The cold night air bit into Xavier's skin as he stumbled through the outskirts of the village, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The torches from the execution square still flickered in the distance, their glow casting long, eerie shadows across the muddy streets. Every step he took felt sluggish, his body weighed down by exhaustion and the crushing reality of what had just happened.
His family was gone.
He had seen them burn… reduced to nothing but ash, scattered into the wind.
A sharp ache settled deep in his chest, something more than grief, more than rage. It was hollow, an emptiness that refused to be filled. His legs moved on instinct, carrying him forward, deeper into the dark. The villagers had turned away, pretending not to see him flee, too afraid of what might happen if they acknowledged his existence.
No one would help him.
No one could.
He reached the tree line just beyond the last row of houses, his breath hitching as he glanced back at the village. It looked almost peaceful from here, a quiet settlement tucked beneath the vast, starless sky. But he knew better. The peace was a lie.
The Elves would come again.
They always did.
Xavier swallowed the lump in his throat and turned away, disappearing into the trees.
The forest swallowed him whole, its towering canopy blocking out the faint moonlight. Twigs snapped beneath his boots, and somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, its call low and haunting.
His body ached with every movement, his muscles tight with tension, his mind still trapped in the execution square. The image of his father kneeling tall, unbroken, burned itself into his skull. His mother's silence. His siblings' cries.
Gone.
His stomach twisted violently, a sickening wave of nausea rolling over him. He stumbled forward, catching himself against a tree, his fingers digging into the rough bark. His breath came fast, too fast, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts.
He had to keep moving.
He had to reach Zander's town before sunrise.
His fingers drifted to the hilt of his father's hunting knife, still strapped to his belt. The handle was worn smooth from years of use, familiar even now. It was useless against the Elves, against their magic, against their blades, but he held onto it anyway.
It was the last thing he had left.
The ground blurred beneath him as he pushed forward, his steps uneven, his body weak from a fatigue that went deeper than just physical exhaustion. He had never known true fear until tonight.
Not the fear of a childhood nightmare, nor the fear of an angry parent's reprimand.
This was the fear of knowing he was prey.
…The path stretched long and winding, weaving through thick underbrush and twisting roots. Xavier's lungs burned with each breath, his legs screaming in protest, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
The Bloodwardens might still be watching.
Even if they weren't, he knew the Elves well enough to understand their cruelty. They wouldn't just kill his family and walk away. They would investigate, search for anything out of place.
And if they realized he was missing…
He didn't want to think about what would happen.
Hours passed in a haze of aching limbs and bitter cold. His body felt sluggish, his vision unfocused, but he pushed forward, following the old trade route his father had taken him on once, years ago.
Zander's town lay beyond the river, a half-day's journey under normal circumstances. But Xavier wasn't sure he would make it that far.
His limbs were heavier now, his stomach twisting violently in hunger. A strange heat had begun building beneath his skin, an itching sensation that crawled up his spine.
Something was wrong.
His fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, gripping it tightly as another wave of nausea washed over him. His breathing hitched. His vision swam.
"What was happening to me?"
The forest blurred as his knees buckled beneath him. He hit the cold earth hard, the world spinning as his stomach cramped violently, a sharp, twisting pain that nearly stole his breath.
His throat burned. His hands trembled.
He gasped, trying to steady himself, but the pain only grew worse. It felt like something was shifting beneath his skin, something unnatural, something he couldn't control.
Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain eased.
Xavier lay on his side, panting, sweat dripping from his brow despite the cold air. His hands still shook, his body aching in a way he didn't understand.
This wasn't normal.
Something was changing inside him.
He had to keep moving.
Pushing himself up with trembling arms, he staggered forward, his mind fogged with exhaustion, his body weak but unwilling to stop. The pain lingered, a dull throb beneath his ribs, but he ignored it.
Zander's town was close.
He just had to make it there.
…Dawn had begun creeping over the horizon by the time he reached the outskirts of the town. The buildings were larger than those of his village, the streets slightly cleaner, but the air was thick with the same quiet tension. The kind that came from people who knew they were being watched.
Xavier pulled his hood low over his face, his steps unsteady as he made his way through the empty streets. His limbs ached, his vision blurred, but he didn't stop until he reached the familiar door at the edge of town.
Zander's house.
His fist barely had the strength to knock.
The door swung open faster than expected, and Xavier barely had time to process the familiar face before his body gave out.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
…Warmth. That was the first thing he noticed when he woke.
Soft candlelight flickered against the walls, the scent of burning wood filling his lungs. His body still ached, but the overwhelming exhaustion had faded into something more manageable.
He wasn't outside anymore.
He blinked, his vision slowly coming into focus. He was lying on a small cot, a heavy blanket draped over him. Across the room, a fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls.
Then he heard the voice.
"You look like hell."
Xavier turned his head, his sluggish mind slowly registering the figure leaning against the doorframe.
Zander.
He looked the same as always—calm, composed, the ever-reliable childhood friend who had never once faltered. His arms were crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes watching Xavier carefully.
But there was something else in his expression. Something deeper.
Not fear. Not pity.
Understanding.
Xavier swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke.
"My family…"
Zander nodded, his expression unreadable. "I know."
Xavier closed his eyes. The weight of grief pressed against his ribs, but beneath it, something else burned.
A question.
A truth he hadn't yet spoken aloud.
"What's happening to me?"
Zander exhaled slowly, stepping further into the room. He sat down across from Xavier, his gaze steady, unwavering.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"You're not who you think you are."