stopped humming, her head tilting slightly as though listening. Then, she turned her face toward Eric. Her eyes—milky white and pupil-less—seemed to bore straight into him, seeing through his flesh and bone and into the core of who he was. A thin, crooked smile stretched across her lips, revealing teeth yellowed and jagged, one of them missing entirely.
"You've brought a friend, my sweet boy," she crooned, her voice low and rasping, yet disturbingly warm. Her gaze never left Eric as her fingers continued their work, skinning and slicing without looking.
The boy nodded eagerly, his smile widening. "He followed me, Mama!"
Eric tried to speak, but his throat felt tight, his voice caught somewhere between his mind and his mouth. He looked down at his frail, childlike body, then back at the grotesque scene before him. Something about it all felt horribly wrong, like he wasn't supposed to be here, wasn't supposed to see this.
The woman tilted her head again, her smile growing. "Come closer, little one," she beckoned, her tone dripping with a strange, dangerous sweetness. "Let me see you."
Eric's feet refused to move, his body frozen as her milky gaze seemed to pull him in. The child turned to him, his expression pleading, as though urging him to step forward.
"It's okay," the boy said, his voice soft and soothing. "She'll take care of you, too."
The words sent a chill down Eric's spine, his chest tightening as his instincts screamed at him to turn and run. But his legs betrayed him, inching forward against his will, drawn by the woman's unrelenting gaze and the boy's innocent smile.
---
Eric's feet moved on their own, pulling him closer to the woman despite the terror that bubbled in his chest. He couldn't understand why his body wouldn't listen to his mind, why his legs refused to stop, why his hands trembled with an urgency he couldn't control. His heart pounded in his ears as the woman's form came clearer into focus, her presence overpowering everything around him.
The woman's face was unnervingly beautiful, her features sharp and elegant, almost ethereal. Her skin, though thin and sallow, had an undeniable grace to it, as if time had momentarily forgotten her. Her high cheekbones and full lips held an almost haunting allure, but the dirt caked in the crevices of her face, the grime on her neck and jaw, made it seem like something had been lost—something irretrievably broken.
One of her eyes was a pale, unseeing orb, milky white and clouded with age or injury, a stark contrast to the vibrant, wicked gleam in her other eye—an eye that glimmered with an eerie, predatory intelligence. That single eye locked onto Eric as she extended a hand toward him, her long, crooked fingers brushing the air between them.
"Such a sweet child," she cooed, her voice raspy but tender, "to come and play with my sweet boy."
Her hand moved like it was guided by some unseen force, cupping Eric's face gently as if he were nothing more than a child she was meant to care for. Her touch was cold, and the chill of it seeped into his skin, down to his bones. Her fingers felt sharp against his cheeks, as though they were pricking him, but the pressure never let up. Her grip was strangely comforting, yet so unbearably chilling, and he couldn't move. His mind screamed at him to pull away, to escape, but his body betrayed him.
The boy, still kneeling beside her, beamed up at Eric with that innocent, childlike smile, completely unfazed by the woman's presence. He pointed to himself with a child's glee, as though the scene unfolding before Eric was nothing more than a game.
"That's me!" the boy said, his voice full of innocent joy. "I'm Mama's boy!" His eyes glinted with an odd mixture of pride and affection, as though the woman's attention was the most natural thing in the world.
The woman's hand remained on Eric's face, her thumb gently tracing the curve of his cheekbone, as though inspecting him, searching for something—anything. Her smile twisted into something more sinister as she studied him, her single working eye narrowing slightly as she whispered, "You're just like him… like my sweet boy."
Her fingers gently brushed a lock of his long black hair from his face, her cold touch sending a jolt through him. Despite every instinct telling him to run, to fight, Eric found himself unable to tear his gaze from her, unable to pull himself away from the woman who had somehow woven her will into the very air around him.
Eric's gaze was drawn to the table, the air growing thick and heavy around him. His heart pounded in his chest, every beat a frantic echo in his ears. The shadows seemed to close in tighter, and as he stepped forward, his eyes locked onto the grotesque scene before him.
At first, he thought it might be some kind of animal, a carcass left out for some dark ritual. But as he moved closer, the truth hit him like a punch to the gut. The form on the table was unmistakably human—a head, still connected to a body, but with the skin pale and lifeless, stripped of its vitality. The flesh was torn and discolored, and though it had been expertly severed, it still retained an eerie familiarity. The sight of it made Eric's stomach lurch, bile rising in his throat. He couldn't tear his eyes away, his mind recoiling from the horror in front of him.
