The morning light spilled through the treetops as Jean stumbled back toward the village, every step felt cold and tired. His arm, covered in cloth from his ripped pants leg, it perfectly covered the crystal along with the pulsing blue glow underneath. Right before he entered the village, he tightly fastened the cloth, hoping to slip unnoticed.
He wasn't so lucky this time.
A voice called out from a window across the street. "Jean?! Where the hell were you?" He hopped through the window to get a better look at Jean. "Oh yeah, you don't look too good."
Jean just stared at him. Ronan was standing right in front of the inn while Elise was spectating from the door. Both of their expressions filled with concern and frustration.
"You didn't come back last night," Elise said as she skipped forward. "We thought you got hurt in the forest."
Jean's face froze for a moment, then he forced a fake smile. "I just wanted to take a walk. Lost track of time."
Ronan's gaze pointed downwards onto Jean's pants. "Is that blood on your pants?"
Jean looked down towards his left hand, noticing there was quite a bit of blood on it. "I just scraped my hand. Nothing big, so just let me go get some rest."
"Why didn't you at least tell us you were going somewhere?!" Elise asked. "We are kind of in the same situation here. If one of us dies, it just makes it harder for the rest. We are basically friends, right?"
"I said I'm fine." His voice came out rough and sharper than he intended, almost distant. He turned and pushed past Ronan, and inside the inn he went. "I'm tired of this shitty place."
They didn't intervene. Jean didn't look back once.
Callum, who would have intervened, was gone with the rest of the Knightsguard on a small hunt. If he were here, he might have been able to calm Jean down, but he was nowhere near to witness what had happened.
The room upstairs was very quiet. Almost unsettlingly quiet.
Jean collapsed onto the bed, his forearm throbbing and pulsing beneath the cloth. The crystal felt as if it was burning, and yet it wasn't. The pulsation felt like a heartbeat that wasn't even his—two people in one body.
He closed his eyes to get some rest.
The nightmare began like a memory.
A young boy, maybe eight, sat curled in a small windowless room. The walls looked lifeless, the floor was cold concrete. One blinding light flickering overhead. His arms restrained tightly around his legs, eyes hollow.
From time to time, someone would free him from his restraints. They would feed him, talk with him, smile with him, and laugh. He would get to play with toys and books. The little boy would cherish these moments, desperate for warmth. He never was able to build a connection. Every time, it was a different person.
One night, he heard voices beyond the door. He wondered what is behind this door. For the first time in his life, the door was slightly cracked open.
The boy ran straight out the door—blindly, fearfully, guided only by his instinct. He had been trapped all his life, but maybe, just maybe, he might find someone who stays with him. Fluorescent lights flicker above him, like a stuttering memory. Every hall feels so similar. Every turn led him to another room that looked so familiar. But then he saw it.
Another door, cracked open. There was no light beyond that door. Just darkness. No hope. Darkness. The boy slowly tiptoes towards the door, drawn to it, but he trembles. Something was wrong with that door. It radiated a heavy, yet murderous aura. It felt as if something behind it was smiling with teeth.
His body kept on telling him he shouldn't open it.
He wanted to run the other way, but his curiosity peaked.
He could hear footsteps rushing towards him. People yelling while sirens blared. Panic set into the boy's chest. Like a raging fire, he lunged towards the cracked door.
It was another hallway, filled with rusted pipes lining along the wall. He sprinted down the corridor, his bare feet scraping against the concrete floor.
He sees another door. Exit. He lunged through the door, daylight beading against his face. Grass. Trees. Everything seemed so alive.
The boy kept running, knowing the people would chase him until they find him.
He keeps running.
Until someone steps out from the tree line.
Tall. Silent. A shadow.
Before the boy could even react, the figure struck him across the head.
Black. Silence.
A cruel voice then told him, "Be good... and stay put. Trust the architect, it isn't evil."
After that day, the door never opened again.
The boy would scream until his throat gave out.
Jean sat up gasping, sweat beading down his face. His hands jumped towards his face to wipe his forehead, his fingernails were longer, sharper. Almost like talons.
His heart throbbed in his ears.
He stumbled to the wash basin, bumping into a coffee table in the process. Jean splashed water on his face. His vision blurred, then sharpened beyond what he used to be able to see. The lines in the wooden wall were too sharp. He could even see a fly twitching near the windowsill.
He hurried downstairs, sliding down the banister.
The inn's common room was usually quiet every morning, but that morning it was quite loud. He looked around, but no one was in the common room. He grabbed a plate and sat at the corner table, ignoring the loud noises.
Everything felt so loud today.
He eventually caught movement in the corner of the room.
A group of rats scurried around the fireplace. But they didn't move. Just staring. Frozen.
When Jean stepped closer, they vanished.
He stepped out into the village's main road.
While walking, he noticed something very strange.
A squirrel darting up a tree paused as he passed, eyes locked onto him. Maybe it saw him as a threat, but it felt weird to Jean.
A hawk flying overhead veered off into another direction when seeing him.
A fox sniffed the area out when walking towards the market stalls, then trotted towards him. It wagged its tail like a domesticated pup.
A large dog with wolf-like features sat quietly, but when Jean walked by, it lowered its head in a gesture that almost seemed... reverent.
Jean hurried back to the inn, noticing something was wrong.
"What the hell is happening today?"
He sat at the foot of his bed, and whispers began to slip in like smoke.
"You're resisting it..."
"Why do you fight what you will eventually become?"
"Let go, Jean. You've always hated change, but this will be good."
He blinked for but a moment. Renee stood across the room.
Her blindfolded gaze looking directly towards him. "You're holding on to a version of yourself that is already dying."
Jean lay down onto the bed, but when he glanced back, she was gone. Like she vanished into thin air.
"Change is for survival," her voice whispered to him again.
"Don't be afraid. This will help you in the end."
The world felt like it was tilting again.
Until...
Ronan had slapped him hard across his face.
"Snap out of it, dude!"
Jean gasped and sat right up. Ronan stood above him with a worried face.
"You were just... talking to yourself. I didn't know if you were having a nightmare, or a seizure." He put a hand on Jean's shoulder. "Listen man, tell me what's going on."
"Gah, it's nothing." Jean sighed as he pushed Ronan's hand off his shoulder.
Ronan didn't press further, but his silence said enough.
That night, all Jean could think about were these hallucinations he had started. He watched the moonlight spill across the floor. "Maybe this is all a hallucination, and I am still at that place..."
The eerie feeling felt like it was leeching onto him.
Like something was breathing down his neck. Like it was standing right behind him, ready to pounce.
He turned. Nothing.
But the horrifying feeling remained.
He walked to the mirror.
His pupils were... unnatural. Changing. Slitted, then round, then back again.
His vision blurred, then fixed itself.
His hand reached toward the fingernails, oddly sharp. The claw-like nails gleamed faintly.
The veins in his forearm glowed under the moonlight.
The reflection looked human at first glance, but you could see many things were uncanny.
He grasped his hands together and whispered, "What am I becoming?"