Kaelan remained frozen, breath shallow as if the very air around him was afraid to disturb the stillness of the scene. He gazed at her, this woman who seemed more a vision than flesh, her beauty an enigma that stirred something deep within him. Slowly, almost as if he feared the act of touching her would break whatever fragile magic bound them to this moment, his fingers moved toward her face. They hovered for an instant, trembling, before gently brushing her skin—a contact so light it felt as though he had touched a dream.
Her skin, warm despite her unconscious state, was impossibly soft, like the faintest whisper of a breeze in the dead of night. It was as if the essence of nature itself had gathered in her form—smooth like moonlight spilling across a quiet lake, with a warmth that seemed to pulse faintly beneath her surface, reminding him she was alive, though barely. Each stroke of his fingers sent ripples through his senses, a feeling not unlike the awe of witnessing the first light of dawn after a long, cold night. There was a strange purity in it, a peace, yet also a deep sadness that clawed at his chest.
She was not merely beautiful in a way the world understood; she was transcendent, a figure of such ethereal grace that he couldn't help but feel he was in the presence of something otherworldly. She belonged to the stars, to the heavens above—a creature made of light, yet bound by some terrible weight to the earth.
His touch lingered, unwilling to leave the soft curve of her cheek, as if part of him feared she would vanish the moment he withdrew. The sensation of her skin beneath his fingertips was unlike anything he had ever known, a contradiction of fragility and power. It was as though he was touching the edge of eternity itself, something far beyond the mortal world he inhabited. In that moment, he felt himself unravel, as though the connection between them was not through his hand but through his soul, as if by simply being near her, a thousand unspoken truths were revealed.
His heart raced, not out of fear but out of a deep, inexplicable longing. She was like an unspoken answer, filling a void he had never known was there, a question he had carried silently all his life. The more his fingers lingered on her face, the more he realized how vast that void had been, and how, somehow, this woman—this unconscious, fragile woman—held within her the key to filling it.
He could not explain why, but he felt a pull, a gravitational force that made it impossible to tear himself away from her. Each moment in her presence was filled with both wonder and an overwhelming sense of loss, as if in touching her, he was reaching out for something eternally beyond his grasp.
Then, his gaze fell on it—a dagger, buried deep in her chest, its blade cruelly disrupting the serenity of her delicate form. The weapon seemed like a dark scar against the purity of her being, a foreign invader that did not belong in the radiant grace of her body. The sight of it stirred something primal in him, an instinctive pain that surged from within his soul rather than his body. It was not a sharp, fleeting pain but a slow, torturous burn that seeped into every corner of his heart, as if the dagger had not just pierced her chest but had also embedded itself deep in his own. The agony, though intangible, was all-consuming, like the echo of a wound unseen—a second-degree hurt, not of the flesh, but of the spirit.
He staggered under the weight of it, his chest tightening as if invisible hands were squeezing the life from his heart. It was as though every pulse of his heartbeat was now intertwined with her suffering, a rhythm of pain and helplessness that left him breathless. The very air around him felt heavy, thick with a sorrow he couldn't comprehend, and yet, it was undeniable. "Who did this to you?" The words escaped his lips, barely a whisper, but even as he spoke them, he felt their futility. No answer could undo the horror of what had been done to her. His voice trembled with the weight of the question, as if speaking it aloud might shatter the fragile barrier between life and death that held her in limbo.
His eyes were drawn to the dagger, not by choice, but by a force that was beyond him. It gleamed darkly, as though it were alive, pulsing with a malevolent energy that seemed to seep into the air around it. There was something hypnotic about the way it nestled in her chest, a cruel paradox of power and fragility. The blade seemed to beckon him, pulling him toward it like a cruel enchantment, a siren's call that whispered of danger and salvation all at once. His mind screamed at him to stop, but his body betrayed him, moving on its own accord.
Without fully realizing what he was doing, his hand extended toward the hilt, fingers trembling as they hovered above it. The moment stretched, an eternity hanging between thought and action. His touch, when it finally made contact, was hesitant, as if he feared that simply touching it might further unravel the fragile fabric of reality. His fingers closed around the hilt—cold, unyielding, and foreign. The moment he gripped it, a violent shock surged through him, a jolt that shot up his arm and into his chest, electrifying every nerve in his body. It was a force of nature, wild and uncontrollable, and in that instant, he knew it was not merely a weapon he held, but something far more dangerous, far more alive.
