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4 November 974

The wood creaks always, like souls scratching at the fabric of their prisons. Sometimes I hear them calling my name, wailing, and I recoil into my brother’s arms. His presence soothes me.

But I only hear it—the wood—when my mind is a void...

Not today.

Today, I watched through the window, from the study, under the reproachful gaze of my mother, as the first snows draped the fields. Gone are the bluebells and the daffodils, the poppies and the foxgloves; only stalks remain, like despondent children in the face of calamity. A lone violet shudders in the wind, its delicate petals whitened. Tomorrow, the sun will melt the flakes, and the flower will regain its former majesty—if only for a moment, as winter marches forth.

The lake was so peaceful and beautiful. Its surface glimmered in the sun, reflecting the clouds and houses that line the bank.

In a few weeks, the ice will come.

And, with it, the horrors.

5 November 974

The wind is howling tonight, and I cannot sleep. Shutters pound against the window even as I write these words, even as an ancient dread grows within me.

Something is coming.

I can sense it.

Crawling and clawing through the earth, a primeval force for ages unseen. How can I know this?

Darwen stands at the door, as he always does. Silent and calm, as he always is. His eyes are empty, as they always are. Still, he is here, and he will keep me safe.

It is through him that I sense this thing.

I realized this just now, as I stared into his vacant gaze.

In the morning, I went to the lake. To look into the water, as if redemption awaited me there.

Ironic, that.

Yes, mother, I remember how this city was founded—on the blood and sweat of the innocent. You told me often enough. The three families, the ley lines, the bodies drowned. How every winter the ice would crack and...

The water was clear. So clear I could see the bottom. And there was nothing there. Nothing but rocks and weeds and fish and drifting debris from a cracked barrel.

Who would have thrown that into the water?

They should have known better.

I turned and walked back toward the manor. Saw it looming ahead. Dark, old, as silent as my brother who followed behind me.

When I was a child, my mother told me stories—as mothers are wont to do. One I remember vividly was about this woman who lived in a castle. It was a place filled with life, which had been in her family for generations. When her parents died, it passed on to her. She married, and her husband moved in. They had children—two daughters—and the cycle perpetuated.

Then her husband fell off a horse, broke his neck, and died.

Everything changed that day.

The sky darkened and the tears flowed.

What had once been a happy home became dark and dreary. In the years that followed, the servants were all dismissed if they did not leave of their own accord. And soon those halls became empty and quiet.

Eventually, the daughters left the castle as well, and only Lady Demera remained.

Alone with her grief.

A grief so profound that it would not let go.

I...

21 November 974

The violet is gone.

Snow is everywhere now...

I thought this would be a good idea. I am not so sure anymore. And yet, I return to this page, to these words, like a moth drawn to the flame.

Something happened today.

A body was found by the lake. Shredded to pieces. People think a jadernatch did it.

I said nothing.

They turned to us for justice, as they always do.

Why, mother, must I carry this burden alone?

Oh, there are others, of course. The Sarks and the Narks. But there are many of them and only one of me. They can rely on each other, while I lack this luxury.

There is Darwen, but it is not the same.

If only father were still here... But he left us when I was a child. Went to war and never returned. I know what that means. You never told me, and I never asked, because I knew how much it pained you to think of him. It pains me as well not to have known him better. I was too young...

The wood creaked again. Just now.

Never mind.

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is the safety of my people.

A monster has come to Salathen.

We’ve posted patrols on every street—all the men we could spare. I doubt it will be enough.

Tonight, I will spend time in the library. If there is an answer to be found, it may be in those books. And nothing that...

Father is calling.

I must go.

23 November 974

I’ve spent the last two days searching, but there was nothing to be found. No paw marks, no scent, no traces of magic—Darwen would have picked up on those. The remains were so mangled we could not even identify the victim. No one reported anyone missing... perhaps it was a traveler.

Two days wasted.

And now...

The city guards found another.

