"Don… Don, wake up!"
Hmm. It feels nice and soft… but also cold. A sharp, biting cold—on my ass.… wait a minute.
Don slowly opens his eyes to a vast, star-filled sky. Standing over him is Marse, holding a massive rock high above his head, arms tense, ready to bring it crashing down.
His eyes jolt open, rolling his body over to the side.
"Ahh! I'm awake! I'm awake," Don shouts, scrambling upright and nearly slipping in the snow.
"Oh, good," Marse says flatly. "I was close to bashing your head in with the rock to wake you up."
"I'm glad that was your first thought."
"No, more like my tenth," Marse replies, lowering the rock to count on his fingers. "I've been up here for ten minutes trying to get you awake. What were you doing up here anyway—and why are you half naked?"
"I know you probably have a lot of questions," Don says, rubbing the back of his neck, "but I've got a ton myself. Sorry… I just need a minute to clear my head."
Don stands shirtless at the mountain's peak, his pants singed and dusted with snow, while Marse remains fully bundled against the cold. The island below lies quiet beneath the night sky. Thin whispers of wind drift past, gently pushing Don's hair back and forth.
For a long moment, neither of them speaks.
Don turns his back to Marse and steps closer to the cliff's edge, staring out into the darkness with an intense, distant look.
"This is your first time actually seeing them," he says.
"Seeing what?" Marse asks.
"The stars."
Marse looks up at the thousands of white, pale dots that stare back into his eyes.
"I guess you're right. I've only caught glimpses of them through the clou-"
Marse takes it all in, looking back and forth, the whole world seems to put him into a trance of beauty, utterly speechless, his eyes begin to water.
"They look like those crystals you once showed me in a book, the bluish white ones."
"Oh," Don replies. "The diamonds."
Don hears a sniffle and turns around to see Marse crying, wiping away his tears quickly in embarrassment.
"What's the matter? He asks, comforting him.
"I-I don't know. Marse says, voice shaking. "I just realized... I've been here on this island with you my whole life, but I've never seen anything else. Just stuck here watching snow pile up, trees grow, and the wind blow." His voice cracks. "I wanna see those places you've shown me in the books and the places you've told me about so bad."
The tears spill freely.
"And I want to find my mom and dad."
Don rests his hand upon his head, rubbing it gently.
"It's ok, young one."
In an instant, Marse hugs Don's leg, grabbing it tightly.
"Please don't leave me," he cries. "Not like my parents. I hate being alone."
"You know," Don begins, "one of the strongest people I know was once just like you-completely alone."
He lowers himself to Marse's level.
"He was an orphan. Cast away by his parents… or so he believes. A traveling merchant found him and brought him to a small sanctuary. That's where he grew up." Don pauses. "But one day, while returning from a well with a bucket of water, the entire town vanished. No bodies. No signs. Just… gone."
Marse listens, unmoving.
"Alone again, at six years old, he decided to leave. He ventured out into the world by himself. Every day became a lesson—how to survive, how to listen, how to keep walking even when he was afraid."
Don smiles faintly.
"He had no name. No family to carry one. So he walked the world on foot alone, meeting strangers, tasting new foods, seeing places most people only dream of. During that time, he told me the only friends he had were the stars. They never left him. Every night, they watched over him, keeping him company."
Don looks up briefly, as if checking that they're still there.
"When he was finally old enough to register for jobs, they told him he needed a last name. That night, after staring into the sky for hours, he chose one... Se'stelligh. It's an old northern word. It means to watch the stars."
He exhales quietly.
"Long after… I came into the world, carrying that same name. And I'll carry it for the rest of my life."
Marse blinks. "But… I thought your last name was Wood."
Don chuckles softly.
"I made that one up on the spot." His smile fades just a little. "My real name has history. And some histories are better left unknown."
"Just remember, it's ok to be lost and alone, but with me around, you should never feel alone. I may not be your father, but as my obligation to protect those weaker, I will raise you for now."
Marse's green eyes light up.
For the first time, he looks at Don not as a shelter from the cold, but as someone who has always been there.
A soft smile appears in Don's eyes. A smile he hasn't seen for a very long time.
"Thank you," Marse said.
