Alaric's sudden shift in energy was almost electric, his childlike excitement returning in an instant. His small face, still framed by soft, tousled hair, looked up at Eric with wide, doe-like gray eyes that gleamed with innocence and curiosity. His gaze was so earnest and unguarded, as though nothing in the world could touch him. The roundness of his face, with its smooth skin and plump cheeks, made him look younger than his years, like a doll left too long in a field of wildflowers, untouched by time. A faint rosy tint bloomed on his cheeks, giving his face a soft, innocent glow that made it hard to reconcile with the dark magic around them.
He was so... cute. The way his eyes sparkled, his lips slightly parted with the excitement of a child eager to share a secret, only made the situation even more unsettling. His round, squishy cheeks seemed to puff slightly as he smiled, giving him a cherubic look, his features still untouched by the weight of the world that hung heavy over them both.
But before Eric could even say a word, Alaric's energy shifted once more. His smile dimmed, and his hands quickly closed the book, his movements swift and sure, as if he'd just remembered something urgent.
"Mama's awake," Alaric whispered urgently, his voice dropping into a soft, almost conspiratorial tone. "We need to go." His eyes flicked to the door behind them, his small body tense, suddenly aware of something Eric couldn't quite place. "Mama will be mad if we're not there. She'll... she'll take you away," he added, his words stumbling out in a mixture of fear and determination. The mention of Killian only deepened the unease in Eric's gut.
Alaric quickly slid the book back into its hiding place, carefully hiding it as if it were something precious—no, something dangerous. His small hands trembled slightly as he did so, but his expression was firm, all traces of innocence replaced by a quiet urgency.
Eric couldn't help but watch him, feeling the cold fingers of dread curl around his chest. The way Alaric was acting... it was as though his entire world was built on shifting sand. One moment, he was an innocent child, the next, a creature capable of both dark magic and the kind of fear that made Eric question everything.
Alaric turned to Eric, his doe eyes still wide with that unguarded innocence, and gave a small nod toward the door. "Come on," he urged, his voice barely above a whisper. "We have to hurry. If Mama finds out, she'll be really mad."
For a moment, Eric just stared at him, caught in the strange, terrifying push-pull of Alaric's purity and the dark abyss beneath it. But the urgency in the child's voice—so innocent, so naive—drove Eric to act, his feet moving before he even had time to think.
_________
After that day ,the days blurred together in a strange, dreamlike sequence, with time slipping past Eric in a way that made him question whether any of it was real. Alaric's presence had become more constant, more familiar, until it felt like they were entwined in a rhythm that neither could break. They spent their days together, with Alaric often showing Eric the little hidden places in the hut, the odd and unsettling treasures his mother kept, and the strange, quiet games they played. It was the closeness of it all that felt so unnerving—Alaric was a child, but something about him had an allure, a magnetic pull that made Eric feel as though they were tethered in ways he didn't fully understand.
But it wasn't just Alaric that Eric was growing close to. There was a strange shift in Eric's own feelings too. He wasn't just occupying a body anymore; he had become it. He could feel Killian's memories stirring within him, the original's emotions, experiences, and thoughts taking root in his mind. At first, it was faint—disjointed flashes of moments that didn't belong to him. But with each passing week, it grew stronger. He experienced the things Killian had felt: the confusion, the fear, the growing discomfort at the woman's influence. Eric felt like an outsider inhabiting a vessel that wasn't entirely his, a ghost moving through Killian's life.
The more time he spent with Alaric, the more he came to realize that Killian had genuinely cared for the child, had wanted to protect him. But what unnerved Eric was the sense that he was living both lives—Killian's and his own—fused together in a way that made him question where one ended and the other began.
Despite the strange, almost familial bond he was building with Alaric, the woman's growing disdain for him was becoming harder to ignore. Each day that passed, she grew colder, more distant. The small gestures of affection she had shown him early on were now replaced by sharp words and thinly veiled threats. Eric could feel her eyes on him whenever he was near, the weight of her stare like a brand. She saw through him—saw something that made her distrust him, even though he hadn't done anything to provoke her, at least nothing obvious.
Her sharp, biting words to him seemed to grow sharper as the weeks passed. She would often murmur to Alaric when Eric wasn't around, her voice low and strained, but Eric could always catch the underlying tension. Her words were cryptic, filled with hints that she was watching him more closely than she let on.
Then, just as quickly as time had zoomed by, it came to an abrupt halt.
Eric found himself standing in the small, dimly lit room again, the flickering light from a single candle casting long shadows across the floor. His eyes focused on the scene in front of him, where Alaric was nowhere to be found. The woman had called him in—her words curt, almost hostile—and had sent him off on some errand, but what Eric didn't expect was what he saw when he entered the room.