The pain ripped through him and into her, their fates intertwined by the dark magic of the blade. She groaned softly, her body reacting to the shared agony, and Kaelan's breath caught. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, shimmering like the last remnants of starlight before the dawn.
"Wait... she's alive?"
The realization hit him like a thunderclap, jolting his entire being. The soft groan from her lips, the tear shimmering in the corner of her eye, was enough to send his heart into overdrive. She wasn't just a lifeless figure in his arms—there was still something in her, something that connected her to this world, fragile and fading, yet stubbornly clinging to existence. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other in confusion, but amidst the chaos, a single truth emerged: "This... this has got to go."
He glanced back at the dagger lodged in her chest, now more ominous than ever, its malevolent energy thrumming like a dark heartbeat. It felt wrong, not just as a physical wound but as a symbol of something darker, a stain on the very essence of life. What kind of weapon holds the power to keep someone suspended between life and death? The thought gnawed at him, but there was no time for answers.
Kaelan swallowed hard, steeling himself for what he knew he had to do. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, like standing at the edge of a cliff with the wind howling at his back. He closed his eyes, summoning courage from somewhere deep within, beyond the fear, beyond the pain, to a place where action was the only option. Slowly, deliberately, he inhaled, his chest rising with the cool air, then exhaled, letting it out in a long, measured breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him.
With a slow, trembling hand, he reached for the dagger again. His fingers hovered above the hilt for a heartbeat, as if the very air around it resisted his touch. The first contact was electric, a subtle tremor that snaked up his arm, sending a shiver down his spine. But he gritted his teeth, tightened his grip, and pulled. The blade was as cold as death, its touch sending shockwaves of energy coursing through his body. This time, the jolt was not just a spark—it was a torrent, burning through every nerve, every muscle, as if the dagger itself was a conduit of some ancient, forbidden power.
His entire body seized, but he refused to let go. The pain was unbearable, a fire that danced along his skin and set his bones ablaze, yet he clung to the hilt, muscles straining as he tried to pull the cursed thing free. His teeth ground together, sweat beading on his forehead, trickling down his temples as his grip tightened. The harder he pulled, the deeper the dagger seemed to resist, its dark magic anchoring it like a parasite feeding on both him and the woman.
Suddenly, the world around him shifted. The forest, the now quiet night, the soft rustle of leaves—all of it dissolved into something far more sinister. A roar, low and menacing, echoed in his ears, vibrating in his skull with a sound unlike anything he had ever known. It was primal, ancient, as though it came from the bowels of the earth itself. His vision darkened, as though an invisible veil had been draped over the world, thick and suffocating. The air grew colder, heavy with an oppressive force that pressed in from all sides.
From within this encroaching darkness, two eyes opened—sinister, otherworldly. One burned like molten crimson, filled with rage and cruelty. The other gleamed with an icy, royal blue, cold and unfeeling, as if it belonged to something that had never known warmth or life. The eyes stared into his soul, locking onto him with a gaze so intense it felt as if the very fabric of his being was unraveling beneath it. A deep, guttural growl followed, the sound so unsettling that it felt like claws scraping against the walls of his mind, tugging at the frayed edges of his sanity.
But even as the vision clawed at him, pulling him deeper into the void, Kaelan refused to give in. His entire body screamed in protest, the electricity from the dagger scorching his insides, but he persisted. His hands, though trembling, held firm. His knuckles whitened with the effort, and through gritted teeth, he growled under his breath, "Come on... almost there."
With one final heave, just as the tension reached its unbearable peak, he heard it—a voice, so faint, so fragile: "No... don't..."
Her words, though soft, reached him as if carried on a dying breeze. But it was too late. The instant they left her lips, the force he had already unleashed surged beyond control. There was no pulling back, no stopping the storm now. Even as her voice trembled in his mind, pleading, the crackling energy from the dagger had already swelled, coiling around his arm like a serpent, binding him to the inevitable.
Before he could even register her warning, a blinding flash of black lightning, traced with red like the veins of an angry god, erupted from the dagger. The air around him crackled with its violent power, and he felt it rush through his body—a furious, unstoppable torrent that seared through every nerve and muscle, tearing at his very soul. His fingers, frozen in the act of pulling, clenched involuntarily as the energy coursed through him, beyond his control, too overwhelming to resist.