An animal, this time. Its eviscerated carcass cold and sucked of its blood. After studying it for an hour, they threw it into the depths of the lake.

I am so weary.

“Why would you do that?” I asked.

The sergeant shrugged.

He shrugged!

“We could not let it fester,” he said. “It would draw beasts. Before long, there would be more corpses on this shore. Human ones this time.”

As if the first had not been that.

“With respect, Lady Dark,” he objected when I pointed out the obvious, “we do not know that. There was not enough left of the first to know either way.”

And yet I knew the truth for what it was, and I resented that he could not see, could not understand...

I was too upset to say another word, so I left.

My steps carried me as my mind wandered, oblivious to anything but the pulsing rage that devoured me.

Someone is killing my people.

Or something.

I glanced toward the distant manor of the Narks and wrinkled my nose in distaste. We all shared this responsibility. The town belonged to them—and the Sarks—as much as it belonged to me.

At least until they find a way to get rid of me.

But until then, I will let no harm come to this town or to those who live here.

When I looked at the ground, I froze.

Without willing it, I had come to the spot where they had found the dead boar. Snow and earth still soaked with blood, its pungent smell making my stomach churn.

Darwen stood a step behind me. Quiet. Watchful.

I glanced at him. “Magic?”

His body stirred as his eyes scanned the air. Then he went motionless again, his silence so loud it answered my question.

It was frustrating.

How could something this violent, this savage, happen without leaving a single clue?

There had to be something.

I examined the ground, looking for anything we might have missed.

The stench grew sharper.

As I’d studied the scene, I’d wandered off, slowly, and it occurred to me that this was different. There had been no scents the first time. Why was there one now? Because this was an animal?

Perhaps I could follow it to its source...

I had assumed it came from the remains, but then it should not have built stronger as we moved away from the lake. And shouldn’t the guards have picked up on it?

This was something else.

Almost as if the culprit had returned to the scene of the crime.

Recently.

The trail led us to a copse of trees. Hidden behind the branches was a large boulder. Power glyphs were carved into its rock surface—I did not need my brother to tell me this. I’ve seen such symbols before. In books. Books that belonged to my father—to his father’s father, and his father’s father, all the way back to the founders of Salathen.

I knelt in front of the carvings and ran the tips of my fingers along the lines. Recoiled when I noticed the faint traces of blood.

“It came through here,” I muttered.

But how?

Jumping to my feet, I turned to face my brother, pointing at the boulder behind me.

“There is a passage here, there has to be! Can you open it?”

Without a word, Darwen stepped forward. He reached out with both hands, and the glyphs lit up with a red glow, as if the blood once drunk by stone had now come alive.

The soil beneath creaked—much like the wood in my old home does—and cracked open.

A gaping void stared at me, and I stared back.

I felt myself drawn.

Fear gripped me.

What was I doing?

Only doom awaited me below.

I could feel this in the depths of my bones.

But then I sensed him.

My brother.

Standing so close, the warmth of his skin soothed me.

And in that moment, I knew I was safe. That I had nothing to fear.

With a deep breath, I stepped into the darkness.

30 November 974

I do not want to write this, but I must.

I lingered, I delayed, I found excuses... yet the truth must be told. And if not by me, by whom? No one else has witnessed what I have witnessed.

And so I sit at this desk once again. I open this journal once again. I endure mother’s hard gaze once again. All this so I can give those who come after me a warning, even though my hand shakes and the quill quivers in my grip and my breath catches in my throat.

The darkness draped us, but not for long. A dim glow formed before me, and I silently thanked my brother—he always knows how to comfort me.

Steep steps sank into the earth. Covered with dirt and twigs. Rough. Fractured. We went down and my heart raced.

Whatever killed that man and the boar came through here. Might still be here. For all I knew, we were in its lair. But Darwen could handle it, there was no doubt in my mind.

And so on we marched until we reached the bottom.

The steps ended in a circular chamber where five tunnels awaited us. This I had not expected.

