Darkness.
It wasn't the kind that came with nightfall, but a suffocating void that pressed against Asher's skin, seeping into his bones.
He stirred, the coarse rope biting into his wrists, the chair beneath him cold and unyielding. His mouth was sealed, the taste of adhesive sharp on his tongue.
The room was cold, but the smell of something far too familiar wafted in, tickling his senses. Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs.
The absurdity of it almost made him laugh, if not for the fear coiling in his gut.
Asher's throat burned with every swallow, his body aching from the shock of being bound and dragged.
His stomach growled in response, a cruel reminder of how long it had been since he'd last eaten.
His eyes flicked to the door as it creaked open, the faint light from the hallway spilling into the darkened room.
The figure that stepped inside was tall, but not imposing in the usual way. There was something almost…calm about him.
The man was in his late 40s, maybe 50s, with dark hair speckled with gray. His face was sharply carved—piercing blue eyes that felt like they could see through Asher's skin, through his thoughts.
His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and his beard, neatly trimmed, added an odd sense of order to the chaos of the situation.
Asher's pulse quickened, and his instincts told him that the man was not normal. There was something in the way he moved, the way his gaze lingered, that made the hairs on Asher's neck stand up.
The stench that clung to him was off—a deathly scent, like something that had no right to be alive.
The man smiled, a grin that felt too practiced, too knowing. It didn't reach his eyes.
Untying the ropes, he stood back, watching Asher like some kind of specimen. "Where were you running off to at such a time, lad?" he asked, his voice low, too gentle.
Asher opened his mouth but closed it again, unsure of what to say.
He licked his dry lips. "I was… uh... looking for something."
The man chuckled, the sound soft and chilling. "Lies," he murmured, setting a glass of water in front of Asher. "You're not much of a liar, are you?"
The gaze that followed him was relentless. Like the man knew everything—everything.
"You must be Asher, right?" he asked, as though reading his thoughts. "Adopted by that wretched family."
Asher blinked, unable to hide his surprise. The man knew about him, about Sarah and James. But how?
The smile on the man's face deepened, twisting in a way that made Asher's gut twist with unease. It was a smile that hid secrets—secrets that were far too dangerous to speak out loud.
He pushed a plate of pancakes, bacon, and eggs toward Asher, the food almost mocking in its perfection. "Eat. You must be starving."
Asher stared at the food, his stomach betraying him. He wanted to refuse, to keep up the defiance, but something about the man's unblinking stare made him hesitate.
His fork trembled slightly as he reached for the food, but he couldn't keep the questions at bay. "Who are you?" he finally asked, his voice rough, unsteady.
The man's fingers steepled, his eyes glinting with something dark and knowing. "I've been watching you, Asher," he said, his voice quiet, soothing in a way that made Asher want to recoil.
The words hit like a slap, and Asher froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. "Watching me?" he repeated, as though he didn't understand.
The man leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed, studying him with unnerving intensity. "You see, Asher, you're not like other boys. You have… potential."
Potential? Asher's mind raced. What the hell did that even mean?
He opened his mouth, but the man rose before he could speak. A low, almost comforting chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Enough for tonight, Asher. You've had a long day."
Asher's heart pounded, but he said nothing as the man guided him to another room. The soft candlelight flickered in the dim space, casting long shadows that danced along the walls, eerily calm.
The room smelled faintly of lavender, a stark contrast to the cold dread that gnawed at Asher's insides.
The man's hand rested lightly on his shoulder, steering him like a docile animal.
"Rest now," the man murmured, his voice so low it felt like a lullaby. "You'll need your strength. Tomorrow will be... interesting."
Asher's skin prickled at the words, and the man's retreating figure seemed to blur, fading into the shadows as the door shut behind him with a quiet click.
The room was still, but the air hummed with a promise.
The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. And Asher, alone with his thoughts, felt a tinge of dread settle in his chest.
Asher's mind spun, the fog of confusion thickening like a heavy blanket pressing down on him.
First, he was bound like a prisoner in some forgotten dungeon, and now... now he was being treated like a guest at some eerie feast.
His body was sore, his senses dulled, but the nagging feeling of unease refused to leave.
The exhaustion crept up on him like a thief in the night, pulling his heavy eyelids shut, despite the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Sleep, however, was not his friend.
Nightmares—strange and twisted—took hold of him.
He often found himself standing in the middle of an endless darkness but this...this was different, the glow of unnatural eyes peering out from the void.
Strange, contorted figures with horns and wings loomed near him, their faces distorted, grinning with a sinister glee.
