The trees thinned as the forest gave way to open ground. Smoke from a distant fire curled lazily into the sky, and the faint glow of the safe zones watch-fires twinkled ahead.
Kael moved ahead with his usual silent precision, tail flicking with measured awareness. Lyra lingering behind him. Elena clung close to Hugo's side, her small hand gripping his coat like it anchored her to something solid.
They crossed the last stretch of mud and debris in tense silence. The village walls rose before them, sturdy, guarded, and mercifully still. For the first time that day, Hugo allowed himself a slow breath, tasting safety in the cool night air.
As they walked through the walls of the city the whole group seemed to relax. The tension in Hugo's shoulders began to ease. They had made it to the safe zone, at last. The group continued on to find a Inn, walking and taking in the towns aesthetics. It felt safe, almost like home.
The streets were lit with lanterns which shed light on the cobblestone, damp from the recent rain. The shopkeepers had shut up shop, but the smell of fresh bread and warm fires still lingered.
"This… actually feels like a place people live," Hugo murmured, his voice low, almost unsure.
Lyra's gaze swept over the streets, alert even here. "Safe zones aren't perfect," she said, "but fighting is officially forbidden inside the walls."
They passed a cluster of small buildings, smoke curling from the chimneys, and finally they spotted an inn. The swinging sign above the door proudly exclaiming The Silver Lantern. The golden light spilling from its windows, a soft gloam covering the cobblestones. The soft murmur of voices promised beds, food, and the first real rest in days
Hugo paused at the doorway, exhaling slowly. "Finally… a place where we can just… rest." His voice carried a rare note of hope.
Lyra glanced at the inn, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Looks welcoming. Let's go in."
They pushed through the swinging doors, and a warm wave of light and chatter welcomed them in as they entered. The scent of roasting meat and fresh bread made Elena's eyes widen in delight, and Hugo felt his shoulders loosen for the first time in days.
But the innkeeper, a stout man, froze at the sight of Kael. His hands hovering over the counter before his face hardened.
"I don't serve your kind," he said flatly, voice sharp. "Strays bring nothing but trouble, death follows you like a shadow. I won't have it under my roof."
His eyes flicked over the group with open disdain. "Go find a ditch, or whatever hole you Strays crawled out of. The Silver Lantern doesn't shelter your sort."
Elena tugged at Hugo's sleeve. "Why?"
Lyra's voice was calm but somber. "Strays… people marked by death or powers they can't control. Even here, they fear what that might bring."
Hugo's chest tightened, the warmth of the inn suddenly feeling cold and untouchable. For hours he had imagined the simple comfort of sitting by a fire, a meal, maybe even sleep in a bed again, but now it was out of reach.
He looked at the group, at Elena's hopeful eyes, Lyra's steady presence, Kael's quiet tension, and the feeling that had been building all day, the weight of being unwanted, of being marked, crashed down.
The group turned away from the inn, their footsteps heavy on the wet cobblestones. Elena's small hand stayed on his coat, Lyra's presence steady at his side, Kael moving silently ahead, but none of it eased the disappointment that weighed on Hugo's shoulders.
The Silver Lantern faded behind them, its warm glow just out of reach, a promise of safety they could not enjoy. And for the first time that day, Hugo felt the empty pain of being unwanted spread through him like a shadow.
They searched from Inn to Inn for a place that would let them stay, every single one rejecting them for the same reason. Finally coming to a small, worn-down house that stood at the corner of the town, smoke curling lazily from its crooked chimney. On the porch, a woman sat, rocking gently in a wooden chair.
She looked up at them as they walked towards her, eyes bright and curious. Her skin was smooth, her dark hair was pulled back in a neat, youthful bun, and a cheerful, almost mischievous energy radiated from her. "Evening. You look like you've been traveling for quite a while," she said slightly harshly but welcoming. She stood up and walked over to them.
Hugo's shoulders eased slightly. "Yes… we've been trying to find a place to stay," he confessed, the defeat clear in his voice. Hugo blushed slightly at the look of the youthful looking woman.
Lyra's gaze sharpened, flicking from the woman back to the faint pink spreading across the back of Hugo's neck. She immediately straightened her posture, a flicker of something uncomfortably warm stirring in her chest. A mix of annoyance and something she didn't want to name.