“Which one should we take?” I asked as I stared at our options, none any less foreboding.

My brother said nothing—nor had I expected him to. He had not spoken a word since his return. But it mattered little. His presence was enough.

I sensed him moving and glanced in his direction.

He was facing the second entrance from the right.

“So be it.”

We walked.

For hours, it felt like.

We found no further branches, but the path turned and twisted, going up and down, until I had lost all sense of direction.

Finally, it sloped up and up and up...

Until we reached a wall.

I cursed.

“A dead end? Really? All that for this?”

So much more time wasted.

And yet, a small voice in my head whispered that I was being deceived. There could not be nothing here. What would have been the point? This was not a maze, after all. It was not meant to befuddle or trick. There was a purpose here.

Frowning, I pressed a hand against the rock.

Oddly, Darwen did as well.

And as his cold dead flesh touched the cold rock wall, the surface shimmered and faded.

I gasped. “An illusion!”

At least, that was my first thought, though I quickly realized it had not been that, for then it would not have been solid; and yet, I had felt real stone under my fingers.

Darwen had simply removed an obstacle from the way.

And now the sun greeted us with its warm embrace.

Yet a chill went down my spine when I saw where we stood.

The blinding ray came through a small window above us. Around us were barrels and shelves I knew well. For we were in the cellar of my own manor.

I knew then, with cold certainty, what other places those tunnels led to—though not all.

Spinning, I marched back into the darkness, Darwen close behind. I needed to make sure, and to explore the other two.

By the time we were done, night had fallen upon the world.

As I’d suspected, one tunnel led to the Sarks, another to the Narks.

As for the remaining two... Oh gods, give me strength.

I... I do not have the strength.

Not now.

Perhaps not ever.

1 December 974

I gave my mother—sitting in the painting above the desk—a reproachful look before I sat to write this.

“Did you know?” I asked her. “Why did you not tell me? How could you not?”

And I wondered about my father and all those who came before him.

They must have known.

Perhaps they mention it in one of the hundreds of books I have yet to read. They sit on dusty shelves, ever taunting me with the secrets they hold. In a room my father cherished. He spent most of his life there—still does, I suppose, in a way. Though he lost that privilege when he failed to come back from the war. Yes, I know what that means; but there are times—like now—when I do not care, when all I care about is the pain.

And you, mother, do not get to tell me not to feel it, that I should dull it out, not when you chose to leave me, not when you took your own life because you could not stand your own pain.

Do not stare at me that way! I forbid it.

I must stop looking at the painting. Nothing good can come of it.

Focus, Amella. You must focus.

The story is not told until the ending is reached—though the ending still eludes me. Part of me is grateful for this, though another yearns for resolution.

Today, I asked Darwen to stand next to me while I write, rather than at the door as he usually does. Here I can touch him. Hug him. He will lend me the strength I need to write this.

And so...

And so we explored the remaining tunnels.

The first of these led us to a vast chamber—so vast it could have housed the manor. Instead, it housed an even older structure, its moss-covered walls collapsed under the weight of the centuries. It loomed there, massive and silent, waiting, as if to judge me.

Broken columns rose around the gaping entrance.

“What is this?” I asked in a whisper.

Conflicting emotions filled me—dread, awe, confusion...

We stepped inside, and the nature of the place soon revealed itself when I glimpsed the giant statues, cracked and headless. Even so, I knew them. Adheri and Hedenha—the twin gods of malice and retribution.

This was a temple.

Ancient, dark, abandoned.

Buried deep beneath the village.

There was power here, I could sense it—through Darwen, most likely—and it pulled at me, though my brain screamed to run the other way.

I walked on, deeper into the structure, unsure what I was looking for.

But all I found were ruins.

There, two half-crushed marble heads lay in the rubble. Each one as high as I was tall, unseeing eyes fixed on the crumbled ceiling, lips frozen in a grotesque grimace—as if the twins had beheld their doom and, in an act of spite, had etched their agony onto the fallen figures for all of eternity to see.

