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Eden

THE SOUND OF my knocking was dull and muffled against the thick wood of the door, swallowed by the stillness that hung in the corridor. Holding my breath, I waited for any sign of movement, yet the silence on the other side lingered. I drew in a slow, steady breath and pressed my palm to the door. The wood was cool beneath my fingers, grounding in a way that only unsettled me further. I pushed it open, carefully in case they were asleep.

Empty.

A sigh escaped me, making it apparent how much weight I had carried and how tightly I had held myself together. My fingers curled around the leather-bound journal at my side, but it did little to soothe the knot in my chest.

I should have known he wouldn’t be in their room.

Oberon had always been restless, always wound too tight beneath his skin, a blade always waiting to be drawn. After last night, of course, he vanished into the early light. And Garrick likely sat recovering from another half-drunk misadventure or nursing the bruises that came with trying to pry answers from Oberon the way he always did, mischief trailing after him in that charming, exasperating, and predictable smoke.

I could go looking for them… or—

My gaze flicked to the window, where the faintest brush of sunrise kissed the crooked rooftops in hues of gray and pale gold. The village lay cloaked in the hush of early morning, its silence feeling sacred and untouched. Mist coiled between buildings and slithered along the cobblestone. The slow, steady breath of a slumbering beast curled along the shoreline, breathing with the rhythm of the vast and unknowable sea.

If I couldn’t find them, I had to go alone.

The thought should have stirred hesitation, caution, or that familiar echo of Oberon’s voice telling me to wait. To think . But there was no time to second-guess. The stillness had a sharp edge, the breath before something terrible happened.

Parchment whispered against the leather of my journal as I pulled it free. The soft texture beneath my fingertips was worn smooth from use and smudged with ink. I dipped the quill from their desk and scrawled a quick note, my writing fast but clean, just in case.

Because I wasn’t reckless the way he thought.

The ink hadn’t yet dried when I placed the note on the desk. Its weight was featherlight, yet final, a quiet farewell that said, I tried . You didn’t stop me .

I stepped out into the corridor, out of the inn, and into the bite of morning air. The tavern stood silent behind me. It, too, had chosen to rest a little longer. The village held its breath. The usual clang and shuffle of merchants setting up stalls was absent; the marketplace was cloaked in canvas and dew, with creatures curled beneath blankets, waiting for warmth to return. The scents of salt and damp wood drifted through the air, clinging to the surroundings.

I followed the path in silence, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots the only sound for several long minutes. Even the birds hadn’t yet stirred. Only the distant silhouette of a fisher moved along the dock, hunched and slow, casting off lines with quiet efficiency. His figure seemed to blur in the fog, more shadow than man.

My hand ran down my face, and frustration prickled beneath my skin. Where were they? If they weren’t at the inn, the market, or the tavern, then where?

A low, familiar voice echoed through the mist.

Oberon?

I stilled, tilting my head to listen. His voice was a low thrum carried on the damp morning air, half-swallowed by the fog, the words too muffled to catch. Strange . He didn’t speak aloud unless there was a purpose behind it. Even in battle, he was more steel than sound. His orders were usually sharp, concise, and measured.

But something about his tone, rhythm, and the quiet reverence laced into each syllable felt different. It wasn’t a command, not a conversation. It was deeper.

I turned toward the docks, boots brushing against the wet stone path as I followed the sound. Mist curled around my ankles, swallowing shapes and softening edges. The village was still asleep. Every shadow stretched long and strange in the gray light of dawn.

Maybe they had seen me searching. I swallowed the sudden tightness in my throat. I had been wandering long enough, checking the usual places. Perhaps they came out to find me, to make sense of the morning like I had.

But each step was heavier than the last.

The wooden planks stretched into the sea like the ribs of something ancient and forgotten. My boots creaked when I stepped onto the docks. The air was colder, crisper here.

It echoed again. Clear this time.

“Dilthen Doe.”

I froze, and a slow, crawling unease unfurled in my gut. It didn’t announce itself with panic or fear. That instinctive hum beneath the skin that warned something was watching.

I didn’t want to go toward the sound. I couldn’t explain why, but I had to.

Each step felt heavier. The fog pulled me back, whispering that I didn’t belong here. That this place, this moment, wasn’t meant for me. Still, I followed the voice, legs stiff with dread, until I reached the furthest dock that disappeared into the thickest part of the fog. The pier’s edge was indiscernible, swallowed whole by the pale gray curtain that rolled in from the sea. Everything beyond it felt muted, like I had stepped into a world half-asleep, half-submerged.

They might have found something. Maybe that was why they were here. Perhaps they followed a trail I missed.

The mist became denser. It slithered around my legs like fingers in thin, damp tendrils that crept up my heavy and cold skin. My breath fogged the air, and the familiar smell of salt and wet wood filled my lungs, but beneath the comfort of the sea was rot.

It wasn’t the sour tang of spoiled fish or stagnant tidewater. It was more profound, denser, and more elduven. It was like something had died beneath the waves and continued to rot there, hidden just below the surface. A sickness tainted the air, faint but persistent, threading through the fog like poison. It settled on my skin, soaked into the fabric of my clothes, and seeped down into the marrow of my bones.

