The moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the valley. The air was cold, crisp with the bite of winter's early touch. Crimson flowers, those delicate, rare blooms that only opened under the pale moonlight, swayed in the wind like the silent whispers of forgotten souls. They were beautiful—too beautiful, I thought. Like everything in this world, their life was fleeting. They would close by morning, withering as if they never existed. A single touch, and they'd wilt in your hands. I couldn't help but admire them.

I knelt down, brushing the earth away to find the freshest, most vibrant blossoms. The moonlight painted their delicate petals with silver, making them shimmer as though they were alive in a way nothing else was. They only bloomed for such a short time, and I could never understand why that made them feel so important, so essential. Maybe it was because they were like us—fragile, struggling against time, and the inevitable darkness.

"Jay! How long are you going to be out here?"

Myah's voice broke through my thoughts, causing me to look up. She stood at the edge of the valley, hands on her hips, her breath visible in the cold night air. Even though she tried to appear annoyed, I knew she wasn't really mad. It was that way with her—always pretending to scold, always acting like the older sibling, but with a warmth in her eyes that couldn't be hidden.

"I'm almost done!" I called back, my voice carrying on the wind. I held up the bundle of flowers I'd gathered. "These ones are for Mom."

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. "You're always late. If you don't hurry, Mom's going to have dinner cold again."

I chuckled softly and stood, placing the flowers gently into my basket. "She won't mind. She's been looking forward to these."

Myah shook her head, though I could see her fighting a smile. "Just don't take too long. You know how she gets when the stew gets cold."

I nodded, already turning to head back toward the house. Myah followed behind, her steps light on the earth as we made our way back home.

The warm scent of dinner greeted us as we opened the door, the heat from the fire washing over me in comforting waves. Mom was at the stove, her apron dusted with flour, working the dough for tomorrow's bread. The soft glow from the fire cast a golden light on her face, and for a moment, I just stood there, watching her, feeling a surge of gratitude I couldn't quite name. It wasn't just the food, or her soft smile—it was the fact that she was here. That we were together, safe, and alive.

"Jay, Myah!" she called, turning with a bright smile. "Just in time for dinner. Wash up and come sit."

Myah dropped her coat by the door, rolling her eyes playfully. "You're always going to spoil him, aren't you, Mom?"

Mom winked, setting a warm plate down on the table for me. "Nothing wrong with a little spoiling. My boy deserves it."

I laughed, a warmth spreading in my chest. As I took my seat at the table, I caught Myah's teasing smile, but there was something behind it—a flicker of something softer that she didn't show anyone else. It made me feel like I was part of something sacred, something that no one could ever take away from us.

Dinner was quiet but comfortable. Myah hummed between bites, lost in her own thoughts, while Mom and I discussed the harvest and the plans for the winter. There was nothing special about the conversation, but that's what made it perfect. It was just us. Just the three of us, safe in our little home.

I ate slowly, savoring every bite of stew, and then Myah began to tease me about something, as she always did. She was good at that, getting under my skin with a smile, making everything seem lighter. I could tell she was just trying to make me laugh, but in that moment, I didn't need to laugh. I just needed to be here, with them.

When the meal was finished, Myah wandered off to do whatever she did in her free time, and I stayed behind to help clean up. Mom always insisted on doing the dishes herself, but I liked staying close, keeping her company. She hummed softly as she worked, the sound soothing in the stillness of the house.

"I brought you some flowers, Mom," I said suddenly, pulling the small bundle from my basket. "They're the last ones before the season changes."

Her eyes softened as she reached out to take the flowers. She didn't need to ask where they came from. She knew.

"They're beautiful, Jay. Thank you," she said, her voice full of warmth and affection. "They remind me of the ones your father used to bring me."

I froze for a moment, the words hanging in the air like a weight I couldn't quite escape. Dad. I hadn't thought about him in a while. Not since he'd left. Not since—

But Mom always made it seem like he was still with us, still part of our world. She never mentioned the empty space he left, never spoke of his absence with anything other than the occasional sigh, as if that one little breath would be enough to hold it all together.

"Mom, do you think he… would've liked it here?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she paused, setting the flowers gently on the table. Then, she looked me in the eye, her expression soft, but there was something deeper there—something buried that she rarely spoke of.

"Your father loved you, Jay," she said quietly. "More than anything in this world. And he would've loved this place, too. But sometimes… we can't always keep everything we love. You'll understand that someday."

Her words hung in the air, thick and heavy, and I nodded even though I wasn't sure I understood.

