Violet
The sound came first—slow, dragging steps, each creak of the wooden floor echoing inside my chest. My mind still floated in shadows, my eyes opening with effort, yet the world remained blurred, as if I were trying to see through fogged glass.
Slowly, my vision returned in trembling lines: a figure moved through the gloom, a long, black, faded cloak swaying with every step. The fabric seemed to have absorbed centuries of dust, sweat, and moonless nights.
A strong smell filled the air, unexpected and almost cruel. Food. Something simmered in some corner of the cabin, an aroma of meat, rustic spices, and smoke. My stomach ached at the recognition, but fear was quicker than hunger. A knot of panic rose to my throat, and I tried to scream.
That was when I realized—my lips were bound by a coarse cloth, and my wrists tied with ropes that scraped my skin. Terror consumed me. I struggled, thrashing against the bindings, every desperate movement reverberating against the dry wooden walls.
The figure stopped. Its head turned slowly, as if it had no hurry at all to answer. The cloak brushed the floor and, in a voice that seemed to come from more than one mouth, it echoed:— Don't worry. The greater danger has already passed.
A pause. The smell of food grew stronger, and then I heard the bubbling of liquid.— Dinner is almost ready.
And a laugh. Not a common human laugh, but something multiple, distorted, as if many voices laughed at once inside a single body. A shiver ran from my neck down to my ankles.
I stopped struggling. But not fearing.
My eyes searched the space around me, forced to accept the truth of where I was. That cabin was nothing like the other one—there was no quiet comfort, no details that reminded me of my mother's care. Nothing here carried tenderness. Nothing carried life.
The walls were dark, built from roughly cut logs still bearing strips of bark. The low ceiling dripped with leaks, the wood rotting from time. The worn floorboards split with gaps where the wind hissed. Instead of dried flowers or light curtains, only spiderwebs swayed.
In the corner, a cauldron hung over the fire, spitting sparks that clung to the shadows. No paintings, no tapestries, only animal bones strung like talismans and charcoal marks scratched into the beams. It was a home of darkness, not of memories.
And I was trapped inside it.
The figure advanced with heavy steps, the floorboards groaning under the weight of its boots. My body shrank instinctively, as if I could fold into myself and disappear. I kept my gaze fixed on the ground, heart racing.
The voice, when it came, held no comfort, though the words pretended at peace.— I'll remove your gag… and we'll set the record straight. You need to understand why I did this. But first, I have many questions.
My bound hands throbbed against the ropes. I swallowed hard and nodded, a timid gesture from someone who knew there was no choice. The chair I sat in seemed made of the old branches of some twisted tree; each time I moved, splinters threatened to pierce my skin. I stayed still.
When the gag was removed, the cold air of the cabin cut my cracked lips. At last I dared to lift my eyes… and wished I hadn't.
What I saw stole my breath.It wasn't just a stranger. It was a warrior of Aurum.
A golden mask covered his face, marked with cracks that caught the firelight. From one slit glowed a burning red eye, alive, pulsing like an ember. The other was the opposite: black, void, like the darkest starless night. With every word, his voice echoed out of rhythm, as if not one but many mouths spoke together from within the mask.
— Are you hungry? — he asked.
I choked on the answer, my mind spinning with fears of poison, of traps, of a quick death. I forced the words, almost a whisper:— N-no… I'm not.
The figure leaned closer, breath rattling inside the mask.— Don't worry. — A wisp of smoke slipped through the metal cracks as he drew from an improvised cigarette. — I don't intend to kill you. Nor to use you as a bargaining chip.
The flames reflected on the golden mask, making him seem alive, monstrous.
— In truth… — he continued, releasing a cloud of smoke that drifted across the room, leaking from every fracture in the metal. — Protecting you is more advantageous to me than anything else.
Confusion crashed over me like a river in flood. My chest heaved, and no response made sense.
He laughed, a layered sound reverberating against the cabin walls. Then he spoke, with a calmness that felt even more dangerous:— You are about to learn the entire history of Cartara. Everything the four kingdoms hide. And even the truth of a forgotten magic.
My heart stopped for an instant.— Magic…? — I murmured, my voice trembling.
The warrior drew another breath, the red glow in his eye intensifying.— Yes. All magic was freed when your sister left this world.
The color drained from my face. The air grew dense, almost unbreathable.— My sister…? What does she have to do with this?
He let out another laugh, dry and harsh, like iron grinding iron.— Not just her, Violet. You too.
The mask gleamed as he stepped closer, smoke spilling from every crack as if the cabin itself breathed with him.— You are the chosen one. The girl of prophecy. The one who will rule the four kingdoms… and not only rule. You will bring peace to the world.
My eyes burned. There was no logic. No ground to stand on. I did not believe it. I did not want to.
He bent even nearer, his multiplied voice whispering and laughing all at once:— But first of all, you must understand… everything you know is a lie.
Another drag. Another cruel laugh.— Well, almost everything. Your late lover must have told you something. Otherwise… why would you side with an enemy?
My heart plummeted. The word late cut through me like a blade. A single tear slid down, heavy, searing my skin.
One thought seized me, stronger than any other pain:Did Draven truly fail to escape…? Is he dead?