- -
- 100%
- +
I ran forward along the bank, hoping to find an exit, but the trees parted and I found myself on the open bank of a wide river.
The river was enormous—twenty meters, maybe more. Dark water churned between sharp stones, foamed, roared. Moonlight turned its surface into a stream of liquid silver with black veins of shadow.
Beautiful. Frighteningly beautiful.
And absolutely impassable.
I dropped to my knees by the water, lowered my hand into the current.
Icy. So cold my fingers instantly went numb, turned into lifeless stumps. I jerked my hand back, shook it, but sensation didn't return.
Can't swim across. The current will drag me away, the cold will kill me in seconds.
The howling became very close.
I turned around—shadows moved between the trees. Many shadows. Not three beasts but more. Five? Seven?
A pack.
They approached slowly, savoring the moment. Knew I was trapped.
Cold sweat covered my back.
What do I do? Where do I run?
Downstream I could see stones protruding from the water. Maybe I can cross on them?
I took a step toward the stones.
"I wouldn't advise it."
The voice sounded so close I yelped and jumped, simultaneously pulling the knife from my backpack pocket.
On a large boulder three meters from me sat a figure.
A teenager, about sixteen in appearance, with dark tousled hair and mischievous amber-colored eyes. He was dressed strangely—a leather jacket decorated with feathers and bone amulets, pants of rough material, high boots.
And he had ears.
Not human ones. Pointed, protruding from his hair.
Fae.
I stepped back, gripping the knife with both hands.
"Who are you?!"
"Me?" He smiled, and the smile was too wide, baring sharp teeth. "Just a traveler. Like you, actually."
He jumped from the boulder—the movement was too smooth, too graceful for a human. Landed soundlessly on the snow, not leaving even a footprint.
"You're… one of them," I breathed, not lowering the knife.
"Technically yes. I'm fae." He tilted his head, studying me with curiosity. "But I'm not one of Morphrost's hunters, if that's what you're worried about."
"Then who are you?"
"Call me Fox," he shrugged. "Not my real name, but I don't want to know yours either. Dangerous thing, knowing real names."
He nodded at the stones in the river:
"Don't try to cross on them. They're slippery, and you'll fall. And in the water live river spirits." His amber eyes gleamed. "They're hungry. And angry. They'll drag you to the bottom before you can scream."
I stayed silent, not knowing whether to believe him.
Fox smirked:
"Don't believe me? Good. We fae, we always lie. Even when we tell the truth."
Behind my back a growl sounded—close, threatening.
Fox turned his head, his ears twitching.
"The Wild Pack." He clicked his tongue. "Stubborn hounds. They've cornered you."
I turned around.
From the forest emerged beasts. One. Two. Three. Five. Seven.
A whole pack surrounding the clearing in a semicircle. Their yellow eyes glowed in the darkness, vapor bursting from their maws.
They approached slowly, savoring my fear.
"You have thirty seconds," Fox noted calmly. "Then they'll attack all at once."
"Then what do I do?!" My voice broke into a scream.
He thoughtfully scratched his chin:
"Well… I could help. Transport you to the other bank. Magic, all that."
The book had stated clearly: "Don't accept help from fae. Every service creates a debt."
"What price do you want?"
His eyes gleamed—pleased, predatory.
"Oh! Smart girl. Knows the rules." He smiled wider. "Fine, honestly. You'll owe me a favor. One. Someday I'll ask, and you won't be able to refuse."
"What favor?"
"Don't know," he shrugged. "I'll think of something when I need it. Maybe steal something. Maybe kill someone. We'll see."
Cold crept down my spine.
"I'm not a killer."
"Not a killer yet," he corrected. "Seven days here change a lot."
The beasts took a step closer. Synchronously, as if on command.
"Clock's ticking, dear," Fox tilted his head. "Debt to me or death in their teeth? What do you choose?"
I gripped the knife, feeling my palm sweat.
Debt or death. Wonderful choice.
The beasts moved closer. I could see their fangs, hear their growling.
The largest one, with the scar, prepared to pounce.
"FINE!" I shouted. "Help!"
Fox smiled—triumphantly.
"Now we have a deal."
He stepped toward me, extending his hand.
I placed my palm in his—and the world exploded.