Don pulled him into one last hug. "I don't want to ruin your stargazing, but we should probably head back down. Judging by your stomach, it's almost dinner time anyway." Right on cue, Marse's stomach growled.
"Okay."
The two began making their way down the narrow mountain path, Marse admiring the island below while clouds drifted lazily across the sea. After a moment, Don asked, "By the way, how did you even get up here in the first place?"
"Well, at first it was really hard. The wind kept throwing me around, but then the owl led me through it. The wind suddenly stopped, so it was easier to climb. It stayed with me until I was halfway up, then disappeared. Weird bird. I thought it was just in the woods to annoy us, like the time it dropped an entire deer on you."
Both of them laughed, but Don's smile lingered. "That's funny... because I don't remember ever telling Marse that story."
Marse's eyes widened. "Your act was pretty impressive," Don continued with a quiet laugh. "Imitating someone to perfection that well isn't easy. But you've been slipping ever since I woke up. That was your tenth mistake."
Silence settled between them as they continued down the narrow trail along the cliff's edge. "Want to hear the others?" Don asked. Still nothing. "First," he said as if he were having fun with this, "Marse isn't strong enough to lift a rock that size over his head." The boy's expression stiffened. "Second, I taught Marse never to shout out in the open. It could startle animals in the area or, worse, attract attention from unwanted guests."
The Imposters' faces slowly twisted with anger. Grinding his teeth side to side. "Third, Marse hardly talks. He's a quiet kid. He usually doesn't talk, especially ramble on about pointless topics. Don's voice lowered. "And fourth..." His tone turned cold. "I never let him walk in front of me. On this island, danger can be hiding behind any tree."
The air seemed to tighten around the impostor. Don smiled faintly. "Just a small tidbit of advice, if you want to get to know someone, the least you could do is introduce yourself first."
The innocent voice vanished. "I can't believe you're still as much of a nuisance as you've always been." The voice was now deep and sinister—the voice of a middle-aged man.
"There it is," Don said. "Your real voice. Honestly... not what I expected." The imposter turns around. "I thought you were still the clueless kid you used to be," he said. "Looks like people really do grow up."
"So you know me... and you hate me." Don shrugged. "That doesn't narrow it down much. Care to give me another hint?"
The man's smile widened. "I figured you'd be more worried about Marse."
"I am." Don's expression never changed. "But I can tell you aren't here for him. Rather, just for me. That's why you've been stalking us. You don't have any idea who Marse is, so you're trying to gather information. You probably came here on an insight, but weren't expecting me to have company. I can say that goes for both of us." The man's eyes narrowed. "So..." Don took one step closer. "Where is he?"
"I don't think it's that simpl—"
In an instant, Don seized him by the throat and slammed him into the rocky cliffside. Stone crumbles downward from the impact. The impostor clawed at Don's arm, struggling to pry himself free, but Don's grip didn't budge. They locked eyes. Don's voice became terrifyingly calm. "Last warning." His fingers tightened. "I don't do three strikes." Another squeeze. "Where..." His grip tightened again. "...is..." The man's face reddened. "...he?" Suddenly, the impostor stopped struggling. His breathing slowed. A grin crept across his face. "Behind you," he squeals. The body in Don's hand dissolved into a cloud like subsatance. His eyes widened. An illusion.
Don spun around. The real impostor stood behind him, still wearing Marse's face, a cruel grin stretched across it. A kick smashed into Don's jaw before he could react, sending his head into the cliff with enough force to shake the mountainside. Dropping to one knee, blood dripped from his slit lip. Without hesitation, Don lunged in anger, wrapping both arms around the impostor and driving him to the ground. The two tumbled violently down the snowy slope. Don screams in pain as the impostor hammers his elbow into Don's ribs as they roll, bouncing off rocks and launching into the air before crashing again. Finally, they slammed into a massive boulder. The impact shattered Don's hold, and both men were thrown in opposite directions.
