Caledon shivered as droplets of water fell from his cloak. A raging blizzard roared outside, sending gusts of wind hurtling into the cave in which they were sheltered.

  Caledon glanced at Lord Semille leading the expedition to catch the orphan thief who had absconded with his “cargo”.

  The conversation with his father had been riddled with intrigue.

  Firstly, was his father’s disproportionate response to the theft committed by the young orphan, Blaze.

  A child.

  According to Lord Semille, he had incinerated her, and her family. The thought of his father doing anything so outrageous provoked a deep anger in him. And yet, his father had not corrected the lord from House Flora when he had stated it as such.

  The second mystery, was his father’s nebulous instructions to bring her to “justice”. Not to capture her, or to kill her – perhaps instructions to the former could be implied. But he had not known his father to be so imprecise in the instructions her delivered. He had hammered it into him, after all. Coming to anger at the mistakes of one’s subordinates resulting from their lord’s unclear instructions, was undoubtedly the fault of the lord.

  Finally, his mind came to rest on the third mystery.

  What was Lord Semille’s cargo?

  Caledon had heard House Flora described as the grainstore of elven civilisation.

  He believed it a crass description which failed to capture its importance. The Dreadwood – Archcity of Life - supplied all of the other Archcities with crop, grain, produce and medicine.

  Without its Highlady - Solastra Flora, and her command over all types of vegetation, elven civilisation would starve. Diseases long eradicated would return, and run rampant. All born from her Fear of plants.

  The armour borne by the Knights of the Dreadwood and Semille himself had healed what would have otherwise been fatal wounds. It was a miracle of nature, design and function which Caledon had expressed his interest in studying – to which he was quickly rebuffed.

  ‘We should continue our pursuit, Lord Semille. Could you send one of your Knights to scout ahead? We need to close off possible paths.’

  ‘Mighty Highlord Berevan’s son, coming to little old me with a request?’

  Lord Semille had sneered at him, and for all of his hatred of violence, Caledon was reminded of its appeal.

  ‘You can shove that request where it came from, Brimstone brat. Little lordling all high and mighty. A powerless and incompetent runt. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised given your oaf of a father.’

  Lord Semille. The volatile young lord from House Flora who had taken it upon himself to punish the orphan girl who had stolen from him.

  Regrettably, he was a Fearshaper who took after his mother - Highlord Solastra - if only in relation to his Fear of plants.

  How exactly did one develop a Fear of plants?

  Caledon could only guess.

  Many noble houses also sought to instill specific Fears into their progeny. That prompted a further question – how exactly did one instill a Fear of plants?

  Caledon had accepted that he would not be receiving any answers.

  You’re afraid of foliage. Who’s the runt between the two of us, Semille?

  It was unsurprising then, that Caledon had kept his interactions with Semille and the silent Dreadwood knights to a minimum. They had pursued Shiver and her accomplice into the Verscallian Peaks – the immense mountain range that circled the Archcity of Brimstone.

  Caledon’s thought process was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a creature, that flew into the cave at speed. He snapped to his feet, readying his shield in preparation.

  The skeleton of a bird, bearing the distinct beak of a crow with hollow eyes, flew into the cave. Its very presence instinctively repulsed Caledon and had a similar effect on Semille and his knights. It alighted on a rock before them, and his entourage drew their weapons in response.

  The arrogant lordling stiffened at the sight of the creature. Then, the crow opened its beak to an unnatural degree. Caledon raised his shield.

  ‘Lord of Flora, if your armour is anything to go by. What is your business here?’

  Lord Semille’s body went rigid, but he appeared to relax after registering the crow’s question. Caledon’s hands tightened around his sword and shield.

  Undead? Here? It must be a Fearshaper of death. No… The Revenants are meant to be dead. By my father’s own hand.

  ‘We are in pursuit of two girls – they have committed crimes against my house, and I am in search of retribution. Who are you?’

  ‘Lord Triol Revenant. Follow me, I will lead them to you.’

  The crow regarded Caledon for a moment, before ascending into the air. Lord Semille scrambled for his belongings and ran to his horse. Caledon followed suit as they chased the crow into the snowstorm outside, his mind racing.

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  Caledon charged through the blizzard, trying to keep track of the undead crow. Which of course, was near impossible as it blended in perfectly with the falling snow. Bolting forwards blindly, he shouted to Lord Semille who had begun to veer off track.

  ‘Lord Semille! This way!’

  ‘You, let the lord go before you. Now.’

  The crow’s words reached him just in the nick of time, and Caledon pulled on his reigns. He watched as Lord Semille hurtled forwards towards the cliff face that had been obscured by the snow.

  Lord Semille flew from his saddle as he unsuccessfully tried to veer away, flying straight towards the mountainside. Caledon winced, clenching his eyes tight. He expected the lord to-

  Semille’s body flew straight through solid stone.

  Caledon’s eyes widened.

  What is this trickery?

  Trotting forward carefully, he extended a hand through the mountainside, and slowly moved through what he had originally thought to be solid rock.

  Emerging on the other side, he saw Lord Semille groaning as he righted himself.

