Darius stood with his head bowed in sorrow as the rain fell silently, drenching both him and the villagers gathered for Amelia Larson's funeral. Amelia, his radiant cousin and betrothed, always so full of life, was now without one. Shrouded in white cloth, her body was lowered into a grave beneath the old tree in the valley, just beyond the edge of the village.
As Darius stared at the earth, willing back the tears that threatened to fall, his thoughts turned dark. He could not ignore the way Amelia had died. Not when it mirrored the death of his friend Larry Reuben earlier that week, or Caleb Salem, the merchant's son, the week before. And before them, Ernst Von.
All had perished in their sleep. All, just days or weeks after turning eighteen.
"Darius," came a voice, gentle yet worn, accompanied by a firm hand resting on his soaked shoulder.
He looked up to see his father, face etched with sorrow. Around them, the villagers were already departing, and Amelia's grave had been fully covered.
"Let's go home, son," the old man said quietly.
Darius gave a faint nod and followed as his father walked past him. But after only a few steps, he paused and turned back toward the fresh grave beneath the tree. That was when the tears finally came, silent and bitter.
Whatever had taken Amelia was not natural. And how he longed to understand what it was.
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Night fell. And as Darius sat by the hearth, sipping spoonfuls of chicken broth, a sudden wave of fever washed over him. He had felt unwell since the moment he'd learnt of Amelia's passing and had blamed the illness on grief and shock.
"What's the matter?" asked Deliah, his little sister, eyeing him with concern as he absently stirred his bowl.
"Nothing," Darius replied quickly, mustering a weak smile.
His gaze drifted to Darrell, his younger brother, who was eating heartily, unaware of the storm brewing in Darius's mind. Darius was twenty now, and Darrell would turn eighteen in just a week.
A chill ran through him. Not from his fever, but from fear.
Was Darrell next?
The thought gnawed at him. To lose a brother, as he had lost his beloved, would be more than he could bear. Yet many others had passed their eighteenth year without incident. Perhaps it was a coincidence… perhaps.
After the meal, Darius drank a bitter herbal concoction in hopes of breaking the fever. He climbed into bed as the wind howled outside, rattling the shutters and sending a biting chill through the room.
The air felt strange, and in the dark, he could not shake the feeling that something was drawing near.
The chill of the night was no match for the darkness that filled the air. This wasn't the first time this had happened, but tonight was a little different… a little too deadly.
Darius awoke in the deep hours of the night, unable to move a muscle, yet his senses were alive and his eyes wide open. He knew this feeling well. The villagers called it The Night Hag. And for Darius, it was no stranger. He had long since lost count of how many times it had crept upon him.
As always, panic struck first. He tried to cry out for Darell, his brother, sleeping just within sight, but no sound escaped his throat. His mouth moved, but the air held no voice.
Then, through the terror, he remembered. He need only remain calm. Just one small motion from his fingers. If he could move them, even a little, the spell would break, and wakefulness would return.
Darius focused all his strength on his hand, willing it to move. But suddenly, from the corner of the room, something drifted into view. Something that stole the breath from his lungs. It was a Being, hung there like a wisp of smoke, yet shaped as a man, its eyes burning with a steady light, bright as the flame of a lamp.
Terror seized Darius. The shadows that haunted his sleep paralysis had never taken form—never this. His heartbeat quickened, and it felt as though the air itself abandoned him.
The figure, as though sensing his dread, glided soundlessly from its corner to the ceiling above, hovering directly over Darius. It peered down with a strange curiosity that made Darius's skin crawl. Panic overtook him and he strained to move his fingers again, desperate to wake, but his body betrayed him.
Then, with slow, ghostly grace, the being descended. Its radiant eyes locked with Darius, unblinking. Darius tried to scream for Darrell, though he knew no sound would ever pass his lips.
The creature settled upon his chest, pressing its weight onto him. Its eyes blazed brighter, devastating Darius' vision until he was forced to squeeze them shut. And there, blinded and trembling, Darius whispered his final prayers into suffocating silence.
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Darius shut his eyes, trembling, and braced himself for the creature's harm. For a long while he lay there, whispering broken prayers through quivering lips, until he realised that nothing had happened. No weight pressed upon him, no breath chilled his skin.
Cautiously, he dared to open his eyes. Perhaps it had vanished, he thought. Perhaps it had all been some cruel dream.
As his eyelids fluttered apart, a pale light still shined above him, but it no longer burned his sight. The glow drifted higher, gentler now, as though receding into the heavens. Darius gaped as his vision cleared, and he found himself staring not at the creature, but at the moon, serene and distant.
