Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  I stared at the clock on the wall. It was only 11:30pm on this wild night here in Glacia. My boss was nowhere to be seen, the cooks were fighting in the back, and the servers were gossiping and flirting with the drunken men to secure their tips for the night. Just another normal Friday night, but my anticipation of going home was building. I don’t know why I was rushing home to an empty house, but I was. Perhaps it was because I’d spilled three bar drinks on me, and my drink tasted funky. I figured the carbonation was out in the soda machine, and who knows when they’ll come by to fix it.

  I sighed and muttered under my breath as another drunkard came over to the bar with a woman who was maybe just barely 21 attached to his hip. Ultimately, putting on my customer service face, I asked them what I could get. The typical ‘double shot of whiskey, top shelf,’ was their reply. Shaking my head, I turned and got their drinks together and sat them down in front of them.

  The bar door slammed open, letting in a gust of icy wind that swirled around the room, making the dim lights flicker. I looked up from wiping down the counter, my rag pausing mid-swipe. A hooded figure stepped inside, their cloak billowing around them like a shadow-given form. Sharp and searching, their eyes scanned the room before landing on me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.

  Patrons turned to look, their conversations dying down to a murmur. The air was thick with tension as if everyone sensed the arrival of something—or someone—extraordinary. My instincts screamed at me to stay calm, but a thread of suspicion tugged at my mind. Who was this stranger, and why did they seem so focused on me?

  It wasn’t often that we got last-minute stragglers, especially ones that demanded attention like this. I looked the character up and down, trying to get a read on him. He was dressed sharply in a tailored suit that spoke of wealth and power, the attire you'd expect from a higher-up business partner. The fabric gleamed subtly under the dim lights, and his shoes were perfectly polished.

  Reading him almost spot on, I questioned, “What will it be? Let me guess—a top-shelf whiskey, neat?”

  A smirk appeared as he sat at the bar directly before me, his head lifting to meet my gaze as his strangely colored eyes locked with mine. His expression showed a hint of amusement as if he was both surprised and impressed by my guess. “Good guess,” his deep voice flowed to me, nearly catching me off guard.

  And I thought I was the weirdo with the lavender-colored eyes. No, this man’s gaze was a deep amber-red color. Though, I’d describe it more as a blood-red color. It was intense, almost hypnotic, and seemed to pierce right through me as if he could see more than just the surface. I wondered who this mysterious stranger was and what secrets those eyes held.

  As he settled into his seat, the surrounding atmosphere seemed to shift. The murmurs of other patrons faded into the background, leaving an almost tangible silence between us. His presence was commanding, yet there was an odd sense of familiarity, as though I had known him from a long-forgotten dream.

  I busied myself while preparing his drink, the clink of glass and the soft pour of whiskey filling the air. It was a welcome distraction from the intensity of his gaze. As I placed the glass in front of him, I couldn't help but notice the subtle elegance in the way he reached for it, his long fingers wrapping around the glass with practiced ease.

  "Do you often make such accurate guesses?" he asked, his voice smooth and layered with curiosity.

  I shrugged, keeping my tone light. "You develop an instinct for people in this line of work. Plus, you strike me as someone who enjoys the finer things."

  He chuckled softly, a warmth in the sound. "I suppose appearances do have their stories to tell."

  Curious, I asked, "So, what brings you to a small town like Glacia?"

  "Business, of course," he replied.

  "What kind of business?" I pressed.

  "Business within the bar, around the town, just... business with certain... people," he said, his voice tinged with a subtle curiosity.

  I felt a chill run through me, goosebumps forming beneath my long sleeves. With my back to him, I took a deep breath to steady myself. "You seem like a private person," I muttered, returning to face him and sipping my flat-tasting drink. Tossing the cloth over my shoulder, I crossed my arms and studied him again.

  As I studied him, I noticed how he seemed perfectly at ease, as if he belonged there despite the mystery surrounding him. His demeanor was calm and collected, yet there was a certain intensity in how he observed everything around him. It was as if he was assessing the environment, taking in every detail with those penetrating, blood-red eyes.

  The bar had returned to its usual hum of conversation, but the space between us felt charged with unspoken questions. His presence was intriguing and unsettling, and I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his visit than he was letting on.

