The hairs on my arms prickled as violent energy crackled through my veins, like lightning coiling for a strike. I whipped around, snatched the glaive from where it leaned against the stable's splintered post, and leveled its curved blade at the source of the voice.
Dark whispers invaded my mind, wrapping around my thoughts like a blanket of aggression.
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A young girl stood hesitantly by one of the stable's weathered posts, her body ready to bolt. She looked roughly my age. Violet eyes gleamed beneath tousled black bangs, small curved horns peeking through. She looked otherworldly, draped in rags and grime. My gut said dangerous, and I knew that was wrong.
A flicker of sense cut through. Paranoia. *This is wrong. She's not an enemy.*
Her face tightened at the sight of the glaive. She raised her hands, palms open. "Please," she whispered, voice thin. "I'm not a threat. I was just passing by and saw you crying…"
She tilted her head, studying me with rapid, clinical focus. "Are you… from this farm?" she asked quietly. "I haven't seen anyone my age in a long time." She hesitated. "Most of the other children were…" Her eyes drifted past me. "Well… you should know."
I lowered the glaive a fraction and leaned on it. "No," I said bluntly. "I stopped to rest. I've been running from the dead and some oddly dressed men."
Recognition and fear crossed her face. She hugged her arms to her chest. "The men in robes?" she murmured. "You should be careful with them. When they take you, there's no coming back."
My eyes narrowed as paranoia crept in again. "You know these people? They killed a friend of mine… and if I find out you're connected…"
She waved both hands in panic. "No! You've got it wrong. They've been chasing me for a long time."
A sigh slipped out. "Okay. I get it. Calm down."
Studying me, she asked, "Are you injured? I only ask because of the bandages on your face. If you need treatment, I have a friend nearby who can help…"
I shook my head and leaned forward. "Mind your business. I don't need help."
Her eyes drifted to the fresh grave. "So, you buried one? The undead," she said, puzzled. "Why? People say you're supposed to burn them."
I shifted. "Because I felt like it," I muttered.
She gave a small, jerky nod, accepting too easily, as if disagreeing was dangerous. "Okay. Keep your secrets, then. I get it."
Suspicion flared. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"
She flinched at my tone, bare toes digging into the dirt. "I was hiding," she said, her voice dropping to a tremor. "From them. The men. They… chased me. Like I said, they're always chasing me."
A knot twisted in my gut. A shred of sympathy surfaced. Always running. That's no way to live.
She forced herself to meet my eyes. Fear gave way, briefly, to pleading hope. "When I saw you crying," she said softly, almost placating, "you seemed… alone. I thought maybe we could help each other."
That desperate neediness, that compulsion to help. She would end up like the old man. "Get lost," I snapped, flicking the glaive's tip. "I don't need a partner, especially one liable to get us both killed. I'm no good the way I am. I don't need a leech."
Her face crumpled, as if the words struck. Tears welled in her violet eyes, and a choked sob escaped. She turned and ran into the trees, silent as a ghost.
Guilt gnawed as she vanished. The collapse was so absolute, so childlike, it felt like I'd kicked a puppy. A harder part of me wondered if the tears were just a tool. I shoved the thought down. I could barely fend for myself. How was I supposed to carry someone else?
I hauled the glaive to the front of the farmhouse and practiced in wide arcs. The weapon was heavy, its balance foreign, tugging at muscles that screamed. The strange energy from the fight had eased the pain: wounds had knit, and the deep ache in my leg dulled to a throb. Still, my slight frame was too weak for full control. I kept swinging in wild, momentum-heavy cuts that pulled me off balance, the blade whistling, until my arms burned and sweat soaked my shirt.
Her face kept flashing in my mind. I was right to push her away. Survival demanded it. It still felt wrong.
Mid-swing, I felt it: eyes on me from within. The Revenant's long-dead gaze pressed on my thoughts, judging my callousness. *Why do you even care?*
I let the glaive thud to the ground. "Fine!" I shouted at the empty air, a lunatic arguing with ghosts. "I'll find her and drag her back. If she gets us killed, it's not my fault."
If she dies out there, it's on me… I don't think I can handle another death on my account.
I scooped up the glaive and followed where she'd fled. The forest swallowed me quickly. Towering pines choked the light, and resin stung the air. Pushing through sparse underbrush, I passed a trunk raked with deep gouges far above my head. A tuft of coarse black fur snagged in the splinters. Whatever made those marks was huge.
I pressed on, the memory of those claws prickling at the back of my mind. The woods grew colder as the sun dipped, shadows stretching long and warped. Every snap became a footstep, every rustle a threat. Annoyance at my sentimental errand wrestled with a creeping dread that tightened the deeper I went.
A new smell cut through the pine: woodsmoke, sharp and acrid, tinged with something sickly sweet. An orange glow pulsed ahead. Caution overrode frustration. I slowed and used the trees for cover.
The canopy opened into a small clearing. A cabin burned. The thatch was devoured and the door smashed in. Someone had lived here, that is until very recently.
I watched from the treeline, heart pounding. The clearing was empty. Only the hiss and crackle of flame. When I was sure, I crept forward, glaive ready.
Mud churned around the cabin. In the firelight, tracks stood clear: several sets of heavy boot prints, and smaller, frantic marks of bare feet digging into the earth. The girl's tracks. All of them led away from the ruin, deeper into the forest.
They have her.
Cold fury settled in my gut. I followed, fast and grim. The tracks were fresh. Night fell like a curtain, and the woods turned to ink.
My vision slid into low-light grays. The dark was never a problem for me. Nothing moved nearby, but the woods were not empty. A low growl rolled from my left, then the heavy crack of a branch snapping under weight. Not human. Big. A musky reek of wet fur and old blood drifted by. I froze.
Before panic could root me, a new sound carried through the trees ahead: rhythmic chanting.
Then the screams came, ragged but human, splitting the night. Was it the girl?
I dashed to the clearing's edge and peered from behind a gnarled pine. Tied to a pole amid the flames was what remained of a woman, body charred black, skin cracking like overbaked earth. Her eyes still burned with rage, and they locked on mine across the fire. A wave of fury crashed over me, raw and demanding: Kill them. Kill them all. The flames leaped higher and swallowed her in orange heat.
The girl knelt by the fire, gagged, head bowed. Her rags were gone. Mud streaked her skin and did nothing to hide how vulnerable she was.
A growl rumbled in my throat. This was why I hadn't wanted to get involved. Instincts shifted; parts of me were already plotting.
I have to stop this.
Figures in dark robes ringed the flames, their hoods shadowing their faces as they droned to the pyre like it was a god. Two burly men flanked them, hoods low over sweat-slick chests, each gripping a saw-toothed blade that gleamed in the firelight.
Guards.
With an unwieldy glaive and a body still mending, I was outmatched.
Dark, dissonant whispers gripped me as I stepped toward what came next.
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