It wasn't the woman's cold stare that struck him first, though it certainly stood out. It was the way she stood, tense and unnervingly still. There was something in her posture, something about the way she turned to look at him, that set the hairs on the back of Eric's neck on end. Her lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed. Her mood had shifted again, but this time it was colder, more calculated.
Then, a sudden noise broke his thoughts.
He looked up to see Alaric outside, running freely in the overgrown yard, his small body darting and weaving with the kind of uninhibited joy that only a child could possess. The sight of him, so carefree, felt like a strange contrast to the tension that had settled in the room. Alaric's laughter floated in from outside, a sharp, shrill sound that seemed out of place with the grim atmosphere inside the hut.
But it wasn't just Alaric's presence that made the situation more unsettling. The way the woman watched him, her eyes narrowing with some unspoken thought, made it clear that the quiet, innocent atmosphere they once shared was no longer the same.
"You shouldn't get too close to him," she said suddenly, her voice colder than it had ever been. "He's not like the others, you know. Don't think you're special just because you've had your time with him."
Eric felt his breath hitch, but before he could speak, she turned her back to him, her attention now entirely focused on Alaric, still running outside. Her words felt like a warning, a cold truth that Eric hadn't fully understood until now. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension, and Eric couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to shift—something irreversible.
It was clear that the woman's patience was wearing thin. She didn't want him here, not really. She hadn't wanted him from the beginning. And yet, there he was—still standing, still lingering, a part of this strange, twisted little family that was never meant to be his.
The woman's words cut through the air with a chilling finality. She crossed her arms tightly, her gaze hardening as she locked eyes with Eric. "Because Alaric likes you so much," she said, her tone deceptively calm, "I won't kill you. But you need to leave. Tonight."
Eric's world tilted. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker, suffocating. Her words echoed in his mind, twisting and contorting in ways that made his head spin. He couldn't comprehend what was happening—what had just shifted in that fleeting moment. The warmth of the room, the faint flickering light of the candle, all of it felt suddenly distant, far away.
Then it happened.
He felt a jolt, as though something invisible had grasped him by the shoulders and yanked him away. The sensation was violent, sudden, like being pulled out of his own skin. He gasped, but the air felt wrong in his lungs, too cold, too sharp. His body—Killian's body—was no longer his to control. He was no longer there, no longer existing in the same space.
For a brief, breathless second, Eric's reality splintered. The world around him fragmented, and he felt himself retreat, retreat into something darker, something far less tangible.
He was once again a mere observer—disembodied, adrift.
He no longer felt the warmth of the candlelight or the oppressive weight of the woman's gaze. The world around him was blurry, as though he were floating in the void, detached from everything he had known. His connection to the body he had inhabited was gone, the strange, unearthly tether severed in an instant.
Eric found himself in the corner of the room, his body no longer his own but still tethered to it. He could only watch, detached, as the scene around him unfolded in a way he couldn't influence. The sensation of observing was as overwhelming as ever, like he was stuck between two worlds, a ghost in the room that no one could hear or see. He was no longer the one trapped inside—Killian was awake now, his personality surging to the forefront.
Killian's eyes shot wide with fury, pupils narrowing into slits as he glared at the woman, his breath quickening. The air in the room thickened with tension, his chest rising and falling with each heavy, angry breath. The fire in his eyes burned bright as he stood tall, defiant in the face of her twisted control. "Alaric is my friend," Killian spat, his voice low and venomous. "You can't decide that for me."
Eric's heart pounded in his chest—Killian's anger was raw, real. There was no mistaking the intensity in his eyes, the power of his words in his small little body. It was as if a floodgate had opened, and Killian's spirit finally broke through the suffocating restraints. He wasn't going to back down. Not from the woman. Not from anything.
But the woman, her expression wild and unhinged, didn't flinch. Instead, she just smiled, her lips curling with an unsettling mix of affection and madness. "I must protect my boy from outsiders." she mused, her voice a sharp, eerie whisper. "I let him have his fun but it's time for us to be alone again."
Killian's anger flared, but before he could react, the woman's gaze softened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice growing softer yet no less menacing. "Spend as much time with him as you want, boy. Because it won't be for long."
Her words hung in the air like a dark omen, a promise of something sinister and inevitable. Killian's head bowed, as if her words had physically struck him.
Eric watched, helpless, as the bond between Killian and the woman felt more strained, more fragile with each passing second. He wanted to scream, wanted to reach out and stop it, but all he could do was witness the slow unraveling of Killian's sanity.
The woman stood up, her movements deliberate, and her eyes never left Killian. "I'll let you think you have time. I'll let you pretend that you can make choices. But in the end, you'll see. It's already too late."