  "So, are you going to tell me more about this 'business'?" I asked, trying to coax more information out of him.

  He leaned back slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Perhaps. But for now, let's just say I'm here to make connections. And you," he paused, gesturing subtly towards me, "seem like someone worth knowing."

  “Fine, whatever, make yourself at home or whatever. But once that clock strikes 12, you’re out of here,” I grumbled.

  The last 30 minutes of the night seemed to drag on for what felt like ever. I was tired and annoyed with the normal crowd tonight. However, I was on edge more tonight after my small conversation with the man. He may have left the bar side, but he was now sitting across the room in the corner watching the crowd - mostly me. Those eyes seemed to burn right through me. Why was he so interested? Am I really going to have to stay the night at the damn bar tonight? I’d rather not be followed home. I mean, I could defend myself, I’m sure - he didn’t look all that strong, but you never know what kind of creeps are around.

  Though, I felt a lot more tired and agitated than usual. A couple of the servers even approached me and asked me if I was feeling okay and if I wanted a lift home. I insisted I was fine - probably just staying in the studio above the bar. No, I didn’t live here, but my boss often let me stay if I was too tired. I’d rent it out a couple of times a month from him - but my home was in the middle of the woods, surrounded by nothing but trees and hills. About a 20-minute walk, not too bad. Glacia was a small town. Not too many weirdos here.

  At midnight, I started ushering everyone out, telling them it was time to head home. The stragglers, the servers, and even the cooks, who had been bickering all night, were gently but firmly shown the door. My head throbbed with persistent pain, so I took some ibuprofen to ease it as I wrapped up the closing tasks for the bar. By 12:30, I had locked up for the night, ensuring everything was in order. I could come in early the next day to sort it out if I forgot anything.

  With everyone gone and the bar finally quiet, I took a moment to breathe. The stillness was a welcome relief after the chaotic evening, and the dim lighting gave the place a serene, almost ghostly ambiance. My mind wandered back to the stranger with blood-red eyes and our intriguing conversation. Something about him lingered in my thoughts, like an unsolved puzzle.

  I double-checked the cash register and the inventory, ensuring everything was accounted for. The routine tasks helped to distract me from my nagging curiosity about his visit. As I tidied up, I couldn't help but wonder if our paths would cross again and what that encounter might mean.

  After ensuring everything was secured, and the lights were off, I stepped outside into the crisp night air. The cold was refreshing against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the bar. I locked the door behind me, giving one last look at the familiar facade before heading home.

  However, just as I was beginning to relax, my head started to throb intensely, a sharp pain stabbing at my temples. Damn. I regretted not staying at the bar tonight; I wasn't even halfway home, and the thought of traversing the rough part of the forest filled me with unease. Between the persistent headache and an unsettling tension, something felt off. A sensation danced along my spine, an intuitive whisper that I wasn't alone.

  With each step toward home, the empty streets seemed to watch me, and the soft patter of my footsteps was echoed by another set, faint but unmistakably there. My heart quickened, and the comforting weight of the keys in my hand now felt like the only tether to safety in the vast night ahead. The shadows seemed to deepen, and every rustle of leaves or creak of a branch heightened my senses. I knew I had to stay alert, trusting my instincts to guide me through the darkness.

  I quickened my pace, trying to shake off the unease that clung to me like a shadow. Every flicker of movement in my peripheral vision made me jump; every whisper of the wind sounded like hushed voices. I told myself it was just my imagination getting the best of me, a side effect of too many late nights spent in the quiet company of the bar. But the feeling of being watched and followed grew stronger with each step.

  As I tried to focus, I noticed the headache intensifying. This throbbing pain seemed to pulse in time with my racing heart. It dawned on me that this was more than exhaustion or a reaction to the ibuprofen I had taken earlier. Someone had spiked my drink, and now the mix with the painkiller was making my head spin.

  Cursing under my breath, I forced myself to stay calm and alert. I had to power through, relying on sheer will to keep moving forward. I glanced over my shoulder, trying to glimpse whoever might be lurking in the darkness. Still, the street behind me remained empty, bathed in the pale, unreliable light of the street lamps. My heartbeat drummed in my ears, a relentless reminder of my vulnerability.

