The pressure in Revvyn's ears was a dull, heavy roar, like the sound of a distant avalanche that refused to stop.
His lungs not only burned but they felt like they were being scraped from the inside with rusted iron.
Every time he tried to hold his breath, the murky, green water of the Whispering Springs forced its way into his nose and throat, tasting of salt, ancient silt, and the shiver of his own fear.
He thrashed, his limbs feeling like lead weights.
His heavy leather boots, usually his protection on the forest floor, were now anchors dragging him toward the dark.
The siren's fingers were locked around his left ankle, a cold, slimy vise that squeezed until he felt the bone groan.
She was pulling him deeper, into the silent, pressurized dark where the light of the surface was nothing but a dying memory.
His vision was tunneling. The edges of the world were bleeding into a thick, suffocating black. But in that final, terrifying second of consciousness, the water around him not only move but it exploded.
It was a swim of motion so fast it made the water hum.
Through eyes that stung with salt and grit, Revvyn saw them.
Pale, graceful shapes darting through the murk like predatory fish. They were impossibly white against the dark green of the depths.
When the siren saw them, she didn't fight. She let out a muffled, bubbling shriek that vibrated through Revvyn's chest, a sound of pure, primal terror.
Then blood.
A cloud of dark blue siren blood bloomed in the water, thick and oily as ink. The pale shapes swarmed the monster, their movements were coordinated. He saw a flash of a limb being torn away, the gray, bloated flesh of the siren being shredded into pieces.
Revvyn couldn't hold on any longer. His mouth opened on a reflex he couldn't control, sucking in a mouthful of foul, silt-heavy water.
His eyes rolled back into his head.
Just before the dark took him completely, he felt hands. They were smooth, soft, and uncomfortably cold as they grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him up.
♦♦♦
Revvyn woke.
He didn't wake up coughing or fighting for air.
He woke up to a world that felt soft.
The air didn't smell like the earth of the forest; it smelled of crushed jasmine and warm, thick honey. It was a cloying, heavy scent that sat in the back of his throat, making his head feel light and disconnected from his body.
Revvyn opened his eyes slowly. Everything was a milky blur.
The light wasn't the harsh, filtered green of the forest canopy. It was soft, a pale silver light that seemed to come from the walls themselves. He was lying on a bed that felt like it was made of spun silk, the fabric cool and slick against his skin.
He blinked, trying to focus on the ceiling. It was woven from smooth, polished vines that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light.
His body felt heavy, but it wasn't the heaviness of exhaustion. It was as if his blood had been replaced with warm, thick syrup. He tried to twitch his toes, but the signal felt like it took seconds to travel down his legs.
The soreness in his ribs—the lingering ache from the Goblin's cleaver—was gone. The burning in his lungs was replaced by a strange, minty coolness that made every breath feel effortless. Too effortless.
"Hush, traveler," a voice murmured.
It was a melodic sound, like water running over smooth stones. Revvyn let his head loll to the side.
A woman was sitting in a low chair beside the bed. She was beautiful in a way that made his stomach turn without knowing why. Her skin was as pale as moonlight, shimmering with a faint, iridescent sheen. Her eyes were large, polished orbs of amber that didn't seem to have pupils.
She wore a dress made of woven white leaves that looked like they were still growing. In her hand, she held a damp cloth, which she pressed gently to his forehead. The coldness of it made him flinch.
"You are safe," she whispered, her lips curling into a soothing, perfect smile. "The Nymphs of the Moon Forest have you now. Those water-hags cannot reach you here... You have given much of yourself to the water, now rest."
Revvyn stared at her, his mind struggling to grip a single thought.
His brain felt like it was packed with wet cotton. He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't remember why his hands were calloused. He couldn't remember the face of the red haired girl who had been screaming for him in the water.
Safe. The word felt like a warm blanket. He started to close his eyes again, wanting to sink back into the silk and the jasmine. He felt light. He felt empty.
But as he drifted, the emptiness started to ache. It was a sharp, hollow void in the center of his chest. It felt like a phantom limb, a connection that had been there for a lifetime, suddenly severed and bleeding. He tried to reach for it, but his mind just slid off the edges of the memory.
He shifted his right hand, his fingers brushing against the silk sheets. The moment he moved, a sharp, sudden spark of heat flared on the back of his hand.
Revvyn flinched. The heat was real. It felt like a needle of fire that pierced through the honeyed fog in his brain.
He dragged his heavy, uncoordinated arm up to his face, forcing his eyes to focus. Right below his knuckles, a jagged, indigo mark was glowing.
"What..." Revvyn mumbled.
The Nymph leaned over, her amber eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp intensity. The soothing smile stayed on her lips, but her posture went rigid.