Her words cut through him like a blade. Eric could feel the deep pit of dread in Killian's chest, the anxiety that churned within him, as though every second spent in the presence of this woman was a second he would never get back. Alaric might be his friend, but this woman—this thing—had other plans, plans that Eric could only guess at, plans that would break them both.
Killian's fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms until he drew blood, trembling with anger and a surge of desperation. "Alaric will never forgive you," he growled, each word heavy with a sense of finality. The truth of it hung between them like a promise. He was convinced of it—Alaric, pure and innocent as he was, would never understand what the woman had done, and when he finally did, he would hate her.
But the woman's response was far from what Killian had anticipated. She threw her head back, her laugh echoing off the walls of the small, filthy room like a distorted lullaby. It was manic, sharp, and devoid of any warmth, as if she were enjoying some twisted joke at Killian's expense. Her laughter sent a shiver down Eric's spine, as though the air itself had grown colder in response.
"You think he'll forgive me?" she purred, her eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "Alaric won't even remember you, boy."
Killian's breath caught in his throat, his entire body frozen for a moment as her words settled over him like a thick, suffocating blanket. The weight of them crushed him, but he refused to let her see the impact. His jaw tightened, and for a brief, fleeting second, he thought he might actually break. But no. He wouldn't—he couldn't—let her win.
Her grin only widened, twisting into something darker, more grotesque. "You're nothing more than a fleeting memory to him," she continued, her voice dripping with cold malice. "You're already slipping from his mind, even now. By the time this is over, he won't even know you existed. He'll be mine."
The finality in her tone made the walls seem to close in on him. Killian's chest tightened, and for a moment, he felt utterly lost—trapped in her web of lies and manipulation. His head swam with thoughts of Alaric, of the bond they shared, but now... now it felt fragile, as if the woman's words were already seeping into his very soul.
But Killian wouldn't give in. He couldn't. Alaric was still in there—somewhere. He would fight to bring him back, no matter what this woman said, no matter what she did.
With all the strength he had left, Killian spat out, "I won't let you take him from me." His voice, though strained, held a defiance that even he didn't fully understand.
The woman's smile faded, her eyes narrowing with a strange mix of amusement and contempt. "We'll see about that," she muttered, her voice soft yet laden with a deadly promise. "We'll see just how long you can hold onto him."
Killian took a step forward, his eyes narrowing, burning with defiance, though his mind raced with the implications of the woman's cryptic words. "What do you mean by that?" His voice shook with a mix of murderous intent and fear, but he tried not to let it show. His heart thudded loudly in his chest as he waited for her answer. She had already taken so much from him, manipulated Alaric, and twisted everything that had once been clear—he needed to know what her next move would be.
The woman didn't answer immediately. Instead, she studied him with a twisted smile, eyes glinting with something he couldn't quite place—some sick enjoyment or anticipation. Then, with an almost theatrical flair, she leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers against her armrest as if savoring the tension in the air.
"You really are a fool, aren't you?" Her voice was laced with a sickening sweetness. "But that's fine. All you have to do is stick around until nightfall, and you'll find out soon enough." She waved her hand dismissively, as if his question was nothing more than an afterthought. "The game will play itself out, one way or another."
Killian's heart skipped a beat at her words, dread coiling deep in his stomach. Nightfall? What could she mean by that?
He opened his mouth to argue, to demand more answers, but before he could say another word, she stood up slowly, her movements languid and deliberate. There was no rush in her; no fear of confrontation. In fact, the more she spoke, the more he realized just how confident she was in whatever twisted plan she had in motion.
"I'd suggest you be patient, Killian," she continued, her voice now taking on a mocking tone. "You don't want to miss it. And you certainly don't want to be in the way when it happens."
Killian felt the urge to step closer, to fight her, to scream for answers, but something inside him told him it wasn't the time. Not yet. He could feel the tension growing, thick and suffocating, as if the world itself were holding its breath, waiting for something horrible to happen.
With one last long look, the woman turned her back on him, walking toward the darkened hallway that led deeper into the house. "I'll leave you to your thoughts," she said, her voice fading into the silence.
The words hung in the air, like a cold warning. Killian stood frozen for a moment, staring at her retreating figure, his heart pounding in his chest. What was coming? And what would it mean for him... and for Alaric? The questions swirled in his mind, but one thing was clear: whatever game she was playing, it was far from over.
As the door to the other room clicked shut behind her, the reality of his situation hit him harder than ever before. He didn't have much time.
