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Eden

THE THICK, DAMP air pressed against my skin while the walls closed in on me. The aroma of wet stone and iron overwhelmed my senses. My wrists burned from the old shackles that bit into my flesh. Somewhere behind me, chains rattled just before—

Crack .

White-hot, searing pain ignited across my back. My body jerked, and my breath caught in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t matter. I knew where I was. I knew what came next.

“Again.”

Marcus’s voice stayed calm and patient, as if instructing a servant rather than ordering my suffering. The whip sliced through the air. Crack . Fire exploded along my spine. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth. Don’t make a sound. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Another lash.

And another.

The pain blended. Heat and agony coursed through me until I could no longer tell one strike from the next. My breathing was shallow. Every inhale prickled against my lungs. The coppery, thick smell of blood lingered.

A hand gripped my chin and forced my head up. I tried to twist away, but his fingers pressed harder, and his nails dug in. His eyes gleamed with a dark intention that set my skin crawling.

“You’re shaking, Darling,” Marcus murmured, tilting his head. “Why fight it? We both know you belong here.”

No.

I wanted to spit in his face—to tear him apart. But I remained frozen, unable to move as if still shackled, still his.

Another crack.

I flinched as the pain ricocheted through me. The walls around me blurred, shifted, warped—

Then I fell.

My heart hammered in my chest, and the chilled air bit at my sweat-damp skin when I gasped awake. The scent of rain enveloped me. The room had changed. The wooden floor beneath me felt real. The hearth crackled, casting a dim glow across the room.

The crack of thunder that rolled through the night caused me to flinch as I sat up. The sound was too close- too similar to a whip splitting the air. My fingers clawed at my back before I realized there was no blood, no fresh wounds—just scars, just ghosts.

I slowed my breathing, grounding myself in the present. The storm raged beyond these old walls, and I sat here—not there, but here.

A shadow shifted near the hearth, and I flinched.

Oberon sat in the chair with his back against the far wall, arms crossed and gaze dark. He must have heard me again. Shame coiled in my gut. I swallowed hard against my raw throat and pushed myself upright, refusing to meet his eyes. “It was just a dream,” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

Silence stretched between us until he responded. His voice was quiet. “I know.” He didn’t push or pry; he simply sat there as he had last time. Somehow, that was enough.

THE QUIET RIDE into Vaelwick made my skin crawl, a sensation that settled deep in my bones as a warning. I tried to recall the last time I had heard a bird, a rustle in the trees, or any other sign of life, but nothing came to mind. Maybe it was just my nerves, but even Neryth’s steps felt heavier, as Elduvaris itself resisted us, swallowing the sound before it could reach the air.

Fields stretched in lifeless patches along the roadside, the land hollowed of its former vibrance. Blackened husks of crops lay shriveled, collapsed into the soil like broken ribs in an unmarked grave. The sight twisted deep in my gut. It wasn’t just a poor harvest; it represented devastation—a blight. The land hadn’t just failed; it had been ruined.

As we approached the entrance, a breeze stirred, rolling over us. The dense, foul stench that hit me clung to the back of my throat—an unnatural rot worse than the decay of plants. My stomach lurched, and I pulled my sleeve up over my nose, muffling my gag.

“Gods,” I wheezed, my voice muffled by the fabric. “That’s foul.”

The air itself was contaminated. Whatever had settled here didn’t affect only the crops; it was pervasive.

Oberon remained silent during the ride, lost in his brooding thoughts. He offered no sharp comments, exasperated sighs, or even an attempt to silence me, which only heightened my unease.

Things were far worse than I had realized.

I slid off Neryth’s side, landing on the damp ground with a thud and a grunt. My muscles ached from the long ride, and the dull, pulsing throb in my palm reminded me of my bandaged wound. I flexed my fingers, pressing them against the rough fabric before letting my hand fall back to my side. The ground beneath my boots radiated warmth, an oddly high temperature for the location and time of year.

Oberon dismounted silently. I sighed, brushing aside stray strands of hair from my face as I turned to take in the village.

The silence felt suffocating.

No candlelight flickered through the windows, nor did distant voices murmur behind the doors. The houses stood hollow and dark, their wooden frames worn by time and neglect. From their eaves, trinkets dangled, swaying in the decaying breeze. Their delicate chimes pierced the stillness, creating an eerie melody of death.

Wards? Warnings? My brow furrowed as I examined them. The craftsmanship appeared deliberate. Someone had positioned them for a reason, but whether they kept something out or contained it was another matter.

I glanced at Oberon, searching for any sign of unease, but his face remained impassive. His sharp gaze swept over the village like a predator waiting for movement in the brush. If he felt unsettled, he didn’t show it.

“This isn’t normal,” I whispered.

He remained silent while he knocked on the nearest door. The sound resonated, piercing the wood and echoing in the unnatural silence. We waited, but there was nothing. No footsteps approaching, no creak of shifting floorboards, not even the whisper of breath behind a curtain.

I tried the next house. Then another.

Nothing.

