Arinn's breath caught.
The glowing blue eyes blinked up at him from the darkness of the well, calm and cold as still water. And then, the voice came again—soft, familiar, and wrong.
"Arinn… my son…"
He staggered, heart thundering. There was warmth in the voice, but it rang hollow, like a song played on broken strings. Something inside him yearned to believe it—but something else screamed to run.
A pressure curled around his mind, like fingers clawing into his thoughts.
Then—a hand yanked him back.
"Arinn, move!" Rey's voice was sharp, slicing through the fog like steel.
The well rumbled. The stones trembled beneath their feet. And from its depths, a figure began to rise.
A silhouette shifting between flesh and shadow. Its form twisted, flickering like a broken flame. It took on the shape of their father—broad shoulders, a strong jaw, kind eyes.
But it wasn't him.
It was wrong.
Rey stepped in front of Arinn, sword drawn. His voice was low and cold. "Seth's tricks."
The creature smiled—a perfect copy of their father's grin warped by something soulless behind it. "You seek the truth, don't you? Let me show you the pain your parents endured. Let me bring them back to you…"
And then—
A storm crashed into Rey's mind.
His mother's final breath.
His father, bloodied and defiant, standing against the darkness.
A flash of red eyes.
The sound of steel.
The moment he lost them.
But the face of the one his father fought—still a blur. Hidden. Censored by memory or something far darker.
Rey's knees nearly buckled.
"No…" he growled, teeth clenched. "You don't control me."
The shadow lunged, mouth stretching into a grin of jagged, glistening teeth.
Rey met it head-on.
His blade sang.
A clean, powerful arc—cutting through the illusion like wind through fog.
The creature screamed, a sound of shattering glass and human agony twisted together, before its form crumbled, vanishing back into the depths of the well.
Silence.
Arinn was pale, trembling. "W-What was that?"
Rhys approached slowly, breath ragged, axe still in hand. "Seth's corruption. He's bleeding into this world now—twisting memories, distorting faces. He's not just sending monsters anymore… he's sending lies."
Rey didn't speak. He sheathed his blade and turned his back on the well.
"Then we don't stop moving."
Night fell like a curtain.
They left the cursed village behind, shadows curling at their heels. The wind had lost its warmth. Even the stars seemed farther away.
No one spoke for a long time.
Then, finally—Arinn broke the silence.
"Rey… what was our home like?"
Rey glanced down at his little brother. For a moment, his face softened.
"It was quiet. Beautiful. The kind of place where… mom laughed a lot. Where dad would carry you on his shoulders and sing terribly off-key."
He paused, then shook his head. "But I was young too. I don't remember all of it."
Arinn smiled faintly. "Then we'll find out together."
Rhys, walking ahead, chuckled. "You two have fire. I like that. Just don't let it burn you."
By morning, smoke stained the horizon.
They crested a hill, and below, the village of Ravenbrook burned.
Screams echoed across the valley. Figures scattered in chaos. And among them—shadows slithered.
Nightmare spawn.
Rey didn't hesitate. His body moved before thought could form.
"Something's wrong. Hurry!"
They ran, blades ready. Into fire. Into darkness.
Into the next battle.