——
The scene shifted once again and now the sky above them was a soft blend of twilight hues, the golden light slowly fading into a cool indigo. The gentle rustling of the grass and the scent of earth filled the air, creating an oddly peaceful moment amidst the chaos that had been their lives. The field stretched endlessly around them, and in the far distance,he knew the dark silhouette of the woman's hut stood as a grim reminder of the twisted reality they both found themselves in.
Killian lay on his back, his hands behind his head as he stared up at the sky, the weight of his thoughts heavy in his chest. He didn't know why he'd said it out loud, but the words had slipped out, unbidden and raw. He turned his head slightly, looking over at Alaric, who lay beside him, a small, innocent smile on his face, as if the world didn't carry the weight that Killian felt.
"I was abandoned by my family," Killian said softly, his voice almost lost in the whisper of the wind. He didn't look at Alaric at first, but continued to stare up at the sky, the emptiness in his words stark. "I'm different, you know. My family never really accepted me—didn't want anything to do with me because I was different from them. They left me, left me to fend for myself...until I met you."
His gaze turned to the boy beside him, the small figure of Alaric, whose eyes were wide with innocence, a little glint of curiosity sparkling in them. His expression softened, and a faint, almost childlike giggle bubbled from his lips.
"I'm your friend, Killian. Forever," Alaric said, his voice full of a youthful, unwavering certainty that tugged at Killian's heart. He turned to face him, his small, plump cheeks flushed with the faintest pink as he beamed at him. "You're my first friend," Alaric added, his words sincere and full of that childlike wonder that only someone so pure could carry.
Killian felt a warmth flood his chest at the simple words. For so long, he'd been alone. The idea of a true friend was foreign, something he'd almost convinced himself he didn't need. But here was Alaric, so genuine in his affection, offering him that bond without hesitation. The boy was everything Killian hadn't realized he was missing.
Alaric shifted, propping himself up on his elbows to look at him with those wide, gray eyes. "People don't like me," he said suddenly, his voice dropping to a whisper, like he was sharing a secret. "They don't let their kids play with me." He giggled again, but this time, it was a little sad, as though the weight of the words had struck a chord deep within him.
"They think I'll hurt them. That I'm bad," Alaric continued, his small fingers fidgeting with the grass beneath him. "But you're different, Killian. You don't think I'm bad, do you?"
Killian's throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. Alaric's innocence was almost too much to bear. Here he was, just a child, trying to understand why the world feared him, why he was treated as something to be avoided, even when all he wanted was to make a friend, to have someone to care for.
"No," Killian said softly, his voice thick with emotion. He turned his head to look directly at Alaric. "I don't think you're bad. Not at all. You're..." He paused, searching for the right words, words that felt too big for the moment. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Alaric's eyes lit up at the words, his entire face glowing with that pure, childlike happiness. He pushed himself up to sit, looking down at Killian with a beaming smile. "We're gonna be together forever, right? Just like you said. Friends till the end."
Killian nodded, his chest tightening with a mixture of warmth and dread. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but he knew that for right now, Alaric was everything he'd never had. He was the only person who had ever seen him for who he truly was, without judgment. And even though the woman had cast her shadow over them both, Killian swore to protect him, no matter what.
They lay there in the quiet field, the sounds of the wind and the distant chirping of night creatures filling the space between them. Killian didn't know what the future held, but in that moment, he felt something he hadn't in so long—a sense of peace, of belonging.
Alaric shifted again, his small hand reaching out to rest on Killian's. "We're going to be okay, right? You and me?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with a quiet hope.
Killian looked at their hands, the contrast between them striking. Alaric was so young, so trusting, and in that moment, Killian realized just how much responsibility had been placed on his shoulders. He couldn't let the world take this boy away from him. He wouldn't.
"We're going to be okay," Killian said firmly, squeezing Alaric's hand. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Alaric smiled, his eyes half-lidded with. "I know you won't."
_____
As the sun set, casting long shadows across the vast field, Alaric and Killian lay side by side, the soft whispers of the wind filling the quiet air. The world around them felt alive, but the fading light was a reminder that night was fast approaching.
Alaric shifted slightly, his small form pressing closer to Killian, his fingers lightly gripping his friend's hand. He looked up, his big, gray doe eyes reflecting the growing darkness.
"Night is coming," Alaric murmured, his voice soft, almost wistful. "Mama will expect us back for supper soon."
Killian, however, wasn't interested in returning to that cold, dark place with the woman. He wanted to keep Alaric here, in this moment, away from everything else. He glanced down at the boy beside him, his heart heavy with a mix of protectiveness and desire to give them both something better than the life they knew.
"What if we didn't go back?" Killian asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around Alaric's. "What if we ran away? We could go somewhere far, far away where no one would find us. Somewhere no one could ever hurt you."
