"Helpppp meeeee!"
A boy's frantic shriek tore through the silence of the ancient woods. He ran for his life, lungs burning, as a pack of wolves trailed him like shadows of death.
Their eyes were pits of bloodthirsty red, and ropes of thick saliva dripped onto the forest floor from maws that had not tasted flesh in days.
"Somebody... please!" The boy's voice broke. His vision swam as exhaustion claimed him.
His foot caught on the gnarled root of a fallen oak, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Before he could scramble up, the pack closed the circle. Snarling, snapping, they moved in for the kill.
Is this... the end? the boy thought, staring into the yellowed fangs of the lead wolf as it lunged
"Damn it... another flop. It didn't hit the way it was supposed to."
The boy, who appeared to be about eighteen years of age, tossed his pen aside with a heavy sigh of disappointment. The "forest" vanished, replaced by the cluttered chamber of a noble's study. Papers were strewn across the floor like fallen leaves; bird feathers stained with dark ink lay cluttered upon a heavy, circular table.
The boy rubbed his temples, his long silver hair falling over his face in disarray. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of a soul that had forgotten the meaning of rest.
"I can imagine the terror," Emerion muttered to the empty room, "but I cannot seem to trap it upon the parchment."
The candles had guttered down to waxen stubs, their light failing. Beyond the stone walls, the first waking birds began to chirp at the forest's edge.
"Is it morning already?" Emerion rose and pulled back the heavy velvet curtains. The sudden intrusion of sunlight was a physical blow; he hissed and shielded his eyes.
When he looked again, his heart leapt with such violence he feared it might burst from his ribs.
"What in the.."
A monstrosity stood inches from the glass. It was a reptilian horror, scaled and jagged, with two obsidian horns and a mouth filled with needles.
Emerion recoiled, his breath hitching, until a cold hand settled upon his shoulder from behind.
"My, my, dear Brother... did I frighten thee?"
The voice was feminine, melodic, and laced with a sharp edge of mischief. Emerion turned sharply to face the intruder.
"Arlienne! This is not funny." He smoothed his tunic, trying to regain his dignity. "Thou art skilled with phantoms and illusions, but to play such a prank at this hour is unseemly."
Arlienne huffed, her expression one of bored indifference. "I cannot act the part of the prim noble princess forever, can I? I have only thee to annoy. The rest of this court are but mindless vassals vases without a soul."
She reached out, her fingers dancing in a light tickle that made Emerion squirm despite his anger.
"Hey stop it!" He shoved her hands away, though his irritation was softening. "What brings thee here so early, in any case?"
Arlienne fanned herself with a delicate hand, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "What? May a lady not enjoy a brisk morning walk?"
"Do not lie to me. I know that look; thou art keeping secrets," Emerion demanded. Before she could craft a retort, a heavy thud of boots sounded at the chamber door.
"Princess Arlienne, Prince Emerion... your lord father wishes to speak with you both," an elderly maid announced, bowing low as she entered. A mysterious, knowing smile played on her lips. "I thought you twain would yet be abed, but it is well that you are awake."
"Father wishes to see us? At dawn?" Emerion's mind raced with possibilities. Beside him, Arlienne's eyes glinted with a wicked light.
"I suspect he hath finally found thee a bride, Brother. I truly cannot wait to meet my new sister-in-law," she teased.
The word marriage made Emerion's shoulders lock with tension. "That is not funny, Arlienne."
"You both should hurry," the maid interrupted before the bickering could escalate.
Emerion sighed, his stomach churning. "Where is he?"
"In the Council Room, Highness," the maid replied.
Emerion nodded and began the long walk through the vaulted corridors. The Council Room was a place of shadows and gravity, where the secrets that governed the Dawnveil nation were forged in iron and blood.
"Brother, jests aside," Arlienne whispered as she trailed behind him, "why dost thou think he summons us to such a place?"
"I know not. Some matter of state, likely. Perhaps thy joke of a marriage pact holds more weight than I care to admit."
"Aww, why so averse to the idea? Tell me not that thou art a romantic who wishes to marry for love?" Arlienne's eyes were sharp, searching his face with genuine curiosity.
"Perhaps. Call me a fool, but why should I be shackled for life to a stranger?"