"Do not look at it, sweet one," she said, her voice a fraction tighter. "It is just a bruise from the deep. A mark of the struggle. Let me wash it away."
She reached for his hand. Her fingers were freezing, they werecolder than the lake, colder than the dark.
The moment her skin touched the mark, the indigo ink exploded with a violent, violet light. A jolt of raw, unrefined energy shot up Revvyn's arm and slammed into his chest like a physical blow.
It hurt. It hurt so much that it tore through the drug-like fog in a single, jagged motion.
Revvyn gasped, ripping his hand out of her grip. He clutched his right hand to his chest, his heart suddenly found its rhythm again, thudding hard and fast against his ribs.
The ache in his head deepened into a sharp, clear pain as the past began to hammer back into his skull.
Syph? he thought, his head throbbing.
Silly? No. The mark on his hand pulsed with an angry, staccato beat.
"Syll," Revvyn rasped, his voice cracking.
The moment the name left his lips, the invisible dam in his mind broke.
CRACK.
It sounded like a pane of glass shattering inside his skull.
His Level 5 stats rushed back into his system, a flood of data and physical power that fought through the numbing agent in his blood.
His Mana surged, filling that hollow void in his chest with a heavy, grounding weight.
Memories hit him like a landslide. The rusted cleaver of the Goblin. Grimjaw's snarling face. The suffocating, humid heat of the Whispering Springs. Lily standing in the water, her eyes wide with fear. The red-haired girl screaming as the dark water swallowed him.
Revvyn's eyes snapped open wide. A sharp, ragged breath tore from his throat. The sweet smell of the jasmine was no longer pleasant; it was suffocating. It smelled like rot covered in expensive perfume. It smelled like a trap.
The pale woman holding the glowing cup paused. The soothing smile dropped from her face, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness. Her amber eyes locked onto his, searching his face for any sign that the guest had woken up.
"Sweet one?" she asked. Her voice had lost its melody. It was lower now, buzzing with a faint, insect-like vibration. "What troubles you?"
Every instinct in Revvyn's body screamed at him to scramble backward, to summon his cutlass, to kill everything in the room. But he didn't move. He forced his spine to stay pressed against the soft mattress. He kept his breathing shallow, forcing his expression to remain vacant and glazed.
He didn't look at her. He looked past her, using the slight blur in his vision to map the room.
Through the sheer, swaying drapes, he saw them. One was lounging on a woven bench in the corner, her fingers tracing a long, needle-thin blade.
Two were standing by an arched doorway, their bodies perfectly still, watching him like statues.
Another was near the window, her movements fluid and predatory as she poured water from an earthen jug.
Five of them.
Revvyn swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat tight.
He remembered the blurry, underwater massacre. He remembered these pale shapes tearing a siren—a creature twice their size—in half in seconds.
He was in a bed, unarmed, and his bag was nowhere in sight. If he started a fight now, he was dead.
Where is the red-haired girl? he thought, panic clawing at his throat. She didn't enter the water... right
He cut the thought off. He needed a plan. He needed to get out of this bed.
The glowing mark on his hand gave another faint, demanding throb. Syll was awake, and he was angry. Revvyn subtly shifted his arm, hiding his hand beneath the silk sheets to mask the indigo glow. He forced his rigid muscles to uncoil, letting his head loll back against the pillows.
"Just..." Revvyn muttered, keeping his voice thick and groggy. He rubbed his temple with his free hand, letting out a shaky, tired sigh.
"Just a bad dream. I thought... I thought I was still in the water. It was so cold and I couldn't see the surface."
The silence in the room held for a long, agonizing second. Revvyn could feel the eyes of the other four nymphs on him, weighing his words, looking for a slip.
Then, the woman's beautiful, fake smile returned. She leaned closer, and Revvyn caught the true scent of her breath, a rotting odd smell.
She pressed the rim of the glowing cup against his lips.
"The water is gone, traveler," she whispered. "Drink. The Nymphs of the Moon Forest will wash the bad dreams away. We only want you to be whole again. You have so much energy... it would be a shame to waste it on nightmares."
Revvyn looked at the liquid. It was a pale, shimmering white, like liquid moonlight. It was the sedative. It was the thing that had wiped his mind and turned his blood to syrup.
He opened his mouth.
He let the cool, sweet liquid flow onto his tongue. It had a minty taste. But he didn't let it slide down his throat. He tucked the liquid into the side of his cheek, holding his jaw at a precise, relaxed angle.
He closed his eyes. He let his breathing deepen, mimicking the slow, heavy rhythm of a man falling back into a drugged stupor. He let his hand go limp on the silk sheets.
"That's it," she cooed, her cold fingers stroking his hair with a touch that made his skin crawl.