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Continue
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The day had brightened, and walking through the corridors, a reminder came to him, Nathan.
"Oh god," Fred muttered, looking the tall clock on the side of the window and quickening his pace. "I've gone for 2 hours and left the boy sleeping."
He turned down a corridor, past a row of tall windows spilling sunlight into the hall. Reaching Nathan's bedroom door, Fred knocked twice, then pushed it open.
Inside, the young lad was still beneath his blanket, breathing softly. The boy's brown hair was scattered over the pillow, untouched by the sun filtering through the curtains.
Fred moved in and gave the bedpost a hard tap.
"Up, lad," he bellowed in a gruff but gentle voice. "You've got lessons with Sir Vad this morning. Don't make me pull you out."
Nathan stirred, groaning, tucking the blanket tighter around himself.
Fred grinned, then swept up a corner of the blanket and pulled it right off.
"Now, boy!"
Nathan sat up, eyes half-open, hair disheveled. "Yeah, I'm awake, I'm awake!"
"Good," Fred growled with a weak smile. "Clean yourself up, and be ready. Sir Vad will not wait for sleepy princes."
And with that, the elderly steward go outside from the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
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In the courtyard once more, the ring of swords went on.
Tomas stepped back, panting, wiping sweat from his forehead. Eren nodded briefly and moved to another sparring pole.
A tall, broad-shouldered warrior called Garran stepped forward, adjusting the hold on his practice sword. He had a hint of a smile.
"Looks like it's you and me, Tomas."
"Yeah," Tomas grunted, rolling his shoulders as they faced off.
They walked around each other for a moment before Garran went his first move, then a swift jab to test his guard. But Tomas parried it, moving instinctively.
The following exchange was more crisp. Garran pushed forward with a times of overhead and side slashes, but Tomas deflected cleanly, his feet stepping into practiced stances.
"Not bad," Garran laughed. "You're faster than I thought."
But Tomas hardly heard him.
With their practice blades in hit, a memory pushed in, unwanted to know.
But it was Lira.
His sister's face appeared in his mind. Pale. Glassy eyes with fever. She was in bed, breathing shallowly, and the rest of them - the healers, his father, relatives - taking care of medicines, land disputes, and small village squabbles. But no one had ever really seen her go away.
Except him.
He'd sat by her side when the others didn't, holding her weak hand. And on that last night... when the sickness worsened, a voice had whispered to him in the darkness of his room.
"You'll lose them all, Tomas... one by one... and you'll be left with nothing."
He never told anyone about that voice. He wasn't even sure it had been real.
But it never left him.
And now, here in the practice ground, standing opposite Garran, sword in hand and the world altered.
For an instant, it wasn't Garran facing him.
It was a shadowy figure, eyes blazing in red, with a jagged black sword.
Tomas's hold on his sword grew tighter.
The phantom raised its blade.
Garran attacked again, this time with a rising slash intended to pin Tomas back on his foot. But Tomas responded too fast - too hard - parrying the blow away with a aggressively slash of his blade, sending Garran stumbling backward.
"Whoa, easy, easy," Garran said, grinning crookedly. "I didn't mean to wake your power."
But Tomas's face did not move. His eyes had gone blank, unfocused and abstracted.
Garran saw it now. The dead-eyed stare of Tomas. His hand clenching. Shoulders braced.
"...Tomas?" Garran's voice changed, wary now. "You okay, mate?"
But Garran was gone from Tomas's mind now.
The training courtyard was darkened.
The sun retreated behind a thick dark clouds that did not exist.
And standing in front of him now was a shadow-shrouded figure, face a blur, eyes are black, blade jagged and black.
Then the phantom raised its weapon once more.
Tomas snarled to himself and charged.
His blow was quick - quicker than a simple sparring session should permit. The wooden blade slammed into Garran's shield with a resounding crack, almost knocking it from his grasp.
"Gods!" Garran groaned, backing away. "Tomas, what's gotten into you?!"
But Tomas didn't respond. Another blow. Then another.
Garran barely managed to block the hits, sweat breaking out across his brow as the strikes came harder, faster, fueled by something wild.
"Tomas! Stop!" Garran shouted, glancing toward Sir Varun and the other soldiers. "What the hell's gotten into you?!"
But Tomas wasn't there.
His world was blood and shadow, the phantom sneering at him.