We sat there in silence for a moment longer before Myah returned, ready to begin her nightly routine of teasing me into submission. But tonight, it didn't feel quite right. The room was too quiet, the shadows a little too long. It wasn't the same as it always had been.

But we carried on. We laughed. We talked. Myah braided my hair, and we joked about how ridiculous I looked. Mom hummed, preparing for the night ahead, the fire crackling softly. I looked at the two of them, my family, and wished I could hold on to this moment forever.

The wind outside howled, but inside, there was warmth.

The next evening, the winds had picked up. The sky was dark, a thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the clouds as I stepped out into the night. The flowers had already begun to close, but I didn't mind. They would bloom again. In a way, I liked that about them. Even when they faded, they always returned.

I walked deeper into the valley, lost in the rhythm of my steps. The ground beneath my feet was soft, the earth rich from the autumn rains. The air smelled of damp leaves, of the promise of winter.

I hadn't realized how much time had passed until I looked up. The sky had darkened, and I could feel the cold creeping in, seeping through my clothes. I had to hurry back. Mom would scold me if I was late.

The familiar sights of the valley—the swirling crimson petals, the rocks, the overgrown trees—were like a second home to me. But tonight, something felt different. Something felt wrong. The shadows seemed too deep, and the silence hung heavier than it had before. I couldn't place it, but the air had shifted. It was as though everything was holding its breath.

When I finally reached home, the door was open, which wasn't like Myah. She always closed it behind her, even when she was in a rush. A sense of unease settled in my stomach as I pushed the door open slowly, trying not to make any noise.

"Mom?" I called, my voice weak in the stillness. "Myah?"

No answer.

The house was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth. I stepped inside, my heart thudding in my chest, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. Something was wrong.

The familiar warmth of the kitchen was gone, replaced by a cold, oppressive silence. The hearth fire had burned down to a weak ember, its glow barely enough to light the room. My eyes scanned the floor.

And then, I saw it.

A dark stain.

I froze.

Blood.

It spread across the floor like a river, dark and thick, seeping into the cracks between the wooden boards. My breath caught in my throat, and my chest tightened painfully. My legs felt heavy, as if they were filled with lead, but I couldn't stop myself from moving forward.

I followed the trail of blood, each step a sickening crunch of wood underfoot. The kitchen was in disarray—chairs knocked over, broken pottery, but there was no sign of either Mom or Myah. Panic gripped my chest, and I stumbled toward the back room, my heart hammering in my throat.

And then I saw I saw the horror.

Mom's body lay sprawled on the floor, her form twisted unnaturally, eyes wide open but devoid of life. A pool of blood spread beneath her, dark and thick, staining the wooden floor. The kitchen knife, still lodged deep in her back, gleamed under the faint glow of the fire. Her clothes, once pristine and soft, were now soaked with the crimson stain of her blood.

My breath caught in my throat as I stood frozen, unable to fully comprehend the sight in front of me. My heart hammered in my chest, my limbs heavy with dread. The world felt like it was collapsing around me, crumbling into chaos and nightmare.

"Mom…" My voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and fragile, as though the very air was too thick to breathe. "Mom, no…"

I stumbled toward her, my hands trembling, my body moving like it was on autopilot. I tried to kneel beside her, but a voice in my mind screamed at me to stop. It wasn't just the blood that horrified me, it was the stillness. The emptiness that filled the space where her warmth and life should have been.

And then I heard it. A faint sound, barely audible, coming from the corner of the room. A low whimper.

I whipped around, heart leaping into my throat. There, huddled in the corner, was Myah. Her face was streaked with tears, blood dripping from a gash on her forehead. Her hands were bound tightly behind her, and she was trembling, trying desperately to move, but the ropes were too tight.

"Jay," she gasped, her voice weak and strained. "Get out. Run. Please…"

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Everything in my mind was spinning, my world reduced to this moment—this horrible, crushing moment. My body moved before I could process it. I ran to her, kneeling in front of her, hands shaking as I fumbled with the ropes that bound her. My mind was a blur, a rush of frantic thoughts and feelings that didn't make sense.

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here," I whispered, my voice cracking as I worked at the knots, pulling at the rope with all my strength. The panic clawed at me, pushing me to go faster. But the more I tried, the more my hands slipped, my movements clumsy with fear.

"Jay," Myah whispered again, more urgently this time, her voice trembling. "Go. It's too late. Please, just go."

But I couldn't leave her. I couldn't leave her alone here, not like this.

"Not without you," I choked out, my voice thick with emotion. "We're getting out of here. Together."