Decay filled my mouth with each new breath I took. The silence was broken by the brittle creaks of my boots on the old planks as the water below lapped against the pylons. It should have been a comforting, familiar sound. Steady and reassuring. Predictable. Yet the hairs on my arms prickled, and my fingers tightened on the leather of my journal.

A figure, half-formed in the mist, stood farther out than it should have been possible.

My heart lurched.

“Oberon?”

I squinted and leaned forward, but he wasn’t on the dock, perched on one of the fishing boats, or leaning against a piling. He stood on the water.

Or… did he?

My breath slowed, my heartbeat loud in my ears. Maybe there was a rock beneath the surface. A sandbar I was unaware of. Perhaps it was Fae magic that Oberon hadn’t mentioned—anything to explain why he appeared so impossibly poised above the shifting tides.

The fog swirled and thickened around his form with a deliberate, slow rhythm. The weight of the air pressed down as it breathed. The way he stood was so still, too rigid. His posture was unnatural. He waited. But for what?

My stomach churned as the first tremor of genuine fear slipped into my chest.

“Sinclaire!”

His name tore from my throat with desperation. It shattered the silence in the way only true terror can. The waves continued to lap against the pylons. A single gull cried out in the distance, the sound thin and far away.

But the figure didn’t move.

The air shifted again. Thicker now. Denser. Like it had heard me and was listening.

I swallowed, trying to overcome the dryness in my throat. My boots creaked on the damp dock as I took another cautious step forward.

“Oberon!”

His head jerked back, snapping too far, too fast. A puppet’s head yanked by invisible strings and without the grace of muscle or control. A cold jolt slammed through me, and I stilled. My breath became trapped in my throat, locked behind my ribs. My body refused to move, function, or breathe.

Slowly, the figure tipped its head to the side. Not like Oberon, but like something that mimicked him, playing at being him and chilled my bones.

Blue eyes flickered with an ethereal glow in the dim light. Their light seared through the fog. A pulse slithered through my nerves like a knife dragged across my skin. It wasn’t just the horror of the sight, but the wrongness that bypassed logic and language, going straight to instinct.

The wind shifted, carrying the sharp smell of salt and decay. The figure stood there, waiting, with the stillness of a predator’s patience. Its gaze clung to me as if it could see inside of my soul.

The world had gone silent. The sea had stilled, and the birds had vanished. The dock beneath my feet felt suspended between life and death.

My stomach lurched.

Run.

RUN!

My breath was ragged and shuddered through my lips, body locked in place, frozen by fear. Every nerve screamed at me to move, but my limbs, rooted in place, refused to budge. Then the figure’s mouth opened with an unnatural, wrenching stretch. A scream erupted in a cacophony of drowning, gurgling, and wailing voices.

The scream echoed across the pier, tore through me, burrowed into my ribs, and crawled up my spine with icy, rotten fingers. It was suffering. Despair. It was death dragged from the throats of a thousand lost souls and forced into the air. It ripped the breath from my lungs and left me gasping. My chest constricted as if the air had been stolen from me.

The pier trembled beneath my feet as the world blurred, its edges smeared like paint running in the rain. The mist slithered as it rushed toward me, alive in a way that made my skin crawl.

A shadow stretched behind the figure. It expanded and unfurled, far darker than the fog. Tentacles whipped toward me. I staggered back, and my foot seized on a warped plank. The rotting wood betrayed me, snapping beneath my boots as I fell backward.

Black, gleaming limbs wrapped around my legs sent a searing cold jolt through my body, sinking into my bones and veins like ice. The pressure locked around my ankle and thigh, pulling me closer to the end of the pier.

Panic clawed its way up my throat, strangling me as I screamed. My body fought against the pull, but I was no match for its strength. The dock blurred past me when the tentacles dragged me, scraping my skin against the rough wood. Splinters tore into my hands as I clawed for something to hold on to. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t strong enough.

A sickening crack echoed, followed by blinding pain that exploded through my skull, a firework of agony exploding behind my eyes. The world fractured, my thoughts splintering into shards as I fell into darkness.

A familiar voice echoed through the fog, but was too distant to make out over the pulsing in my skull.

Oberon?

The void swallowed me whole, and I became weightless, drifting through nothingness. The roar of distant waves faded, leaving my body untethered from reality, pain, and fear.

I gasped, desperate for breath, desperate to move, as the darkness slipped away too fast. The sharp bite of air in my throat was the only thing that anchored me to what little of the world remained.

My eyes snapped open just as I plummeted.

The freezing water swallowed me with no time to breathe. Saltwater surged into my mouth, slammed up my nose, and burned through my senses. I choked, my body jerked, my muscles locked, and my lungs screamed for air that wasn’t there. Panic erupted inside me as I fought against the dark water and tentacles still tight around my legs. But the ocean’s mass constricted me.

My chest burned with a searing pain that cut through my ribs. The instinct to breathe overtook me, and I became desperate. When my mouth opened, water surged inside, and I gagged, my body spasming as I fought to survive against the icy salt. My lungs seized, the last of my breath stolen while my vision slipped away.

The darkness curled tighter at the edges of my sight. Freezing numbness spread through my limbs as I sank. Distant ripples of blue light flickered through the dark water, distorted and shifting with the ripples. Oberon’s face broke through the surface above me. His eyes, glowing, haloed in silver. I reached for him, but he was too far.

The last strands of my consciousness slipped away as the darkness claimed me.