"You'll lose them all..."
Another strike surely dislodging Garran's shield. Though cracked and jagged, then a sharp back kick sent Garran stumbling backward.
"Tomas!" Eren's shout pierced the air.
Tomas raised his weapon up once more, the thick blade intended to shatter the phantom to pieces.
But Tomas didn't get the chance. Before it fell, Garran got out one final yell. "Tomas, it's me!"
And for an instant, a heartbeat, the mist cleared.
Tomas stood in the courtyard. And the phantom was gone.
And there sat Garran, panting hard, his tunic ripped, sweat pouring down his face, terror in his eyes.
The sword trembling in Tomas's hands.
The entire yard had fallen into silence.
"Enough!" Sir Varun bellowed over, grabbing Tomas by the shoulder, his face a mix of anger and worry. "What in the gods' name is wrong with you, boy?!"
Tomas's throat was dried. His chest convulsed.
"I..." he started, but no words came. His mind reeled, like waking from a nightmare.
"I'm fine," he managed to croak.
Garran straightened, brushing dirt from his tunic, and a bruise already rising on his arm. He winced, but forced a crooked grin.
"You sure picked a hell of a something on your mind."
Eren came over, eyes narrowing at Tomas. "What just happened?"
"I said I'm fine," Tomas grumbled, head down, voice low and tense.
Sir Varun looked at him another moment before pushing him in the direction of the middle of the yard.
"Get yourself together. If you fight like this again, and you'll be cleaning the stables for a month."
Eren knelt beside Garran, assisting him to his feet. "You alright?"
Garran grimaced, touching his chest. "Yeah. It could've been worse."
Varun looked at Tomas once more, a flicker of concern behind the sternness.
"Break's over," Varun snapped. "Back to it. No one slacks because of this one moron's temper."
"Tch. You could've cost your brothers lives." Varun said seriously.
The drills continued again, though the soldiers cast a suspicious glances to Tomas's direction.
And Tomas, sword down, looked at the ground where the phantom had been.
His sister's face hide at the cornered of his mind. And the warning of the voice stuck in his chest like a reminder.
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Back to Nathan
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The dawn light fell gently through the castle's narrow window slits, illuminating dust motes in its light. Nathan had long since finished his breakfast, washed, and now tied up the simple laces of his tunic. His brown pantaloons were unadorned but clean, and he ruffled his still-damp hair as he looked toward the small table where his learning book were stacked.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Nathan shouted.
The royal door creaked open and in came Fred, although this morning he appeared a little more harried than normally.
"Morning, lad," Fred said, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Um... I forgot to wake you up for your lessons this morning, but I suppose the years are getting to me. But clean forgot."
Nathan smiled minimally. "It's okay, Fred. I've time."
Fred laughed softly, edging a bit closer. "Before you leave, be careful in the courtyard. Sir Varun's in a bad mood, and there was... an incident during practice. And keep your head down going out."
Nathan's eyebrow was raised. "Wait... Is something wrong?"
"Let's just say one of the lads lost his mind for an instant. But If you meet into Tomas..." Fred shook his head. "Nevermind. It's not for you to know about. Just carry on, lad."
Nathan looked at the old man for a moment, feeling the threat in the words, but decided not to press. He nodded once. "O, kay.... I'll be careful."
Fred stepped forward, giving the back of Nathan's neck a firm, paternal squeeze. "Good lad. Off you go."
With that, Fred walked away down the corridor, leaving Nathan by himself.
Nathan drew in a breath, strapped his thin satchel over one shoulder, and moved out into the corridor. The air in the castle was chilly, the tile floors tapping underfoot as he headed towards the outer gate.
As he turned a corner by the stairway down to the basement corridors, a figure emerged from the other way, quickly and head down.
They bumped into each other by accident, shoulders jolting hard.
Nathan stepped back, regaining his balance. "Oh, sorry."
It was Tomas.
The older boy's face was white, hair stick to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes flicked like one half-trapped in another realm. His tunic stuck to him, and his fingers trembling at his side as if still holding a weapon.
"Tomas," Nathan said, startled. "You okay?"
For an instant, Tomas didn't react, his thoughts evidently elsewhere. Then his eyes clarified. "Oh, Nathan, your highness." He bowed nervously. "Yeah. Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."
"It's alright. You're going to the basement?" He smiled faintly.