  With each step, I focused on breathing, trying to steady myself against the growing disorientation. I had to make it home to the safety of familiar walls and locked doors. Despite the fear gnawing at my mind, I knew I couldn't stop now. I pushed forward, determined to reach my destination, and gathered my wits to figure out what to do next.

  I approached the forest entryway with no light but my flashlight and the stars above me to guide me. “Fuck, this is awful!” I growled, trying to feel my way in front of me as I walked along the path. The snow on the ground was thick, and it felt like it was grabbing me.

  I tried to feel my way along the path, relying on memory and instinct to guide me through the familiar yet now ominous surroundings. The trees loomed tall and shadowy on either side, their branches creaking softly in the cold night air. Each step felt heavy from the snow and the lingering effects of whatever had been slipped into my drink.

  Despite the disorientation, I focused on the narrow beam of light ahead and the distant glimmer of stars. The forest seemed to close around me, every rustle and crack magnified in the silence. I knew I had to keep moving, to push through the fear and uncertainty, until I reached the safety of my home.

  As I trudged through the forest, the unsettling feeling of being watched refused to leave me. My heart leaped each time a twig snapped, or a branch rustled. I quickened my pace, trying to ignore the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm me, determined to reach the safety of my home.

  As I emerged from the dense woods, I sensed movement behind me. Turning quickly, my flashlight swept across the trees, catching a fleeting shadow that slipped out of view. Someone was definitely following me. Panic surged through me, but I forced myself to focus on getting to the house.

  I stumbled up the steps to my front door, relief washing over me as I reached the familiar safety. But as I fumbled for my keys, the beam of my flashlight caught something on the ground that made my blood run cold. There, in front of my home, was a trail of blood, stark against the snow, leading to a set of bloody footprints.

  Despite the fog clouding my mind, the urgency cut through my disorientation. Someone out there needed help, and they had come to me, perhaps as a last resort. My instincts kicked in, and I knew I had to act quickly. With the flashlight trembling, I followed the trail of bloody footprints cautiously. The snow crunched beneath my feet, and every step seemed to echo in the stillness of the night. The footprints were uneven, suggesting the person was injured and struggling.

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  “Help!” I heard a voice scream from beyond my treelines to the house. “Someone, anyone, please!”

  I gasped and hurried to the back of my house, trying to pinpoint where the voice had come from. The trail led down the hill, and a chilling thought crossed my mind—had someone gotten trapped in one of our bear traps? That would be the worst possible scenario. My fear spiked as I followed the trail, the unsettling sensation of being followed still clinging to me.

  Deciding to veer off my usual path, I let my feet carry me toward a landmark I knew well, one that had always been a beacon of solace in my mind—Abigail’s Tree. The large, venerable tree stood on a small patch of land in the middle of a lake, accessible only by a series of stepping stones jutting out like the spine of some ancient creature. It was a place of refuge, and perhaps it would offer some clarity or comfort in this confusing and tense moment.

  The hill was steep, and I had to be careful not to lose footing. As I descended, my breathing was loud in my ears, mingling with the crunch of snow underfoot. Each step took me closer to the lake, where Abigail’s Tree stood like a sentinel in the darkness.

  The path became more treacherous as I neared the bottom, and the snow here was more profound and uneven. I focused on the trail, trying to keep my balance and speed. The thought of someone injured, possibly trapped, spurred me on, even as the dizziness from the spiked drink lingered at the edges of my consciousness.

  Finally, I reached the edge of the lake. The surface was partially frozen, a thin layer of ice glistening under the starlight. Abigail’s Tree stood in the center, bare branches silhouetted against the night sky. The stepping stones formed a precarious path across the water, their surfaces slick with ice and snow.

  Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I carefully began to make my way across the stones. Each step was deliberate, my flashlight illuminating the next stone as I moved. The lake was eerily silent, the stillness only broken by the occasional crack of ice shifting beneath the surface.

  Reaching the island, I paused for a moment beneath the massive tree. Its presence was comforting, grounding me even as the night's chaos continued to swirl around me. I scanned the area, hoping to catch sight of the person who had called for help. The situation's urgency pressed on me, and I knew I couldn’t afford to waste any time.

