"You cannot be saved, one so detestable as yourself."
-Heard by a nun in the temple square in the city of Hokes on revised number 13.
Carrie sat alone near the edge of town, where the soft shimmer of starlight's grace brushed faint silver over the darkened road. The vines barrier pulsed like a heartbeat against the horizon, but it did nothing to ease the anxious pounding of her own.
You should have been back by now, she thought, arms tucked around her knees. It had been days. Too many.
Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her nightgown. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe Green had simply been delayed—avoiding trouble. He was faster than her, stronger. What had taken them days could've taken him half the time alone.
Still… her heart twisted.
"Whit are ya still up this late fur?"
Carrie turned to the voice. Vicky stepped out of the darkness in a cyan nightgown that faintly reflected the starlight's grace. The diamond shapes that were sown into the hem caught the glow as she settled beside her, brown hair tousled from sleep.
"He's still nae back," Carrie murmured.
"Ye're still worried about him?"
Carrie gave a small nod, unable to find words that didn't sound like fear.
Vicky stared ahead at the glowing wall. "Ah keen how ye feel," she said quietly.
Carrie blinked and looked at her. "You do?"
Vicky's eyes were far away, her arms wrapped tight around her legs. "Ma husband walked through here a couple years ago."
Carrie went still. The words settled like frost on her skin.
She said "husband"…
The pieces began falling into place. The large hobble with two adult beds. The infant's clothing Carrie had assumed were Vicky's from when she was a child.
No… she had been planning for a child.
Carrie felt something deep in her twist. She reached over, rested a hand on Vicky's shoulder, then drew her into a silent hug.
She'd been afraid Green wouldn't return. But what if he never did?
The thought knotted in her chest, raw and sudden.
Carrie had always thought of being a mother, she was too young for it now, but she did want children eventually. What would happen if the man she married disappeared before then.
Vicky hugged her back. The warmth between them felt fragile but real. They stood, arms brushing, and walked slowly back toward the houses tucked under the shadow of the glowing wall.
Pain dragged Green back to consciousness.
His eyes snapped open as his stomach lit up with lightning. The forest swam above him—trees upside down. He was hanging. A rope, looped tight around his ankles, dangled him from a low branch.
He twisted, every movement sending fresh jolts of pain through his abdomen. Not electric. Not sore. Pinched. As if nerves themselves were caught between jagged edges.
Breathing slowly, he forced his senses back into focus. His leg—mostly healed. Still tender. But functional.
Shapes moved at the edge of his vision. Four figures. One crouched near a fire, back turned to him. Three more hovered beyond, just beyond the light's reach—skeletal.
They seemed—wrong for some reason. Not their figure, well, that did seem odd. But the way they felt, the energy. If that even makes sense, Green thought.
Green started to reach for his bindings, but the pain flared, stopping him before he could do more damage. Then something darker—colder—approached from the side of his view.
He clenched his jaw and prepared to lighten his body with the arts—when a branch flew past, landing near his head.
It glowed on one side, still smoldering from the fire.
The figure jerked back.
"Sae, ye're wauken," came a low voice.
The man by the fire stood and turned. Early thirties, broad-shouldered. He approached slowly and squatted, offering a steaming bowl to Green.
"Ait."
Green raised an eyebrow. "While I'm upside down?"
The man blinked once, stood, and yanked the rope. Green fell—but rolled with the momentum, twisting until he landed on his side. He immediately went for his knife, but was stopped when the other hand went with it.
He stayed low, scanning his surroundings. And judging his situation.
Bindings on his wrists—easy enough to break with an increase to his strength. His abdomen could be healed in two and a half minutes, maybe less. The man in front of him was armed, calm, and clearly dangerous.
Green was about ready to fight, but paused.
The man hadn't killed him, he hadn't even taken his knife. Though tying him upside down didn't give any points in his favor.
The accent however, it's the same one from the town I left Carrie in, Green thought.
With practiced ease, Green increased his strength, and snapped his bonds. He began healing his abdomen as well. When he looked up again, he found the man looking at him questioningly.
He kept the bowl outstretched in his hands however. Green took it wearily. There were easier ways to kill someone. The man walked back to sit with the fire.
He sniffed the liquid. Neutral scent. He took a sip—and immediately regretted it. It tasted like Scorvas bat mucus and firn snake skin. He swallowed down a gag. It wasn't just the taste. It was the density—thick and metallic, like drinking molten moss.
But he drank it anyway. He didn't have the luxury of rejecting food. It only took one taste to get used to anyway. He then sat across from the man, legs folded, watching him through the flickering firelight.
The man looked like a vagabond—unshaven, twitchy. But his posture was steady and grounded, even somewhat threatening. This is no mad man, Green thought. He handed the bowl back and the man tossed it into the fire.
After some time, the man spoke up.
"Who are ye?"
The fire crackled. The shadows beyond it didn't move, but Green could make out their shape. If just barely.
"Green," he said. "And you?"
"Zachry. Whit kin' o' name is Green?"
Green slowly translated the words in his mind. Though he'd only heard the lingo a few times, it was getting easier to understand. Carrie was right in saying he could catch on quickly.
"The strange kind." He finally replied.
Green stood. "Thanks for the help, but I've got someone waiting."
Zachry didn't move. "This wuid's no safe. Ye're lucky Ah fand ye afore the shadaws did. Seems they've marked ye."
Green turned, then stopped.
The firelight dimmed just enough to reveal the figures again. Four of them. Tall, jagged, monstrous silhouettes. Flame-shaped heads. Three-pronged claws for hands. And a single glowing red eye in each center.
"What do you mean… 'marked'?"
Zachry pointed to Green's leg wound. "Ance they mark ye, they'll follow ye till ye're deid."
Green frowned. "I take it you have experience then?"
Zachry didn't answer.
"Why not leave?" Green asked. "Considering what they think of this fire—sunlight should keep them away."
Zachry paused, looking at Green with a blank expression. Eventually however, he just shook his head. "Keep a fire. Stay alive. That's aw Ah can offer ye."
Green narrowed his eyes, then stepped back from the fire. Enhanced his senses.
The forest lit up. The shadows stood clear now. Inhuman. One red eye at their center. Green squinted his eyes. That's their core, he determined, that's where the mana is.
"You ever try hitting the eye?" he asked.
Zachry shook his head.
Green paused for a moment, a thought occurred to him. These things blend into the shadows. They didn't have feet, but were connecting to the ground somehow. Like a shadow connecting to shade.
It reminded him of something, or rather someone. He'd only seen it once, but the pulx had been interesting enough to remember. Umbra pulx, Green thought, subsection of the power pulx.
The pulx allowed for people or things to merge with shadows. For a short time at least. These "War Shadows" were a pulx, the pure form of it too. Green shook his head. It wasn't possible for something inhuman to hold pulx, it was the power of god given to man.
Yet… nothing else explained these things. Could they simply be an accident? Chreign made no accidents however. Then could they be the pulx incarnate. If that was the case, could each pulx have a beast attached to it?
Stories of the strange beasts inside the dungeon in Orlar were everywhere. And while Green had never gone past the first floor, he didn't believe that such beasts could exist.
Yet there's one in front of me now, he thought.
He pulled out a small watch—nearly midnight. No more time.
Green tore off the bandages from his torso, grabbed a branch, and wrapped the fabric around it. He shoved it into the fire until it blazed. Behind him, Zachry sighed and shook his head.