Had they known only bugs and lizards would contemplate this sorry spectacle? I dared not think of their wrath. Though perhaps my presence here now would alleviate their sorrow, for was I not the witness they so craved?

Further in I went, a victim of my own curiosity, though there was little more to find. A broken dais, rotten chairs, scattered bones, and more dust than there are stars in the night sky.

There was nothing here—nothing more than shadows and memories and a force unseen that still tugged at my mind, as if trying to wiggle its way in. But I could feel Darwen shielding me. Had he not been by my side, surely I would have lost my sanity.

And so we turned and hurried out...

When we reached the room with the heads, their stone eyes were turned to me. They held my gaze, piercing through me like spears through flesh. I felt the weight of their resentment and contempt, as if they blamed me for the disgrace of their predicament.

I fled.

Down the last tunnel we trudged—feet like lead, fear like mud.

Whatever had torn those bodies to shreds had to be here. There was nowhere else for it to hide.

Unless, of course, it had entered one of the three manors, but I refused to consider what that might imply.

It struck me then that if my parents might have known about this monstrosity, it was likely the elders of the other two families might as well. And they, unlike my father and mother, still breathed.

What seemed like laughter drifted from ahead, and it curdled my blood. There was something sinister in that sound—piercing, cruel, cold.

My pace quickened.

Until we reached another chamber—smaller than the one with the temple. The air here was damp, and water leaked from the low ceiling. But what drew my eyes was the lone figure that stood near a hole in the ground, looking down with a smile on her face.

A child. One I knew well.

Before my mother decided she’d had enough of me, I’d been close to Isbelli, Lord Nark’s daughter. We were about the same age and had often played together when we were children. One day, she had a daughter. Serri was beautiful, always smiling, and grew into the sweetest child who liked to call me Auntie Mella. Though I no longer saw much of her after the responsibilities of my lineage came to crush me.

Serri, who was twelve now, turned to look at me, and the smile faded from her lips.

“Lady Dark.” Hesitation tainted her voice.

Her face scrunched up, tears swelling in her eyes.

She fell to her knees and sobbed.

“I’m so sorry! I know I shouldn’t have come here. But I got lost and hurt, and I am so afraid! Please, don’t tell mamma...”

Her words stabbed at my soul, and I shifted uncomfortably. I wanted to rush to her, to take her in my arms and comfort her, to tell her everything would be alright, that I was here, that I would keep her safe—that Darwen would keep both of us safe. And yet I stood still, staring, because something felt very, very wrong.

I glanced at my brother.

“Magic?”

As always, his eyes scanned the chamber for a moment before he resumed his silent posture.

If not that, then what?

When I looked back at Serri, she was studying me, and for a moment I caught a glint in her eyes that unsettled me. The crying resumed, as if it had never stopped—but it had!

My gaze turned to the hole.

I took a step forward.

Serri jumped to her feet and ran toward me, waving her hands.

“No, no! Do not get near, my lady, it would destroy you!”

The stab went through my heart, and I froze. This was not the girl I knew. She would not have called me that.

I glared at her. “Who are you? What are you?”

Tears forgotten, the smile returned to her lips—twisted, mocking.

“I am little Serri, don’t you recognize me?”

From the corner of my eye, I saw movement.

My head snapped. I squinted.

The shadows were dancing.

No.

They were... drifting... merging... blending into a shape. Of a wolf... but much larger, with glowing black eyes and fangs so long they stuck out from its jaw. With it came an all-too familiar stench. The one I’d followed into the tunnels.

This was the creature that had torn that poor traveler to shreds and ripped out the boar’s entrails.

“Do you like our pet?” the Serri-thing asked with a snicker.

Before I could say a word, the shadow beast sprang toward me. Just as fast, Darwen leaped between us. I half expected the monster to go right through him, but it did not. My brother wrapped his arms around the massive waist as impossibly sharp fangs dug into his impossibly hard skin.