  “Little Snow, where are you going?” A voice whispered to me.

  My whole body froze in terror as I stood below the large tree. Who or what was that? Why did their voice sound so creepy and spooky?! I wanted to move, but my feet couldn’t go. I think I was literally frozen in terror.

  "Little Snow? Don't be afraid. I'm here to help you," a voice murmured softly, sending a shiver down my spine. The chill that enveloped me was far colder than the surrounding air. It felt as though icy fingers were wrapping around my shoulders. The combination of the drugs slipped into my drink, and the dizziness that followed left me unsure of how to react. Fear coursed through me, and the cold grip on my shoulder sent a barrage of sensations through my body.

  My feet were frozen in place, yet I sensed a presence nearby. With my free hand, I carefully reached down to my jacket pocket to grasp the handmade dagger my father had given me. This dagger was precious to me; if it didn't help, I might as well accept my fate. Holding the dagger firmly and with determination, I swiftly pulled it from my pocket and spun around, slashing at the figure behind me.

  “Shit?! What the hell? How did that hit me? You bitch!” The voice snarled at me.

  I opened my eyes. To my horror, there was no resistance, no physical form to meet my desperate strike. Yet, the air seemed to ripple with the force of my movement, and a chilling sight followed—blood began to drip from midair as if my action had wounded an invisible entity. The sight was so unnerving, so beyond the realm of my understanding, that it reignited the primal urge to flee.

  Without waiting to see what would happen next, I turned on my heel. I sprinted into the roots of Abigail’s Tree, the snow beneath my feet crunching loudly in the otherwise silent night. My heart pounded in my chest, a frenzied drumbeat urging me on while my mind raced to understand what had just occurred. Whatever was pursuing me, it was clear now that it wasn’t merely human. Perhaps I was just imagining things? No, I couldn’t be. The cold and the pain I felt in my legs is real - the blood is real.

  I pressed myself against its broad trunk, gasping for breath, my eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of my pursuer. The silence was oppressive, the earlier screams and the eerie voice a haunting memory that left me shivering more from fear than from the cold.

  The hollow was empty, though. “H-hello?” I panted. As I leaned against the sturdy trunk of Abigail’s Tree, trying to steady my breath and calm my heart’s racing, I noticed something unusual about the roots. In my previous visits, I had always admired the tree for its majestic presence, its roots sprawling across the ground like the fingers of a giant, holding the earth in a tender embrace. But now, under the cloak of night and the shadow of fear, they appeared different—more menacing, almost like claws reaching out from the ground, grasping for something unseen. This tree seemed just massive now.

  “I can smell you, Little Snow,” The voice whispered through the shadows.

  “Snow?” Another eerie voice sounded.

  However, when I scanned the clearing, I saw nothing. “Who’s there?!” I whispered.

  “Y-You can hear me?! Are you here to stop the big scary thing?!” The small voice peeped.

  I turned around, my gaze sweeping the shadowy expanse that stretched beyond the protective embrace of the tree’s roots. And that’s when I saw them—two bright blue eyes, shining like beacons at night. They hovered in the darkness, unattached to any form I could discern, their luminous gaze fixed intently upon me. I frowned and tried to creep closer - somehow, those eyes were more relaxing than whatever was following me.

  The voice sounded again, this time clearer, though still soft as a whisper carried on the wind. “Help me,” it said, the words simple yet meaningful. The eyes did not waver; their gaze locked on mine as if I held the key to their salvation alone. “He’s coming,” it whispered quietly. “I don’t want to go there. Please don’t make me go there.”

  “Go where?”

  “I’m getting warmer,” The shady voice echoed. “I smell two delicious souls ready to be taken.”

  Souls?

  I shook my head, trying to recall tonight's events. Is the thing that’s chasing me that creepy guy from earlier? No, it couldn’t be. He was a person, this thing… Seems to not be a person. A shiver ran down my spine as I clutched the roots with my nails tighter. My head hurt so bad to the point I could feel the tears beginning to form. Both from fear and the pain. And who—or what—was this being that sought my aid? And how had I seemingly become entangled in this mystery by chance?

