Cold.
Not the biting cold of winter winds, nor the sharp chill that nips at your fingers when you step out into the early morning. This was something different — the kind of cold that settled deep into your bones, creeping into the marrow, gnawing at your soul. It was a cold that made you feel alone, even in the heart of the crowd.
Elias awoke to it.
His breath came in shallow, foggy puffs that mingled with the pale light around him. For a long moment, his mind refused to clear the fog, refusing to recognize the place or the sensation. The question lingered, unformed, but urgent: Where am I?
His fingers twitched. They brushed against the surface beneath him. Smooth. Cool. Stone. Not rough, not cracked, but polished, almost unnatural. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.
Groaning, he pushed himself upright, his muscles protesting the movement. It was as if he'd been thrown against a wall, beaten senseless, and left to mend himself in pieces. Every inch of him felt battered and raw, a painful reminder of whatever had come before.
What happened?
He searched his thoughts for an answer, but it was a blur — the eyes, the mist, the fire that had sparked in his palm. The scream. The deep, bone-chilling scream that had ripped through him, and then... nothing.
His gaze dropped to his hand. The mark.
The faint, bluish glow of the lines that twisted across his palm was still there, pulsing faintly beneath his skin like the slow, rhythmic beating of his heart. No heat, no pain, just that unshakable hum that seemed to reverberate through him.
He turned his hand over, inspecting it. The glow didn't spread beyond his palm, only fading into the contours of his skin. It was as if it were part of him — something branded into his very flesh. Why won't it go away?
He rubbed his palm against his shirt, as if he could erase it, but the glow remained, persistent and relentless. A part of me. His breath hitched. This wasn't normal. This wasn't right.
The fog.
The hum.
The voice that spoke without words.
And now this... this strange power tethered to his hand.
Elias slowly scanned his surroundings. The void stretched endlessly around him. No walls. No ceiling. Just an endless sea of gray mist. It wasn't the thick fog he remembered, but something thinner, more insidious, like the world beyond it had been blurred or erased.
Nothing moved. No shapes, no shadows, no glowing eyes. Just emptiness.
But then, he noticed it.
Far ahead, the mist shifted. Not violently, not abruptly, but slowly, as if something unseen had disturbed it. The movement was subtle, like a ripple in a stagnant pond. Too far to make out what caused it, but he could feel it. Something was out there.
His fingers tightened involuntarily around the hilt of his knife. But it wasn't there.
No blade. No weapon. Just his bare hands and a gnawing sense of helplessness.
Think, Elias. Think. He crouched low, eyes scanning the shifting mist. It could be anything. A person? Something worse? His heart hammered in his chest as the air grew colder still.
Move. Stay low. Don't make a sound.
His feet slapped softly against the stone as he moved. The cold bit into the soles of his feet, sharp and unrelenting, but it kept him grounded. His breath came quicker now, matching the increasing rhythm of his heart. His eyes darted over the endless stretch of polished stone. There was no cover. No place to hide.
No escape.
But the mist... It felt like it had eyes. Didn't it?
He glanced over his shoulder. The weight of the empty space behind him pressed in like a suffocating blanket. No figures, no shapes. Just fog. But somehow, that nothingness felt like it was watching him.
Elias spun back around, and his pulse quickened. His heart beat harder as the hum in his palm grew louder, vibrating through his veins. It was out of his control. His hand twitched.
No. Not now. He forced his arm to stay down, but the pulse in his palm grew stronger, and his body — not his mind — urged him forward. It was as if something was calling him. Something beyond his own will.
The disturbance ahead stopped.
Elias froze mid-step, muscles coiled and ready to spring, but he didn't move. His breath hitched in his throat. The mist ahead shifted once again. It didn't part like before. This time, it curled inward, revealing something more... solid.
At first, it seemed human — tall, thin, shrouded in tattered robes that hung like dead flesh, lifeless and heavy. But the more he stared, the more the shape twisted, a wrongness in it that churned his stomach.
No face. No eyes. No mouth. Just a smooth, hollow void where its features should have been. Its head tilted toward him, slow, deliberate. Curious.
The breath in Elias's chest caught, every instinct screaming at him to run, but his legs wouldn't move. His feet were frozen in place. The figure watched him — without eyes, but it was watching.
The mark on his palm pulsed again. Pull it.
The thought slammed into him. Sharp. Urgent. Unquestionable.
His fingers twitched, and before he could stop it, his arm rose, his hand moving toward the figure without his consent. It wasn't him. It was... something else. His muscles screamed in rebellion, but the movement was slow, inevitable.
Stop!
He clenched his fist, forcing it down. The cold air burned in his lungs as he gasped for control. "You don't control me," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything else. His voice cracked, but it was louder the second time. "You don't control me!"
The figure remained still, its head tilting to the opposite side, as if contemplating his words.
Then, it raised its hand.
Elias felt the burn of the mark again, sharper now, deeper. His breath caught in his throat as the figure mirrored his movement.
"Stop!" Elias shouted, stumbling back. The words felt foreign in his mouth, like they weren't his own.
And then, miraculously, the figure lowered its hand.
The silence that followed felt thicker than the mist. For a long moment, Elias couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Had it listened? Did it hear him? His heart thudded in his chest, raw and frantic. He didn't have time to question it.
A rush of air swept past his ear. Too close.
He didn't turn. Not this time.
Instead, he bolted.
The ground blurred beneath his feet as he ran. His legs burned with every step, his lungs threatening to collapse, but he couldn't stop. The hum returned, vibrating through his bones. The air around him seemed to thrum with energy, like the very space he was running through was alive.
Run. Just run.
The noise grew louder. The hum turned into a roar that seemed to press in from all sides, closing in on him like a wall of sound. His body ached. His skin prickled. His vision swam.
But then —
A light.
It flickered in the distance. Faint, like a candle struggling against the dark.
Elias's heart jumped into his throat. The light grew brighter as he pushed himself forward, his every muscle screaming, but he couldn't stop. The fog thinned as he neared, pulling back like it was unwilling to stand in his way.
It was real. The warmth. The light.
He reached out.
The flame was small, steady, hovering in mid-air, without source, without reason. But it was there. And it was warm.
His palm buzzed.
The flame flickered, its light dancing in the gloom. Elias's breath came in ragged gasps as he stood before it. His fingers hovered above it, trembling with exhaustion, with relief, and with something else — something he couldn't name.
Then the flame spoke, its voice barely more than a whisper.
"Welcome, threadbearer."
The words struck him like a thunderclap.
And then, the fog disappeared.
The ground beneath him vanished.
Elias fell.