"Shadows watch every step,
always on the lookout for our fear…
But in the fall, perhaps they are
the only place that still welcomes us."
****
Magic. The word reverberated in my mind like a gong striking an empty hall. All the time I consumed on Earth poring over dusty tomes, every exhausting ritual I practiced under the banner of the Ahnenerbe... nothing had been a madman's delirium. Nothing was in vain. The sacrifice of nights away from my family, the submission to the whims of those uniformed monsters — everything seemed, for a second, to have found a belated and twisted reward.
But the taste of victory was gray, like ashes from a fire. What was the point of validating the theses of my entire life if I no longer had anyone to share the triumph with? An academic's joy is a hollow echo when there is no one to hear him. I stood there, a master of the occult trapped in a body of diapers, while the specter of Anna and my children haunted me with the silent question: Was it worth it?
I was torn from my thoughts by the physical agony of the woman carrying me. My "mother" — Maria — was collapsing before my eyes. The earth spell had drained something deep from her, something vital.
— [Mrs. Maria, you shouldn't have used magic! She just gave birth!] — Isabel's voice was a whip of pure worry.
She dropped a heavy leather bag as she ran towards us. From the tear in the side, I saw the gleam of gold between bronze and silver, as well as hardcover books that exuded that unmistakable scent of antique leather and power. Thieves? Runaways or looters, it didn't matter; in that world, survival seemed to come at a high price and be paid in blood money.
Maria fell to her knees, her breathing transformed into an asthmatic wheeze. Her countenance, which was already pale, became cadaverous; her sky-blue eyes lost focus, wandering through the void of pain. I watched her with icy apprehension. Was it fear of dying along with her at the hands of those chainmail soldiers? Or was it a biological instinct, a primitive need of that woman who was now my only shield? Anxiety ate away at me; I hated that physical dependence. Hated to be a burden.
Isabel pulled out a small bottle from her robes. The liquid had a dense, almost sanguine wine hue. She forced the neck between Maria's lips.
— [You have to take care of yourself!] — Isabel hissed, her voice strained like a violin string about to break. — [If not, we won't run away from these men!]
— [I know...] — Maria replied after the sip, her voice regaining a thread of strength. — [But it was the only way. Without the wall, we would be dead in seconds.]
She looked around, her eyes hunting for shadows. It's desperate to be at the center of a strategy and not understand the language of those planning their destiny. A historian without a command of words is like a soldier without a rifle: a useless target.
Maria took a deep breath, gave Isabel a dry wave, and we returned to escape. The pace was frenetic. But before we turned the corner of that stone maze, the sound hit me.
Clang!
The steel banging against the magical earthen wall. Screams of fury echoed from the other side of the barrier. They were coming. But it wasn't the sound of swords that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I looked into the dark crevices of the alley, into the corners where the light dared not touch. And I swear, by the soul I tried to destroy on Earth, that the shadows there were different. They weren't just the absence of light. They had weight. They had intention. I felt thousands of invisible eyes thrust into me, studying me with predatory curiosity.
The shadows were not just there. They saw me. They knew who — or what — I was.
We crossed what appeared to be the rotting lung of that place. Narrow alleys and winding streets wound through a periphery where misery was not an abstract concept, but a physical presence that could be smelled. From what I observed, poverty there had the same face as anywhere on Earth: sunken faces, clothes that were just patched rags, and looks that carried the weight of centuries of deprivation. Passersby measured us with hostile strangeness. We were out of place; Maria's embroidered dress, though in tatters, screamed that she was an intruder in that mud.
My historian's mind began to catalog the scene instinctively. Clay, wood and straw. The ubiquitous smell of urine and stagnant waste. There was no doubt: I was in a world stagnant in something similar to our medieval period. But the rules here were different.
In the background, the chorus of pursuers approached. The tone was one of desperate rage, a clamor bouncing off the mud walls. Maria was on the edge. I saw the moment when she stripped herself of her heeled shoes —a luxury that was now an anchor— and continued her barefoot escape, tearing her feet in the rocks and filth of the ground.