The stillness stretched, unlike the emptiness of an abandoned village. A prickle arose at the back of my neck, the unmistakable sensation of being watched. Hidden eyes peered from the darkness, held back by fear.

“They’re hiding,” I murmured, stepping closer to Oberon, seeking the quiet reassurance of his presence. He didn’t react, but his jaw set tight, and his gaze remained fixed on the looming mansion at the village’s center, an ominous figure against the darkening sky. The grand architecture contrasted with the modest homes, its dark stone and iron-trimmed windows setting it apart—untouched by the sickness seeping into the land. If anyone would answer, it ought to be the person who lived there.

Oberon strode up the path, his boots crunching on the gravel with a purposeful tread. When he reached the heavy wooden doors, he rapped his knuckles against them.

A lengthy moment passed before the door creaked open.

The man who greeted us was older, with blonde hair and deep lines etched into his weary face. He carried himself like someone who had spent years bearing burdens too heavy to mention. His sharp gaze landed on Oberon first, scanning him from top to bottom. His shoulders tensed, and his spine straightened with the slightest flicker of recognition before he inclined his head.

“Sir Sinclaire,” he greeted. I waited for his attention to turn to me, but it never did. Not a single glance or acknowledgment was given.

Right.

Like the knights in Silverfel and the nobles in the courts, he wouldn’t regard me the same way he regarded Oberon. I didn’t possess a knight’s title or noble rank. I was a woman- an herbalist clad in travel-worn linens, bearing the marks of battle. In his eyes, I meant nothing.

A specter of remembrance stirred. An additional house, another door, another pair of unreadable eyes.

Blue and white walls, as pristine as porcelain, stretched toward a vaulted ceiling adorned with shimmering chandeliers. I had once stood in a grand entryway much like this one, the polished marble beneath my feet so smooth that it made my steps feel weightless. I was younger then, still foolish enough to believe I could create something for myself.

Marcus greeted me at the top of the staircase, a vision of gold and ivory with a warm smile and honeyed voice. “You look stunning, Darling.” I felt small beneath his gaze, burdened by the weight of those words that dripped with a suffocating tone of manipulation. He offered me a hand, expecting me to accept it. He adorned the walls of his house with paintings of men who shared his sharp, aristocratic features—men who took what they wanted and left ruin in their wake.

I didn’t know then how deeply those walls would become my prison.

I clenched my fingers into my dress. That time had passed. The fragrance in the air wasn’t Marcus’s cologne. The man before me wasn’t him.

Lord Everette stepped back. “Come in. There is much to discuss.”

The heavy doors closed behind us with a resounding thud, shutting out the night.

“I’m Lord Everette. I oversee Vaelwick,” he announced, the flickering glow of a candle casting long shadows across his face. The entryway soared high, its grand archways embellished with dark wood and aging tapestries. The scents of damp stone and parchment hung heavily, mingling with the subtle smoke from the hearth’s smoldering embers. Despite the fire’s warmth, a chill descended upon my skin.

Lord Everette lifted his candle, gesturing toward the symbols carved into the doors and the small trinkets strung along the archways.

“These are protection wards,” he murmured.

Oberon tilted his head, examining the markings. “Protection from what?”

The lord hesitated.

My pulse thrummed, each beat pounding in my ears. I forced myself to focus on the candlelight as it flickered across Lord Everette’s face, deepening the weary lines etched into his skin. Shadows stretched behind him, reaching toward the corners of the room.

“From whatever lurks in the fields,” he said, his voice lowered. “Whatever has cursed our crops and driven away our animals. Some believe it to be the work of the Fae. Others…” He trailed off, stroking his beard, his gaze shifting toward the darkened windows.

“Others?” I prompted.

The lord exhaled, his fingers tapping a slow, measured rhythm against the wooden banister. “There are rumors- whispers from travelers who claim to have seen figures in the mist. A sickness that does not behave like any ordinary plague. People waking in the night, standing outside their homes, staring at the fields, without remembering how they got there. It’s as if something called for them.”

The room felt smaller and the candlelight dimmer. Beside me, Oberon shifted his posture just enough for me to notice and sense the tension coiling in his shoulders.

I swallowed hard. “Have there been any deaths?”

Lord Everette’s gaze fell. The silence before his reply carried a weighty dread. Then he nodded. “Two. Both young men had strayed too far into the fields. When we found them, their eyes looked… unsettling.”

“Wrong, how?” I asked, bracing for the reply. Lord Everette hesitated again, carefully choosing his words as if voicing them might imbue them with power.

Oberon took a step forward. “What did their eyes look like?”

The lord’s gaze shifted between us, contemplating whether to speak. At last, he murmured, “They were black. Completely. As if the night had engulfed them.”

A shiver crept down my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Breathe. Think. “Why are there no candles or torches lit throughout the village?”

Lord Everette studied me before responding. “The people of Vaelwick are… cautious,” he explained. “They keep their lights dim at night to avoid attracting unwanted attention.”

Unwanted attention.