"Yeah... yeah. Needed air." Tomas's tone was gruff, the words guilted.
Nathan frowned slightly but maintained his light tone. "Fred told me that there was something going on out in the yard."
"Nothing to worry yourself." Tomas pressed a thin, unfunny smile. "But, keep your head down out there."
Nathan nodded shortly. "Alright, then."
Without waiting a reply, Tomas turned and walked on down the stone staircase, vanishing into the lower halls of the castle.
Nathan followed him for an instant, unease curious in the back of his neck, then shrugged it off and continued on his way out.
He arrived at the main gates of the castle where two guards stood firmed, spears at the ready. Rurik, one of the older of the two, nodded a friendly recognition.
"Good mornin' there, young master."
"You too, I'm going out to have the lessons," Nathan said.
The other guard, Idran, gave a weak smile. "Be careful out there, lad. The world outside these walls ain't always friendly."
Nathan smiled softly. "I'll remember."
With a creaking slowness, the gate opened sufficiently for Nathan to slip through.
Outside was a crisp, clear world, with a soft wind rustling the tall grass along the downhill path to the village.
Nathan moved on, the tension of the morning's oddness hanging just beyond him, like a cloud about to descend.
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The great gates of Atlon Castle creaked shut behind Nathan as he emerged into the open grounds. The two guards at the gate nodded to him, one of them telling a low, steady word.
"Watch yourself out there, boy."
Nathan nodded briefly in response, his face impassive, and continued down the path.
The gravel path ahead stretched wide, lined with trimmed hedges and patches of open field. Morning sun filtered through the trees, and the faint sounds of the village below mixed with the clatter of training further ahead.
After a minutes of walking, Nathan reached the training grounds the same wide, open field, and fenced in by simple wooden posts. The space was alive with movement.
Boys and girls around and slightly above his age were present in loose ranks. Some did footwork, some sat cross-legged on the ground, breathing steadily with their eyes closed. A few swung wooden practice weapons under the watchful gaze of seniors.
And there, standing in the middle with his arms crossed behind his back, was Sir Vad.
His sharp eyes swept over the group as Nathan approached and quietly slipped into place beside a girl with braided dark hair.
Vad's voice cut through the air.
"You're late, Nathan."
Nathan met his gaze but said nothing.
Vad gave a faint, almost knowing smirk.
"Fine. You're here. That's what matters."
He took a slow step forward, his voice rising so all could hear.
"Listen well, students. Today, no shields and no weapons. Today, you'll see what's deep down in your soul. Each of you, boy or girl, strong or weak, has something inside. A magical power or a physical power. Then call it what you will. Because, most people live their lives without ever laying hands on it.".
"But not you. Not if you want to survive beyond your first real challenge. Now... close your eyes."
The children complied, the quiet rush of foot and fabric occupying the air as the yard fell silent.
Vad's voice fell into a lower volume, even.
"Breathe. Reach for your own center. I don't care what you perceive. It could be good. It could be bad. It could be anything else at all. But you'll know it when it awakens."
The clearing was reduced to silence.
And there, among them, Nathan shut his eyes - the far-off burden of his father's name, the lack of his mother, and the quiet, unsaid thing inside him pushing forward with the passing of time.
Time passed by in that still, steady tempo of breath and gentle wind just passed by.
Some of the little ones stirred. A few of the older ones remained as stiff as statues. The sun crept higher, heat settling on the yard. Nathan's eyes remained closed, his breathing steady as Sir Vad spoke once more - this time slow, deliberate.
"You sense it yet? That spark down deep in your heart? The something inside you that no one taught, no book explains, no weapon can reach?"
Some of the students shifted, their eyes darting uncertainly.
Vad did not appear to be disappointed.
"It won't be easy. It shouldn't. Someone who discovers it too soon then it applies out well before she or he is old enough to use it."
He walked through the ranks, past a trembling boy, a girl with her brow creased in stubborn intent. When he reached Nathan, Vad slowed, observing.
A shimmering passed over Nathan's chest. A presence... a tugging, as if something unseen wrapping just beyond grasp. It wasn't warmth. Not chill. Something else.
His eyes flashed open, into Vad's.
The instructor nodded once.
"There. You felt it."
Nathan didn't reply, but his heartbeat pounded against his ears.
Vad moved away from him, addressing the group.