The warmth of his hand burned after the cold. His fingers closed firmly, commandingly.
"Hold tight."
The ground disappeared beneath my feet.
The sensation of flight, weightlessness. My stomach leaped to my throat, my ears rang. Wind roared, though we weren't moving—or were moving too fast.
The world turned into blurred streaks of light and darkness.
And then solid ground under my feet again.
I fell to my knees, gasping. My head spun, spots danced in my eyes. My stomach twisted—I vomited right into the snow.
Teleportation. He'd teleported me.
When my vision cleared, I raised my head.
We stood on the other bank of the river. About fifty meters downstream from where the beasts had been.
Fox released my hand and stepped back, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.
"Service rendered. Debt recorded." He tapped his temple with a finger. "Here. Won't forget."
I breathed heavily, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.
"Why… why did you help?"
He turned and began to leave, tossing over his shoulder:
"I like spoiling Morphrost's games. He's too overconfident."
"Wait!"
He turned, raising an eyebrow.
"What?"
"How do I survive?" Desperation broke through in my voice. "I don't know this world, don't know the rules…"
Fox thought, then smirked:
"Want advice? Free?"
I nodded.
"Don't trust anyone. Anyone at all. Not even me." His eyes gleamed. "We all lie. Always."
"That doesn't help!"
"It's not supposed to." He shrugged. "But if you want to try to survive—go south. There are the Borderlands. Morphrost doesn't hunt there."
"How do I find south?"
Fox pointed at the sky:
"See the red moon? It's always above the south. Follow it."
He turned and dissolved into the shadows—instantly, as if he'd never been there.
I was left alone on the riverbank.
On the other side, in the distance, I could see the silhouettes of beasts. They looked in my direction but didn't cross the river.
One howled—prolonged, calling.
Others answered.
They called more. They'll look for a crossing.
I need to leave. Fast.
I looked at the sky, found the red moon. Small, blood-crimson, low on the horizon.
South.
I adjusted my backpack and walked in that direction, staying far from the river.
Chapter 5
I walked, stumbling from exhaustion. My body demanded rest. My eyes were closing. But I couldn't stop.
A little more. Just a bit more. Find shelter, then you can rest.
The forest on this side of the river was different. The trees stood farther apart, with bushes of silvery leaves growing between them. The air was slightly warmer, not as dense.
I walked, counting steps to keep from going mad from the monotony.
One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred.
Suddenly rocks appeared ahead—a group of enormous boulders piled on top of each other. Between them gaped a crevice, wide enough to squeeze through.
A cave? Shelter?
I approached closer, stopped at the entrance.
The darkness inside was absolute. It smelled of dampness and earth, but nothing living could be sensed.
I pulled out my flashlight, turned it on and shone it inside.
A narrow fissure extended inward about three meters, then ended at a solid stone wall. The floor was covered with small pebbles. Empty.
This'll do.
I squeezed inside, dragged my backpack in after me. There wasn't much space—I could sit leaning against the wall, but not lie down. But the entrance was narrow—if someone tried to get in, I'd see them.
I turned off the flashlight, conserving the battery, and leaned my back against the cold wall.
Silence.
Only the distant sound of the river and my own pulse in my ears.
I closed my eyes.
And then it hit me.
Everything at once.
The fear I'd been holding back all this time. The terror of where I'd ended up. The despair from realizing the way home was closed.
Tears poured out in a torrent, hot and salty. I pressed my hand over my mouth, holding back sobs, but my body shook with convulsive gasps.
Mom. Chloe. Dad.
I'll never see them again.
I'll die here. In this alien, terrifying world.
I cried until the tears ran out, until my throat was parched, until I had no strength even to sob.
And then I just sat there, empty and hollowed out.
And from somewhere deep inside another feeling rose.
Anger.
Quiet, cold, steely anger.
I didn't want this. Didn't ask for it. Didn't deserve it.
I just wanted to take beautiful photographs. Just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And now I'm here. In this cursed world. Playing this cursed game.
But I won't give up just like that.
I wiped my face with my sleeve, swallowed with my parched throat.
Seven days. I need to last seven days.
And then… then I'll get my wish. And go home.
I have to. I must.
Because if I die here, Mom will go crazy not knowing what happened to me. Chloe will blame herself. Dad…
No. I won't die. Won't let them have that.