My fingers curled into the bandages on my palm, the rough fabric grounding me before I dug my nails into my skin. The place felt wrong. It seeped into the walls, slithered between the floorboards, and coiled around my ankles like the mist in Silverfel, making me believe I wasn’t alone, even when I was.

“And the healers you sent for?” Oberon asked.

Lord Everette pursed his lips and rubbed his temples. “The last one arrived a week ago,” he admitted. “He left the same night.”

I frowned. “Why?”

He glanced at me, then looked away, as if still hesitant to meet my gaze. “He claimed to have seen something outside his window.”

The crackling fire in the hearth was the only sound in the suffocating quiet.

“Did he say what?” I pressed.

Lord Everette’s mouth tightened, and the look in his eyes showed regret for having said so much. Something had frightened that healer enough to flee in the middle of the night. “He wouldn’t speak of it,” he murmured.

My stomach churned.

Oberon narrowed his gaze as though considering his next words. “What about the animals?”

I blinked, glancing at him, but his gaze remained fixed on the lord.

“Gone,” the Lord admitted. “At first, we thought thieves had taken them. Yet, no tracks existed—no sign of a struggle, no broken gates. They vanished. One by one.”

“How long ago?” I asked.

“The first few went missing over a month ago. Then, it became more frequent. By the time the sickness reached the crops, none were left.” His fingers drummed against the banister, restless. “Even the dogs disappeared. The ones that remained…” He hesitated.

My brows furrowed. “What?”

“They refused to go near the fields. They would cower. Snarl at nothing. Then, one morning, they vanished as well.”

Oberon’s expression remained the same, though his hands twitched at his sides while the candlelight cast shadows along the sharp planes of his face. He wasn’t pleased by the situation either. “Have you seen it yourself? Whatever is lurking out there?”

Lord Everette’s eyes flickered toward the covered windows. “No,” he admitted. “But I have heard it.”

A pause.

Oberon exhaled, stroking his jaw before speaking again. “Is there an inn in the village?”

Lord Everette’s expression revealed the answer before he even spoke. “There are two rooms prepared for you in my home,” he offered.

I stiffened.

Two rooms.

The manor walls closed in, thick with dust and oppressive with my discomfort. A draft moved through the corridor, carrying the smells of old parchment and damp wood.

Staying somewhere with locked doors, warmth, and accessible answers felt safer. Yet, I couldn’t shake the unease that settled in my gut, the sense that accepting his hospitality meant stepping deeper into something we might not escape.

Before Silverfel, the idea of traveling with Oberon had been intolerable and sharing a space seemed unthinkable. He embodied jagged edges and bitter silence, a storm under careful restraint, and I hadn’t been interested in being caught in it. But as I stood in the grand, suffocating halls of Lord Everette’s estate, my skin prickled with apprehension. The air felt too still, too clean-scrubbed of life and warmth until only emptiness remained. The polished floors reflected the candlelight in an eerie, sterile glow. The towering walls, lined with aging portraits and tapestries, loomed like silent sentinels, watching.

It was too similar.

Too much like him.

I forced my jaw to unclench, fingers twitching toward my sleeve before restraining myself. I managed a stiff but acceptable smile. “Thank you.”

Had Oberon noticed?

His eyes flickered silver when he glanced at me before turning back to Everette. Then, he inclined his head. “Lead the way.”

After Lord Everette showed us our rooms, I turned to Oberon, folding my arms across my chest. “We should investigate and see what the travelers experienced.”

He huffed. “At sunrise. We’ll get a better view then.”

“No. If the sightings occur at night, then we need to observe them at night.”

He swept a hand across his face as though I had drained the energy from his body. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

I shrugged. “I’ve heard worse.”

For a moment, he stared at me. He muttered something under his breath, likely a curse aimed at me, before gesturing toward the stairs. “Fine. But if you end up dead, I’m leaving your body for the crows.”

I grinned and started walking through the hall. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” I had to escape this place. The mansion’s walls loomed over me with old secrets and silent judgment. Waiting until morning wasn’t the choice I wanted to make when the answers we needed might be waiting outside.

THE NIGHT UNFOLDED at a sluggish pace until the faintest glow of dawn crept over the horizon. I squinted at my notes, struggling to interpret the symbols and trinkets we had encountered. A few felt familiar, protective wards and charms designed to ward off sickness or spirits, but others…

Others made little sense.

I turned the page, jotting quick notes beside rough sketches of the carvings we had discovered near the village perimeter. Other symbols seemed too intricate and deliberate to be mere superstition. Someone had placed them there for a reason.

Oberon let out a long sigh behind me. “We should have just waited. Rested.”

“And miss all this fun?” I muttered, jotting down another note.

A breeze stirred, crawling through the air with a thick, cloying scent that made me stiffen. My stomach twisted. The stench intensified, permeating my flesh and clinging to the back of my throat, reminiscent of something decaying in the sun. I gagged, pressing my sleeve against my nose. “Seriously, what is that?”

Oberon turned toward the field. The wind shifted his cloak as he turned his head. His jaw muscles tensed before he gestured for me to follow. “Let’s find out.”