Of course, she thought dryly, after all the terrifying things they endured, after being rejected everywhere, Hugo has remained tense and focused. And the very first face he truly relaxes around, the very first person he directs a completely genuine smile towards, is another girl. And an unusually pretty one, at that. The realization sent a hot, prickly wave up her neck that had nothing to do with traveling exhaustion.
Lyra stepped forward, planted herself between Hugo and the woman, before her brain could catch up with her mouth. "A-ahem! We aren't here for… for whatever this is!" she snapped, gesturing vaguely between Hugo and the woman.
She immediately crossed her arms tightly beneath her chest, a stiff, regrettable move that only made her chest puff out, an action she immediately regretted, but stubbornly held, a pathetic, subconscious effort to win a silent battle of bustlines, the only measurement she felt she had a fighting chance to compete with.
The assessment of the woman's assets, the sharp gaze down at the woman's bustline and cut, and then back again on the perfectly neat, infuriatingly smooth bun, all masking the petty urge to critique the woman's perfect body. Honestly, who has the time for that kind of grooming after a day of… existing?
The woman tilted her head, amused. "Oh? I was just making conversation," she said, her tone light but her smile sharp. Her eyes flicked over Lyra, assessing, playful, almost mocking. "You must be his… assistant?"
Lyra's mouth opened before her brain could stop it. "Partner, actually," she said, too fast, too loud. Then, realizing, added stiffly, "—we all are..."
"Of course." The woman's smile deepened, catlike. "He does seem the devoted type. Shame to see that go to waste."
Lyra blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, nothing." The woman waved a hand airily. "Just thinking out loud."
Lyra's jaw worked silently for a second. Then, under her breath, she hissed, "Keep your hands to yourself, homewrecker."
"Sorry?" the woman asked, leaning forward, smiling as if she'd heard every word.
"You heard me… bitch" Lyra whispered coldly back.
Hugo groaned behind her. "Lyra, please."
"What?" Lyra snapped without looking back. "Just setting boundaries."
Hugo just shook his head, pinching the crown of his nose. Keal chuckled softly, leaving Elena confused and hiding behind Hugo.
Lyra froze. The word hung in the air like a neon sign screaming I'm jealous. Her stomach flipped, her ears burned.
"Jealousy much?" The woman asked teasingly to Lyra.
"Jealous—No! Don't be ridiculous" She laughed awkwardly. Her hand shot out and smacked Hugo squarely on the shoulder. It was meant to be a simple, flustered shove, but in her state, she put too much force into it, sending him spinning in the air, flying to the floor, face smacking against the cobblestone street."
"I—I didn't mean it like that!" she stammered, her face blazing crimson. "I—ugh! Forget It!"
Hugo landed with a surprised oomph on the cobblestones, scattering a small cloud of dust. It wasn't a painful impact, just a stunning, undignified landing face first.
Lyra's breath hitched, the protective anger evaporating into a cold flash of humiliation. She inwardly screamed at herself.
"Hugo! Oh—" The crimson blush on her face intensified. She stumbled forward, hands uselessly reaching out, half-apologetic, half-wishing the ground would swallow her whole. Idiot! I wasn't even jealous! It's just… it's just that he should be focused on survival, not on... on that smug, unnervingly symmetrical face!
Keal finally stopped suppressing his laughter, which now burst forth in a soft, genuine chuckle. He dropped to one knee, not to check for injury, but to offer a hand with mock seriousness. "Well done, Lyra. That's certainly one way to settle a petty dispute."
Elena, who had been confused and hiding, let out a small, giggle-laced sound, peeking around Hugo's head at the ridiculous sight.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat, youthful bun, the style suggesting a quick, no-nonsense efficiency. Lyra, even through her fit of jealous rage, couldn't help but register the woman's impossible look. Her skin was so smooth and flawless, she looked barely older than Lyra herself, which only twisted the knife of insecurity Lyra was feeling. Her eyes held the look of youthful maturity.
The woman smiled faintly. "Well, you've come to the right place.. Come on in. There's always room for travelers… long as you're paying"
The group walked to her home and she pushed the door open and gestured them all inside.