Alaric blinked, his expression thoughtful for a moment. The idea of leaving behind everything was strange to him, but it was a sweet thought. He imagined the freedom of it, even if it was a dream too big for a child's mind to fully understand. He sat up slightly, eyes wide with wonder, as he considered Killian's words.
"Run away?" Alaric repeated, his voice light, almost like he was testing the idea. "Where would we go?"
Killian, his mind racing with possibilities, pictured a world untamed and vast, a place untouched by the cruel realities they knew. He sat up too, pulling Alaric along with him.
"We could go to a forest," Killian said eagerly, his eyes bright with excitement. "A place with thick trees, where the shadows stretch forever, and no one can find us. We could hunt, and no one would stop us. We could make a home in the branches, live like kings—no one telling us what to do, nothing but the earth beneath our feet."
Alaric's eyes sparkled with a gleam of innocent excitement. He could see it in his mind, a new world of endless wilds, just the two of them. His lips parted slightly as he imagined it.
"Could we have animals?" Alaric asked, his voice full of childlike wonder. "Like... big wolves that would sleep with us at night?"
Killian smiled at the thought. "Yes, big wolves that would protect us, and we could ride them through the trees. The wind would be our friend, and the night would be ours to conquer."
Alaric nodded enthusiastically, his cheeks flushed with excitement. "And no one could tell us what to do. Not Mama, not anyone," he said with a gleam of mischief in his voice. "We would be free. And... and we'd never have to eat the same food again. We could find new things to eat—things no one's ever tasted before!"
Killian nodded, his smile turning more wistful. "We could even sleep beneath the stars, lying on the grass, with nothing but the sky above us. We wouldn't need anything else, just each other."
Alaric curled up beside him, looking at the darkening sky with a sense of longing. "Just you and me," he whispered, eyes half-lidded with the comfort of the fantasy. "No one else. Just us."
Killian pulled Alaric closer, their shoulders brushing, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The world seemed to slow, and in that moment, it was just the two of them—no witches, no threats, no fear. Just a simple dream of running away, of escaping it all.
"What if we really do it?" Killian asked, his voice filled with hope. "What if we run away? We could leave this place, just you and me, away from her. We don't have to go back. Ever."
Alaric's eyes brightened, his heart beating faster as he looked at Killian. The idea was tantalizing, more than anything he had ever dreamed of. A life free from the woman's watchful eyes, away from the isolation of the hut—just the two of them, together. But there was something more Alaric needed before they could truly escape.
He nodded eagerly, almost jumping up with excitement. "Yes, let's go. But we need something first. Something very important." His voice dropped to a whisper, as if the wind might carry his words away. "We need the book."
Killian's confusion flashed across his face. "The book?"
Alaric's eyes grew even wider with passion. "Yes, the book! The one Mama keeps hidden. With it, we can do anything. Anything we want. We can change everything, Killian. We can make our dreams come true."
His words hung in the air, filled with the kind of innocent but overwhelming hope only a child could have. He didn't fully understand the power the book held—only that it was the key to their freedom. The book was everything to him. It could make him strong. It could make him and Killian both free.
"We could change ourselves," Alaric continued, his voice softer now, almost a reverent whisper. "We could become anything. We could make everything better... together. You and me, forever."
Killian felt a rush of determination at the thought. He understood what Alaric meant—this wasn't just about running away anymore. It was about taking control of their own fates, about creating the world they wanted. He could see the hunger for freedom in Alaric's eyes, and it mirrored his own. They could do this.
"Okay, Alaric. Let's get the book," Killian said, nodding, excitement bubbling inside him. "We'll get it, and then we'll go. We'll be unstoppable."
Alaric grinned, his face lighting up with a pure joy that made him look even more innocent and youthful. "We'll be free, Killian. We'll never have to listen to Mama again. I'll show you. It's all in there. I know it."
They both stood up, the night air swirling around them. Alaric grasped Killian's hand with an urgency that only grew as they moved closer to the hut. Every step felt like a step toward their new life, one that no one could take from them. The woman, the dark presence that had loomed over them for so long, would never control them again.
Alaric's mind raced with possibilities. With the book, they could make their own rules. They could shape the world as they saw fit. He knew, deep down, that it was the only way to be truly free.
His voice was a soft murmur as he led Killian through the darkening woods, the last slivers of sunlight retreating behind the trees. "Mama won't even notice," he said, his words tinged with a strange mixture of excitement and weariness. "I've been coming home late for days now. She just leaves my supper on the table and goes to sleep. "
Eric couldn't help but find the scene oddly endearing, even amidst the darkness of their situation. Two children, no older than their early years, determined to run away together with no understanding of the future that awaited them. They were opposites in every way, like yin and yang, yet their bond was undeniable.
