"So..." He began, his tone deceptively calm. "You all think I'm a fool, eh?"
The room went still. The little boy froze mid-bite, his eyes wide. The girl slowly lowered her spoon back to her plate. The woman's hands, which had been reaching for the water jug, paused in mid-air before she carefully set them back in her lap.
No one answered.
The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner and the distant chatter of neighbors outside.
Femi leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto each of them in turn, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of something far heavier.
"Well?"
---
The air in the small dinning room grew thick with tension as Femi's words hung between them. The warm, comforting aroma of jollof rice now felt at odds with the icy atmosphere settling over the table. The woman, her fingers trembling slightly as they retreated to clutch at the edge of the table. Her eyes, once filled with maternal concern, now reflected something more complex, a flicker of something beneath the surface of her forced calm.
"Well," he said, as he gazed around at all the people at the table. The woman looked at him, her eyes again filled with a mix of concern and warmth.
"Well, Femi," she began again, her voice carefully measured as she glanced around at the others seated at the table. The overhead light flickered momentarily, casting strange shadows across their faces. The little girl had stopped playing with her food entirely, her small hands now gripping her spoon so tightly her knuckles turned a different colour. The boy sat frozen, a single grain of rice stuck to his chin, forgotten.
When the woman reached out to touch Femi's hand again, her fingers were noticeably colder than before. "I don't understand what you're trying to say, Femi," she continued, her voice taking on that particular lilt mothers use when soothing a troubled child. "It's me, your mother. I know that the accident..."
"Stop there," he commanded,
Femi's reaction was immediate, his finger shooting up to point directly at her face. The sudden movement made the little girl flinch, her chair scraping loudly against the tiled floor.
"Whatever you are,"Femi continued, his voice dropping to a dangerously low, "whether you're a demon or a witch," his unblinking stare bored into the woman's eyes, searching for any tell, any sign of the truth beneath the facade, "just don't use your mouth to say you're my mother." He picked up his spoon, turning it slowly in his hand, to face the woman, the dull metal catching the light ominously. "Because if you do, I swear I'll use this spoon to blind you and expose your truth."The calmness of his threat made it all the more terrifying. "Don't play with me."
The children began to shift uncomfortably in their seats. The little boy's breathing had become shallow and rapid, his small chest rising and falling beneath his school uniform. "This guy is going to..." he started to whisper to his sister, but Femi's sharp glance silenced him mid-sentence. The words died in his throat, his mouth snapping shut with an audible click of teeth.
Femi turned his attention back to the woman, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of barely restrained fury. "I know that you're not my mother," he stated, his words precise and deliberate. "I know I'm not back in my world. Nobody needs to tell me this." His gaze swept to include both children in his next declaration. "And you," he said, pointing the spoon at each of them in turn, "you're not my brother or sister. Understand?"
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the house. Femi leaned forward, his shadow falling across the untouched plate of food before him. "You're either going to explain to me what's going on," he said, staring at all of them. "or I'll break your heads. Simple."
The woman's face underwent a subtle transformation then, the lines of worry smoothing out, the warmth in her eyes cooling into something far more calculating. The children, too, seemed to change, their youthful expressions hardening into something far less innocent. The pleasant family dinner table had shattered completely, revealing something far more sinister beneath its surface.
The room descended again into a silence so profound it seemed to swallow all sound. The air grew thick and heavy, pressing down on them like. Femi's fingers curled tighter around the spoon, his knuckles filled with tension as he locked eyes with the woman, the imposter wearing his mother's face. He couldn't shake the feeling that everything about this scene was a ruse, a clever deception.
As he stood there, Memories surged through his mind like floodwaters breaking through a dam. He saw flashes of the Harpy Queen's attack, her claws slashing through his abdomen, the searing pain as his insides spilled onto the snow, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He had been certain, in those last agonizing moments, that death was coming for him. And yet, here he was. Was this the afterlife? Some twisted purgatory? Or something far worse?
The woman's facade of calm motherly concern only deepened his suspicion. This wasn't his mother.His real mother would have been scolding the children by now, snapping at them to stop fighting, to sit properly, to eat without making a mess. Her gentleness felt rehearsed, like a performance meant to lull him into compliance.
His brother and sister felt wrong too. For one thing, it wouldn't have been Jewel, his sister, that took James's chicken, she was far too disciplined for such careless behavior, in fact this should have gone the other way round. James would've stolen a bite first, his fingers darting across the table, and Jewel would've immediately complained to Mother in that high-pitched whine she always used.
Femi's gaze dropped to the jollof rice again, the steam still curling lazily from the plate. It was too perfect. The rich red hue, the glistening butter, the way the scent wrapped around him like an embrace, it was all a trap.
His mother's warnings which once seemed locked away, echoed in his mind "Never eat food given to you in dreams, Femi, and Never accept a meal that looks suspicious it may be from spirits."
A surge of defiance burned through him. He wouldn't be fooled.
With a sudden, violent motion, Femi shoved back the table.
"At this point, it's safe to assume...."
His limbs shortened, his bones cracking and reshaping.His nose elongated into a twitching snout, his teeth sharpening.
"I am already dead, so...."
Fur sprouted across his skin, tail erupted behind him, his claws extending with a sickening click.
"Unless you tell me what you are," he snarled. "I will rip your eye out and eat it." His brown eyes gleamed with feral rage. "I'm tired of this juju nonsense."