The air within was thick with the scent of herbs and wood smoke. The small cottage was simple, low ceiling, squeaking boards, fire burning, but it was warm in a way that the most elegant inn could never hope to be.
Elena's eyes lit up the moment she saw the fire. She slipped past Hugo's side and hurried to the hearth, holding her hands out to the glow as if it might soak straight into her bones.
"Set your things down," the woman said, voice slightly crude, as her sharp gaze flicked across the group. "You've been lugging enough junk to fill a graveyard all damn day. The floor's no five-star hotel, but it'll hold you till morning. There's stew left on the fire, grab a bowl and make yourselves at home"
Hugo opened his mouth to answer, but his throat felt tight. For a moment he could only nod, the simple offer of warmth and food hitting harder than any insult hurled by the other townsfolk.
Lyra bowed her head politely. "We're grateful. Truly." She said mockingly.
The woman's eyes softened at that. She eased back into her rocking chair, smoking a cigarette. "As long as y'all are paying, you'll find no closed doors here."
Lyra shot her a cold glare.
Hugo finally let himself sink down beside the fire. Elena sat, exhaustively claiming Hugo's lap, drowsy from the day's weight, and for the first time since they'd left the forest, he felt something more than exhaustion pressing on his chest. Comfort.
The bowls emptied slowly, the only sounds were the clink of spoons and the low crackle of the fire as the group ate like they had never seen food before. The warmth seeped into their bones, chasing away the chill that had clung to them since the forest.
Kael sank down onto the floor near the fireplace, letting his back rest against the wall. His hands rested loosely on his knees, and the stiffness that usually ran through his body slowly unwound. He watched the fire for a while, letting its glow wash over him, unbothered by the world outside.
Lyra leaned against the opposite wall, her staff set aside. Her eyes were half-lidded, the faintest trace of a smile softening her features. For the first time all day, she didn't scan the shadows or scan the streets. She simply breathed
Elena, too tired to resist, fell asleep in Hugo's lap, her small hands tucked under her chin. Hugo shifted slightly to make her more comfortable. The warmth of her presence pressed against him, a quiet anchor in the calm of the room.
"So pretty…" Elena exclaimed in awe of the lady. "How old are you?"
"63 years young"
Everyone's jaws dropped.
Hugo stared, a half-chewed piece of bread suddenly feeling like wood in his mouth. Lyra's eyes snapped wide open, every trace of exhaustion instantly gone. Keal straightened up from the wall so quickly it looked like the stone had burned him.
"Sixty-three?" Lyra finally managed, the word a tiny, disbelieving squeak. Her gaze went from the woman's smooth, flawless skin to the neat bun, and the petty internal critiques she'd been having instantly evaporated, replaced by stunned confusion. The woman didn't look a day over twenty-five.
The woman took a slow drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling up past her face, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. "Give or take a few months. Been keeping this old place standing for nearly forty of 'em." She tapped the ash casually into a small, chipped saucer on the arm of the rocking chair.
Elena, still half-asleep, simply blinked up at her from Hugo's lap, her awe undiminished. "Wow… you're so pretty for an old lady."
A low, rich laugh came from the woman's chest, a sound that held the gravelly warmth of the wood smoke and the wisdom of years. "Bless your little heart, sweet thing. I'll take that as a compliment."
Keal, ever the pragmatic one, pushed himself fully off the wall. "That's... quite remarkable, ma'am. Do you mind if I ask your name?"
"Name's Ari," she said, her bright eyes fixed on Keal. "And you can call me Ari. Ma'am makes me feel like I should be knitting you a scarf."
Sixty-three! Ari didn't just look younger, she looked like an enhanced version of youth. Her skin was impossibly smooth, her composure infuriatingly perfect, and her smile held the smug satisfaction of a woman who knew she was winning battles Lyra didn't even know existed.
Lyra's gaze went back to Ari's neat, youthful bun, then swept down the figure. The shame was still there, but it was mixed with a potent, prickly infuriation.
"Unbelievable," Lyra muttered under her breath, watching Morwen take another slow, perfectly calm puff of her cigarette. "She doesn't even have to try."