"Outside?" Darius murmured. Then, all at once, he froze... he could speak again.
He sprang to his feet, his voice still echoing faintly in his ears as he looked around in disbelief. The ground beneath him was soft with green grass, and not far ahead, a cluster of trees rose like silent sentinels, forming the edge of a forest.
"How…?" he breathed with confusion mingling in his voice.
Darius turned in the opposite direction from the forest, and there, not far from where he stood, lay a vast lake. Its surface sparkled beneath the pale light, calm and endless. But there were no lakes in Hjem, his village, nor in any of the neighbouring ones.
"What is this place?" he whispered, bewildered. "Where am I?"
"Kriger!" A shout rang out from behind him.
Startled, Darius spun around. And from within the trees, a man burst forth, running hard towards him. Darius instinctively stepped back, unsure whether to flee or stand his ground, as the stranger drew closer, gasping for breath yet shouting that same strange word again.
"Kriger!"
The man was only a few paces away now. His face was strained with fear and pain. He wore the garb of a warrior; a thick woollen tunic beneath a padded leather armor, with a sheathed blade hanging at his side. His right hand clutched his left wrist tightly, his face twisted in agony.
"Kriger… help me," the warrior pleaded, his voice trembling, his eyes glistening with desperation.
"Kriger?" Darius stammered, with a pounding heart. "I—I don't understand…"
"Help me! Please!" the man cried, stumbling forward.
"Help you?... How?" Darius managed to utter, taking another step back, fear coursing through him.
"I need elixir," the man rasped.
"What?" Darius asked, still dazed and confused.
The stranger thrust out his injured wrist. The skin was swollen and discoloured, and dark veins crawled beneath it like cracks spreading through stone.
Darius recoiled with horror across his face. "What… what is that?"
The man let out a low growl of frustration and turned away, clutching his wrist tighter. "He doesn't even know what this is," he muttered bitterly. "We'll have to find another."
Darius blinked, glancing about in confusion. Was the man still speaking to him or to someone else unseen?
"He doesn't even know what an elixir is, how would he know where to find him?" The warrior continued without looking at Darius' direction.
Oh… Darius said in his mind. He is going mad.
"I don't have elixir," Darius said to the man. "But tell me, what other way can I help you?"
At that, the man turned sharply towards him. "Bale. Do you know how to find him?"
"Bale?" Darius echoed, frowning. "Who is that?"
The warrior scoffed and turned away once more, muttering under his breath.
"Please," Darius pressed, his voice uncertain but earnest, "tell me, how can I find this Bale… or the elixir?"
"You can't," the man said flatly, his voice low and hollow. Then he began to walk away.
Darius stood frozen, unable to make sense of what he had just witnessed, of where he was, or why any of this was happening.
But the man had taken only a few steps when he halted abruptly. His body tensed, and a cry of anguish tore from his throat. He lifted his face toward the heavens, clutching his wrist as though consumed by some unseen fire, and screamed.
Darius could only watch, rooted to the spot, fear gripping him once again. But then, a strange voice echoed within his mind.
>>Run<<
Darius spun about, searching wildly for the source. It could not have been the warrior—he was still writhing in agony, staggering from side to side as his cries tore through the air.
>>Run now!<< the voice thundered again, sharper, more urgent.
The warrior's screams rose to a dreadful pitch. Before Darius's eyes, the man's body began to swell, the dark veins spreading across his skin like cracks in shattered stone. His neck bulged, his flesh twisting in unnatural ways.
"Oh no…" Darius gasped. And in that instant, instinct took hold. He turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.
He had barely covered a few yards when a violent explosion erupted behind him. The force swept him off his feet, flinging him through the air. He crashed down hard into the shallow waters by the lakeshore, echoes temporarily deafening his ears.
Darius lay upon the waters, gasping for breath as the waves lapped gently beside him. When he raised his head to rise, his eyes caught his reflection upon the water's surface…
and he froze.
He gasped.
The face staring back was pale and ghostly. Long white hair framed it, with a single braid falling over each shoulder. And the ears were unnaturally pointy.
Darius scrambled to his feet, staring down at the image. His garments, too, were strange robes of white, trimmed with silver, like the warrior's but far more pristine.
"Who are you?" he whispered to the reflection. "What is happening?"
But the face in the water only mimicked him.
That was not his face. He had seen his reflection countless times before, and whoever this being was, it was most certainly not him.