"Good. Good enough for this morning. It comes like a shadow at your back, when you're not reaching too hard."
A few of the children relaxed in relief. Others exchanged glances, not knowing who had felt something, and who hadn't.
Sir Vad crossed his arms.
"Later afternoon, we see if any of you can catch hold of it."
And with that, he turned away, his voice snapping again.
"Dismissed!"
The students started to disperse, some whispering among themselves, others strolling alone to the well or the shade beside the villages.
Nathan sat in the same bench yesterday for another instant, the residual mess up of that odd flash vibrating within him - something he couldn't define, but knew on a primal level he'd passed, like some intangible boundary the moment it began. It wasn't a heat of the sun on his skin or the warmth of battle, nor was it anything from the training.
It had... changed.
And he wished to know it once more.
He looked down, laying a hand over his chest where the ancient medallion rested under his tunic. Unknown to him, its face emitted the softest beat - a heavy, understated thrum, the way a heartbeat lingered within ancient rock. Nathan could not perceive it. He knew only that something had changed.
He shut his eyes, feeling the wind brush his face, his hair rustling with the faintest touch of air. For an instant, the world gentled around him. The distant sounds of fighting students, the leaves rustling, and the distant murmurs of village people.
And then - it happened again.
A light.
A crack in the blackness.
And in his head, something long-dead and forgotten stirred up like a memory coming out of the depths.
His eyes in his mind envisioned a shadowy, indistinct room. A woman, in a bed. Her face etched out by time, but he knew warmth - a familiarity in the shape of her smile, in the gentle line of her figure. She held her belly, inside was a child, her face drawn pale with effort but her face full of unspoken love.
To her side, a man knelt. Brown hair, lean figure, face creased by years of work. Nathan could not fully see his face, but the aura came across as force and grief equal. The man spoke - voice smothered by the vastness of memory, yet a few phrases broke through like pieces.
"...I have to finish it, Naomi... the bloodline must awaken... our child... Nathan..."
The woman - Naomi - smiled through tears. She reached out, gently touching his cheek, her lips moving in a whisper that Nathan could almost hear.
"...Please promise me... you'll come back... even if only to see him... once..."
"I promise." Nolan gently kiss her in the forehead.
Around them, shadowed figures lingered in the room's corners. Nathan could sense their presence - Nolan's relatives, Naomi's siblings, watching over her, faces half-hidden in the veil of memory. The air was thick with dread and silent prayers.
Then, the vision trembled, like mist scattering in a sudden wind.
Nathan's eyes snapped open.
His breath was caught in his throat, his heart racing unevenly as he gazed at nothing, the yard and the village set in silence before him. He hardly even saw the children training out beyond or the people working at their business.
A thousand half-thoughts ran through his mind but only one made its way out to his lips.
"Wait. What?"
"What... do I have... a real mother and father?"
The words hung him in a barely whisper, the burden of them more than he anticipated. He'd never challenged it before. Never wondered, not really. But now, something deep within was going its way upward, refusing to be silenced.
The medallion underneath his tunic vibrated once more, hidden, its light weak and lost to the passage of time.
"Come on, I want to see it again." He chided.
Nathan shut his eyes once more, unable to deny the attraction of that unfamiliar current within him. The vibrate from the medallion hidden under his tunic wasn't like it had been.
It wasn't strength, or some reservoir of power waiting to be summoned. No... it was something odder than that. It was like a piece reaching from the past, pulling him to a place he hadn't want to go.
And then his vision went blurred once more.
A darkened room formed in his head, the smell of smoldering oil lamps and desiccated herbs hanging in the air. A mournful cry echoed off the wooden walls. It was his own, although he didn't know why he knew. He saw him - a small, flushed infant, crying loudly as the healer's hands took him, swaddling him in cloth. The faces of those around him were reduced to a haze of shadow, with one figure standing close to the bed.
A woman again.
His real mother... Naomi.
He could still not make out her face, but he sensed her presence - tired, shaking with weariness and suffering. She rested against pillows, her hand weakly extending toward him as he wept. Her fingers could hardly brush against his small arm.
"There... there he is..." Naomi's voice was cracked but soft, words full of a mother's warmth. "Nathan... my dear..."
A faint, trembling smile crossed her face, though it was tinged with sorrow Nathan didn't yet understand.
Then time shifted in lighting again.