Ari's voice cut through the nervous energy with a low, knowing amusement. "Still struggling with the numbers, are we, dearie? Don't worry, a few decades from now, you might understand how to properly moisturize."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. Ari had heard her. The woman was not just old, but unnervingly perceptive.
Hugo looked away so fast he nearly snapped his neck. He began aggressively scooping the last bits of stew from his bowl, his shoulders hunched in shame. He had been completely, genuinely charmed by a vibrant woman old enough to be his grandmother. The thought didn't lessen her appeal, but it made him feel profoundly foolish.
"I moisturize just fine," Lyra snapped, pushing herself off the wall. She forced a stiff, unnatural smile, the one she used when addressing hostile town guards. "I just don't feel the need to look like I've been dipped in elven rejuvenation cream just to feel validated, Ari."
The name was spit out with maximum passive aggression.
Ari's playful smile didn't fade, but her eyes held a momentary flash of something ancient and unreadable. "It's not about validation, little flame. It's about knowing how to hold onto what's yours." Her glance flickered pointedly to Hugo, then back to Lyra. "You, for instance, nearly pushed what's yours into the dirt."
Lyra's face was blazing, the crimson blush intensifying. The woman knew exactly what she was doing. She didn't regret the motive, Hugo should be focused on survival, but if he was going to not be, why couldn't it be her, why a woman who defied the laws of nature just to be impossibly beautiful. The insult only deepened Lyra's resolve to dislike her.
There was no formal bedding, but the group didn't care. They were past the point of needing linens.
Keal, the most disciplined, was the first to prepare. He moved away from the wall only long enough to check the cottage door, ensuring the bar was firmly in place, a habit ingrained from years on the run. He sat against the wall, his sword resting against his shoulder beside him, his gaze running over the flickering firelight one last time before his eyes closed. His breathing quickly deepened into the slow, steady rhythm of true, hard-earned sleep.
Lyra carefully peeled off her outer layer of travel-stained clothing, folding it into a makeshift pillow. Blushing when she turned to see Hugo looking at her. She quickly covered up and layed on the floor. Her last conscious thought was a final, internal sneer directed at Ari's peaceful figure still rocking gently, smoking quietly by the hearth. The injustice of Ari's effortless beauty and the depth of her own earlier fury were still sharp, but the muscles in her neck and shoulders were finally melting. She rolled onto her side, curled tightly into herself, and was gone almost instantly, the tension bleeding out into the rough wooden floor.
Hugo shifted Elena, who had barely stirred since falling asleep in his lap. He gently adjusted her small body, making sure her head was resting comfortably against his chest. The smell of woodsmoke and the quiet crackle of the fire were a profound balm. He still felt a fresh wave of heat rise to his neck every time he glanced at Ari, but he deliberately turned his attention to Elena. He rested his cheek against her soft hair, the innocent weight of her small form a powerful anchor against the day's disappointments and his own acute embarrassment. For the first time since being sent to this world, the hollow ache of being unwanted finally receded, replaced by the warmth of the fire and the quiet presence of his companions. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, and the last thing he saw was the silhouette of Ari in the rocking chair, watching him motherly-like.
As the comfort and warmth of the house overtook them, they all slept peacefully.
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When the sun rose over the walls of the safe zone, light spilled through the windows, brushing the group with warmth. Slowly, they rose and began their day. The morning air carried a sense of calm, almost fragile, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
As they stepped outside the streets were quiet, the occasional merchant beginning to open shutters or sweep doorways. Hugo, Elena, Lyra, and Kael strolled slowly down the cobbled alleys, peering in through the small shops, fountains, and gardens crammed between buildings.
The safe zone felt alive, but not crowded, people went about their daily routines with a sense of order.
Elena darted ahead for a moment to peer at a small flower stall, her curiosity lighting up her face. Lyra smiled at the sight, keeping an easy hand in Elena's hand. Kael's ears twitched at distant sounds, hooves on cobblestones, a child's laugh, but he didn't tense, letting the calm of the morning wash over him. Hugo took in the scents of fresh bread, wood smoke, and wet earth, letting himself believe, just for a moment, that this place could be safe.