I screamed.

Drew my sword and turned it against the girl who wasn’t a girl.

“Make it stop! Now!”

“No.”

The word fell upon me like a thunderclap—loud and absolute.

“Why are you doing this?”

My voice was like a screech, filled with terror and desperation, as my eyes darted between the two creatures—the one that stood before me in the guise of a child, and the one that was tearing bloodless chunks of meat out of my brother.

And then I saw the fury in her eyes. Deep and ancient.

“Because your people stole this land from us,” she yelled at me. “Because you destroyed everything we believed in.” Her finger pointed accusingly. “Because you had the audacity to believe you could rule over us. Because your blood, your bones, your flesh will feed us and make us stronger.” The cruel smile crept back. “More importantly, because we can.”

Even as her last word echoed in the chamber, a harrowing shriek rang out. I looked just in time to see the creature split in half, spilling clouds of smoke that drifted off, merging back into the shadows.

Darwen straightened. Wounds already healing, he turned and marched toward Serri.

The girl recoiled.

“What are you?” she hissed.

I was tempted to stop him, but I knew better. He would know what to do. To get rid of her. To remove this threat from my land.

The thought made me nauseous.

How could I call it mine?

These creatures had lived here before us. Had we truly taken what had once been theirs to make it ours? Had we the right to do such a thing?

“Wait!” I called out, reaching out with my hand...

But it was too late.

Darwen had seized the flailing girl, and her body went limp.

He let go, and she fell to the ground.

I knelt by her side. Pulled her into my arms. Felt her heartbeat against my chest and let out a sigh of relief.

Her eyes fluttered open. Our gazes met.

“Auntie?”

I laughed and cried at the sound of her innocent voice—as sweet as I remembered it.

“It’s alright, dear,” I said as I held her tight, “everything’s alright now.”

But then, my eyes drifted to the hole in the ground.

And I looked inside.

And the hole was a pit. And inside that pit was a furnace. And inside that furnace were shapes—writhing and wailing, though I had not heard them until that moment, as if their voices could only be heard when one looked at them.

The flames did not burn them. The flames were a part of them—their flesh, their bones, their blood.

I looked up at the leaking ceiling and I realized where we were. Right underneath the lake.

The horrors are here, I thought with a shudder.

2 December 974

The girl was possessed. I understand this now. She remembered nothing of the ordeal—and I thank the gods for it—only that she’d found a secret passage and, as the curious child she always was, explored it until she found the pit that nearly caused her doom.

I’ve looked through the window many times since I came home. The ice is there, nearly covering the entire surface of the lake. To know what lies hidden beneath sends shivers down my spine.

These ancient creatures are trapped in the pit. They need vessels to escape their fate. We cannot destroy them, and we cannot give them what they need to leave. And so, perhaps, for better or worse, shall they forever remain trapped.

Though I cannot help but wonder how they found themselves in that pit. Did someone put them there? Why? Was it a punishment? Did our ancestors do this? Or were they criminals among their kind?

I prefer the comfort of the latter, but a part of me fears the truth may be much grimmer.

We may never know.

And so I am left on my own once again.

There is comfort in this silence, in the familiarity of these walls, in the creaks and hums, in the presence of my brother.

I must remember this is not a prison.

Sometimes it is difficult to accept.

And when I struggle with this, I try to recall Demera’s story.

As a child, I often wondered why she stayed in that castle. Why not move away and start a new life, away from the memories and the silence?

But I understand now.

It was the place of her youth. She had known no other. It was her life. Where she had grown; where she had laughed and cried; where she had watched sunset after sunset and longingly ached for her father to return.

In truth, where else could she have gone?

Her daughters had left, but that had been their choice.

Demera had made a different one.

She had chosen to live with her haunts.

As have I.

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—

Text (c) 2026 by Alex S. Garcia.

Header: royalty-free stock image, edited by me.

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