  Despite the myriad questions swirling through my mind, one thing was clear: I could not turn away. The eyes, the voice, the inexplicable connection I felt to them all pointed to a path I knew I must follow, wherever it might lead. “It’s okay,” I murmured quietly, fear just barely shaking in my voice. My dagger held close to me.

  “Don’t look at me, please, please don’t look at me,” The voice pleaded.

  “What?” I replied, shocked. “I… I won’t,” I promised the tiny voice.

  “I don’t want you to see what this monster did.”

  “One marked prey, two marked prey… Three marked prey, all the marked prey,” The voice laughed loudly as it entered the tree’s roots.

  My dagger was able to hit this thing once, but from what I could tell, it didn’t even have a body. It was just floating blood. A rush of cold air entered the tree, covering the roots with frost—it was so cold. My stomach twisted with fear, my palms sweaty, and I’m sure I looked like a hot mess. I came to a stop when I felt something behind me, a small but warm feeling from whoever was there.

  “Now, shall we do this the easy or hard way? Little Snow?”

  I bit my tongue, focused on the darkness ahead of me. There had to be something I could see through this twisting darkness. I could use the frost - yes - frost and shadows. Look for blood on the ground. My gaze scanned the ground before me, but it was useless. It was too dark to look for traces of blood - so back to step one. Looking through the white frost that stained the trees, my gaze quickly darted side to side, but that’s when something changed.

  The surrounding atmosphere abruptly changed, the air thick and inexplicably heavy. A voice—almost pleading—echoed through the oppressive night, “My precious little souls, please come to me.” In a tone both desperate and chilling, it claimed, “I don’t like to do too much damage to my prey,” as if trying to justify its cruelty.

  I stood rooted in place, the shadowy figure at the forefront glaring at me with an intensity that felt both accusatory and sorrowful. As the surrounding shadows deepened and gained substance, a heavy, almost tangible force wrapped around me. It wasn’t merely an oppressive physical presence; it felt like malevolent energy seeping into every fiber of my body, intensifying the internal battle I was already waging. The changes in the air—the drop in temperature and the deepening darkness—mirrored my inner turmoil, creating a dissonance between my dread and a desperate need to fight.

  With each passing second, it felt like even my breath was being stolen, leaving me gasping as if the very air was being robbed of its essence. The shadow’s magic was a crushing, suffocating presence, smothering every spark of light and hope within me. Every breath became a strenuous effort, a reminder of the relentless invisible force that fought to override my will. A surge of panic started at the back of my mind, battling with my heart's heavy, erratic pounding, creating a conflict I could neither fully embrace nor entirely reject.

  Then I realized, with a mix of horror and reluctant compassion, that this struggle was not mine alone. Beside me, barely discernible against the night’s backdrop, stood a small, ethereal figure with luminous blue eyes—an innocent soul trembling under the weight of this cursed magic. Its tiny form, reminiscent of a lost child, locked its gaze on me with a silent appeal for rescue, complicating my internal conflict: the need to save one life clashed painfully with my overwhelming terror.

  Knowing that this sinister force had ensnared both of us—hunting me and this fragile, impassioned thing—ignited my resolve. I was caught between despair and a stubborn determination, a conflict of emotions that tore at every part of my being. While the shadow’s encroaching magic sought to suffocate us and quench any remaining light, I couldn’t give up. Summoning strength from the fragmented corners of my heart, I waged an internal battle, a desperate war of wills against the sinister force. I was here for this tiny little spirit and myself. I had to keep this thing safe.

  With every ounce of willpower coursing through my veins, I fought to move my limbs, which felt encased in lead. The shadow’s magic was unrelenting, a suffocating force that seemed determined to crush my spirit. Yet, amidst the despair, a spark of defiance ignited within me. Clutched in my hand was a dagger, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light of the ethereal blue eyes. This dagger hit him once. Let’s do it again.

  Drawing upon the last strength, I raised the dagger with a trembling hand. My aim was guided more by instinct than precision, a desperate bid to fend off the darkness that sought to consume us. With a cry that was part defiance, part plea, I hurled the dagger toward the menacing red eyes.