And the shadows... they didn't abandon me. They slid through the cracks in the houses like oil on water. Interestingly, the dread I was supposed to feel didn't come. There was a disturbing familiarity about them, as if those vacuum silhouettes were extensions of the darkness I had carried myself since the shooting at the cabin.
Suddenly, the engine of that escape stopped. Maria collapsed. It wasn't a stumble; it was a systemic collapse. She crumbled to the beaten ground, exhaustion overcoming her survival instinct. I saw in his eyes a terrible struggle between the resignation of those who accept the end and the terror of those who leave something behind.
— [Ma'am, let's continue! Not long now!] — Isabel begged, her breathing as irregular as the beat of a broken drum.
— [I can't do it anymore, Isabel!] — Mary's cry was stifled by a sob that seemed to tear her throat. — [All the strength... she vanished. My body doesn't belong to me anymore!]
She squeezed me against herself. I felt his hand — a feverish contrast between the heat of adrenaline and the cold of exhaustion — caress my face. Something inside me, a biological cog I couldn't control, started spinning. I didn't want to lose her. The skeptic, the SS officer, the man seeking death... all were silenced by the primal cry of this new body.
For the first time, I cried. It was not an act to gain sympathy; it was a compulsive tear, a visceral reaction of pure impotence.
— [Don't cry, my little Kaelion. Mommy is here!] — she murmured, her voice trembling against my ear. — [I will protect you from everything, even if it costs me my life!]
Her words, though in a language I hadn't yet mastered, vibrated within me with a clarity that went beyond translation. She was willing to be the sacrifice. Emanuelle, the girl I now understood to be my blood sister, embraced her in tears. The similarity between the two was painful; she was the future that Mary desperately tried to preserve from the present.
My eyes, still wet, turned to the entrance to the alley. A silhouette cut against the dim light. A hunter.
Isabel acted quickly. He pulled out a second bottle of that burgundy liquid.
— [I know it's not ideal to have two of these in less than twelve hours] — she said, with somber solemnity— [but if you want to escape that damned husband, you need to drink and put your survival in the hands of the gods.]
The term "husband" resonated like a trigger. The monster that hunted us had a name, a title, and apparently a blood bond. Maria took the bottle. Fate now had the bitter, metallic taste of that reddish alchemy.
Without exchanging a single word, Maria and Isabel exchanged glances laden with a mute urgency and ran again. I was lulled by the frenetic pace of their footsteps, but the sound that really mattered came from behind: the heavy metal of the pursuer's armor, a lilting, relentless sound that approached with terrifying rapidity.
Their despair was palpable, but it was Emanuelle's crying that served as the final trigger. That childish wail pierced the layers of my new consciousness and dragged me, against my will, back to the rubble of Germany. I saw Isolte's face in the light of the thunder, I felt the weight of the promise of protection that I made to her and which, in the end, was reduced to ashes by my own fault. I was the executioner of my own lineage. And I wouldn't allow history to repeat itself.
I looked away from my new family and focused on the Shadow. That patch of vacuum that followed us was not just a phenomenon of this world; it pulsed in sync with the hole I carried in my chest. In a desperate command, born of the pure instinct of preservation, I begged that darkness: Stop him. Immobilize it. Don't let him touch her.
The soldier drew his sword, the steel catching the pale light as he raised it above his head for a final blow. It was then that the impossible happened. The Shadow, in a boat that defied the laws of physics, leaped from my perception and merged with the silhouette of the man on the ground.
His movement stalled in the air. Her arms stiffened, frozen in unnatural paralysis. Stunned, I watched Maria turn her face for a brief second, her eyes wide at the sight of the hunter transformed into a statue. For a glorious moment, a feeling of redemption warmed my chest. I had done something good. Had saved someone.
But the price was charged without delay.
A deafening scream tore through the soldier's throat as he collapsed into the mud, writhing like an animal in agony. Blood began to gush from his arms, and in a horror that made me want to close my eyes —if I could—, I saw pieces of his flesh being literally "swallowed" by the void. Something invisible and hungry was devouring him alive.
And suddenly his pain became mine.
A volcanic agony exploded inside me. My little baby body began to writhe, its insides seeming to be ground and rebuilt in an endless cycle of suffering. I tried to scream, but the muteness of my new form only allowed me mechanical weeping, while inside I wanted to howl until the heavens collapsed.