The woman's voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade, snapping Eric's focus back to her. She narrowed her eyes, the single, unclouded one glinting with a cold, predatory hunger.
"He needs to eat," she said softly, her tone almost conversational, as if discussing a simple fact of life. "My boy is hungry."
The boy nodded vigorously at her words, his eyes wide with excitement. He sprang to his feet in a burst of energy, his tiny hands gripping Eric's arm with surprising strength. The boy's grin was innocent, but there was something deeply unsettling in the way he looked at Eric, as though he were nothing more than a meal to be devoured.
"My mama makes the best...," he trailed off, a gleam of pride in his eyes . "She makes the best stew. Meat from the best hunts. A blend of venison, wild boar, and the bones boiled with roots and herbs from the woods."
The words seemed to drift in the air, mixing with the unsettling atmosphere. The thought of the dish—boiled bones, wild meats—was grotesque in its simplicity, yet somehow fitting for this strange, savage place. The idea of it being crafted with such care, a dish made from the very life of the forest, only made Eric's sense of unease deepen. The woman had prepared this, and the boy's excitement made it all the more disturbing.
Eric's mouth went dry as he tried to form words, his mind still racing, but all that came out was a strangled whisper. "Why... why am I here?"
Eric's body trembled, his skin cold despite the heat of the fire that crackled in the hearth. He couldn't explain it, but fear had taken root deep inside him, coiling around his heart, making his limbs shake uncontrollably. He glanced around the room, his eyes darting over the grotesque scene—the carcass, the bubbling stew, the woman who hummed in eerie contentment—and then, like a flash, something caught his eye.
A black book sat on the worn, wooden table next to the stew, its leather cover old and cracked, its pages yellowed with age. The sight of it sent a shiver down his spine. It was the same book, the one that Killian had shown him in his last visions, the one that had haunted his dreams with its dark, ancient aura.
The memories of Killian's words, of the warnings and the whispers about the past, flooded Eric's mind. It was as if the world had tilted, and he was seeing the connections, the threads that tied everything together. His thoughts scrambled, trying to piece it all together, to make sense of the nightmare that was unfolding around him.
With trembling hands, Eric stepped closer to the boy, his voice barely above a whisper. "What's your name?" he asked, the words leaving his mouth before he could fully process the gravity of the question.
The boy's face lit up with a childlike joy, that pure, mischievous gleam still present in his eyes as he tilted his head. "Alaric," he said, his voice sweet, almost melodic. "I'm Alaric."
The name sent another tremor through Eric, a cold wave washing over him as the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked into place. This wasn't a coincidence. Alaric—this boy, this ancient presence—was somehow connected to everything. To the visions, to the dark book, to the horrors Eric had been chasing in his mind.
Eric felt a knot tighten in his stomach, the weight of understanding settling heavily on his chest. The world around him seemed to pulse with a sickening energy, and for the first time, he truly realized the depths of the nightmare he was caught in.
Alaric, with his innocent smile and childlike glee, was no innocent soul. He was a twisted echo of something far older, far darker, and more dangerous than Eric had ever imagined. The realization filled him with dread, but also something else. Curiosity. A desperate need to know more.
Eric's breath caught in his throat as the question slipped from Alaric's lips, "What's your name?"
The words should have been simple, but they hit Eric like a wave, forcing his heart to race. His mouth, it seemed, didn't need his permission to speak. It moved on its own, like a puppet controlled by strings he couldn't see. The sound of his own voice, unfamiliar and distant, startled him.
"Killian," he heard himself say, the name falling from his lips like an old, forgotten memory—one that didn't belong to him, yet felt oddly right. "My name is Killian."
The moment the name left his mouth, a sharp, cold feeling surged through him, as if something deep within him had awoken. His pulse quickened, the connection to that name, that identity, reverberating through his body like a haunting echo. It was as if he wasn't just speaking; he was becoming something else. Someone else.
Alaric's smile widened at the name, his eyes gleaming with an almost predatory delight, as though hearing it was the final piece of a puzzle he'd been waiting to complete. He stepped closer, his small, cold hands still gripping Eric's, his childlike curiosity now replaced with a deeper, more knowing stare.
"Killian," Alaric repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with an eerie sense of familiarity.