"Because the stranger has value," Arlienne responded instantly.
Emerion stopped in his tracks, turning to her. "What?"
"Because the stranger has value," she repeated, her voice flat and cold.
Emerion facepalmed. "I asked what that means, not for a repetition."
"Oh, it means... nothing. It is merely reality. Thou wilt likely wed a noble girl from a distant House. She will be a stranger, yes, but one whose dowry and bloodline possess great value to our House."
Seeing his sulky expression, she sighed and softened her tone. "Hey, let us not dwell on such gloom. Thou needst not love her; marriage for us is but a pact an agreement written in gold. Besides, we know not his intent yet. Come, we are nearly there."
She pointed toward the end of the corridor, where the Grand Door stood a massive slab of oak and iron so tall an elephant could pass through without bowing its head.
"There are no guards," Emerion noted, his brow furrowing. Usually, two men-at-arms stood watch here like statues.
"The night watch hath likely retired, and the morning shift is tardy. It is yet very early," Arlienne said, stepping forward.
"I suppose we must open it ourselves," Emerion muttered. He gripped the heavy ring of the right-hand door and pulled. But as the hinges groaned, he paused. "Wait... if Father were already within, would the doors not be ajar.."
Emerion's voice died in his throat. He turned to his side, but the hallway was empty.
"Arlienne? Arlienne!"
No response. Only a sudden, stinging heat in his eyes. He rubbed them, blinking away the moisture, and when he opened them again, the world had changed. A thick, unnatural fog or perhaps smoke had choked the corridor.
"My eyes... they burn. It acts as smoke, yet it wets my skin like a mountain mist," he whispered to himself. He bit his tongue hard, the copper taste of blood filling his mouth. In his studies of the arcane, he knew that a phantom or an illusion was like a lucid dream if the victim recognized the lie, they could break it with pain.
But the fog did not dissipate.
"Thou art becoming too skilled, Sister! This prank hath gone far enough. We are summoned by the King!" He shouted into the grey void, but no giggle followed. Not even a rustle of silk.
"Arlienne! Stop this, or I shall strike my head against the stones! I am not jesting, my eyes truly ache!"
Silence. Absolute and terrifying.
Emerion's breath came in ragged gasps until he saw a dark silhouette looming amidst the swirling grey. "Finally... the phantom ends," he breathed in relief.
But as the shadow drew closer, the color drained from Emerion's face.
"What in the name of the Gods is that..."
Emerion froze. His limbs turned to stone. The shadow approached, carrying a tarnished lantern in its right hand that pulsed with an eerie, sickly blue light.
As the light hit the figure, Emerion's mind buckled. It was no illusion cast by a teenage girl.
It was a giant, draped in heavy silks of crimson and yellow, patterned like dancing flames. Its legs were lost in the voluminous folds of its robes, and with every step it took, the very foundations of the castle seemed to shudder.
Move, damn it! Move, you coward! Emerion screamed at his own muscles. Arlienne is clever, but she could never craft a horror this vivid! But he was paralyzed.
The "thing" was meters away now, and Emerion's will simply snapped. This was no prank. This was a Demon.
It stood twelve feet tall, a nightmare on two legs. It possessed the head of a black furred goat, topped with massive, curving horns. Its eyes didn't just look at him it judged his soul.
The Demon stopped. It opened its mouth, and instead of a bleat, a low, wet sound emerged. Thick, dark blood dripped from its teeth like hot saliva, splashing onto the floor with a rhythmic, sickening splat.
Suddenly, the Demon reached into the air and summoned several large, leathery eggs, dropping them onto the stones. They were the size of cats. The shells cracked instantly, revealing... children. Human babies, pink and small.
The hallway was filled with their innocent cries and soft laughter. Emerion's terror shifted into a surreal, gut wrenching confusion. They look... harmless. Why is this phantom so strange?
The babies began to crawl, but they did not seek milk. They began to fight. They threw tiny, clumsy punches, rolling over each other in a grotesque parody of a battlefield. One baby crawled toward the Demon, reaching up as if in prayer or a plea to be held.
The Demon tilted its goat head. Blood spilled from its maw, drenching the infant's forehead in a thick, iron scented veil.