The same room, but the air heavier now. Naomi's skin had gone pale, sweat clinging to her brow. A woman - a healer in plain robes - knelt beside her, speaking in a hushed, steady tone.
"Easy now, Lady Naomi... you've lost much strength. Here, drink this."
The healer lifted a glass of water to Naomi's lips, her hands gentle. But Naomi's fingers trembled too hard to hold it. Her breathing came shallow, her eyes half-lidded with weariness.
From the corner of the room, another figure moved.
A figure in a black, thick coat, the village healer. But something was strange about him, even to Nathan's faraway, visioned eyes. He didn't move up to the bedside as the healer. Rather, he pulled a vial of reddened liquid, unmistakably blood, out of his own coat pocket and hid it under his tunic.
Nathan's vision contracted, gazing in on the vial, a dreadful shiver running down his spine.
"Why...?"
Then the scene began to blur once more in his mind.
Darkness had fallen. Smoke hung in the air, and the cries of shouts resounded along the village streets.
Hamilton Village was being invaded.
The ring of blades. The burn of flame. Villagers cried, darkness lit up with destruction as soldiers wielding the symbol of a foreign kingdom attacked the houses and streets in equal measure.
Nathan's newborn wails swirled among the chaos.
Within the same room, Naomi held her boy close, sweat and tears streaming down her face.
"Please... don't... don't take my boy," she pleaded between sobs to a soldier who stood in the doorway - blade in hand, face hidden behind a steel helm.
She held Nathan close to her body, protecting him with the remaining strength in her.
"He's... he's just a baby. Please have mercy, I beg you..."
The soldier offered no response.
Another figure, taller and cloaked, gestured sharply. The soldier raised his sword. "We need him." His tone was deep.
Nathan felt the moment before it happened.
His mother's last desperate whisper.
"Forgive me, my son..."
And then - the strike of the sword. Naomi's body fell limp, her blood staining the fabric. Nathan's cries rose sharply, tiny hands clenched, the terrible sound of death and fire surrounding him.
The vision broke into a thousand pieces.
Nathan's eyes snapped open.
His chest exhausted, sweat glistening on his brow. The training yard existed still, the faint sound of wooden swords clashing echoing in the air, but the world was cold and gray clouds above the sky.
He felt for the medallion under his tunic.
"Who. who am I?" he whispered, his voice heavy with terror.
He looked at his shaking hand and balled it into a fist.
"And. why was I left alive?"
A wind swept across the yard again, as if the past itself awakened from its hidden memory.
Then his mind snapped off, like somebody pulled him out of there.
Nathan gasped. A cold gust of wind swept past him again, ruffling through his hair and pulling on his tunic. It smelled of rain and stale ashes.
He gazed upwards.
Grey clouds had massed distant on the horizon, heavy and dense. There was a low rumble of thunder in the air, a storm slowly making its way towards them.
Nathan swallowed, his chest breathing like scared.
His fingers went to the medallion under his tunic. It wasn't warm anymore. No pulse, no odd beat. Just cold, dead metal against his skin.
But something within him felt different.
He did not know how to describe it. Not like power or strength he could utilize. It was a shadow that had touched his heart. A waking part of him.
He remained there for a time, looking at his hand.
"What was that...?" he thought, with his stomach contracted. "Those people... Naomi... Nolan... was that... my mother? My father?"
The memories remained hazy, as if seen through mist. But the voice, the emotions, those were real. Too real to be a dream.
Yet another gust of wind swept in, this one more forceful and causing the grass to billow. The clouds above shifted, and a lower rumble of thunder issued.
Nathan's eyes dropped, his hand clenching.
"Why, was I alived?"
The blow was harder than he anticipated. The image of his mother's face - even though he couldn't quite view it - lingered with him.
He remained silent, allowing the wind to blow past.
The world outside had not shifted, but in him... things had.
The storm wasn't yet here, but it was approaching.
And somehow Nathan knew that this wasn't the end, that the past would drag him back again.
As Nathan lingered there, deep in thought, a loud called voice interrupted the quiet.
"Attention! A storm's blowing in from the east!" a messenger cried out from atop the watch post tower. The man's voice rang across the training yard and over the village grounds. "All citizens are going to take shelter, immediately! It's a large storm incoming - heavier than any normal storms! Everyone, find a shelter!"
