The old wooden door groaned softly as Iris gently pushed it open with her slender fingers. A chill from outside slipped in, brushing against her warm skin. A faint breeze stirred the dust into spiraling wisps. She froze—the faint scent of blood hit her nose, growing stronger with every inch the door creaked open.
The air inside the room felt frozen in time. Dim shadows clung to the walls, pierced only by a thin line of silver light streaming through a small window behind her, illuminating the drifting dust. The faint outlines of antique furniture emerged from the gloom. Iris scanned the room, heart pounding, searching for any sign of movement.
"Isen?" Her whisper barely disturbed the silence.
Only emptiness replied.
She swallowed hard. Her breath turned to pale mist in the cold air. Stepping into the room, the floorboards groaned under her weight, as if the house was warning her to leave.
A trail of vivid red led from the threshold to the far-left corner, ending near an old wooden cabinet—one that reminded her of her childhood, back when fear was just something found in storybooks. Not like now, when it gripped every inch of her body.
Her right hand clenched her bow so tightly her knuckles turned white. She had walked through snow more times than she could count, but the cold rising from the floor now was different. It wasn't the chill of weather or wood—it seeped from within, born of dread and uncertainty.
"Where did you go..." she murmured, eyes locked on the bloodstains guiding her to the cabinet.
She took another careful step. The floor creaked faintly. Her fingers began to ache from how tightly she was gripping the bow. A sense of wrongness crept into her chest—a gut-deep feeling that she was being watched.
"Don't move… Put the bow down."
A low, raspy voice came from behind—sudden, without warning, as though it had materialized from the void itself. A jolt of cold raced down Iris's spine. Her blood turned to ice in an instant.
It was a man's voice—worn and broken by time or pain, yet laced with undeniable authority. A voice shaped by experience and resolve, like someone who had crossed the boundary between life and death more than once.
Time seemed to halt. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, making it hard to breathe. Her muscles locked. Every instinct screamed at her to turn and face the threat, but her reason told her to stay still.
Was that his voice? The thought flashed through her mind. No... but what if it is? She hesitated, wanting to turn and see for herself.
But the alarm in her head rang clear—don't move. There could be a knife at her back, or a sword ready to strike when she twitched.
The silence stretched, unbearable. Iris took a slow, steady breath, though her chest felt like it would explode, and lowered herself carefully to place her bow on the cold wooden floor.
Her fingers lingered on the bow, hesitant, reluctant to let it go. A raw vulnerability crept over her as her hand withdrew.
She heard a shift behind her—soft leather soles moving slightly, as if the speaker adjusted his stance to get a better view.
"Good… just like that. Slowly. Now take one step back from the bow."
Iris obeyed, stepping back with deliberate caution. The air shifted around her; she could feel the presence behind her growing closer.
"Who are you…" Her voice was quiet but firm, only a slight tremor revealing the tension she was hiding. "What did you do to Isen?"
Silence again—too long for a simple question. Long enough for her to wonder if she had said something wrong, or if the stranger simply wanted her disarmed before disappearing again.
"Answer me…" she pressed, her tone sharper now, emotions bubbling to the surface. Fear twisted into anger—anger brewed by the anxiety that had followed her the entire way here.
Still, the man said nothing. His breathing was so soft it nearly disappeared into the silence.
"If you mean to hurt me, think twice." Her voice grew steadier. Though still kneeling, her back was straight, shoulders tight. "I'm not the kind of woman who makes an easy victim."
Then she heard it—footsteps moving closer.
One step...
Two...
Three...
Iris held her breath. She felt the faint warmth of someone standing behind her. A mix of blood, sweat, and old snow clung to the air, like someone who had just clawed their way out of death.
And then...
A faint exhale brushed her ear.
"…Iris?"
The voice was raspier than before. Weak—but familiar.
Her heart nearly stopped.
"…Isen?"
His expression softened.
"…Finally found you…"
The words were barely audible, a breeze of breath—yet they carried a weight that crushed her heart. They sounded like comfort, but hit her like a confession. Iris's eyes widened. Something deeper stirred in her—this wasn't just longing. It was the voice of someone who had fled darkness for so long, only to find one last sliver of light before it vanished.
And before she could react—
He moved.
Slowly.
Each step was heavy, like his body was about to give out. He looked pale in the dim light. His face was a shadow, but his eyes—they were still Isen's. Or what was left of him.
He came closer.
And wrapped his arms around her from behind.
His embrace was tighter than she expected. He trembled violently, blood soaking through his sleeves. The sharp scent of it hit her like a blow. It smeared across her clothes, warm and wet—not from their closeness, but from wounds that hadn't stopped bleeding.
"Blood... this is blood…"
Her body locked up. Time froze. Her arms hung in the air, unsure whether to rise or push him away.
His shoulders shook, like he was trying to speak.
…
His lips brushed her ear again. A whisper. She couldn't catch the words. His voice broke—like a breath at the edge of exhaustion.
Then, suddenly—
He collapsed.
Heavy—so heavy she almost went down with him.
"Isen!" she screamed in her mind, but no sound left her lips.
His weight slumped over her shoulder, half of him draped against her. The smell of blood thickened. She felt his heartbeat—faint, fading.
Her heart pounded, wild and erratic.
What is this… what happened to him? Why is there so much blood? What did he go through…?
The house fell silent again, as if the world itself had returned to its grave. No wind. No snow. Not even his breath—only the deafening echo of her heartbeat in her skull.
Iris kept trembling. Her arms rose slowly, touched his back, then wrapped around him, not knowing what else to do.
Her head filled with questions. With fear. With confusion. And pain.
This isn't how it was supposed to happen… not like this…
She shut her eyes tight, holding her breath to stop the flood of emotion. But the more she held it in, the more her tears brimmed.
Isen's touch remained—warm, messy, real.
He was still alive.
And now, the only thing that mattered—
Was saving him.