Killian's jet-black hair fell into his narrowed, murderous eyes, carrying a weight far too heavy for someone so young. He looked as though he had already stared into the cruel world and refused to blink. Beside him, Alaric was his perfect contrast—his bone-white hair glinting softly in the dim light, long white lashes framing wide gray eyes filled with innocent determination
They approached the small hut, and as they neared it, an unsettling chill seemed to wash over the air, as though something sinister was stirring just beyond their reach. The woods were eerily silent, and the soft crunch of their footsteps seemed too loud against the oppressive stillness.
Alaric didn't seem to notice. His eyes were set with determination, his body moving with the confidence of a child who had convinced himself he was invincible. "Just stay close," he whispered, "I'll get the book, and we'll go."
They slipped inside the hut, the door creaking as it opened, its familiar groan echoing in the otherwise quiet space.
The air grew thick with tension as Alaric reached the spot where the book had always been kept, only to find the shelf empty. His fingers brushed against the bare wood where the book should have been, and his face fell, confusion clouding his expression.
"The book's gone," he whispered, his voice faltering, eyes wide with uncertainty. "Mama... she must've taken it."
Killian felt a cold shiver run down his spine. His heart pounded, the unsettling sensation of something being horribly wrong spreading through his body. He instinctively took a step back, scanning the room.
Then, he saw her.
The woman stood in the far corner, her tall figure silhouetted in the dim light. In her hands, she held the book—its dark cover glowing with an eerie sheen. Her presence was oppressive, filling the room with a suffocating, malevolent energy. She hadn't moved, but Killian could feel her gaze on him, cold and predatory.
His body went rigid, a primal instinct to flee surging through him. Run. The word screamed through his mind, but before he could even act, he screamed. A wild, desperate cry that echoed off the walls of the small hut.
Killian bolted toward Alaric, but in that split second, the woman raised her hand. The air shimmered with dark energy, a pulse of magic that vibrated through the room like a ringing bell. Alaric's body jerked, his eyes wide with shock for a brief moment before he collapsed, his head lolling to the side.
"No!" Killian's voice cracked as he rushed forward, kneeling beside his friend. His hands trembled as he shook Alaric, desperate to wake him.
But Alaric didn't respond.
He wasn't dead—Killian could feel the warmth of his skin, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. But something was terribly wrong. Alaric was unconscious, his body limp and unresponsive, as if he was caught between worlds. His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, but there was no awareness in them—only an unsettling, empty gaze.
The woman stood over them, the book still clasped tightly in her hands, her face cold and impassive. Her voice was calm, devoid of any empathy. "He's not dead, little one. Just... inconsistent."
Killian's fists clenched at his sides. "What did you do to him?" His voice trembled, fury and fear blending together.
"You should have known better than to come here," the woman responded, her smile twisted. "He's not like you. He's not like us." She glanced down at Alaric's unconscious form, her eyes gleaming with a sinister light. "He'll wake when I allow it."
Tears stung at the corners of Killian's eyes, but he wouldn't cry. He couldn't. Not now. Not with Alaric lying like this, a pale shadow of the friend he had come to care for so deeply.
"Alaric," Killian whispered softly, hoping that somehow, his friend could hear him. "Wake up. We're not done. I won't leave you."
The hut felt colder now. The walls seemed to close in around them, the flickering light from the candle casting long, grotesque shadows.
And all Killian could do was wait—wait for the moment when Alaric would awaken, wait for the moment when they could finally escape this place together. But with the woman looming over them, it felt like time had stopped, leaving him to face the terrible uncertainty of what was to come.
The woman stepped forward, her movements smooth and deliberate. Her eyes glinted with an unsettling calmness, and she towered over Killian, who was still kneeling beside Alaric's unconscious form.
Before Killian could react, she seized him by the throat with an iron grip, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. His vision blurred as her fingers dug into his windpipe, choking the life from him. The world around him began to spin, the air thick and suffocating, and panic surged through him. His hands scrambled at her wrist, trying to pry her fingers off, but her strength was overwhelming.
"You're a small one," she murmured, her voice soft yet dripping with menace. "But you'll do nicely for Alaric's stew."
Her words twisted the knife of fear deeper into his chest. He knew exactly what she meant. This wasn't just about hurting him—it was about tormenting Alaric, about tearing away the one thing that had been a light in this place of darkness.
Killian fought back with everything he had. His nails scraped across her skin, but it was like trying to claw through stone. The darkness crept closer, his head pounding, his body growing weaker, but his mind refused to surrender. He couldn't let her win. He couldn't let her harm Alaric.