My bones seemed to fragment and weld again with each spasm. I felt the bile rise, bitter and hot, but what flooded my palate was the ferrous, dense taste of blood. With each piece of flesh the Shadow tore from the man in the alley, that metallic taste appeared in my mouth, as if I were chewing on my own sin.
What kind of abomination is happening to me? — I thought, plunged into a sea of pain and nausea.
Maria squeezed me against her chest, whispering words of comfort I couldn't process. We continued our escape, plunging into the darkness of the alleys until the soldier's screams were just a distant echo, swallowed by the night. Gradually, the torture on my nerves began to ebb, leaving me with only a dull throb and a stained tongue.
I looked to the side and saw the Shadow sliding again beside us. She looked the same, but there was something different about her form... a new density, an aura of predatory satisfaction that gave me chills. She was fed. And the fact that I felt every "bite" terrified me more than the soldiers chasing us.
— [We are already reaching our destination, Lady Mary!] — Isabel's cry was the sign that the maze of alleys was finally spitting out what was left of us.
My mother didn't answer. Just a stiff wave, saving every ounce of oxygen for the final effort. When we finally emerged from the suffocating network of alleys, the world opened up, and for the first time, I saw the sky from this place. The impact was almost physical, like a punch to the chest. It was not the pale blue I knew, nor the melancholy gray of Europe beneath the ashes of war. Above us, the firmament bled in shades of intense pink and deep purple, as if twilight had dissolved into layers of an ethereal glow. Light spread across the horizon in a vibrant gradient, fusing magenta with violet in a harmony that seemed to announce that, in this world, nature was indomitable and strange.
We crossed the main street, where the misery of passersby was now just a blur in that purple light. We headed towards the exit of the city, where a cluster of carts rested. We stopped in front of a man who looked like he had been carved out of leather and dust. He should have been in his sixties; the white beard was a half-baked mess under a leather hat worn by the decades. His robes were a mute testament to decadence: holes under his armpits and pants barely reaching his shins, ending in sandals that looked like they were about to burst.
There was something grotesque about his plump figure and his dull brown eyes. Isabel started a heated argument. I stood there, a silent observer in Maria's lap, deciphering body language while my mother just shook her head, in a trance of exhaustion.
— [It's getting dark, miss. It is not indicated to go out at night] — the old man exclaimed, and I saw a flash of genuine dread in his gaze. He feared not only thieves; he feared what the darkness brought.
— [I know, sir. But it's urgent!] — Isabel retorted, despair giving a sharp tone to her voice. — [We must leave now, or something terrible will overtake us!]
In one decisive move, she dipped her hand into her purse and extracted five gold coins. The effect was instantaneous, almost magnetic. The cart driver's pupils dilated, capturing the metal's glow with a greed that overwhelmed any fear. Isabel had acted cautiously, making sure no curious eyes were on us before pushing the bribe into the man's calloused hands.
He concealed the gold with the swiftness of a conjurer, and suddenly his voice gained a slavish, sticky animation.
— [Sit down, please! We'll leave immediately!] — he shouted, climbing the wagon with renewed agility for profit. — [The wagon is full of hay, they'll have to settle between him.]
— [That's perfect] — Isabel replied. — [We can hide.]
I saw Emanuelle buried under the dry straw, disappearing into the silence of the hay. Then it was our turn. Maria squeezed me against her chest as we sank into the rough, earthy-smelling hay. It was at that instant that the Shadow, which had been lurking at us from the alley, slid back into my body. There was no pain this time; I felt only a deep relaxation, a sedation that seemed to drain every drop of adrenaline from my exhausted nerves.
The cart creaked and began to move with a jolt. Before the veil of hay covered me completely and sleep claimed me, my eyes found one last crack. I looked at the horizon, seeking the sun.
On Earth, he was a sphere of pale, comforting gold. Here, he was an open wound in the sky. The sun was a pulsating red, a color of ancient blood that tinged the clouds with silent violence.
The Shadow enveloped me like a vacuum blanket, and the last thing I felt was the rhythmic rocking of the cart carrying me into the unknown. Then the darkness finally took me, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn't afraid of it.