"AAAAAH!!"
I jolted upright, gasping, my hands clawing at the sheets. Cold sweat drenched my nightgown, my heart hammering as if I'd sprinted for miles. My legs—both intact—trembled beneath the blanket. My right eye blinked rapidly, relieved to find vision unclouded. A dream?
Fleda burst into the room, balancing a steaming bowl of soup. "Oh! You're finally awake!" Her smile faltered as she took in my pallor. "Bad dream?"
"Y-yeah." I forced a laugh, shaky and hollow. "Just... a nightmare."
She set the bowl on the bedside table, steam curling like phantom fingers. "Eat. You've been out for three days."
Three days. The number prickled my spine. I sipped the soup—creamy corn, rich with cheese and herbs—but its warmth couldn't thaw the ice in my veins.
"So," I began, feigning casualness, "remind me what happened before I... slept?"
Fleda tilted her head. "You don't remember? The red troll?"
Red troll. The words clashed violently with the grotesque thing from my dream—the skeletal horror, the black snow, Marcia's severed head, and... the agony of everyone as they met their end.
"Right, the troll," I murmured. "Claudia's mission."
"Exactly!" Fleda launched into the tale, oblivious to my stiffness. "We investigated Nothhelm, met the village chief, then tracked the troll to the southeastern forest. You insisted on provoking it, of course. Took all six of us to bring it down!"
Her words painted a heroic tableau: Kasparian's arrows peppering the beast, Grigore's axe splitting its hide, Marcia weaving protective Scripts. A tidy victory. A lie.
"And... the forest?" I interrupted. "Was it... burned? Petrified?"
Fleda blinked. "Burned? No. Just regular pine trees. Why?"
Liar. The word hissed in my mind. But her confusion felt genuine.
"Never mind." I forced another sip. "Where's Alruna?"
"Playing with the village kids. Shocking, right?"
I laughed, the sound brittle. "Maybe the sun will rise from the west."
The banter continued—Fleda teasing Alruna's softness, me deflecting with jokes about my "unladylike" habits—but my mind churned. Three days. The timeline matched my "dream." Too perfectly.
A pillow smacked my face.
"Hey! Who started this!?" I grabbed mine, launching a counterattack.
Laughter filled the room, bright and false. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Almost.
But as Fleda ducked a throw, sunlight caught her neck—a faint scar, like a claw's graze, where none should exist.
Later, I wandered the village. Children's giggles echoed as Alruna taught them simple Scripts, her glasses glinting. The chief nodded warmly, praising our "bravery." The forest loomed in the distance—ordinary, green.
Yet details nagged:
Kasparian's talons, newly polished but nicked along the edges. Grigore's axe, its blade bearing unfamiliar runes. Marcia's pendant—similar in color to mine—glinting too brightly.
***
"Ugh... I'm exhausted..." I collapsed onto the straw mattress, limbs leaden. The afternoon's chase had left me breathless—Alruna, infuriatingly agile, had outmaneuvered me at every turn.
Fleda flopped beside me, glaring. "You turned a game into a competition! Those kids looked traumatized!"
"Ehehe..."
It was true. After wandered the village a bit, I'd joined Alruna and the children in their tag game. What began as playful sprinting devolved into a battle of pride. Alruna, weaving wind Script like a second skin, became an untouchable specter. My lungs burned. My legs screamed. She'd smirked—actually smirked—as I doubled over, defeated.
"It's my win," Alruna had said, adjusting her glasses with a flicker of triumph.
"Shut it, you cheat!" I'd growled, though the insult lacked venom.
Fleda threw a pillow. "Enough! I'll starve you both if you keep this up!"
Night fell. Laughter faded. But sleep brought no peace.
"Hellooo~ Sleeping beauty~"
The voice slithered through the dark—honeyed, mocking, familiar.
"Mmph... go 'way..."
"Tsk. Rude! After I saved you?"
I pried open my eyes. Endless black stretched in every direction. At its center stood a girl—no older than twenty-five—her silhouette bleeding into the void. Raven hair cascaded past her waist, merging with the nothingness, while her violet eyes glowed like poisoned wine, piercing through the darkness. A black lace gown clung to her frame, accentuating her ethereal presence, and a ruby choker glinted at her throat, catching the faintest light. Behind her, moth wings—obsidian and iridescent—hummed softly, their delicate patterns shimmering as if alive. She exuded an unsettling beauty, a haunting allure that both captivated and terrified me.
"What... are you?" I croaked.
She pouted. "You forgot me? After our little... pact?"
Snap.
Agony erupted. Memories flooded—Vdelygma's claws, Kasparian's severed arm, Marcia's bloodied glare—all real. The Fairia's bargain. The rewritten timeline.
"Anastasia Solnechnaya," she curtsied, grinning as I clutched my splitting skull. "Your generous benefactor."
"You—you monster!"
"Monster?" She laughed, the sound like shattering glass. "I preserved your precious world! Your friends breathe. Your siblings smile. All thanks to... me."
Her wings flared, shadows writhing. "But debts must be paid, Adele. Your despair is... delicious."
***
I awoke gasping. Morning light filtered through the shutters. Fleda snored beside me, blissfully ignorant.
"Bad dream?" Alruna murmured from the doorway, her glasses catching the sun.
"Just... memories," I lied.