  The effect was instantaneous. The shadow recoils as if struck, its grip on me momentarily loosening. The oppressive weight that had threatened to crush me lifted, granting me a fleeting moment of respite. In that brief pause, the shadow’s voice, a sinister whisper that seemed to slither through the darkness, reached my ears. “You little bitch,” it hissed, a tone of amusement mingling with its malice. “You think to defy me with such feeble attempts? You know not the powers you meddle with.”

  Trapped in a struggle against the tide of despair that threatened to engulf me, I clung desperately to the frail ember of hope, even as an ever-growing darkness smothered my existence like a heavy, relentless shroud. My unvoiced cries for salvation stood as a lone beacon of resistance against the crushing gloom that marked these harrowing moments.

  A dizzy haze overcame me, and I could hear the high-pitched squeals of terror emanating from the blue creature trailing behind. My eyes felt burdened by fatigue as they began to droop shut. My gaze sharpened, locking onto an unlikely detail: the red eyes and ghostly white grin of a little dagger I had flung at him—now glowing with a strange, pulsating orange light that defied explanation.

  Before I could gather my wits, the relentless shadow erupted with brutal force, hurling me through the air as if I were nothing more than a rag doll. Already teetering on the brink of collapse, my weakened body had no strength left to fight against the almighty blow. I crashed into a dense thicket of twisting vines, the impact sending waves of agony through every bone and fiber of my being. A fresh surge of pain consumed me like a merciless tide, and the world spun in a dizzying dance of shifting shadows and wavering light until, eventually, I lay sprawled on my back—utterly breathless and broken.

  Above me, a tangled canopy of gnarled tree roots formed a dark, impenetrable ceiling. But in that oppressive gloom, something caught my eye—a soft orange glow, faint yet undeniably present, reflecting off the intricate interweaving of roots. This time, the light wasn’t emanating from the dagger; it pulsed with an ominous, profound energy. The air throbbed with latent power, charged with an expectancy that both bewildered and ensnared my senses.

  “What the hell? Enoxon, did you open the damned portal?! How in the Nine Hells did you manage that?!” A voice erupted, thick with anger yet strangely comforting, its sharp timbre slicing through the chaos and momentarily soothing the inner tumult within me.

  Before I could reply, a second voice, softer and laced with genuine worry, interjected, “You think I'm responsible? You were the one skimming your claws along the earth, nearly stumbling into the portal—Kurai, wait, something’s happening here.”

  “Do you think I give a damn about what’s happening? I don’t give a flying shit about this realm! The real problem is your foolhardy opening of that blasted portal!” The first voice roared back with raw indignation.

  “Shut up, Kurai, and use your damn eyes,” the second voice replied with a teasing lilt of sass that belied the gravity of our situation.

  “Kurai?” I murmured in a dazed state, the surrounding voices slowly fading into the distant background.

  As I lay there, my vision was drawn to a mesmerizing transformation: the soft orange glow intensified, swelling into a magnificent vortex of incandescent flames. The ground beneath me trembled in response, and the air turned oppressively hot. At the same time, the vines that had once cushioned my fall began to shrink away, animated by the ferocious heat. A mingling of awe and terror took root in my heart as I realized I was witnessing something unfurling, almost like a portal—a gateway to unknown and unfathomable realms.

  From the heart of this fiery maelstrom emerged a towering and majestic figure silhouetted against the roaring inferno. Cloaked in flames that danced around them without inflicting harm, their imposing presence was tempered by a profound confusion etched upon their faces. Their gaze swept over the shadowed underbrush, the lurking darkness, before finally settling on me—the unintentional summoner, battered and sprawling amidst chaos.

  “Oh shit, it’s a human—and a… Soul? What on earth is happening here?” the figure murmured in astonishment.

  Then, a harsh, disbelieving hiss cut through the tumult as the shadow spoke in my direction, its voice trembling with incredulity and frustration. “What have you done?! How—how?! Gah…” it grumbled, its words laced with furious disbelief.

  In a heartbeat, the shadow lunged toward a diminutive blue figure clinging to the wall. It was repelled by a searing burst of light that sent it reeling. Our eyes locked once again in that charged moment as an eerie message was conveyed:

  You're already marked, Snow. We shall meet again soon. And with that, the shadow was swallowed in a swirling mass of smoke, the once-striking orange glow faded to a memory, and all-consuming darkness devoured everything in its wake.