A figure with a pumpkin for a head sprinted down the street. The carved smile looked unnervingly cheerful in all the chaos. Behind it, a deer, a squirrel, and a flock of birds were in full pursuit, snapping, leaping, and diving like it was the most important meal of their lives. Hugo barely registered the chaos before it vanished from his sight.
"…Did I just see…?" He shook his head trying to wake up from this surreal dream.
They wandered farther into the central square, passing a market slowly coming to life. Stalls of fruit, cloth, and trinkets added splashes of color to the gray stones. The group paused by a fountain, watching the water glint in the sun, the sound gentle against the morning hush. For the first time since leaving the forest, Hugo allowed himself to relax, to walk without glancing over his shoulder, to breathe freely.
The air outside the small house was cool, carrying the scent of rain and wood smoke. Hugo walked slowly, Elena tucked safely at his side, Lyra close, and Kael just ahead. For a few moments, everything felt… normal. Safe. Almost serene.
But then it started.
A whisper of movement across the street. A flicker of reflection in a puddle. A shadow at the edge of his vision. Faces. Watching. Judging.
Hugo froze, his stomach knotting.
"They're staring," a voice hissed from behind him. Hugo's eyes darted back, but no one seemed unusual, just townsfolk going about their business. Yet the feeling gnawed at him.
"They're staring again. Don't you feel it?" the voice continued, colder now, sharper. "Smile. They like it when you pretend you're sane."
Hugo's chest tightened. His breathing came out in short, harsh gasps. The comfort of the woman's house, the light from the fire, the tranquility of the evening, they all faded away from him, leaving only that cold and helpless feeling, like being alone.
A small, flickering shadow, a devilish figure, grinning, whispering to him. Every eye is on you. Everyone is watching...
He tried to speak, to reassure himself, but his voice trembled. "N-no… they're just… they're just normal…"
"Lies. They're all lies," the figure spat. "Don't you feel it, Hugo?"
Hugo's knees buckled. Lyra's hand hovered in the air as if she wanted to comfort him but didn't know how. Elena clutched at Hugo's coat tighter, her small face buried against him, whimpering softly, sensing the change in the air even if she didn't fully understand it.
Hugo felt trapped in a reality that only he could see, hear, feel. A crow landed on his shoulder. As it leaned in and whispered every insecurity, every fear he had ever buried, the world itself felt like it was leaning in with it, counting down how far he could bend before snapping.
And then Hugo saw it. The townsfolk were no longer themselves. Faces he had passed a moment ago contorted, smiles stretched impossibly, snapping into jagged, toothy grins. Eyes widened, blackened at the edges, fixated on him like predators, unblinking, crawling under his skin. Whispers slithered through the air, not words, but venom, curling around his ears and sinking into his mind.
The street seemed to stretch and bend around him, leaning closer with every heartbeat. The shadows of the buildings stretched impossibly long, like the town itself was leaning in over him.
Hugo's breath hitched, his chest heaving in jagged bursts. The whispers pressed harder, curling into his skull until they were no longer voices but claws, raking at the inside of his mind. His hands shot to his face, trembling, clutching at his skin as if he could peel the madness free.
Fingers dug into his cheeks, nails biting until blood welled beneath them. Tears streamed hot down his face, streaking through the dirt and blood already there. His eyes rolled, wide and pale.
"Stop it—stop—it's not real, it's not—" he choked, voice breaking into a half-sob, half-scream. But the words were hollow, devoured by the whispers that slithered through every crack of his mind.
His whole body shook as he pressed harder, palms grinding against his eyes as if crushing them shut could force the world back into sanity. The wet sound of his own breath tangled with the frantic rasp of his nails against skin. And still, the whispers grew louder.
"Say yes Hugo... let it in. I can make it all go away. Just let me in."
The street warped. Faces bent into grins that weren't faces at all. Every eye locked on him, every whisper echoed his name. His sob turned to a laugh, broken and strangled, slipping out between clenched teeth as the last of his resistance bled away.
Then silence fell—
—and Hugo rose as he let the fear take control.
"This... isn't me..." He managed to mutter as he broke.
