When I fell asleep, I saw that dream again.
I was a pathetic little thing — a skeleton missing most of itself — sprinting through a field of red flowers that looked like they were growing from veins instead of soil. My skeletal feet splashed in pools of blood as I ran. I didn't know where I was going, or why. There was no sky above me, no light or shadow — just the endless red plain and the whisper of something following behind.
It wasn't a place that existed in the normal sense. It was beyond that.
A land outside of time, outside of space… and outside of fate.
In this place, nothing could truly die. But nothing could truly live, either.
My bones rattled as I stumbled forward. I wasn't sure if I was running from something or toward something — only that I couldn't stop. My ribcage cracked with every breath that wasn't really a breath.
Then, it came. A web — threads of darkness like veins of tar — shot out of the red horizon and wrapped around me. I tried to claw my way out, but my hands shattered into dust. The more I struggled, the tighter it pulled, until I was completely cocooned.
And just as the last bit of red disappeared, I woke up.
---
Today was the day of my trial.
The guards yanked the chain around my neck and dragged me down the corridor. I swear, they were enjoying it. Their smug grins told me as much. So naturally, I had to fix that.
I leaned close to one of them and whispered, my voice low and calm.
"Hey, careful with that chain. Pull any harder and your arm'll pop right out of its socket."
He went pale instantly, eyes darting down at his arm like he could already feel it coming loose. He stopped pulling after that. I smiled to myself and walked quietly, the picture of innocence.
When we reached the grand hall, I was almost nostalgic. The castle looked just like I remembered it — all gold and cold stone, the air heavy with self-importance. I used to walk these halls freely. Now I was the attraction.
Gunlaug sat on his throne of gold at the head of the makeshift court, gleaming in his armor like a walking sun. To his side, a painter was already hard at work, brush flying across a canvas. When he turned it toward me, I froze.
It was me.
The first time I'd really seen myself in a while — or rather, how others saw me. Shoulder-length black hair, strands of white breaking through the mess. My red eyes glowed even in the paint, almost alive. My skin looked pale, ethereal, almost translucent — like something caught between flesh and shadow. The missing arm was there too, along with the dark mantle draped over me like night itself.
He'd drawn me like a demon — lines all across my body like cracks in glass, and faint hints of fangs. Not human. Not anymore.
I tore my gaze away as the court crier began listing my "crimes."
"This man," he said, "has slaughtered over fifty hunters, ten Pathfinders, and twenty guards. He impales his victims and displays their corpses like trophies. He has no mercy, no remorse. He is a devil. A butcher. He must be sentenced to death."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Work the shaft, buddy."
The man blinked, his face turning beet-red. "What did you just say?"
"If you're gonna glaze that much," I said lazily, "at least work the shaft too, four-eyes."
A collective gasp echoed through the hall. Even Gunlaug seemed to shift slightly, as if unsure whether to laugh or smite me.
The crier sputtered, furious, and I just smirked. It wasn't that I wanted to die — it's just that everyone here already decided I should. So I might as well enjoy the show.
The "trial" ended exactly as I expected. Gunlaug said he'd deliver judgment in the morning. Perfect. That gave me plenty of time.
---
When I was dragged out, the same crier and a few guards surrounded me. As planned.
They started beating me — fists, boots, the occasional weapon. I didn't fight back. Not because I couldn't, but because I needed to bleed.
Every strike sent more of my blood splattering across the floor. I could feel it pooling, thick and warm, connecting to every drop I'd already spilled. My control over it was instinctual, like breathing. The more I bled, the stronger the link became.
When they finally dragged me away, I was half-dead — but my work was done.
As we passed a handmaiden, I tripped a guard just hard enough for him to stumble. I leaned close and whispered, my tone soft but sharp:
"Gather all the blood in the hallway. Deliver it to Seishan. Tell her… she'll know what to do next."
Her eyes glazed for a second, then she nodded.
When I reached my cell, a single glint caught my eye — a key falling through the tiny window, landing in my palm.
Kai and Aiko had done their part.
I smiled. The chains on my neck pulsed as I unlocked my abilities again. I didn't take them off yet — patience was important.
Dinner came, and the guard shoved a tray through the bars. I didn't need to taste it to know who made it. The seasoning, the flavor of blood — it was Seishan's cooking. No one could make something that rich except her.
I savored every bite. A last meal before the storm.
---
Later that night, when the guards swapped shifts, I decided to speed things up.
"Hey," I called, "fetch Gunlaug for me."
One of the guards scoffed. "Why should I—"
His chest exploded.
A neat, crimson burst, blood spraying the bars. I didn't even move.
The other guard froze, staring at me, trembling.
"Now," I said simply.
He sprinted down the hall like his life depended on it — which, to be fair, it did.
Moments later, Gunlaug arrived, his golden armor gleaming even in the dim torchlight. He stood tall, radiating that false righteousness he loved so much.
"So," I said, standing slowly, letting the chains fall from my neck with a heavy clang, "how about you and me strike up a deal?"
The silence that followed was deafening — just the drip of blood from the dead guard, and the faint creak of my restraints as I flexed my hands.
Gunlaug's voice came out low and cold.
"What kind of deal could a monster like you offer me?"
I smiled, showing just a hint of fang.
"The kind you can't afford to refuse."