Nathan looked up at the sky once more. The gray clouds had grown thicker, darkening rapidly. Another clap of thunder strucking through, nearer now.
The yard around him began to empty. The younger students raced off toward the markets, small emergency shelter, or home. Guards rushed along the path, providing people with places to take cover as the initial drops of rain started falling - thick, heavy splashes upon the ground.
Nathan sighed and closing his tunic closer around himself. He was close enough to one of the local supply stores, a small store owned by an old merchant who had everything from vegetables and fruits to plain tools. Without much thought, Nathan headed towards it.
By the time he had arrived at the wooden door, it was raining harder, coming down thick enough to provide the trees and houses far away in a blur.
He opened the door.
Inside, a few of the villagers had already congregated - supported against the walls, shaking raindrops off their cloaks, and waiting for the storm to end. The air was thick with the smell of wood, stale cloth, and the faint aroma of dried fruits and vegetables piled high on one of the shelves.
The trader, a bearded man of middle age, nodded to Nathan as he came in. "Storm's arriving in rough shape, kid. Lucky you came here."
Nathan nodded silently and took a place by the window, looking out as the rain pounded against the windowpane.
The rhythm of it was constant, covering up the other noises for a time.
But his thoughts weren't on the storm.
It remained on the names he'd heard in that vision.
Naomi. Nolan.
His true parents.
He had no idea what it meant yet or why the medallion had revealed him those things. But something was shifting.
And deep inside, Nathan knew it, but not fully.
This storm raging outside was only the beginning.
The rain pounded harder, the constant beat of it on the roof filling the small shop. Nathan remained at the window, but he wasn't alone observing the storm.
A few more villagers forced their way in, dripping wet and complaining.
"Storm's worse than it appears," grumbled one man, squeezing water from his cloak. "Mark my words, it ain't natural."
Another old woman held a basket against her chest. "Last time clouds came in like this, half the animals were dead by dawn. And old Beran said he saw things movin' around by the treeline."
"That's a joke," a young man close to the door sneered. "Storms blow in and out. People love frightening themselves when thunder booms."
But those words didn't quiet anyone. The tension clung heavy, the way air clings before lightning.
"I heard from a trader," another villager talked, a woman with a scarf tied about her neck and shrewd eyes, "that two towns east of us were struck by a storm like this. Only... people said it wasn't just wind and rain. They said people disappeared. Children. Old people. Even animals. And nobody saw what took them."
The room was silent for a second.
"Bah, that's supernatural," the merchant growled, although he did not seem as certain as he was acting. "It's just a storm. Happens every year."
Another market man, identifiable by his apron, shook his head. "No... it ain't just that. One of the guards near the eastern watch said he saw a rider go by before the storm rolled in. Black cloak, no flag. Nobody knows who they were. Storm rolled in right afterwards."
"Curses follow riders like that," the old woman breathed.
Two boys sitting at the back and stared at each other, their eyes wide.
Nathan remained silent. A storm was one thing, but something in what they said chilled the air around him. It was as if each voice in the room was harboring fragments of something larger - something strange.
Another deafening crack of thunder rattled the glass windows, causing one of the younger girls to yelp.
Then the merchant moved forward. "Enough of curses and missing people, let's not speak unseemly and bring ill fortune with our words. Just wait until the storm is over. No one goes out until it's safe."
Nathan looked out the window once more. The streets outside was flooded now, stands vacant, canvas roofs flapping in the gusts. He watched a barrel spin through the street, pursued by leaves and rainwater.
But his heart wasn't in the storm.
It was still in that vision. In the title of a village reduced to ash.
Hamilton.
And in that instant, Nathan was certain this storm was no weather.
It was the wind bringing old ghosts nearer.
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Nathan watched the storm outside, the way the rain made the world streak past in greys. Thunder boomed again, this one louder, shaking the wooden slats of the store.
And then. something shifted.
He thought it was an illusion of the rain at first. A shadow beside the old tree at the market square's edge, half-concealed by the rain.
But it did not move like a human. It stood too motionless.
Nathan narrowed his eyes, leaning a bit closer to the glass.
A figure. Pale and thin. And faceless.
No eyes. No mouth. No features whatsoever - only the outline of a head and body, smeared like a blot in the rain. It stood there beneath the big tree, utterly motionless as lightning flashed in the sky behind it.
Nathan felt his lungs, scared.
