Kyren knelt in the dirt, arms locked around Hiro, blood seeping from Hiro's wounds, soaking the ground in a warm, sticky red. Hiro's smile flickered, faint but stubborn, holding on even as death's chill crept over his pale face.
Then it twisted. Hiro's face blurred, melting like wax into a girl's silhouette—dark, shrouded, her form swallowing the light. Her eyes blazed purple and red, embers pulsing with raw hate. She drifted toward Kyren, slow, each step heavy, deliberate, the air growing colder with her approach.
His chest clamped tight, a vice squeezing his lungs. Move, damn it! his mind screamed, but his legs were rooted, heavy as stone. Her shadowy hand stretched out, and he swore icy fingers grazed his cheek, sharp as frostbite, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Finally… my sweet… heart…" Her voice slithered, thick with menace, each syllable sinking into his bones like a blade. The words coiled around him, choking, suffocating, pulling him into a void where nothing else existed.
She drifted back, but her voice swelled, pounding in his skull, louder, deafening, drowning every thought. He tried to scream—his mouth opened, but no sound came. His voice was gone, stolen by the thick, suffocating terror that pinned him like a bug.
"Kyren! Kyren!" A voice punched through, faint, warped, but warm, tethering him. Hiro's voice. It yanked him back, a lifeline in the dark.
He jolted awake, gasping, lungs burning like he'd been trapped underwater. Sweat plastered his shirt to his skin, his heart slamming so hard it ached. The girl's eyes still glowed in his mind, her voice—my sweet heart—clinging like damp rot. Was she real? The thought clawed at him, sharp and relentless.
Shadows twisted on the cottage walls, mocking his fear. He blinked fast, heart racing, trying to shake the fog. The room smelled of old wood and herbs, grounding him, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking. Hiro's face swam into focus, crouched close, worry carved deep in his tired eyes.
Nightmare on top of nightmare, Kyren thought, throat tight, a bitter taste in his mouth.
"You okay, man?" Hiro's voice was soft, rough around the edges, his hand steady on Kyren's shoulder, warm against the clammy cold.
Kyren dragged in a ragged breath, voice cracking. "Just a nightmare. A girl… all dark, shadowy. Felt too damn real, Hiro." His fingers twitched, still feeling her icy touch.
Hiro pressed a glass of water into his trembling hands, the coolness a small anchor. "Dreams can screw you up bad," he said, forcing a lopsided grin. "Folks 'round here swear nightmares mean luck. Opposite of what's real, y'know?" His tone was light, but his eyes stayed worried.
Kyren nodded, gripping the glass so tight his knuckles whitened, but her voice wouldn't fade. "Maybe… just a dream," he mumbled, the words hollow. He didn't believe it, not with his heart still pounding like a drum.
Dawn's light crept through the window, soft and gray, painting the cottage in muted tones. Hiro was already up, bustling around, his usual spark kicking in. Pots clanged, a spoon scraped a bowl—normal sounds that felt jarring after the nightmare's grip.
"Rise and shine!" Hiro called, a grin tugging his lips as he slid a plate of bread and cheese across the scarred wooden table. "You can sleep more if you need, but I got work. Wanna tag along?" His energy was like a fire, warm, hard to resist.
Kyren's gut still churned, the girl's eyes lurking like a bruise in his mind, but staying alone sounded worse—trapped with his own head. "I'll come," he said, voice steadier now. "Need to… get out my head."
"That's my guy!" Hiro's enthusiasm hit like a gust of fresh air, loosening the knot in Kyren's chest. "Eat fast. Market waits for no one."
They stepped into Vermint Town's morning chaos—vendors hollering over each other, carts creaking under heavy loads, the air thick with ripe fruit, warm bread, and a faint tang of sweat. Kids darted through the crowd, their giggles sharp against the hum of bartering. Women haggled with sharp tongues, men hauled crates, their boots scuffing the cobblestones. It was bright, alive, a pulse that should've drowned out the nightmare. But her voice—my sweet heart—kept slithering back, stopping Kyren dead in the street, his breath hitching.
"Hey, you alright?" Hiro asked, catching his freeze, his hand hovering like he wasn't sure whether to pat or pull.
Kyren forced a shaky half-smile, his palms clammy. "Nothin'." But his head was a storm, her glowing eyes flickering like a bad omen. Hiro clapped his back, gentle but firm, tugging him back to the moment.
At a bustling stall, Hiro waved to an older woman sorting peaches, her hands quick despite her age. "Cora! Mornin'!"
Cora looked up, her weathered face softening, eyes crinkling. "Hiro, you rascal! 'Bout time you showed." She swatted his shoulder, playful, her sleeve brushing a peach to the ground.
"This here's Kyren," Hiro said, nudging him forward. "New in town, lost his memories. Needs work. Got anything?"
Cora eyed Kyren, sharp but warm, like she could see right through him. "Hiro's word's good enough for me. Work's hard, kid. You up for it?"
Kyren nodded, a flicker of gratitude cutting through his fog. "Won't let you down, Madam." His voice was quiet but earnest, the words grounding him.
A shout sliced the air, raw and panicked. "They're here! Guild's here!" A townsman bolted past, face pale, nearly knocking over a crate.
Hiro's grin vanished, his jaw tightening. "Kyren, move!" he hissed, scrambling to hide the best peaches behind the stall. He shoved a crate of bruised, overripe ones into Kyren's hands, the fruit soft and sticky.
"What's going on?" Kyren asked, pulse spiking, the crate heavy in his grip.
"Later!" Hiro snapped, panic cracking his voice. They swapped the good fruit for the bad, hands fumbling, juice smearing their fingers.
Kyren's eyes darted across the market. Knights in gleaming armor rode in, their horses' hooves clacking on stone. They snatched food without a coin—apples, bread, whatever they wanted. A vendor flinched as one shoved him, grabbing a basket of pears. They're stealing, Kyren realized, anger burning low in his gut, hot and sharp. That's why Hiro's freaking.
The knights hit Cora's stall, their leader—a hard-eyed man with a scarred cheek—scanning the display of bruised fruit. "This all you got?" he growled, voice like gravel scraped raw.
Cora's hands shook, her knuckles white, but she nodded. "Yes, sir. All we have."
He sneered, eyes cold. "Liar." He kicked the table over, fresh peaches spilling from hidden crates, rolling across the dirt. His sword flashed, raised to slash the goods, the blade catching the sunlight.
Kyren's blood surged, anger drowning his fear. Before he could think, his hand shot out, grabbing the knight's wrist. His grip was tight, knuckles pale, staring the knight down with a fire he didn't know he had. The air turned thick, heavy, the whole market holding its breath.