I pulled the water bottle from my backpack, took several small sips. Then a package of jerky, bit off a piece.
Chewing was difficult, swallowing even harder. But I forced myself to eat. And another piece. And another.
Food from the human world. My protection from their enchantments.
When I'd eaten, I took out the knife, placed it nearby—within arm's reach.
I leaned against the stone and closed my eyes.
Sleeping was frightening. But without sleep I wouldn't last long.
An hour. I'll just doze for an hour.
I closed my eyes. My breathing slowed. My body went limp, relaxing.
And I fell.
***
I woke to warmth.
Not the cold of the stone cave, but soft, enveloping warmth. Beneath my back something incredibly tender, smelling of lavender and something else—expensive, indefinable.
What?
I slowly opened my eyes—and saw a ceiling.
Not the stone vault of the fissure. A high ceiling of black marble with silver veins, illuminated by hundreds of candles in crystal chandeliers.
And a mirror.
An enormous mirror, embedded right in the ceiling above the bed.
In it I saw my reflection.
But not the me who had fallen asleep in the fissure.
I lay on an enormous bed. Sheets of white silk enveloped my body. And I wore a dress.
A dress of material resembling liquid silver, shimmering from deep blue to black. The bodice hugged my chest tightly, the skirt flowed in waves. Long sleeves, transparent, embroidered with silver. Deep décolletage, revealing collarbones and the hollow between my breasts.
Hair loose, spilled across the pillows like a dark waterfall. Hands folded on my chest.
I looked like… a dead princess from a fairy tale. Beautiful, cold, lifeless.
What the…
I sat up abruptly, and the reflection in the mirror repeated the movement.
I looked around.
A bedroom. An enormous, luxurious bedroom with black marble walls and tall windows, beyond which three moons shimmered. A fireplace with blue flames. Candles everywhere.
No. This is impossible.
Panic began rising in a wave.
Where am I? How did I get here?
Last memory—the fissure. Cold stone. The knife nearby, within reach. I closed my eyes…
He caught me. While I slept, he found me and took me.
Terror struck my head.
The game is over. I lost.
"It suits you."
The voice sounded from the corner of the room, and I jumped up, tangling in the sheets, nearly falling off the bed.
Caelan stood by the window, leaning his shoulder against the frame. Without a cloak, without a crown—only a black shirt with the top buttons undone and dark trousers. Hair loose, falling on his shoulders.
He looked at me with a satisfied smile.
"Especially the hair," he continued, surveying my reflection in the ceiling mirror. "Loose, they make you look like a sleeping beauty. Or a dead bride. Which, in essence, isn't far from the truth."
Something inside me exploded.
Not fear. Not panic.
Rage.
Pure, white, incinerating rage.
All the pain of the first night. All the terror of the chase. All the exhaustion from fleeing. And he—the cause of all this—stands here, smiling and making comments about my appearance.
I threw myself from the bed, not feeling how the skirt tangled in my legs.
"YOU!" I screamed, and my voice broke into a shriek. "YOU DID THIS!"
I grabbed the first thing within reach—a heavy vase with flowers on the bedside table.
"ALL OF THIS IS BECAUSE OF YOU!"
I swung with all my strength, aiming for his head.
The vase flew from my hands—and halfway to his face disintegrated into snowflakes.
Didn't break. Didn't fall.
Simply turned into thousands of tiny silvery snowflakes that swirled in the air and melted.
I froze, not believing my eyes.
"What…"
Caelan didn't even flinch. Just stood there, watching me with a slight smirk.
"Didn't work?" he asked softly. "Try again."
Rage still boiled in my chest. I grabbed a candlestick—heavy, made of something like silver.
"I HATE YOU!"
I hurled it at him with all my strength.
The candlestick flew half the distance—and turned into a shower of snow, which settled on the floor in a soft drift.
"What the hell?!"
I grabbed everything in sight—a book from the shelf, a statuette, a pillow from the bed. Threw them at him again and again.
And every time—the same thing.
Halfway there the objects turned to snow. To snowflakes. To silvery dust.
"WHY?!" I screamed, breathing heavily. "Why doesn't anything work?!"
Caelan pushed off from the window and slowly walked toward me.