The force was cataclysmic, flinging him backward as if he weighed nothing, the ground rushing up to meet him with a bone-rattling crash. His vision went black, his consciousness teetering on the edge as the last sensation he knew was the lightning burning its way through him, leaving behind a hollow silence.
When Kaelan came to, his lungs burned, each breath a jagged gasp, like inhaling fire after drowning. He coughed violently, his chest heaving with the force of it, the air thick and heavy in his throat. His vision blurred, shadows and light melding together in a disorienting haze, but one sensation anchored him in the chaos—the cold, unyielding weight of the dagger still clutched in his trembling hand. Its presence was a cruel reminder, dragging him back into the present, where the gravity of what had happened loomed like a storm.
Panic gripped him, fierce and consuming. His thoughts scrambled, but one image cut through the fog: the woman. The woman he had failed. His head snapped up, heart hammering in his chest as if to race ahead of his thoughts, as though the sheer force of his fear could somehow alter what had transpired. But then, the sight before him stopped his breath altogether.
She hung in the air, suspended as if by invisible hands, her form bathed in a brilliant, pearly white light that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. The radiance emanating from her was otherworldly, enveloping her in an ethereal glow so pure and intense it blurred the lines between reality and the divine. She no longer looked mortal. In that moment, she was something else entirely—angelic, untouchable, a vision of transcendent beauty that defied all explanation. Kaelan's wide eyes drank in the sight, his mind reeling, unable to fully grasp the enormity of what he was witnessing.
Her white gold laced dress shimmered in the light, the fabric of it dissolving into delicate tendrils of dust, as if the very essence of her being was unraveling in the brilliance. It disintegrated slowly, gracefully, each particle rising into the light, vanishing as though being absorbed into the heavens themselves. The sight stirred a profound awe in him, a reverence that ran deeper than any emotion he had ever felt. She was not just a woman anymore—she was a part of something greater, something eternal.
His awe quickly turned to something more intimate—a deep respect, a humility that made him instinctively avert his gaze. His cheeks flushed, not from embarrassment but from the sudden realization of how small and mortal he was in the presence of such divine grace. And yet, he could not fully turn away. Concern weighed heavily on his heart, the need to ensure her safety overriding the impulse to bow before her transcendence. He stole fleeting glances, his eyes searching for any sign of life, any indication that she had not been lost to the light forever.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the pearly glow began to fade, the once blinding radiance dimming until it was no more than a soft halo around her form. As the light receded, she began to descend, her body no longer suspended by the divine forces that had held her aloft. She fell with a quiet grace, as though even gravity dared not harm her. There was no sound as she touched the ground, no thud, no harsh impact—just the gentle, almost imperceptible settling of her form upon the earth, like a feather drifting down from the heavens.
And there she lay, no longer bathed in light, no longer ethereal or untouchable. She was once again a woman, fragile, vulnerable. Kaelan stared, his heart heavy with a mixture of relief and dread, knowing that whatever happened next would forever alter the course of his life.
His mind whirled with the weight of what had just transpired, and his heart beat faster with an urgency he could not ignore. He scrambled to his feet, heart racing, and bolted toward her without hesitation. As he ran, his grip on the dagger remained tight, but the thought of it felt distant, inconsequential compared to her fragile form lying ahead. Without looking, without even thinking, he hurled the blade aside. It spun through the air and stabbed the ground with a solid thud, but Kaelan never glanced back.
Sliding on his knees, Kaelan felt the earth scrape through his trousers, dirt catching in the seams as he skidded to a stop beside her. "No, no, no... please, let her be alive," he muttered under his breath, the words a desperate prayer. His hands trembled as he reached out, his fingers hovering just above her skin, uncertain yet determined. He swallowed hard, steeling himself as he pressed two fingers gently against her neck, searching for the faint rhythm of life beneath her skin.
For a moment, there was nothing—just the silence of the forest and the distant echo of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Then, faint and fragile but undeniably there, he felt it: a pulse. The soft thrum of her heart against his fingertips was like the first flicker of dawn after a long, harrowing night.
A breath escaped him, shaky and full of relief. "She's alive..." he whispered, his voice catching in his throat as a wave of emotion surged through him. That tiny, delicate pulse was everything—an unspoken promise that she had not been lost, that there was still hope. It beat like the distant rhythm of life itself, fragile yet unyielding, a beacon of light in the darkness that had surrounded them both.