Finally, I managed to loosen the rope just enough for her to pull her hands free. She winced in pain as the blood rushed back into her wrists, but she didn't care. Her eyes were wide, filled with fear, yet there was a strange, resolute calm to her expression.

"Jay…" Her voice was barely a whisper. "You don't understand. You have to run. They'll come back."

I looked at her, not understanding. "Who? Who did this? Who hurt Mom?"

But before she could answer, the door to the room creaked open. My heart stopped.

Two men stepped into the room, their silhouettes dark against the faint light of the fire. One was tall, with rough, calloused hands, and the other shorter, stockier, with a twisted sneer on his face. Both were covered in dark cloaks, their faces obscured in the shadows.

The taller man's eyes glinted as he saw me, and his grin widened. "Well, well," he drawled, stepping forward. "Seems like we have a little boy to deal with after all."

I stood frozen, my body shaking as I tried to process what I was seeing. It felt like everything was happening too fast, too unreal. The blood, the death, Myah's fear—everything felt like a bad dream I couldn't wake up from.

"Jay," Myah whispered, her voice filled with terror, "run. Now!"

But the man only laughed, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. "Run? Where do you think you're going, boy?"

My heart pounded in my chest. I could feel the power in the air, a heavy weight pressing against me, suffocating me. But I couldn't move. I couldn't bring myself to leave. My mind screamed for me to act, but my body betrayed me, frozen in place.

One of the men, the shorter one, stepped forward, his eyes cold. He reached down and yanked Myah to her feet with ease, pulling her away from me. Her body tensed as she gasped in pain, the ropes still cutting into her wrists.

"No!" I shouted, my voice shaking with the force of my fear and rage. "Let her go! Let her go!"

The man holding her twisted her arm behind her back, forcing her to stumble toward the door. "Shut up, kid," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You're the one who's going to die next."

I felt a strange, cold calm wash over me, like a thick fog descending on my mind. The world around me felt distant, as if I were watching it from outside my own body. I saw Myah's face, her eyes pleading for me to run, to escape, but I couldn't.

I couldn't leave her. I couldn't let them take her.

"Let her go," I said, my voice cold and trembling with fury. "Or I'll make you regret it."

But I couldn't move. My legs felt like they were rooted to the ground, heavy and useless. My mind screamed at me to do something anything but all I could do was stand there, my chest heaving as hot tears streamed down my face.

"Run!" she screamed, louder this time.

The man nearest her grabbed her by the arm, yanking her upright. She cried out, her small frame crumpling against him as he held her up like a trophy.

"Feisty little bitch," he said, smirking. "Boss'll love her."

"No!" I shouted, taking a shaky step forward. "Leave her alone!"

The other man moved quickly, faster than I could process. One moment he was standing beside Mom's body; the next, he was in front of me, his knife glinting in the dim light.

"Shut up, kid," he growled. "You're not going anywhere."

I should've run. I should've listened to Myah, but I couldn't. My body wouldn't move, and my heart felt like it was being crushed under the weight of everything.

The man swung his knife, and I stumbled back, barely avoiding the blade.

"Huh. Quick little brat," he said, narrowing his eyes. "But let's see how long that lasts."

He lunged again, and this time, I wasn't fast enough. The knife tore through my side, hot pain shooting through me as I fell to the floor.

"Jay!" Myah's scream cut through the haze of pain, but it only made everything worse.

I looked up, my vision swimming, and saw the other man dragging her toward the door. Her cries were desperate, filled with terror I'd never heard from her before.

"No… Myah…" I reached out, my fingers clawing at the floor as I tried to pull myself forward.

The man standing over me laughed, kicking me hard in the stomach. I coughed, blood spilling from my mouth as the room spun around me.

"You're pathetic," he sneered. "Can't even protect your own family."

My mind felt like it was fracturing, splintering under the weight of his words. I could still see Mom's lifeless body in the corner of my eye, and Myah's screams echoed in my ears, growing fainter as she was dragged away.

I failed.

I couldn't save them.

I couldn't save anyone.

My chest felt tight, like my heart was trying to rip itself apart. A scream built in my throat, raw and broken, but it never came out. The world around me faded, replaced by the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

And then…

 "Get up."

The words were quiet at first, like a whisper brushing against my ear.

"Who…?" My voice was hoarse, barely audible.

"Get up, Jay."

"I… can't…" My hands trembled as I tried to push myself up. "It's over… I failed…"

"She needs you."

My breath hitched. Myah. She was still alive?

