Riel hadn't slept properly in days.
Every time his head hit the pillow, exhaustion would drag him under like a tide and the swamp would be waiting. The first few nights he'd woken screaming. Then he'd stopped screaming. Then he'd stopped fighting sleep altogether.
Now, he was just tired.
Trading with Daen during the day was already wearing him down, the man had the charm of a blade pressed to the throat, but it was the nights that truly hollowed him. Every time he closed his eyes, the same stench rose in his mind: salt, rot, stagnant water. Every time he tried to rest, the darkness reached back.
When the world went quiet and his breathing slowed, the pull came — gentle, inevitable.
And then he was there.
––
The swamp was endless.
Brine soaked his ankles, the water thick as oil. Dead reeds brushed against his legs, whispering like skeletal hands. The mist hung heavy, choking out color and sound, until the only thing left was the wet squelch of his steps and the low hum that lived beneath the silence.
He took a step back, and his foot caught in the mud. Panic clawed at his throat.
"Think," he whispered. "You know this."
He raised his hand, tried to summon that faint shimmer again, the blade of shadow and light he'd once held for a heartbeat. But nothing happened.
"Come on!" He clenched his fist, trying to feel it, that heat in his chest, that pull in his soul. "Come on!"
The water erupted.
A creature burst forth, long and pale, its hide stretched too tight over a writhing mass of muscle. Its eyes were milky white, its gills flaring with a sound like tearing cloth. The jaw opened wide, too wide, a crescent of jagged teeth slick with black fluid.
Riel stumbled back, heart hammering.
The creature lunged.
He threw himself aside, rolling through the mud as the monster's body slammed into the bank, spraying water and sludge. He scrambled to his feet, breath ragged, and watched as it twisted, turning toward him with a sound halfway between a hiss and a growl.
It was fast — far too fast for its size.
Riel tried again, reaching inward. He felt it, faint, buried beneath the fear, that spark of something that wasn't quite light, wasn't quite shadow. It pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
The creature struck again, and Riel shouted, thrusting his hand forward.
The air cracked.
For an instant, the swamp went silent.
Utterly still.
Then the dagger formed in his hand.
Black and silver light spiraled out of his palm, condensing into a blade so sharp it almost sang. The surface of it shimmered faintly, like liquid glass catching the light of a dying sun.
Riel stared at it — stunned, trembling.
The creature screeched, snapping him back.
It lunged again.
This time, he didn't run. He ducked low, slashing upward as it passed overhead. The blade carved through its underbelly, spraying black ichor across the mud. The stench burned his nose and eyes.
The monster's momentum carried it past him, crashing into a half-sunken tree. It thrashed violently, churning the swamp into chaos. Riel turned and ran toward it, dagger raised. He didn't think, he just moved.
He leapt, driving the blade into its side. The beast howled, twisting violently. Riel held on, using the dagger like a climbing spike, hacking at it again and again until his arms screamed with the effort.
"Stay down!" he roared.
The creature slammed itself into the bank, nearly crushing him. He rolled away just in time, hitting the mud hard. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, but he could see it weakening, its movements jerky, desperate.
He stumbled forward and thrust the dagger into its throat.
The creature convulsed once, twice — then went still.
Riel stood there panting, chest heaving, covered in blood and muck. His hand trembled as he looked at the dagger, the weapon still humming faintly, as if alive.
For the first time, he'd truly summoned it.
He laughed, weakly, almost disbelieving. "I did it…"
But the sound died quickly in his throat.
The water behind him rippled again.
He turned slowly.
Shapes began to rise, one, two, then too many to count. Each one just as large as the first, their pale bodies gliding through the mist like serpents. Dozens of eyes blinked open beneath the surface, reflecting faint light.
Riel took a step back, shaking his head. "No… no, no, no…"
The creatures hissed in unison, the sound sharp and shrill, like steam escaping from cracked stone.
They came at him all at once.
Riel met them with a scream.
The swamp exploded into chaos, bodies thrashing, water spraying. His blade tore through one throat, then another, but for every one that fell, two more came. They bit, clawed, dragged him through the muck. Pain seared through his side as one latched onto his leg. He stabbed down, twisting until it released him, black ichor spilling into the water.
He was faster now, sharper, but he was bleeding.
He fought like a cornered animal, no thought, just motion, instinct, defiance. The air around him shimmered faintly with each swing, as though reality itself resisted the blade's presence.
He carved his way through them, breath ragged, until the water grew still again.
Then came the tremor.
A deep, resonant vibration rolled through the swamp, making the very air shake. The juveniles froze, and for the first time, they looked… afraid.
The water beneath them split.
Something vast began to rise.
At first, Riel thought it was the land itself — until the light caught the glistening curve of scale and muscle. It kept rising, and rising, until it blotted out the mist. The creature's head alone was larger than any building he'd ever seen, its body stretching endlessly into the dark water.
When it exhaled, the world bent.
Riel fell to his knees, staring up in horror.
He couldn't move. Couldn't think. His body felt weightless, meaningless before its presence.
The dagger slipped from his hand, sinking soundlessly into the water.
The monster leaned closer — and the swamp went silent, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
Then, without a sound, it swallowed him whole.
–––
Riel woke screaming.
His sheets were soaked. His throat raw.
It took him a full minute to realize he was in his room again — the cradle of the gods, faint moonlight filtering through the window. He sat there, shaking, eyes wide and unblinking.
Slowly, he looked at his hands.
For a moment, just a flicker, the faint shimmer of that dagger pulsed between his fingers — and vanished.
Riel whispered, voice hoarse, "It's not over. It'll never be over."
And in the silence that followed, something deep within him screeched.