F**K

It hurts.

The pain resides as a dull ache, one that crept up on me, twisting through my guts like a serpent. 

A knife—a small, dull blade—was driven into my skin. My vision blurred, a chaotic mess. I couldn't see. Everything was a haze, a foggy distortion of reality.

Why? Who did this? What happened? These questions echoed relentlessly in my mind. I remembered.

I remembered the scene. I stabbed myself. But why? Why? The questions looped endlessly, a mystery I couldn't unravel, an answer just out of reach. It didn't make sense.

Time seemed to crawl in this residual space, this limbo. Life felt stagnant, unmoving. Bodies surrounded me—one in particular, a girl with black hair. The rest of the area was unreadable, my vision blurring more and more with each passing moment.

I stabbed myself to escape the pain—the hot, searing flames, the burning sensation that engulfed me and everyone around me. 

My body was tired, my limbs weak, yet I pushed deeper, harder, desperate to escape. It was my only way out of this heat, this unbearable fire.

The flames crept closer, devouring the girl, consuming her bit by bit. Her body, covered in burns, became one with the inferno. I tried to look around, but it was as if I was paralyzed. No—this wasn't what I did. This wasn't what I remembered.

So, what led us here? Why was this woman before me?

Her eyes were slightly open, tears streaming down her face. She saw me. She saw me kill myself, and that realization filled me with sorrow. The pain—it grew worse and worse, until it was all I could feel.

And then, nothing.

The once scorching heat of the room was replaced by a sinking feeling, as if I were drowning, pulled under by an invisible force.

What the f**k? I thought.

I couldn't move. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't talk. I was stuck—trapped in this residual space, this endless void, caught between worlds, between life and death, between growth and destruction.

And then, finally, it happened.

The cocoon, this encasement, shattered. I began moving rapidly through a sea of souls, others like me, trapped between perseverance and instability.

This lake—this endless expanse of souls—was infinite, like grains of sand in an ocean. It was strange, unnerving, as if balance and conflict were intertwined. Souls fought for better positions, caught in an endless cycle. An endless momentum.

Each soul was different—different colors, different shapes, varying levels of brightness. I tried to look inward, to find my own soul, but there was nothing. I couldn't see it.

And then, finally, a hand reached out.

It grasped for me, trying to capture my soul, to pull me in. It held me for a time—how long, I couldn't tell. Days? Years? Centuries? Time had no meaning here.

The being smiled at me, a smile that mocked my misfortune. Another soul lost in this endless river, another participant in this infinite cycle.

GASP

I gasped. 

The air was warm, thick with the scent of charred earth. Two arms surrounded me—motherly, shielding me from the harsh sun. They felt strong yet gentle, holding me close. I couldn't see her face; it was blurred, hidden in a haze. A woman—no, something more—held me as if I were precious.

The world around me sharpened. The ground beneath us was scorched and cracked, still radiating heat. Darkened stone stretched in all directions, jagged and broken, as if the land itself had once been torn apart. We were on a mountain, high above something unseen.

As my eyes adjusted and her arms slowly pulled away, I saw her.

She was a woman, a beautiful woman . Black, scaled wings folded against her back, their edges sharp as blades. Her golden eyes pierced through me, reading something deep within my soul. She cradled me, and in her arms, my fear melted away.

But something was wrong. A whisper of unease lingered in my mind.

She had twisted black horns, grand and imposing, and her body bore scars etched like a warrior's history. Each one told a story of battles fought and survived. And yet, she was beautiful. Powerful.

She was my mother.

Her midnight hair cascaded down her back, wild and unbound, swaying in the dry wind. She finally placed me down, nudging me forward. I wobbled, my legs weak, but I took a step. Then another. Then another.

"I'll name you Availeth," she said. Her voice was clear, rich with authority. I understood her, though I didn't know how.

Availeth.

The name settled over me like a cloak—too large, too foreign, yet strangely familiar.

Is she a demon? I wondered. But… what is a demon?

My thoughts blurred. I grasped at memories, but all I found was the in-between—a sea of souls, my death, the pain.

 A brief flicker of something—cold hands pulling me down, whispers I couldn't understand—before it was gone. My mind was a hollow shell

My mother moved faster than I could see—her hand flashing out, a sharp sting slicing across my cheek.

I gasped. Warm blood trickled down my face, dripping onto the blackened ground.

Before I could react, she grabbed me, her grip firm yet steady. A glowing rune formed on my stomach—a circle of green light pulsing with quiet power. 

Magic?

The wound sealed instantly, but a small scar remained under my right eye.

I froze. My fingers brushed against the faint scar under his eye, a reminder of the strange healing magic.

As my mother turned to face me, my breath caught.

There, just beneath her right eye, was the same scar—small, nearly invisible, but unmistakable.

"You'll understand later," she said, her voice softer now, yet laced with certainty. "You'll learn to be powerful, Ava. A dragon, strong and fearless."

A dragon?

Something inside me stirred. I looked down at my hands—too small, too human. I had no horns, no wings, nothing that made me like her. But my eyes—they caught the light, gleaming gold. And my hair, black but streaked with silver.

Before I could question it, a shadow fell over us.

A presence. Heavy. Unyielding.

Something descended, landing with a force that sent cracks webbing through the stone.

I looked up.

A towering figure stood before us. Gray horns. Gray wings. Eyes that burned like molten iron. The weight of his presence made the air feel thick, pressing against my chest.

My mother, Hacalith, stepped forward, her body shifting ever so slightly—shielding me.

The man—my father—studied me.

I shivered under his gaze. Not fear. Something else.

His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating.

"This is him?" his voice boomed, like distant thunder.

Hacalith nodded. "Availeth. Our son."

My father stepped closer. His scrutiny was piercing, his expression unreadable. I felt small, exposed, but not afraid.

"He doesn't look like us," he murmured, his voice tinged with something between curiosity and doubt.

I looked at myself. My hands—small, fragile-looking. No wings. No horns.

But there was something.

A flicker of golden light shimmered at my fingertips. Faint, barely there—but real. Something inside me responded, pulsed, awakened for the briefest moment.

Hacalith's eyes flickered toward it—just for a second—before she spoke.

"He's different," she said, her voice firm. Unshakable. "But he is strong. He will grow into his power."

My father grunted. A sound of skepticism… or approval?

Then, without another word, he turned away. His massive wings unfurled, casting a shadow over us. And with one powerful beat, he shot into the sky—leaving cracks in the stone where he had stood.

Hacalith looked down at me, her gaze softer now.

"You are special, Ava." She placed a hand over my chest. "Different, but special. You will become a Tetravice."

I looked down at my hands. My human hands.

The light was still there. Waiting.