But the fight was futile. His vision tunneled, the edges of his sight blurring as his body weakened. The air felt suffocating, his lungs burning. His mind struggled to hold on, but everything was slipping. He could feel the last bit of energy drain from his body, the weakness seeping in as his head swam.
And then, with a final, desperate gasp, his body went limp, and the world blacked out.
---
When Killian regained consciousness, it was to a sharp headache and the unmistakable feeling of something wrong in his body—something was missing. His limbs felt heavy, sluggish, and he couldn't seem to get a full breath. His throat burned, raw from where the woman had choked him.
Killian blinked slowly, trying to gather his bearings. His body was sore, his head spinning, but his mind was sharp. His heart raced as he realized what had just happened. She had almost killed him.
It was then that he realized—he was trapped.
A bone cage.
His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to comprehend his situation. The bars were made of jagged, yellowed bones, twisted and uneven, stretching up from the floor to the ceiling. They had been crafted meticulously, cruelly, like a twisted prison designed for nothing but torment. Killian's breath quickened as the reality of his captivity settled in.
He pulled against the bars, his small hands scraping against the bone. But the cage was too strong, and there was no way out. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, each breath heavier than the last. A surge of panic rose within him, but it was quickly replaced by an all-consuming rage.
"Alaric..." he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse from the choking. The name was like a knife in his chest. Alaric—his friend, the only one who had ever made him feel like he belonged—was out there, and Killian was trapped in this bone cage, helpless.
The anger boiled inside him like a storm. He gritted his teeth, feeling the raw heat of it flood through him. He wasn't going to let this stand. No one—no one—was going to take Alaric from him. Not now, not ever and if they did he knew what he had to do.
With every ounce of strength he had, Killian pushed against the bone bars, his muscles straining and aching. He could feel the bones creaking under his force, but they held firm, mocking him with their cruelty.
His mind raced. How could he get out? How could he save Alaric from the woman who had captured him?
The sound of footsteps suddenly echoed through the room, harsh and deliberate. Killian froze, his heart skipping a beat. He looked up, his eyes narrowing as the woman appeared at the entrance to the cage, a twisted smile playing on her lips.
"Well, well," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "The little one is awake."
Killian glared at her, hatred burning in his chest. "You won't get away with this," he growled. "I'll find a way out, and I'll take him with me."
The woman chuckled darkly. "Oh, I have no doubt you'll try. But Alaric... he's already mine. And there's nothing you can do to change that."
She stepped closer to the cage, her presence suffocating, her eyes gleaming with something manic than Killian could even begin to understand.
Killian's fists clenched tighter, his anger threatening to explode. He was going to make her regret this. Every second he was in this cage, every moment he was kept from Alaric, would only make his resolve stronger.
Not while he still had breath left in him.
"You see," she said, her lips curling into a smile, "Alaric doesn't remember you anymore. I've made sure of it. He doesn't care."
Killian's blood ran cold at her words. His chest tightened, his heart hammering painfully in his ribs. He wanted to deny it, to scream back, but the weight of her words crushed him. He felt as if the world had slipped out from beneath him. She had done it. She had taken his only friend—his only bond—and erased it.
"No," Killian breathed, the word raw and desperate. "No, you're lying!"
The witch's chuckle filled the room, a cruel sound that grated on Killian's nerves. "You think I'm lying?" she taunted, her eyes narrowing with malicious satisfaction. "You'll see soon enough."
And then, as if summoned by the very air itself, a soft voice echoed through the room. "What's that noise?"
Killian's heart leapt in his chest. Alaric.
Alaric's head appeared from around the corner, his small frame casting a shadow in the dim light. The child's gray eyes blinked in confusion as he stared at Killian's cage. His expression was blank, his gaze vacant.
"Who's that boy?" Alaric asked, his voice flat, as though the question didn't mean much to him at all. He tilted his head slightly, as if it didn't matter to him whether Killian was locked up or not.
Killian's breath hitched, the truth crashing over him like a wave. The witch hadn't lied. Alaric didn't remember him. He didn't even recognize him. The bond between them was gone, erased. And in that moment, Killian knew she had truly broken him.
Alaric turned away, the indifference in his eyes cutting through Killian like a blade. "Mama?" he muttered, his voice as innocent and detached as ever. The child didn't even seem to register the agony that flickered in Killian's chest.
The woman smirked at the sight, watching as Alaric walked away, completely unaware of the devastation that was now pulsing through Killian's veins.
"Go back to sleep, my dear," she cooed at Alaric, her voice soothing. "You don't need to worry about that boy. He's nothing now."
Alaric looked at Killian once more before he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Killian in the cage, broken and defeated.
Killian's fists clenched, his body trembling with the weight of it all. He couldn't move, couldn't escape, couldn't get to Alaric, but one thing was certain: He would never stop fighting. He couldn't.