The silence that followed was the silence of a grave. All the babies stopped fighting. Their tiny eyes began to glow a predatory red. Strange, wide grins split their faces, revealing rows of sharp, needle like teeth.
With impossible speed, the "blessed" baby lunged at the others.
Emerion's consciousness felt as though it were being ripped from his body. He watched, a silent, paralyzed spectator to a massacre. The hallway became a charnel house of shrieks and the sound of tearing flesh.
The lone infant was a tiger among lambs, ripping the others apart with savage, wet sounds that echoed off the cold stone walls.
"Stop it... stop it, you monster!"
Emerion screamed in the hollow silence of his mind. He felt his throat go dry and raw, even though his lips never moved. He wanted to vomit, to turn his head, to close his eyes but he was forced to watch every bite, every spray of crimson.
The hallway soon became clear, save for the single infant standing amidst the gore, its face matted with the blood of its kin. The Goat Demon reached down, picked up the giggling babe, and opened its cavernous mouth wide.
"NO! STOP! NO!"
Emerion's mental scream was a roar of pure, helpless agony. His eyes felt as if they were being pushed out from the inside. Suddenly, hot liquid began to leak from his both eyes blood, matching the gore on the floor.
The Demon's eyes locked onto his, and it let out a strange, mocking laugh that vibrated in Emerion's very bones. It wasn't just killing the babies; it was feasting on Emerion's despair.
"I will kill thee... I will burn thy soul in the deepest hell, thou wretched beast!"
Emerion's soul burned with a hatred so cold it eclipsed his fear. He no longer cared if it was an illusion.
His chest heaved up and down in a phantom rhythm, his lungs feeling like they were filled with ash.
The Goat lowered its head to Emerion's level, showing its bloody teeth in a jagged grin.
"Arlienne... I will never forgive thee for this. Everything has a limit... everything..."
Emerion's eyes shut, and the world plunged into a suffocating darkness. "I will never forgive thee... I will never..."
"I shall never forgive... I shall never..."
Emerion's eyes flew open, but the fear didn't leave. It stayed in his chest, a cold weight that made it hard to breathe.
He expected to see the goat's face; instead, he saw several people looking down at him with profound concern.
"Where am I... what just happened?" Emerion's voice was a cracked whisper. He looked around, recognizing the tapestries of his own room, but the air felt different. Thicker.
"Young Prince! Thou hast awakened! Praise the Lord!" A middle aged man in Priest's clothing cried out, dabbing at his eyes. A young nun beside him trembled with relief.
"What is going on..." Emerion muttered. His head throbbed, the image of the infant's red eyes burned into his retinas. He felt a deep, boiling resentment. Arlienne had gone too far. To show him the slaughter of innocents? He would make her pay.
Suddenly, the door was flung open. His father rushed in. Emerion braced himself for a scolding or a cold look, but instead, the King threw his arms around him, weeping openly.
Emerion sat frozen. Father? He... he never shows affection. He never even looks me in the eye.
"My son, thou art alive!" the King sobbed. "The entire Dawnveil nation hath been in prayer. Thou art the Crown Prince; thou canst not simply leave us. Thou hast scared us for a week."
Crown Prince? A week? The confusion started to drown out the fear. He pinched his cheek the sharp, stinging pain was real. This wasn't the Goat's world.
"Father," Emerion said, his voice trembling as he pushed the King back slightly. "I need to talk with Arlienne. Where is she?"
The Priest and the Nun shared a look of pure bewilderment. The King's face twisted into genuine confusion.
"Who... who is Arlienne, my son?"
The fear returned then, sharper than before. It wasn't the fear of a monster, but the fear of losing his mind. "Father, do not be like that. You know Arlienne. My sister. Your daughter."
The King turned to the Priest, his voice trembling. "Is he speaking thus because of the passing out? Is his mind broken?"
"Most likely, Your Highness. He has been in a coma for seven days. The humors of the brain are unsettled."
"Wait what is happening?!" Emerion's frustration exploded. "Where is Arlienne?!"
The King took his son's hands, his eyes filled with a terrifying pity.
"There is no Arlienne here, Emerion. Thou art my only child. Thou hast always been alone."
Emerion sat frozen on the bed. The silence of the room was louder than the Demon's laugh.
"Huh?"