In that moment, the world felt different—quieter, softer, as though the pulse in her neck resonated with the pulse in his own, binding their fates together in ways he could not yet understand. It was more than just relief that filled him; it was joy, raw and unrestrained, like finding a spark in the heart of winter, a flame that refused to be extinguished.
His hands remained steady against her skin, as if to anchor her to this world, as if that small connection between them could somehow protect her from the forces that had nearly claimed her. "You're still here," he whispered, more to himself than to her, his eyes shimmering with the quiet hope that perhaps, just perhaps, the worst had passed.
As Kaelan continued to gently caress the woman's face, his gaze shifted back to the dagger's wound. He remembered the gash and was filled with dread. His fingers, still trembling, moved from her cheek to her chest where the wound had been. When he felt the smooth, unblemished skin beneath his touch, he was overcome with a profound relief that felt almost sacred. The wound had vanished as if it had never been—a whisper of a scar erased by the soft hands of fate.
His breath caught in his throat as he placed his hand over her chest. There, beneath his palm, he felt the gentle rise and fall of her breath—a rhythm so delicate, it was as though the world had paused to listen. Each inhale was a quiet symphony, a soft swell of life that echoed through the stillness of the night. Her breath was a whispering promise, a tender caress of existence that spoke of hope and renewal, of a fragile beauty reclaiming its place in the world. Each breath was a testament to the unyielding spirit within her, a gentle reminder of the miracle that lingered in the fragile balance between life and death.
A sudden, jarring realization struck him like a bolt of lightning: she was without clothes. The realization was as startling as it was disconcerting. Kaelan's face flushed crimson, the color spreading rapidly from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His heart hammered in his chest with a frantic rhythm, each beat a stark reminder of the delicate balance he had to maintain in this moment of profound vulnerability. He felt a rush of heat that seemed to engulf him entirely, a burning shame that mirrored the intensity of the situation before him.
Quickly, he closed his eyes, desperate to shield himself from the sight that he could not ignore but wished to approach with the utmost respect. The heat of embarrassment blazed on his cheeks, a stark contrast to the cool night air that surrounded them. With trembling hands, he reached for his night-cloak, a heavy, dark fabric that had been his shield against the chill of the night. Without daring to look, he moved with careful, deliberate motions, his movements imbued with a deep sense of reverence and urgency.
He draped the cloak over her with a gentleness that belied his inner turmoil, the fabric cascading over her like a protective veil. It settled around her form, a simple yet profound gesture of care amidst the chaotic circumstances. The cloak, though merely a piece of cloth, became a symbol of his respect and the quiet dignity he wished to bestow upon her. As it enveloped her, the night-cloak created a cocoon of modesty and warmth, a soft shield against the world's harsh gaze and a testament to his deep compassion in the face of the extraordinary.
In the dim light of the forest, the night-cloak settled over her like a whisper, a final act of tenderness that wrapped around her with the softness of a sigh, offering both warmth and protection in the midst of a night that had turned impossibly surreal.
Kaelan carefully rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every motion was weighed down by the gravity of the situation. With great effort, he lifted the woman in his arms, her fragile form feeling light against his chest. He began to make his way out of the valley, ascending the rim of the crater with a determined yet weary gait. The moonlight cast eerie shadows on the uneven terrain, and each step seemed to echo the disquiet in his heart.
As he went up the edge of the crater, his gaze fell upon the dagger lying abandoned on the ground. The sight of it stirred something deep within him. He stopped, staring at the dagger with a mixture of fear and fascination. The dark vision of sinister eyes and the deep growl came flooding back, a haunting reminder of the darkness that had touched him. He questioned the reality of what he had seen, struggling to reconcile the vision with the world before him.
The dagger seemed to pulsate with an unseen force, its presence almost palpable. Kaelan could feel an inaudible, almost imperceptible call emanating from it, a beckoning that tugged at the edges of his consciousness. He tried to look away, to push the unsettling pull from his mind, but the feeling was insistent and intrusive. He forced himself to turn and walk away, leaving the crater behind as he made his way through the forest towards Eldergrove.
As he walked, the weight of his decision pressed heavily on him. Doubts gnawed at his mind, and he found himself wrestling with the question of whether he had done the right thing by leaving the dagger behind. The forest seemed to close in around him, the shadows whispering of danger and regret. He questioned himself repeatedly, torn between the fear of the unknown and the urgency of the moment.
