The trees whispered.
Not in the way wind rustles leaves, but with voices—low, ancient murmurs that slid across Kael's skin like mist. He stood unsteadily at the edge of the stone altar, the sigil on his chest still glowing faintly through the torn fabric of his shirt.
Everything felt… louder. Every sound, every color. The creak of the trees, the hum of frostbite under his skin, the slow heartbeat of something massive buried beneath the earth.
He staggered away from the altar, snow crunching underfoot, half-expecting the trees to open their roots and drag him under.
But nothing came.
Only silence.
Kael's hand trembled as he reached for the knife at his belt—until he realized it wasn't there anymore. Just a melted circle in the snow where he must've dropped it… but it had vanished.
He turned and started walking, not because he knew where to go, but because if he stood still any longer, he feared the forest would remember he was prey.
By midday, the woods began to change.
The trees were twisted here. Gnarled like crippled old men, their bark as black as pitch. Every step Kael took sent whispers through the canopy above.
He passed bones—too many of them. Animal. Human. Some still wearing rusted bits of armor or rotted satchels.
He didn't stop to search them. Something told him not to.
The hunger grew sharper now. He hadn't eaten in almost two days, and his body ached for warmth and food. He bent down to drink from a frozen stream, broke the ice with a stone, and tasted the water.
It was warm.
And sweet.
He jerked back, wiping his mouth, suddenly afraid. Normal water wasn't supposed to taste like blood and sugar.
Then he saw them.
Eyes. Watching from the trees. Dozens of them—some the size of lanterns, others small and quick like spiders. They didn't blink. They didn't move.
He backed away.
The forest didn't follow.
But it waited.
By nightfall, the cold returned like a curse. His limbs were shaking, his breath heavy and ragged. He found a hollow beneath an old root and crawled inside.
Sleep didn't come easy.
He dreamed of fire. A dark ocean. A throne made of antlers. And a figure sitting on it—shrouded in rags and smoke. Its face was a void.
"You are bound to me now, child of dirt. Blood abandoned. Soul reclaimed."
Kael gritted his teeth in the dream. "What are you?"
"I am the shadow between gods. The hunger beneath fate. I am what your world has forgotten… but what your enemies will remember when they scream."
Kael stared into the nothing where its eyes should've been.
"Why me?"
"Because you were nothing. And nothing is the perfect vessel."
He woke gasping, his cloak damp with sweat despite the cold.
And then he heard it.
A low growl.
Kael rolled out from under the roots just in time to avoid the swipe of something massive—covered in fur and shadow. It snarled, eyes glowing red, and circled him.
It wasn't a wolf.
It wasn't anything natural.
This thing stood on two legs, its back arched like a man's but its head a twisted mockery of a stag's skull, antlers cracked and curling inward like claws. Its breath steamed like smoke from a furnace.
Kael backed away slowly, hands raised.
The creature lunged.
He barely dodged the strike, tumbling through snow and mud. It came again, faster than it should be, claws slashing. He blocked with his arms, felt searing pain as something sharp tore across his forearm.
Blood sprayed the ground.
The monster stopped.
It sniffed the air.
Then it hissed and recoiled—like the scent offended it.
Kael blinked. His blood… it was black. Not fully. Not human.
The sigil on his chest flared.
The creature snarled again, more cautious this time.
Kael didn't understand what was happening. But something deep in his bones did.
He lunged forward, not with logic, but instinct.
His fist slammed into the beast's side—and it howled.
Not because of strength.
But because Kael's touch burned it.
The sigil pulsed again.
Symbols swam across his vision.
BIND.
The voice from the altar. Again. Inside him.
Kael reached out without understanding what he was doing—his blood still dripping into the snow.
And the creature froze.
Its body spasmed, limbs jerking violently, smoke pouring from its mouth as it shrieked and twisted on the ground. Black veins crawled over its fur, and its red eyes dimmed.
Then, silence.
Kael collapsed beside it, panting.
The body didn't move.
Then—
It dissolved. Into ash. Into memory.
And part of it—entered him.
He didn't scream. He couldn't. It wasn't painful.
It was powerful.
Like he'd stolen fire and swallowed it.
He stood shakily. The wound on his forearm sealed itself shut. Not healed—sealed. Like a brand.
He looked at his palm. Something invisible pulsed there now. Something ancient.
The next day, Kael walked with purpose.
He no longer feared the eyes watching from the trees. Some of them even blinked and disappeared as he passed.
He came upon an old, abandoned hunter's cabin near the edge of a frozen cliff. Half of it had collapsed, but the hearth still stood.
He sparked a fire. Sat. Thought.
Who had he become?
He didn't know.
But he knew one thing:
Blackridge would learn his name.
Not as a servant. Not as a bastard.
But as a curse.