For an instant, it seemed like the thing had its eyes stared on him... even though it did not have a face to do it.
He gasped for air. He stepped back from the window, bumping into a crate.
"Oi, boy," a merchant yelled over. "What's your problem?"
Nathan's voice caught, but he could whisper, "There's. someone out there."
Several people looked towards the window, attempting to see through the sheets of rain.
"I don't see nothin'," muttered one man.
"It's likely a branch, boy," another dismissed it, though her voice wasn't as stable as she tried to make it sound.
Nathan didn't respond. His heart pounded against his chest.
Another flash of lightning cut across the sky - and this time, the figure had vanished.
Just open space under the tree.
Nathan's skin feel crawled. He didn't know what was worse... seeing it, or knowing that it wasn't there anymore.
He took a step back from the window, his hand reaching unconsciously for the medallion under his tunic. It was cold now. Not like it used to be, when it pulsed. Cold... like it had frozen against his skin.
And the wind whispered once more, carrying on its breath something that sounded almost like a voice.
A whisper.
"Nathan..."
His name, brought on the storm.
Nathan's eyes jumped to the others in the store. No one else was hearing it.
The trader cursed as another blast blew the door partway open, rain splattering in.
"Alright, everyone keep clear of the doors and windows," he snapped. "I don't like the storm."
The villagers moved closer, muttering nervously.
Nathan looked out at the window once more.
Whatever was out there... it hadn't been done yet.
Something terrible was on its way.
And this storm was only the start.
The store became denser with tension. People whispered in close, anxious tones, some looking at the windows while others held their cloaks tight against them. The rain pounded louder on the wooden sides, and thunder rumbled above like angered.
"I swear, storms such as this ain't right," an old man grumbled. "Bad things follow skies such as that."
"Aye," a woman said, her arms crossed firmly. "Last time we had a storm so heavy, half of the harvest was destroyed. Old Mareen disappeared too."
A grunt came from another man. "I heard it was bandits that evening. Or something worse."
Nathan remained silent by the window, his gaze sweeping the square outside, yet some part of him wanted to stop. Whenever the lightning illuminated, shadows leaped in the rain, and he could not help but anticipate seeing that faceless one again, this time closer.
The merchant rushed hastily, closing the door behind him and securing it with a heavy wooden bar.
"Listen up again," he called. "No one's leavin' till this storm over. Got some dry bread and water - make do. And stop fillin' the air with ghost stories. You're spookin' the little ones."
The room quieted a bit, but the heavy air remained, thick like a fog no one could shake off.
Nathan looked out the window once more as another bolt of lightning ripped across the sky - and this time, a shiver crawl down to his back.
There it was.
The faceless creature.
Seen at the distant big tree a moment before, now it was close to the door. Out by it.
No face. No features. Just a form in the storm.
Nathan fell backward, his heart thumping so hard that it covered up the thunder for an instant. Clumsily, in his fright, he collided with a woman standing next to him, almost hitting her with the little basket in her hands.
"Sorry!" Nathan panted, glancing up at her. "There's, there's something out there!"
The woman scowled, balancing her basket. "Mind yourself, child."
"No, I mean it - outside! By the door! It's... it's not a person!"
A couple of people exchanged swift glances with him, but the majority pretended he was not there. A young man standing close by snickered under his breath. "Kid's imagin' ghosts."
"I swear, I saw it!" Nathan repeated louder yet, a quiver in his little voice. "It had no face! It stood right there!"
But they didn't believe him.
"Sit down, lad," grumbled one of the older men. "Storm's got your head twisted."
Nathan's hands trembled as he held the medallion hidden under his tunic, the chill of the metal against his palm like ice. He stepped back from the window, but his gaze remained fixed on the door.
For deep down... he knew.
Whatever it was outside wasn't leaving.
.
.
.
The room remained tense, the atmosphere heavy with fear and rain. The storm outside was not stopping, and the tense silence dragged longer than it ought to have.
Nathan's heart was still pumping rapidly as he remained locked on the door. Nobody else appeared to notice, but his chest ached - as if something was weighing down on him, heavier than the storm.
Then, from the rear corner, the elderly merchant who had spoken before now cleared his throat.
"Wait," he said, his tone low but firm enough to pierce the room.
Everyone turned.
The old merchant, gray-bearded and weathered, was not smiling now. His eyes glinted as he gazed at the boy.
