The night was colder than it should have been. A thin veil of fog crept low across Duskmere, curling between houses, muffling the usual sounds of crickets and night birds. Lanterns flickered uneasily in the square as though their flames sensed what the villagers did not.
Kael sat awake in his bed, staring at the shuttered window. Sleep was impossible. The image of the hooded figure by the river haunted him, replaying each time he blinked. He could still feel the weight of those crimson eyes pressing against him, as if they had marked him, claimed him.
Every instinct from his past lives screamed the same thing: danger was no longer distant. It was here.
He rose quietly, careful not to wake Mira or his parents. Pulling on his worn boots and cloak, he slipped out into the night. The mist swallowed him at once, cool against his skin, carrying with it a faint, metallic tang that made his stomach twist.
The village was still, but not at peace. Dogs whined softly in their kennels. The reeds by the river shifted though no wind blew. Kael's steps were nearly silent as he made his way toward the docks.
The river glowed faintly beneath the fractured moons, its surface rippling with strange patterns. Kael crouched by the edge, his reflection shivering in the dark water. His hand hovered near it, but he stopped himself. He would not be lured again.
Instead, he whispered to the night. "I know you're here."
At first there was only silence. Then the fog thickened, rolling across the water like a curtain. From within it, whispers bled out.
"…soul-bearer…"
"…return…"
"…inevitable…"
The same voices from before, a chorus of despair. Kael's chest tightened. He clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms.
"Show yourself," he demanded. His voice shook, but he forced strength into it. "You hide in shadows like cowards. Face me."
The river shuddered. Ripples spread outward though nothing had disturbed the surface. The whispers grew louder, overlapping, until the air seemed to vibrate with them.
Then the water broke.
Shapes erupted from the surface—dark, writhing figures formed of mist and shadow. Their limbs were long and twisted, their faces warped parodies of human features. They crawled onto the docks, dripping with black water that steamed as it touched the wood.
Kael stumbled back, heart pounding. They were smaller than the horrors he had fought in his past lives, but their presence was the same. Corruption given form. Servants of the eternal darkness.
The nearest one hissed, its mouth stretching too wide, jagged teeth glistening with liquid night. It lunged.
Kael moved on instinct. His hand grabbed a broken oar lying near the docks, swinging it in a wide arc. The wood cracked against the creature's head, scattering it into vapor. But before he could breathe, two more rose from the water, their fingers clawing at him with inhuman shrieks.
He ducked, sweeping the oar again, but it splintered under the force. He stumbled, rolling across the damp planks as claws scraped where his head had been a moment ago.
Panic surged, but so did memory. He was not just Kael. He was Aedric, who had fought armies. He was Lorien, who had faced shadows with runes and knowledge. Their strength lived in him.
He grabbed the jagged half of the oar like a spear, forcing himself to breathe steadily. "I've killed you before," he hissed. "I'll kill you again."
The creatures circled, their whispers twisting into laughter.
"…failed before…"
"…you will fail again…"
One lunged. Kael sidestepped, driving the broken oar through its chest. The form dissolved into smoke, shrieking as it scattered. Another clawed his back, leaving burning pain across his shoulder. He cried out, spinning, slamming the weapon upward to break it apart.
But for every one he struck down, more rose from the river. Five. Seven. Ten. Their shapes blurred, merging and splitting, endless.
His chest heaved. His arms ached. He could not win like this.
Think.
The runes. Lorien's runes. He remembered them, etched into his mind like scars. His lips moved, whispering old words that no one in Duskmere had ever spoken. His finger traced the air, sketching a symbol that glowed faintly blue.
The creatures recoiled at once, hissing. The rune burned brighter, pulsing with a heat Kael felt in his bones.
"Burn," he whispered, and the symbol flared.
Light erupted from his palm, searing white, cutting through the mist like dawn. The creatures shrieked as the glow tore through them, unraveling their forms into nothing. The river boiled where the light touched it, and the whispers screamed before vanishing altogether.
Silence returned. The fog thinned. The water stilled.
Kael collapsed to his knees, his whole body shaking. Sweat drenched him, and his shoulder throbbed with pain. The rune's glow faded, leaving only a faint scorch on the dock.
He stared at his trembling hand. The power had answered him. The knowledge of Lorien was not gone. It was his now.
But so was the cost. His head pounded as though his skull would split. His vision blurred. The runes were not meant for mortal minds—he knew that well. Lorien had died chasing them. If Kael was not careful, so would he.
A faint sound drew his gaze upward.
Across the river, on the bank where the figure had stood before, someone was watching. Not a shadow, but a man cloaked in black, hood drawn low. He leaned on a staff, posture calm, as if he had been observing the entire battle.
Kael froze. His breath hitched.
The man lifted his head just enough for moonlight to catch his face. Pale skin, eyes faintly glowing red. A smile that was not human.
"Not bad," the man's voice carried easily over the water, smooth and mocking. "You lasted longer this time."
Kael's blood ran cold.
The man tapped his staff lightly against the ground. The fog thickened around him, swallowing his form. In moments, he was gone.
Kael staggered to his feet, fists clenched, heart hammering so loud he could hear it in his ears.
The darkness had shown its hand. No more whispers from afar. It had servants here, now. Watching. Testing.
And it knew him.
He stared at the river until the first light of dawn crept over the horizon.
This life would not be like the others.
This time, he swore, he would not fail.