Trying to catch a glimpse of where he falls through a misty layer of cloud, he starts to flip uncontrollably through the air. As he searches for the ground, he flattens out, shifting his weight and steadying himself so he can land. But Don's judgment of his altitude was off. Before realizing the ground was below him, he crashed headfirst onto a patch of exposed stone. The world spun. Slowly, as he stands upright, blood pools out of his broken nose. His hand catches most of it as he tries to wipe it away. With his face bruised and broken, he looks onward into the forest on a misty night. He started to walk, turning into a slow jog, looking around in a frenzy. He picked up nothing, no sounds, no smell.
As blood drooled down his forehead, a sense of dread and worry began to cross his mind.
I need to find Marse. It takes me roughly two minutes to get to the hut from this side of the mountain. In order for an illusionist to use a mirror like that, the one copied needs to be alive. Don clenched his jaw. He forced himself to think. Either they crossed paths by chance... or... His heart sank. He found our hideout. I didn't get a good glimpse of where he could've fallen, but if he knows the pathway, he can get there quicker than I. Worst case... he plans to use Marse as leverage. That mysterious man is too good, almost trained for this, though I laid traps, but they won't stop him. Who knows how long he's been watching us? Then another thought struck him. The owl. It's always been there. Watching. I never decided whether it was friend or foe. That would explain how he knew about it.
Don rubbed his bruised face. "What a night..." He let out a bitter sigh. "First that nightmare... Now this. One mistake... and this could be my last."
Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his eye. A branch shifted overhead. Don stops in his pursuit and looks up, now more confused than before.
"Huh."
The fluffy feathered bird was now in his eyesight once more, perched above him. The owl locks eyes, swoops down, and lands squarely on his head, immediately beginning to peck at his forehead. "Ow!" Don grabbed the bird and held it in front of his face. "If you're working with that illusionist," he growled, "I'll pluck every feather you have until you look like a newborn chick." The owl froze, its wide red eyes blinking rapidly as it shook its head in fear.
Don sighed. "Do you know where Marse is? He's the kid with red hair I've been watching?" His voice softened. "Please. I don't know how you understand us... or why you've been following us... but if you can help me save him... I'll owe you." The owl let out a sharp cry before taking off. Don sprinted after it as it darted through the trees, branches whipping past his face. "Wait a minute, this is the way back to the base of the mountain," he says to himself. He follows behind, lunging more with each pace.
To Don, the only things that crossed his mind were death, being ready for the worst, and everything slowing down for him. The cold becomes non-existent, and he starts to drift to look at his legs that are still running. For an instant, a thought crossed his mind. Why am I so attached to the kid? I could leave right now. I was only here to help him out. Now that I finally know no parent, dead or alive, is here, I can leave fulfilled.
So why can't I walk away?
Attachment. He hated the word. It chained people together with expectations, debts, and grief. You protected the weak, then one day they became another reason to hesitate. Just another weakness someone could use against you. To protect those weaker, I guess.
His eyes drift up again. Expect the same terrain; a speck of red shines in the distance. Then—red hair. The same red hair that he brushes and cleans. The same red hair he sees every day, the only thing that lights up the night other than the stars. At the base of a tree, Marse lies unconscious. Relief flooded Don. He exploded forward, bursting past the owl.
Running as fast as he can, he leaves his breath behind as he kicks off trees to propel himself forward. Though when he gets closer, in the corner of his right eye, a more threatening person sits watching over the sleeping boy. The man is wrapped in a dark and tattered cloak. The hood covers most of his face, but with little light shining on his face, a smile grows slowly. Don's joy fades into a realization.
It's a trap, and I went right to it.
Don stops his forces by digging into the snow with his heels and left hand, with dust and snow piling up all around. With himself between Marse and the stranger, the man slowly stood, raised both hands, and lowered his hood. Don froze. His emotions collided all at once—shock, anger, disgust, sorrow, fear. His first instinct wasn't to attack. It was simply to stare.
The man stands nearly as tall as Don, though much thinner. His face was calm—like the sea after a storm—but beneath that stillness simmered years of buried hatred. Short, fluffy black hair grown out to his mid-neck, shimmering beneath the starlight. Dark green eyes watched Don without blinking. Messy eyebrows and thick lashes framed his piercing gaze. Light stubble covered his jaw. A scar of pink, twisted tissue spread from the base of his neck to the lower left side of his face like the roots of a dying tree.
Don quietly exhaled. "This..." His expression darkened. "...explains a lot."