"Because, darling," his voice was calm, almost tender, "none of this is real."
He stopped a couple steps away, gesturing to the room around us.
"This bedroom. This bed. The vases, candlesticks, even the dress you're wearing." His eyes met mine. "All of it—illusion. A dream."
The world tilted.
A dream?
"You're still sleeping in your little fissure, clutching your backpack to your chest," he continued. "Your body is there, in the cold and darkness. But your mind…"
He tapped his temple.
"Your mind is here. In my dream domain."
Reality slowly began assembling into a picture.
A dream. This is a dream. I didn't lose. He didn't catch me.
Relief mixed with new horror.
But if this is his dream… that means he controls everything.
I backed away, but my back hit the bed.
"You're beginning to understand," he smiled, taking a step closer. "Here, in dreams, I am god. I control every detail. Can create and destroy reality at will."
He snapped his fingers, and the room changed.
The walls expanded, transforming into an endless ballroom. The floor beneath my feet became mirrored, reflecting thousands of candles. Music filled the air—a waltz, slow and hypnotic.
Another snap—and we were back in the bedroom, but now it was snowing. Real snow, falling from the ceiling, settling on furniture, melting at the touch.
Another snap—the bedroom disappeared. We stood on the edge of a cliff above a bottomless abyss. Wind roared, tearing at clothes, but I didn't fall.
"See?" his voice sounded right at my ear, though he stood several steps away. "There are no rules here. No laws of physics. Only my will."
Another snap—and we were back in the bedroom.
I breathed heavily, trying to cope with the dizziness.
"Why?" I exhaled. "Why did you drag me here?"
"Drag?" He tilted his head. "Darling, I didn't drag you anywhere. You came yourself when you fell asleep."
He took another step, and now only a couple inches separated us.
"Every time you close your eyes, I can enter. Into your mind, into your dreams." His hand rose to my face but didn't touch—froze a millimeter from my cheek. "It's part of the game. In the real world I'm bound by rules. But here…"
His smile became predatory.
"Here you're completely in my power."
"What do you want from me?" My voice trembled.
"Just to talk," he lowered his hand. "Get to know you better. Understand what makes you run so desperately."
He stepped back, giving space.
"And yes, to have a little fun." Something dark flashed in his eyes. "Seven nights is a long time. It would be boring to just chase you through the forest."
He turned and walked to the window, gesturing for me to follow.
"Come, let's take a walk. I promise to behave… relatively decently."
"And if I refuse?"
He turned, and the expression on his face became harder.
"Then I'll stop being so courteous."
The threat rang clear.
I clenched my fists, feeling nails dig into palms. There was no choice.
Slowly, on trembling legs, I walked toward him.
And with each step I understood—this is only the beginning.
The first night in dreams.
And six more ahead.
***
The door opened by itself when we approached.
Beyond it stretched a corridor—the same one I'd seen in the first dream. Endless perspective of black marble, columns of ice, torches with blue flames.
But now, knowing this was a dream, I saw the details differently.
The walls breathed. Barely noticeably, but they moved, pulsed, as if they were alive. Shadows between columns shifted on their own, independent of light. And in the torches the blue flames sometimes formed faces—distorted, screaming, disappearing after a moment.
"Welcome to my consciousness," Caelan said, walking beside me. "Or rather, to that part of it I allow you to see."
I remained silent, trying not to look at the moving shadows.
"I've lived here for thousands of years," he continued. "Here are stored all my memories, all desires, everything I hide from the world."
Between the columns images began appearing. Flashes, like paintings on walls, but alive, moving.
Battles. Blood on snow. Armies of fae fighting under three moons.
Balls. Hundreds of fae in luxurious clothing, dancing in this very hall.
And humans. Many humans. Some fled in terror, others knelt, still others lay motionless.
"These are… your victims?" I whispered.
"Victims. Toys. Prey." He shrugged. "Call them what you want. In a thousand years there have been… many."
One of the images stopped, became clearer.
A girl. Young, with red hair and freckles. She stood in this same corridor, in a similar dress. Looked at Caelan with an expression of… adoration.
"This was Eileen," his voice became softer. "Three hundred years ago. She lasted six days."
"What happened to her?"
"On the seventh day she surrendered. Asked to stay with me herself." He looked at the frozen image. "I turned her into one of us. She served me for half a century, and then… became boring."