  The first thing Caledon noticed was the silence.

  The howls of the blizzard that had enveloped him previously had abruptly disappeared. He picked himself up from dark, cobbled streets absent of snow.

  His eyes widened as he took in the sight around him.

  A city, like nothing he had ever seen before.

  Buildings which casually tripled or quadrupled the height of the tallest structures in Brimstone. They towered above him, wrought from stone the colour of anthracite and obsidian. Pointed arches pervaded the upper tiers of the towers, casting an imposing silhouette. Silver light filtered down from immense, floating orbs which hovered like miniature suns above the city.

  Fog surrounded the streets around him, and he feared he would lose sight of Lord Semille who was standing only a few feet away from him.

  ‘Treant’s tits.’

  Lord Semille and his knights stared at the city in awe. The pale crow alighted from a nearby structure. It was tall, thin, made of smooth metal. It boasted an orb of light that illuminated the ground before them. The streets were lined with these metallic structures, casting the foggy street in a dim light. The crow dropped open its beak unnaturally wide, and turned its eyes to Caledon.

  That sight, against the backdrop of a city frozen in time – no Archcity – for it could be nothing less – set Caledon’s heart racing, a prickling sensation running down his arms.

  ‘Keep alert. Terrrors walk Anhedonia’s streets. Keep to the shadows, and your eyes peeled. If you encounter one, run.’

  Caledon paled at the crow’s words.

  Terrors? What is he talking about?

  Hearing the words, against the backdrop of a city frozen in time, sent a chill down Caledon’s spine.

  ‘Hide! Now!’

  The familiar voice that echoed from the crow’s mouth had an uncharacteristic urgency to it. Caledon watched with dread, as the fog which covered the road before him, gradually turned black.

  They rushed into one of the city’s sidestreets, caked in darkness.

  Caledon’s ears rang in the silence. The only thing he could hear was the idle dripping of water that had condensed after he entered the city, from his clothes to the floor below. He could feel the thumping of blood in his ears, drowning out his ability to pick up on subtle noises.

  The seconds continued endlessly, but none of their retinue dared to break the silence.

  Caledon stared into the fog-filled street beside him as what was once grey, turned black as midnight.

  They saw it.

  A creature, towering over them, stalked through the fog. Caledon began to shake. He could make out a familiar shape. Its anatomy was similar, yet its differences were jarring, they provoked a visceral reaction within him.

  It was a wolf. But none like any Caledon had ever glimpsed. It stood just as tall as Brimstone Manor, as it stalked quietly along its path.

  Then, he noticed something dripping from its fur.

  Blood? No…

  Shadow.

  He saw darkness drip from its black fur, as it bled shadow in its wake. Caledon stared, as he caught a glimpse of legs that blurred as it walked along. Each foot was paired with another, as it strode, creating an uncanny image.

  Then he realised that something was wrong… more so than its appearance, or even the shadow that it bled.

  The wolf… was flickering. At odd intervals. As if momentarily fading into and out of reality, before re-entering it.

  With a whinny, his horse beside him bolted. In her terror, she ran directly towards the wolf.

  The wolf turned in their direction.

  Caledon watched as it flickered, and a brief flash of shadow cut through the air, slicing through his approaching steed.

  He saw, no felt endless red eyes lock onto his own. Then, shadows began to envelop him, drowning him in darkness.

  Caledon comprehended the true nature of shadow.

  A lingering image, born from light but with obscurity as its object. Caledon was enveloped in it, leaving him isolated, never to be found by his loved ones. Never to be reunited, as the obscurity that it was cursed with, extended to himself.

  Forgotten. Lost, in the unending darkness of-

  Then the moment broke, as the wolf turned away and continued on its way. Leaving his dead steed in its wake. Blood began to pool from his horse’s corpse, slowly trickling onto the dark, cobbled Archcitiy’s street, lit by the harsh silver light that shone down from the orbs hanging over the city.

  The sensation he had been enveloped in had been terrifying, true to the moniker of the creature. What had surprised him though, was that it was all too familiar.

  I… I recognised that. It’s just like it, just in a different form..

  Caledon shivered, and he realised that tears were running from his eyes.

  It’s like… my Fear

  The “Terror” as the crow had warned them, had appraised them, and concluded that they were beneath its notice, before proceeding on its way. It hadn’t even spared them a second glance. Prey, at the very least, would have drawn its attention, warranting more than a wayward glance.

  The Terror had considered them something beneath even that.

  It was right.

  Then, as his breathing began to normalise, and the world began to return to him, Caledon noticed an odd sound.

  The sound of dripping, this time, with increased frequency. He looked downwards, and saw that the condensed water that fell from his garb to the ground hadn’t increased in regularity.

  He turned to look at Lord Semille. The man was shaking in fear, just as his attendants were, even encased in the armour of the Dreadwood as they were.

  Then, his eyes fixed on the culprit of the sound. Liquid dripped from the gaps in the vines and root comprising the lord’s armour, and Caledon was met with an acrid smell.

  Semille’s dignity leaked once more.