He knees leaving the ground, his body rising, trembling first, then steadying, as if the fear that had once consumed him had filled him instead with power. The shadows bent toward him, the alleys leaning, the rooftops tilting, bowing to the presence he now carried.
His hands lifted, not with hesitation but with authority, fingers spreading wide as if to cradle the world. His heart still hammered, but the panic was gone. It had transformed into something sharp, alive, a crown of fear he now wore as effortlessly as a halo of shadows.
Hugo's voice rose again, but now it was deeper, stronger, carrying across the alleys, through the air, into the ears of everyone who watched.
He still looked human, at least in outline, but everything else was wrong. His body was swallowed by a mantle of writhing shadow, the edges fraying into static, tearing at the air as if reality itself struggled to contain him. The cloak that draped from his shoulders wasn't fabric but darkness, glitching and flickering, alive with jagged ripples of black. The lantern light warped around him, bending away as though refusing to illuminate what he had become. He stood as a broken silhouette, shifting, fractured, dripping with static, and yet there was no mistaking him. It was Hugo, clothed in fear itself, wearing nightmare as a second skin.
His frame trembled as though half of him belonged to this world and half to something else, black static clinging to his limbs, writhing and tearing at the air like smoke caught in a storm.
His face was the worst of all. Recognizable for a heartbeat, then dissolving into a shifting mask of black smoke. Features distorted and reformed with every flicker, a smile stretched too wide, then gone, then back again, jagged and wrong and sewed to his face at the sides of his mouth. His eyes burned with a cold, unnatural light, two piercing embers in the dark that froze the air around them. Staring through flesh and bone into the minds of those who dared to meet them.
And everywhere he stood, the air thickened with dread. Lantern flames guttered, shadows bent toward him, and the cobblestones themselves seemed to tilt inward, as if reality were leaning close, listening.
He was no longer Hugo. He was fear made flesh, a living Epiales, a nightmare that had stepped out of the mind and into the waking world.
Hugo's voice cracked, low at first, then rising with terrible clarity:
"Fear—hah! You feel it, don't you? Don't pretend, don't pretend! I can see it crawling in your eyes, hear it rattling in your teeth. That trembling in your chest? That's the only honest thing about you!
You call it weakness, you call it shame—liars! All of you! all of you... Fear is truth. Fear doesn't wear a mask, it doesn't smile, it doesn't lie. It strips you bare, shows you what's underneath, shows you what you really are!
And me? Heh—ahhahaha!—I stopped running. I let it in. I let it eat me alive until there was nothing left to hide. And now—now I wear it. I am it.
So look at me! LOOK at me! This is what your fear makes—this is what your fear deserves!
It's not so bad once you stop running. You should try it. I can help you. Just let it in… don't resist. Fear will hold you tighter than any friend.
…and, oh, oh! If you'd like… if you really wanted, I can show YOU how too! Just a taste, a little sip, and—poof!—you'll see the world through my eyes! Easy, simple, painless! So step right up, folks! Fear, raw and honest, just for you! Hah… isn't it beautiful?"
For the first time, Hugo let it consume him entirely, the fear, the terror, the Crow, the voices, and the town, once serene and safe, felt like a cage closing in.
A scream broke from the crowd, then another. The air rippled, heavy with dread. Mothers clutched their children close, some dropping to their knees in desperate prayer, others stumbling blindly through the warped streets only to find themselves bent back toward him, as if the town itself refused escape.
Elena collapsed to her knees beneath him, sobbing, her arms outstretched toward the boy hanging above the earth. Her fingers clawed uselessly at empty air, as though sheer desperation could drag him back down, yet she couldn't force herself to look up, too terrified of what his face might hold.
"...Hugo…" Lyra's voice cracked into a broken whisper, the sound swallowed by the crushing weight of his aura. Her trembling hand hovered midair, but her body refused to close the distance, every instinct screaming that what floated above them was no longer human.
Kael stood, every muscle rigid, teeth bared in fear. His hand hovered over his blade, torn between shielding the others or striking down the friend he could no longer recognize.
And through it all, Hugo's presence loomed above them, vast, alien-like, and merciless, untethered from their cries, their pleas, the fragile bonds that had once held him to the world below.
Hugo smiled, as the world below him bowed out of fear.