Scroll 5: Darkness, Pressure, and a Bite
Ethan awoke to something which was not black, but heavy, something, a bulk, a weight, on every side, as though he were wrapped up in wet velvet, and left to putrefy. He had at first imagined that he was entombed, perhaps in some smashed mine, because his arms could not stretch more than a few inches before they met something soft and yet stubborn. It was hot, the atmosphere was as heavy as lead, and so much moisture fell upon him, that he breathed in a cloud of steam.
Then the beat.
It was not his heart beating it was slower, deeper, regular as a bass drum somewhere beyond the walls that closed him in. Each blow threw out a wave in the air that enveloped him, like breathing in unison with him--or breathing him, rather. It was as soft as flesh and yet it would not give and his fingers struck it.
He had no idea, his nerves were strained in a haze of heat.
Then it was, a sudden, sudden pinch on his lower leg. Not of the sort of accidental brush that you get in a crowd. No, this was not by chance. It fastened its little, obstinate teeth on his calf, and gnawed him like a rat at a piece of leather.
What the words could not come out. All he could grunt, it appears, was a muffled grunt. He gulped and the gooey stuff went down his throat.
That nipping thing would not let up. It became bolder, biting with little jerks, at least.
That is when it struck me. The heat, the beat, the pressure, the shortage of oxygen, the teeth.
No way.
No. Freaking. Way.
He was fetal in a womb.
And something, no, somebody was in here with him.
His stomach dropped hard enough to make him forget the pain for a moment. His brain, groggy and sluggish, tripped over itself trying to string together the obvious: the soft walls, the muffled sound, the lack of air, the biting. This wasn't drowning. This wasn't a coffin. He was in the one place you only ever entered once, and usually without company.
But the real panic didn't start until the memories came.
Not all at once. More like jagged shards pushing through the fog, each one digging deep. His name Ethan Cole from before. His tiny, suffocating apartment with its leaky window. The stack of paperbacks beside his bed. The glow of his phone screen at 2 a.m. as he read "The Sword of Hollow Skies" for the seventh time.
And the scene. Oh God, the scene. The one where the older brother loyal, stubborn, and painfully human died trying to buy his genius little brother enough time to escape the Emperor's hunters. He could see the page in his head, the way the author had ended the chapter mid-scream. He had cursed the writer for weeks.
He remembered because he'd been mad about it every single time he reread the book.
And now? He wasn't just remembering it. He was living in the start of it.
Not the cool little brother. Not the destined hero.
The older brother. The doomed one.
"Hell no," Ethan thought, or tried to. His jaw was clamped shut by this tiny, watery space, but his mind screamed it loud enough to rattle whatever counted as the walls in here.
That's when the voices came.
They didn't sound close, not exactly. More like the sound you hear when you press your ear to the wall and someone's talking in the next room. Deep, slow, deliberate voices, too clear to be background noise and too steady to be casual.
"…balance the scales…"
"…test the bonds of fate…"
The tone wasn't reassuring. There was no comfort in it, no warmth. If anything, it was like overhearing strangers at a bus stop talking about your funeral in the past tense.
He didn't recognize the language at first not until his brain decided to plug in another jigsaw piece from those jagged memories. It wasn't English. It was High Imperial. The same dead, ceremonial tongue used in the novel for blessings, curses, and official decrees.
Which meant this wasn't just a rebirth. It was a set-up.
His pulse picked up, beating way too fast for the cramped space, making the warm fluid swirl slightly around him. The bite on his calf eased for a second, as though whatever else was in here had sensed his fear and was pausing to enjoy it.
"You've got to be kidding me," Ethan thought.
It bit down again.