Janab's breathing flowed normally as she emerged from her sleep cycle, barely conscious, like a thread of life hanging between wakefulness and oblivion. Her chest rose with a steady rhythm, oblivious to the predation observing her. Stalked by Isaiah, even that brief instant was enough for her mind to open, granting the vampire infinite possibilities of control with a minimum of contact. Her neck lay exposed, the skin thin as paper beneath the dim light.
Isaiah raised his right hand; his long fingers sought the pulse upon her skin, but as soon as they brushed her, they were halted by an invisible force.
There was no complete physical contact, yet his fingers rebounded as if they had struck a wall of hot iron. The lamps flickered violently and the air compressed, piercing him with an intangible pressure that held him motionless. The electric hum grew into a high-pitched shriek that only he could hear. Janab, unaware, fell back into the next cycle of her sleep. Her body sank into the warmth of the fabric, protected by a barrier that should not exist.
The vampire observed her with cold incredulity. He believed it impossible for a human body to protect itself on its own, much less being merely the mind of a mortal. Only those touched by the purification of a being of light could resist the manipulation of a predator. And she—human, sinner—was his natural prey. The anomaly was offensive to him, a contradiction in the natural order of things.
He took a deep breath and leaned over her again, this time lifting her gently in his arms. There was no resistance. Her weight was minimal; gravity seemed to reject her as well. An unusual stench drew him in: sulfur again, damp earth, and a distant, indefinable aroma that stirred his killing instincts despite the containment of his thirst. The scent did not come from her, but from something clinging to her soul.
His steps upon the wooden floor were silent, as if the world itself obeyed his movement. He ascended the stairs, each step increasing the tension in the air, until he stopped before the bedroom door. Then, without warning, he found himself surrounded by the forest—the twisted trees, the scent of rotting flowers intoxicating his senses, and the whispers of the branches deafening him for an instant.
The walls of the house dissolved into living bark. The floor beneath his feet was no longer wood, but black, damp mud. The Hand of the Forest—Janab's memories implanting themselves with chilling precision.
The artificial lighting was replaced by a grayish light that cast no defined shadows. —It is your ignorance that brings you before me. Do you have no fear at all? —whispered a voice born from the roots of the earth.
The sound had no direction; it vibrated in his bones. Amidst the undergrowth and a light he would never experience again, the elder of the forest appeared, his thin, wrinkled lips deforming into a stridency that shattered the senses. His figure fluctuated, changing size and shape like dense smoke. Isaiah's eyes closed instinctively, pressing Janab against his chest as the vision devoured him.
He felt the branches scratching his clothes, though he did not move. —Abya...ter —he uttered with a shudder that resonated in every fiber of his being.
The name burned his tongue as it left his mouth. —I present myself before those who invoke me, I answer their doubts and fulfill their desires... but there is a price for it.
Zheir.
The entity approached without walking, floating over the corrupt ground. The vampire felt a sharp, suffocating pain, as if the human instincts he had buried centuries ago suddenly awakened. His dead heart gave a forced, painful throb.
The forest enveloped him, the branches whispering in a language that corrupted the mind, and the air became dense, almost liquid, filled with the presence of the king of the forest. The atmospheric pressure increased, making breathing difficult.
He moved forward.
As he placed Janab upon the bed, Isaiah swayed, his senses vulnerable for the first time in centuries. The vision vanished, leaving a heavy and oppressive silence. The walls of the room returned, but the sensation of dampness remained upon his skin.
He breathed with difficulty, his eyes fixed on her: her breathing was deep, stable, her aroma mortal and warm. There was no trace of the forest in the room, only in his memory.
How could she have faced such a demon without suffering any trauma? Until now, faith and devotion had been the only shield for humans against the invisible world. She had no faith, and yet, she was marked.
Isaiah understood that, through her, the demon had taken control over him. Abyater was not an indiscreet entity that amused itself with humans; the demonic royalty was, in every way, noble in conduct and wisdom. Surely he allowed the girl to return because he expected something from the vampire in exchange. The transaction had occurred without his consent.
And now, Isaiah was trapped in a debt to the Devourer of Souls.
The air in the room remained foul, and he knew he was not alone, even though no one else could see what had adhered to his shadow.
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