The morning sun draped Nothhelm in a golden haze, but even its warmth couldn't thaw the ice in my chest. I leaned against the stable door, watching Kasparian, Grigore, and Marcia move through the village like actors in a play I'd seen before—one rewritten without their knowledge. To them, this was simple: a red troll slain, a village saved, a job well done, beyond the supposed target, in fact. To me, it was a lie stitched together by a Fairia's whim.
"Oi, Adele!" Grigore bellowed, tossing a sack of coins into the air. "Stop broodin' and celebrate! That troll didn't stand a chance once you got your blade in its neck!"
I forced a grin. Its neck. That's how they remembered it. A clean strike, no black snow, no Vdelygma. Just a monster and a hero.
Marcia drifted past, her fingers brushing the pendant at her throat—one ruby, not the twin set I'd seen before. "You did well," she said, her smile soft. "Claudia will be pleased."
Claudia. The name pricked my nerves. Did she know? Could she sense the rot beneath this pretty facade?
Kasparian stood rigid by the well, his talons sharpening arrows with mechanical precision. "We leave tomorrow at dawn," he announced, not looking up. "Ensure your gear is ready."
"Always the taskmaster," Grigore laughed, sloshing ale onto his beard. "Relax, birdman! The hard part's done!"
I bit my tongue. The hard part was surviving a horror they didn't even know existed.
At the feast that night, the villagers spun tales of my "heroics."
"She moved like lightning!" a farmer slurred, miming a sword swing. "One last strike, and that beast's head rolled!"
The hall erupted in cheers. Fleda nudged me, her grin blinding. "See? You're a legend!"
But the praise curdled in my gut. Across the room, Kasparian's talons twitched as he scanned the crowd—always scanning, though he didn't know why. Marcia laughed too loudly at Grigore's jokes, her eyes darting to the shadows.
They feel it too.
Not the truth, but the ghost of it. A splinter in their minds.
"Of course they do," Anastasia purred, her voice slithering through my thoughts. "Mortals are such fragile things. Break one thread, and the whole tapestry unravels... slowly."
I clenched my tankard. Shut up.
"Make me," she giggled.
Later, I found Kasparian at the forest's edge, staring into the troll's empty cave. Moonlight glossed his feathers silver, but his posture was taut—a bowstring ready to snap.
"The carcass dissolved too quickly," he muttered, more to himself than me. "Troll don't... vanish."
My pulse spiked. "Maybe it wasn't just an troll."
He turned, his eagle eyes narrowing. "Explain."
I could tell him. About the Vdelygma. The black snow. The deal with a creature who wears a child's face. But his memories were clay reshaped by Anastasia's fingers—he'd never believe me.
"Gut feeling," I lied.
He studied me, silent, then nodded. "Trust your instincts. They've kept you alive this far."
As he strode away, a shadow pooled at the cave's mouth—jagged, coral-like, familiar.
"He'll die first," Anastasia whispered. "The centuria. His head will make a pretty trophy."
***
"Bon appétit!"
Fleda grinned, sliding a steaming bowl of soup into my hands. The aroma alone was divine—a rich blend of smoked paprika, saffron, and something earthy I couldn't name. The village chief had gifted her rare spices from the southern trade routes, and she'd woven them into a masterpiece.
I slurped greedily, broth dribbling down my chin. "This is paradise."
Burp!
Alruna covered her mouth, cheeks flushing. "S-sorry!"
"Fufufu." Marcia laughed softly.
"Barbarian," Fleda sniffed, though her eyes sparkled.
We ate sprawled on our shared bed, legs dangling off the edge. No etiquette, no pretense—just four girls reveling in the simple joy of full bellies. For a moment, it was easy to forget the shadow coiled in my mind.
The villagers gathered at dawn to see us off. Children waved handmade flags, elders pressed jars of honey into our saddlebags, and the chief clasped our hands with tears in his eyes. "I'll say this forever. You've saved us," he said, though the words rang hollow.
Saved them from what? I didn't even see the troll, let alone defeat it. No black snow. No petrified trees. A lie.
"Safe travels, white-hair Big Sis!" a boy shouted.
We rode out. The villagers waved, their cheers ringing hollow in my ears. Grigore belted a drinking song, Marcia hummed along, and Kasparian kept his gaze fixed on the horizon.
I glanced back once.
The village shimmered—a flicker of ash, a skeletal statue where the well should be—before snapping back into sunlit normalcy.
Clip-clop. Hooves on packed earth. It's been one hour or so since we left Nothhelm.
"Ask me anything~"
Anastasia's voice purred in my skull. I stiffened. No one else heard her.
What are you?
"A Fairia! Master of time and space! And you're my favorite pet~"
Her laughter slithered like smoke. "Mother's the Tsaritsa, you know. Ruler of all Fairia. But don't worry—you're special."
What did you do to me?
"Our contract binds you," she sang, her voice circling me. "Your mana, your soul—mine to twist. Isn't it fun?"
Why me?
Silence. Then—
"That... you don't need to know. Fufufu~"
Her tone changed. It was downright eerie, giving me a goosebumps.
I looked around to allay my fears. Fleda was humming a tavern tune, Alruna was scribbling notes as she rode, and the veteran trio were just bickering as usual. Normalcy. A facade.
"They'll die again," Anastasia whispered. "Slower, this time. Rotting from the inside."
My heart races faster.
"Sis?" Fleda frowned. "You're pale."
"Just... tired."
The forest darkened. Shadows stretched unnaturally long. Road to Aureo seemed endless.
***