The woman's face finally shattered. Her eyes darkened, the whites flooding with inky red until they glowed like coals. Her lips peeled back in a grotesque grin, revealing rows of jagged, needle-thin teeth. "Ahhh," she crooned, her voice no longer soft but dripping with malice. "Clever little rat."
Beside her, the children convulsed, their bodies stretching and warping. Their skin split as claws burst from their fingertips, their mouths unhinging like snakes to reveal twin sets of fangs. The little girl's braids unraveled into writhing tendrils, her giggles turning into hisses.
Femi's heart hammered against his ribs. "Ah, I knew it," he said, backing away, his tail lashing. "I must be in hell." He raised, the spoon readying himself for the worst.
But before the creatures could lunge, a voice boomed through the room, shaking the walls and commanding attention.
"That's enough."
The command rolled through the air, vibrating in Femi's bones. The monstrous family froze mid-transformation, their grotesque forms locked in place as if time itself had stopped.
"I think you've done your job quite well."
The voice was soft, but felt ancient, carrying an authority that made even the air tremble. Femi's head whipped around, his whiskers twitching frantically as he searched for the source, but the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
The room itself seemed to hold its breath, in anticipation of what would come next.
And then...
-----
Varga woke from sleep feeling tired and sore, her muscles stiff from the cold that seeped into her bones during the night.The snow beneath her was bitingly cold, even with the thick fur blanket separating her from the frozen ground.
Well, I supposed the discomfort just meant I am still alive.
Over the years, she had grown accustomed to the relentless chill, the way it gnawed at her skin no matter how many layers she wore. She had spent so many nights sleeping like this, curled up on the cold ground, that the idea of a proper bed now seemed strange to her.
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the morning light of the Twin Sisters, the twin suns that cast their, silvery glow over the white land. Their faint radiance slipped through the worn cloth walls of her small tent, painting shifting patterns on the fur-lined floor. With a grunt, Varga tossed her blankets aside, the frigid air immediately nipping at her exposed skin. She dressed quickly, pulling on her layered furs and strapping her weapons belt around her waist with practiced ease.
Her mouth felt parched, her throat dry from the cold, so she took a small sip of water from the dented canteen beside her bed. The liquid was icy against her lips, but it soothed the roughness in her throat.
Her morning ritual complete, Varga flipped open the flap of her tent and stepped outside, the cold morning air stinging her cheeks. The camp was quiet, the usual sounds of Krag warriors preparing for the day muted by the lingering aftermath of the harpy attack. As was usual lately, the sight of the still-ruined Krag camp greeted her as she looked around.
The harpies had left their mark, splintered wood, torn hides, and the lingering stench of blood and burnt flesh. The damage was extensive, the dead too many for their already small numbers. The attack had left them with even fewer Krags to hold the camp, and now they faced the daunting task of repairing what had been destroyed. It was because of the harpies that she now slept in a tent rather than her lean-to, the familiar structure reduced to little more than broken timber meant for cooking fire.
She let out a small sigh, fatigue weighing on her shoulders like an unseen burden, before forcing herself to gather her gear for this morning's hunt. Her body had mostly recovered from the brutal injuries inflicted by the armored-clad bear, but the harpy attack had left fresh wounds, deep gashes and bruises that still ached with every movement. She needed rest, but rest was a luxury she couldn't afford now.
It was simply not her style to sit idle, especially when there was work to be done. She had always pushed herself beyond her limits, demanding more even when she had little left to give. Even if everything burned to the ground, even if every last warrior fell, the responsibility of keeping the camp alive would still fall on her shoulders.
she would not falter now.
Yet, Varga's heart fluttered slightly, her soul stirring as memories of recent events surfaced. The scheming of Arieus and their father, Ova's death, her own near-fatal encounter with the Eri and the armored bear… and finally, him.
Shaking off the thoughts, she strode toward one of the few structures still standing after the attack, a sturdy log cabin originally meant for storing weapons, now repurposed as a shelter for the injured. The scent of herbs and blood hung thick in the air as she stepped inside, her eyes scanning the space.
Many familiar faces lay on makeshift beds, some groaning in pain, others sleeping fitfully. But she wasn't here for them.
A small smile crept onto her face as her gaze settled on the ratling. Femi lay curled on a thick fur mat, one she had provided, bundled under additional pelts to ward off the cold.
Femi had been… an unexpected find. When she had first seen the little rat, she had thought him nothing more than a useful tool, a hound for hunting or a beast of burden to carry supplies. But after claiming him as her spoils from battle, Femi had quickly proven to be far more than she anticipated.
First, he had impressed her with his sharp mind, absorbing every lesson she taught him with startling speed. He could skin a kill, set traps, even patch up wounds if needed. Then, he had shown a level of discipline she hadn't thought ratlings capable of. She had fully expected him to flee within days, taking whatever he could carry with him. And if he had, she would have hunted him down without hesitation.
She snorted at the thought. Knowing him now, he might have actually found a way to escape her. He was annoyingly resilient and resourceful, just as he had boasted when they first met.
Yet, he hadn't run. Not during the Eri ambush, not when facing the armored bear, and not even when the harpies descended upon the camp. Instead, the ratling had stood his ground, fighting alongside her despite his trembling limbs and sharp, fearful curses.
She may have grown… attached to her strange but surprisingly dependable ratling.
Sure, Femi had a sharp tongue and a tendency to act cowardly at any sign of danger, but he had also proven his courage and loyalty beyond a doubt.
And that realization led her to a rare moment of contemplation, wondering what she would do if he wasn't around anymore.
The answer left a hollow feeling in her chest.
She didn't like it.