"I believe him," the old man muttered.
A few people frowned. One woman ridiculed. "What are you on about, old man?"
"I've seen storms like this before," the old man went on, ignoring her. "When the winds howl like that... when the air feels heavy... it ain't just weather." He pointed a finger at the bolted door. "Something's hauntin' us."
A shiver passed through the room.
Nathan swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the medallion. The merchant's words made his fear real - it wasn't just his mind playing tricks.
"I said it all to you lot before," the merchant guy stated. "These storms bring ill things. Things which don't belong." He glanced about. "Light a few more candles. Keep the darkness away from the walls. Whatever's out there... it's seeking someone."
The room fell silent. The previous arguing stopped, and instead there was merely the sound of the storm and wind beating against the structure.
A young woman at the fire rushed over to light another oil lamp, her hands trembling.
Nathan's eyes remained fixed on the door.
Because in his heart... he knew.
That scary creature was still out there.
And waiting.
The storm boomed more loudly now, thunder growling like an animal above the clouds.
The store was still tense inside, despite additional lamps flickering in the corners, the shadows still seemed animate, writhing with each blast of wind against the walls.
Then someone spoke.
"Hey... where's Darrek?" a man asked, surveying the area. "He was just here tellin' us to stop arguing. Anyone see where he went?"
They glanced around, some saying his name.
"I'm sorry? Who's Darrek?" A woman asked.
"The merchant guy, who just rushed here inside." The man answered her clearly.
"Perhaps he's in back," another grumbled. "Or... maybe outside."
"Idiot, how can he go out in this storm? He's the one who said us not to leave until the storm is over, right?" The man explained.
Murmurs arose once more.
Nathan was not paying attention, however.
He stood by the window, staring out of the fogged, rain-spotted glass.
And there - out by the bent fence on the perimeter of the square - he saw it.
Darrek.
Or what remained of him.
His body was rigid in the rain, limbs loose as a puppet, his chest ripped open. A long, white, pointed hand - not bone, not flesh - was stuck clean through his chest behind him.
The thing with him was the faceless figure.
It had no eyes. No mouth. Only a blank, smooth face, its flesh pale mist, merging with night and rain. It stood motionless as death, one hand within Darrek's chest, the other at its side.
Nathan's breath was stuck in his throat. His stomach turned.
Then - the old merchant crept behind him, his eyes squinting as he turned to watch with Nathan.
And he saw it too.
"Gods save us..." the old man panted.
The folks within had seen them gawking and ran to the window.
"What are lookin' at?"
They crowded up - and then the lightning flashed a second time, as bright as day for half a second.
Everyone saw it.
Saw the faceless creature.
Saw it pick up Darrek's dead body like a rag doll, then drop it onto the mud.
A scream ripped from one's throat. A woman sank to her knees. Another man stepped back from the window as if he'd gazed upon death itself.
"It's real," the old merchant mouthed, his voice broken and raw. "It's here..."
The storm roared louder. The wind shook the windows. And the faceless creature turned its head - though it had no eyes - and appeared to gaze directly at the store.
Directly at Nathan.
The air within the shop became ice-cold.
Customers stepped back from the window, some yelling, others open-mouthed with shock. The elderly merchant held on to the wall, his knuckles turning white, while one woman cried into her hands. No one was talking now - no one dared.
But Nathan... Nathan could not tear his eyes away.
His scared eyes remained fixed on that thing in the rain. The featureless shape remained still for another second, then gradually dissolved once again into the darkness, disappearing amongst the trees and destroyed houses like a veil of fog.
Nathan's heart thudded in his ears. His palms shook at his sides. He was ill, as if his stomach would curl up and flip itself inside out. He was a kid - but what he had seen wasn't for anyone, much less a boy of his age.
And then.
A pulse.
A soft, persistent thud against his chest.
The medallion underneath his tunic emitted a gentle heat - not a power to call upon, not battle strength to hold back, but something else. Like a shield. Like a presence was present... watching... guarding him all by himself.
It pulse once... then twice.
Nathan didn't notice.
He was too absorbed by the terror beyond, his thoughts attempting to rationalize the unexplainable. The face of the dead man suspended in the rain, the faceless creature's vacant gaze, the blood and the mud.
It was the most frightening thing he'd ever seen.
And somewhere inside, something was warning him this wasn't finished.
Not yet.