It wasn't long before the realization struck him with sudden clarity—leaving the dagger there was a grave mistake. Its danger was too great to ignore. The thought "I have to go back for it" reverberated in his mind, a command he could no longer ignore. As if in response to his resolve, the dagger's aura flared to life once more, a brilliant and unsettling glow that seemed to pierce through the darkness. The ground in the crater shifted as the dagger began to unearth itself, moving with a swift, almost unnatural speed.
Before Kaelan could react, the dagger shot towards him, its motion swift and purposeful. It landed almost instantly in his right hand, as if drawn by an invisible force. His hand, seemingly acting of its own accord, closed around the dagger, the aura enveloping his skin like a fiery mantle.
The same dark vision he had seen before surged back into his consciousness with a blinding ferocity, its intensity overwhelming and suffocating. Shadows coalesced into a swirling abyss, where the veil between reality and nightmare grew thin. His vision was seized by an almost tangible darkness, swirling with inky tendrils that writhed and coiled like serpents in the void. Within this tempest, a pair of eyes emerged from the darkness. The eyes were piercing, their colors like molten embers and frozen ice, locked onto him once more with an unyielding intensity that seemed to sear his very soul.
A deep, guttural growl resonated through the void, a sound so profound it seemed to reverberate through his bones. The growl was not just an auditory assault but a whisper, a haunting murmur that wove through the darkness like a dark lullaby. It uttered his name with a chilling intimacy, "Kaelan" each syllable dripping with a sinister promise of doom. The sound was both a command and a threat, a spectral caress that sent shivers down his spine and made his heart race with terror. The whisper seemed to coil around his thoughts, filling him with a primal dread that gnawed at his sanity.
As the vision consumed him, the aura of the dagger intensified, casting a flickering, ghostly light that danced with shadows. The red and blue eyes remained fixed on him, their gaze unblinking and hungry, as though they could see into the very depths of his being. The growl's whisper grew louder, more insistent, a relentless echo that followed him even as he tried to tear his gaze away. It was as if the darkness itself was calling him, drawing him into its embrace with an inexorable pull that threatened to consume him whole.
Kaelan jolted in surprise, his heart racing as he looked down at the dagger now firmly in his grasp. The unsettling weight of the moment settled over him, and he muttered to himself, "This can't be good." The sense of foreboding was palpable, a stark contrast to the quiet of the night.
With a sense of resigned determination, Kaelan holstered the dagger in his pants, the cool metal pressing against his side. He resumed his journey towards Eldergrove, each step a testament to his resolve and the burdens of the unknown that lay ahead.
Meanwhile, back in Eldergrove, inside Veldric's home.
The village lay quiet under the vast night sky, the soft glow of lamplight spilling through the windows of the small house. The gentle, distant song of nightingales floated through the air, adding to the serenity of the night. Inside, it was peaceful—Elaine slept soundly in her room, her breaths even and calm.
In the main room, Veldric sat at his wooden table, deeply absorbed in an ancient, worn-out tome titled Gods of Anthera. He read with the patience of someone accustomed to centuries of knowledge, occasionally sipping from a cup of tea. As he took another sip, his face tightened with displeasure.
"Ugh," he muttered, setting the cup down with a soft clink. "Too cold." His brow furrowed at the lukewarm brew. With a wave of his hand, a small red magic circle beamed to life above the cup, glowing faintly before the tea released a waft of steam as its temperature adjusted. He took another sip, this time relishing the warmth that flowed through him. "Much better," he said, a small smile returning as he resumed his reading.
Yet, the tranquility was short-lived. As he turned another page, the lamp flickered ever so slightly, casting an uneven light that seemed to dim the shadows, lending an air of foreboding to the room. Veldric's eyes narrowed, his intuition prickling at the sudden shift.
"Doors are for knocking," Veldric said calmly, his eyes still fixed on the book before him.
"Houses are for shelter," came the instant reply, laden with a hint of irreverence. "What's your point?"
Veldric's lips curled slightly, an amused quirk that vanished as he continued, "Shelter to those who are welcome." The calm façade cracked just enough to reveal a flicker of irritation. "What are you doing here, Lucan?"
With that, a figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in black, the fabric heavy and unyielding. The hood obscured the intruder's features, but the smirk on his lips was unmistakable. Veldric's expression shifted from mild amusement to a measured frown, his patience wearing thin.