Consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from the depths of a dark lake. The first thing Elliot noticed was the throbbing pain at the back of his skull—a deep, pulsing ache that made his vision blur even in the darkness. He tried to reach up to touch the tender spot, only to feel hemp rope bite into his wrists.
The world tilted sickeningly around him. Even in the near-blackness, he could sense everything spinning, the stone walls seeming to shift and sway like trees in a storm. Nausea clawed at his throat as dizziness washed over him in waves. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made the sensation worse—as if he were tumbling through empty space with nothing to anchor him.
Bound. The realization cut through the fog in his mind like a blade, even as the dungeon continued its nauseating dance around him.
Something warm and sticky matted his dark curls where the pain was worst. Blood. The metallic taste coated his tongue, and fragments began to surface through the haze. A boot. Heavy leather connecting with the back of his head with sickening force. The world tilting sideways as darkness claimed him.
But before the darkness—his mother's scream. That soul-rending cry that had been the last thing he'd heard as consciousness fled.
The memory crashed over him like ice water, sharp and merciless. The bandits. Dawn light filtering through the trees. His father's voice shouting a warning that came too late. The wet sound of steel piercing flesh. And then, as Elliot had struggled to rise, to help, to fight—the boot to his skull and his mother's scream echoing in his ears as he fell into oblivion.
Emma and Emily. Their names surfaced next, bringing fresh terror. His twin sisters—where were they now? They had left Millhaven to join the Guardians in Heavenport. Their parents had decided to follow, to see them safely settled in that distant city.
Elliot's jaw clenched as the full weight of their situation settled on him. How naive they had all been, traveling the main roads with their meager possessions, believing the world beyond their village would welcome them with open arms.
Now his father was dead, and his mother...
The stone floor bit into Elliot's bare shoulders as he shifted against his bonds. The dungeon reeked of decay and despair—a nauseating blend of mildew, rust, and something far worse that he refused to name.
Darkness pressed against him like a living thing, broken only by the faintest sliver of torchlight that crept beneath the heavy wooden door. His hunter's eyes, accustomed to tracking prey through moonlit forests, strained uselessly in the oppressive gloom. The silence stretched endlessly, punctuated only by the steady drip of water somewhere in the shadows and the distant echo of his own ragged breathing.
A sound made him freeze. Not the familiar drip of water or the scurrying of rats, but something else entirely. A whisper of movement, as if the darkness itself had drawn breath.
"Fear courses through your veins like winter's bite," came a voice, low and melodious, seeming to resonate from within his own mind yet everywhere and nowhere at the same time. "I can taste it on the stagnant air."
Elliot's muscles tensed, his hunter's instincts screaming danger even as his rational mind struggled to locate the speaker. "Who's there?" His voice cracked—sixteen years old and trying to sound brave while bound and helpless.
"Fear is honest," the voice continued, ignoring his question. "It strips away pretense, reveals the trembling truth beneath. Tell me, what terrifies you most in this moment?"
The air grew colder, and Elliot could swear he felt unseen eyes studying him. His breath misted in the sudden chill, visible for just an instant before vanishing into the void.
"My... my family," he whispered, the words torn from his throat. "My mother. My sisters Emma and Emily—what if the bandits captured them too? What if they hurt them like they hurt—" His voice broke entirely.
"Ah." The sound was almost pleased. "Not your own death, then. Not the pain these ropes inflict, or the hunger gnawing at your belly. You fear for others more than yourself."
Elliot's heart hammered against his ribs. "What are you? Are you one of them?"
A low chuckle rolled through the darkness like distant thunder, reverberating inside his skull. "I am something far older than these petty brigands who cage you."
"What's your name?" Elliot's voice was barely a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the space between his thoughts.
"I have been named by many across the ages," the voice replied, each word dripping with ancient authority. "Phobos to some, Pavor to others. The people of distant lands called me Bhairava, and in the shadow kingdoms, Ba-Pef."
The names hung in the air like incantations, each one carrying weight that pressed down on Elliot's chest. "But what are you?"
"I am fear who lurk in the shadows," came the simple, terrifying answer. "The whisper in the deep woods, the choice that waits at every crossroads."
"What do you want from me?" Elliot's voice was steadier now, though his heart still raced.
"I wish merely to talk with you," the entity replied, its tone almost conversational. "Perhaps you will tell me of yourself."
"No." The refusal came swift and sharp. "I won't tell you anything."
A sound that might have been laughter echoed in his mind. "Your fear called to me. It sang across the void like a beacon in the night."
"I'm not afraid," Elliot snarled, pulling against his bonds. "I've never been afraid. That's why I became a hunter while other village children cowered behind their mothers' skirts."
"Oh, but you were," the voice purred with dark amusement. "You too feared the monsters in the jungle shadows, just like the other children. But unlike them, you are special. You could transform portions of that fear into power. You have already accomplished this—that is how you can hear me now, how you can speak with me across the veil between worlds."