The air was thick with an eerie chant—low, guttural, words in a language that stung his ears. The sound danced around him like a forgotten melody, but it felt wrong, ancient.
Evil.
He tried to reach for them, his hand trembling as the shadows seemed to reach back. They were closer now, just a breath away.
Then—
A gasp tore through his throat.
Asher shot up from the bed, heart pounding, drenched in sweat, his breath coming in frantic gasps. The air in the room was stifling, the candlelight flickering dimly, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to close in around him.
The weight of the nightmares still clung to his mind, like a thick fog that refused to lift.
He needed air—fresh air.
He couldn't breathe in here. The walls were closing in.
He rose, shakily, legs unsteady beneath him, the room spinning with disorienting vertigo.
His hand trembled as it gripped the door handle. Slowly, cautiously, he eased it open.
The creak of the old wood beneath his feet was loud in the silence, but it didn't matter. His pulse thrummed in his ears, drowning out everything else.
Asher stepped into the dim hallway, the faint light from the crack of dawn barely illuminating the space ahead of him.
He thought it was morning, but the sense of time here—this place—seemed warped.
Then, a muffled voice drifted up from below, slicing through the tension in the air.
"…Get the kid, don't worry." The voice was low, dismissive, with an edge of impatience.
A second voice replied, darker, heavier. "You've taken long enough to get him here. We won't wait any longer. The Order is growing restless."
Asher froze, a shiver creeping down his spine.
The first voice was quick to respond, anxiety edging its tone. "I'll bring him to you once he wakes up."
A growl rumbled from below, sharp and menacing. "Before he wakes up? Can you hear yourself, Callisto?" The voice cracked through the stillness like thunder, raw and urgent.
The voice continued, deep and gravelly. "We have to act fast before the clans find him, Callisto. You know what's at stake."
Clans?
Asher's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't heard that word in so long, not in this context. But the real fear, the one that gnawed at him now, was not the conversation—it was the calm that draped over him.
The voice in his head screamed for him to run, to flee, to escape.
But his feet stayed rooted to the floor.
The weight of his own indifference made him sick.
Why didn't he want to escape? Why didn't he feel the urgency? Was he... was he already so broken?
Something was wrong. His mind wasn't his own.
But still, he stayed. Frozen. Listening.
He made the decision before he could talk himself out of it.
See for yourself. Maybe something—anything—would finally make sense.
Asher's boots creaked against the wooden stairs, each step loud in the hush of the waking hour.
The candlelight below flickered erratically, like it, too, sensed something was wrong.
He reached the last step—then froze.
Callisto, his captor, turned abruptly, eyes wide with surprise.
The other man—the one Asher had heard—vanished.
No, not vanished.
Disintegrated.
Right before his eyes, the figure shimmered, then dissolved into the air like ash scattered by wind.
Asher staggered back, heart pounding. "What... how—?" The words barely left his lips.
He blinked. Had he imagined it?
Callisto's face darkened, his warm veneer crumbling.
"What are you doing here?" he barked.
"I just needed air," Asher stammered, still dazed. "But—he just fucking disappeared!"
A beat of silence. Then something shifted.
The man's eyes burned—not with concern, but fury. Cold, volcanic rage, too still to be natural.
Without warning, Callisto surged forward. His grip was iron. Asher struggled, breath caught in his throat, but the man's strength was inhuman.
Callisto dragged him back up the stairs, not saying a word, not loosening his hold.
The door to the room flew open, then slammed shut behind him with a deafening bang.
Asher stumbled, caught his footing, then lunged for the door. He beat against it with trembling fists.
"Hey! Let me out!"
His voice cracked. Tears welled up, unbidden, spilling hot and fast down his cheeks. It surprised him more than the vanishing man.
He couldn't remember the last time he cried.
Not when James beat him for breathing too loudly.
Not when the twins spat curses at his back.
Not even when they lowered Sarah into the ground.
He slid down the door, back pressed against it, fists limp at his sides. "Maybe this is what I deserve," he whispered.
Regret gnawed at his chest like rust on metal.
Maybe he should've stayed.
Endured James.
Survived the silence.
At least then, he knew the shape of the darkness.
Now… he didn't even know if he was real in this world of vanishing men and unnatural strength.
His breathing slowed. The silence returned—heavy, unmoving.
He pulled his knees to his chest.
The candlelight flickered weakly in the corner,
casting long, twisted shadows on the wall—dancing around him like specters of a truth he hadn't yet earned.
And somewhere, deep inside, something whispered:
You were never meant to stay hidden.
To be continued...