Something stirred inside me—hot, searing, like fire spreading through my veins. The pain in my side dulled, replaced by a strange, pulsing energy that made my fingers twitch.

When I opened my eyes, the room looked different. Sharper. Darker. And in my hand, something heavy began to form.

A sword.

Its hilt was crimson and white, the same colors as the flowers in the valley. The blade gleamed in the faint light, its edge wickedly sharp.

The man standing over me stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. "What the…?"

I pushed myself to my feet, the sword steady in my grip despite the trembling in my body. My vision narrowed, my focus locking onto him.

"Jay…?" Myah's voice was faint, but it was enough to ground me, to remind me why I was still standing.

The man lunged at me, his knife aimed for my throat. I moved without thinking, the blade in my hand slicing through the air.

Blood splattered across the floor as he fell, clutching his chest. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

I didn't feel anything. No satisfaction, no relief. Just an empty, gnawing void that grew with every second.

The other man froze, his grip on Myah tightening as he stared at me.

"You… what the hell are you?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

I didn't answer.

He bolted, dragging Myah with him. Her terrified screams pierced the air, but I couldn't move. My legs felt like lead, the sword slipping from my grasp as I sank to my knees.

Mom's body was still there, motionless.

I was too late.

I had power now—enough to cut through steel, enough to kill. But it didn't matter.

Because I couldn't save her.

I let out a strangled cry, my hands clawing at my face as tears streamed down my cheeks. The room spun around me, the weight of everything crashing down at once.

I wasn't a hero. I wasn't strong enough.

I was nothing.

I stared at Mom's body, my chest heaving as my breath came in short, shallow bursts. My fingers dug into the floorboards, my nails splintering against the wood.

"Mom… no… no…"

The words tumbled from my lips like a broken mantra, each one weaker than the last. My mind was slipping, fracturing under the weight of everything.

The power coursing through me flared, wild and uncontrollable. The sword in my hand pulsed with a strange, searing heat, the light from its blade flickering like a dying flame.

Myah's screams were distant now, barely cutting through the deafening roar in my head. All I could see was Mom—her lifeless eyes staring at nothing, her body twisted and broken.

My vision blurred.

The pulsing energy in my veins turned into a storm, surging outward in a chaotic burst.

The man holding Myah cursed, stumbling back as a gust of force knocked him off balance. He tightened his grip on her, dragging her toward the door.

I tried to stand, but my legs buckled beneath me. The sword slipped from my grasp, deteriorating to the floor. The light in the blade flickered once, then went out entirely.

"No… stop…!" I reached out weakly, my fingers brushing against the bloodied floorboards.

But my body wouldn't listen. The power was gone, drained from me as quickly as it had come. I was empty again, hollow and powerless.

The man hesitated for a moment, glancing back at me. His face twisted into a sneer.

"Pathetic," he spat. "You couldn't even protect her."

He dragged Myah out the door, her cries fading into the distance.

"Myah!" I screamed, my voice cracking. I clawed at the floor, trying to pull myself forward, but my strength was gone.

I collapsed, my cheek pressing against the blood-soaked wood. The world spun around me, growing darker with every breath.

The last thing I saw before everything went black was Mom's face, pale and still.

When I opened my eyes, the room was dim. The fire had burned down to embers, casting faint shadows on the walls.

For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. My head felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish.

Then I felt it something soft pressed against me.

I blinked, turning my head slowly.

"Mom…?"

She was there, her arms wrapped around me as if she were cradling me. Her body was cold now, but in the haze of my awakening, I didn't realize it at first.

"You're okay," I whispered, my voice shaking. "You're here… you're okay…"

I clung to her, burying my face in her chest. The familiar scent of her hair—faint and fading—was still there, mixed with the metallic tang of blood.

"Mom…" My voice cracked. "I'm so sorry… I couldn't… I couldn't stop them…"

I held her tighter, desperate to feel the warmth that was no longer there.

But then I noticed it.

Her skin. Too cold. Too still.

My heart dropped.

"No…" I pulled back, my hands shaking as I cupped her face. Her eyes were open, lifeless, staring past me into nothing. Blood had dried on her lips, staining her pale skin.

"No, no, no!" I screamed, shaking her shoulders. "Mom, wake up! Please, wake up!"

My voice echoed in the empty house, a broken, desperate cry that tore through my throat.

I clung to her again, sobbing into her chest as the truth crashed down on me like a wave.

She was gone.

And I was alone…

A/N: Thoughts on the story trying to make a dark novel