As she turned to leave, a dark, furious promise slipped from Killian's lips, his voice hoarse with anger. "I'll kill you," he spat, the words cutting through the silence like a sharpened knife. "You won't get away with this."
The woman's eyes narrowed, her smile faltering for a brief moment as she turned back to face him. "We'll see," she said softly, her voice laced with an eerie calmness. "We'll see how long your little defiance lasts."
With that, she turned away, her footsteps echoing in the darkness. But Killian's resolve burned brighter than ever. He might be trapped, but he wouldn't be broken. He would find a way to get to Alaric—no matter the cost.
The words lingered in the air like poison, wrapping themselves around Killian's chest. "You'll die tomorrow," she had said, her voice so calm, so certain. A promise of death that Killian couldn't shake off, no matter how hard he tried. It echoed in his mind, twisting the already suffocating despair that gripped him.
Killian's hands trembled as he clutched the cold human bones of the cage, his knuckles white, his nails digging into his palms. The woman's mocking laughter echoed in his ears, a twisted melody of condescension that fed the inferno building inside him. Her words were daggers, each one slicing deeper into the fragile shell of control he clung to.
His breathing grew shallow, his chest tightening with the force of his anger. The hatred was almost tangible now, crawling up his spine and igniting something primal, something terrifying. A golden light flickered in his eyes, faint at first, but it quickly swelled like molten fire, illuminating the shadows of his young face. It wasn't just anger—it was a hunger, a thirst for destruction.
The bones of the cage vibrated under his hands as the power within him surged, raw and untamed, begging to be unleashed. He didn't understand it, but he didn't care. He welcomed it. The witch's voice became a distant hum as his focus narrowed to the cage and his overwhelming desire to destroy. His teeth clenched, his jaw tightening as he let the rage consume him.
"I'm going to kill her," he whispered, the words dripping with venom. His lips curled into a snarl, and his narrowed eyes burned with a feral intensity far beyond his years. He wasn't a child in that moment—he was a predator, and the woman was his prey.
The cage groaned in protest, bending under the weight of his fury. He felt the power coursing through his veins, wild and electric, as if the very air around him bowed to his will. With a guttural growl, he tightened his grip, and the golden light in his eyes flared so brightly it seemed to burn.
The cage trembled violently now, the sound escalating to a deafening screech but Killian unconsciously knew to silence the sound so the woman wouldn't hear. With a thunderous crack, the bars shattered into jagged shards that flew outward like missiles, embedding themselves in the walls around him. The cage was no longer a prison—it was rubble.
Killian stumbled forward, his body trembling from the intensity of the release. But his mind was sharp, his focus singular. His heart pounded like a war drum, the thrill of destruction mingling with his insatiable desire for more. He wasn't afraid of this newfound power. He relished it.
"You should've killed me when you had the chance," he said, his voice calm yet laced with a sadistic edge. His small frame, illuminated by the flickering light of his power, seemed larger than life.
His feet carried him swiftly through the dark, the shadows whispering past him as he made his way to the one place he needed to go. Alaric.
He found him in the same spot, just as the witch had left him: lying in a deep, peaceful sleep, unaware of the chaos unfolding around him. Killian's heart broke all over again at the sight of his friend—his only friend—sleeping soundly, untouched by the madness that surrounded them.
Killian knelt beside the bed, his hand trembling as he reached out to brush Alaric's soft cheek. The touch was tender, filled with a quiet desperation, as if he were trying to reach across an invisible barrier, to connect with the boy who no longer remembered him.
"Even if you don't remember me," Killian whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I'll remember for both of us."
His fingers lingered for a moment longer, but the weight of the situation pulled him away. He couldn't stay. He couldn't let the wouldn't catch him again. But he wouldn't leave empty-handed, either.
His gaze shifted to the table near Alaric, where the book lay, its dark cover gleaming in the dim light. It had been the source of so much power, so much control. And now, it was the key to his freedom—and Alaric's as well.
With a swift motion, Killian snatched the book from the table, clutching it tightly to his chest. The dark energy that radiated from its pages seemed to pulse against his skin, filling him with a strange, unfamiliar power. He didn't understand it, but he knew one thing: this book held the answers, the means to undo everything the woman had done, and possibly even bring Alaric back by his side—forever.
Without another word, Killian turned and fled from the room, the book clutched tightly in his arms, his heart pounding in his chest. He would escape. He would find a way to save Alaric. And he would make the woman pay for everything she had done.
He didn't know how, but he knew he wouldn't stop until he had his friend back. Even if Alaric had forgotten him, Killian would remember. And that, at least, was a promise he could keep.