"And you killed her?"
"No." He shook his head. "Released her. She's still somewhere here, in my domain. Wanders through the forests, feeds on small animals, having lost her mind centuries ago."
Cold crept down my spine.
"You're a monster."
"I'm fae," he corrected calmly. "We don't know your morality. To us humans are toys. Beautiful, fragile, temporary."
The image disappeared, replaced by another.
A man. Tall, strong, with a sword in his hands. He fought something enormous and dark.
"This was Thomas," Caelan said. "A hundred years ago. He lasted four days."
"What happened to him?"
"The Wild Pack caught him on the fourth night." His voice was indifferent. "He tried to hide in a tree hollow. Didn't help."
The image faded, dissolved.
"The Wild Pack?"
"The Pack is the lesser of evils," his eyes darkened. "In my forests live creatures more dangerous than any nightmare. Spirits that devour flesh. Plants that suck blood. Fae exiles who don't obey me and hunt anyone who crosses their path."
He traced a finger along my cheek—an icy touch that sent shivers across my skin.
"And then there's me. And I don't need monsters to break you." His voice became quieter, more intimate. "I'll do it slowly. Every night, in dreams."
His hand slid to my chin, lifting it, forcing me to look into his eyes.
"I'll touch you. Kiss you. Study every reaction." Something dark and promising swirled in his gaze. "And gradually you'll begin to wait for it. Dream of it."
"Never," I hissed.
"We'll see," he leaned closer, his lips an inch from mine. "By the way, I have a question."
"What?"
"What did you wish for at the Tree?" His breath touched my lips. "What wish?"
"I didn't wish for anything!"
"The Tree doesn't activate without a wish," his hand settled on my waist. "Even a subconscious one. Something deep in your heart responded to its magic."
He pulled me closer, so our bodies touched.
"I very much want to know what it was. What does Elise Thorne secretly desire?" His lips touched the corner of my mouth. "Love? Wealth? Power?"
"Let me go," my voice trembled.
"Or maybe adventure?" He ignored my request. "Were you tired of boring life? Wanted to break free, feel alive?"
His words hit too accurately.
"Then congratulations, darling." His smile became predatory. "You got what you wanted. A life full of danger and thrills. Isn't that what you dreamed of?"
"Not like this!" it burst from me. "Not this!"
"Then how?" He pulled back, looking into my eyes. "Tell me. What did you really want?"
The words stuck in my throat. Because deep inside I knew—he was right. I'd dreamed of something more than ordinary life. Of adventure, of passion, of feeling alive.
But not like this. Not in a nightmare.
"See?" he whispered triumphantly. "You can't answer. Because you don't know yourself."
He circled me, not breaking eye contact.
"The Tree showed me flashes of your life. I saw you sitting in your room, looking out the window and dreaming of escape. Saw you photographing beautiful landscapes, hoping that through the lens your life would become more interesting."
Every word struck like a blow.
"Saw your loneliness. Your friend Chloe, who lives a vibrant life while you remain in the shadows. Your parents, who love you but don't understand."
He stopped in front of me, his hand on my cheek.
"And I saw your secret dream. The one you hide even from yourself."
"What?" I whispered, though I feared the answer.
His eyes gleamed.
"You dream of someone who will see the real you. Not the mask you wear for everyone." His thumb traced my lower lip. "Of someone who will accept you wholly. With all your fears, with all the darkness inside."
Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked, throwing them off.
"You know nothing about me."
"I know more than you think," he leaned to my ear. "And you know what's funniest? I see you. All of you. Without masks. With all your fears and desires."
His lips touched the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
"That's why it frightens you so much. Not because I'm a monster. But because I see what you hide from everyone else."
"Shut up," I hissed, but my voice broke.
"Make me," he smirked against my neck.
His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. I felt the cold of his body through the thin silk of the dress, his breath on my neck, the scent of winter and danger.
"Want to know what else I saw?" he whispered.
"No."
"Saw your curiosity." His lips moved to my shoulder. "You fear me, but simultaneously… you're intrigued. Part of you wants to know what it's like—to be with someone like me."
"You're lying."
"I never lie in dreams," his hand slid across my stomach. "There's no point here. Your subconscious knows the truth."