The Red Moon above me, the White Tower at my back. Night.
Again? Where am I now?
My hands... they're different again. Bigger. Stronger. But they still feel too small compared to the dream before.
The ground was closer—no, I'm taller. The body doesn't respond like it should.
"Just business, boy."
Sipar's blood sprayed in spurts from his neck, warm, soaking the cobblestones. Emma held him, hands pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding.
The force was such that even if the bleeding stopped, it would have suffocated him for sure. It wasn't just the tips of her hair and her irises that were red: her entire body was drenched in that terrifying crimson.
Emma, no. Hang on, Sipar!
I fell. My hands gripped a sword's hilt, the blade buried between my ribs with a deep, cold pain that emptied my lungs.
How can I die younger than in the dream before? Are these visions of the future then? Different futures? Pasts? What am I seeing?
Tongues of flame danced in the night in a perfect circle. Through the shimmer, the distant tower rose, the disc of the Red Moon silhouetted behind the white stone. It reminded me of the symbol carved into the headboard of my bed at the orphanage.
At the top of the tower, an enormous blue fire burned.
Oh, gods. I'm delirious. I'm dying. Sipar is dying. I have to save him!
A gray hand grabbed Emma's forehead from behind. She didn't move, her eyes, empty as abysses, kept staring at Sipar's trembling form.
A silver blade emerged from the darkness. With a silence that hurt, it moved in front of her throat.
"NO!"
NO!
The blade tore through skin and veins. Emma's blood answered Sipar's.
Both fell, clutched to each other, staining each other crimson. Their blood flowed across the cobblestones, mixing into a single dark rivulet that ran toward the five-faced fountain in the square.
Their fingers remained intertwined in a final grip.
Brother! Sister!
"Just business, kids."
A figure emerged from the shadow. White tusks, one broken and one long that curved above the boar-like snout. That tusk... I'd broken it myself, almost nine years ago. Vrogat.
Since then I'd carried that terrible trophy in my pocket. Now, as life slipped away from me, its cold, rough shape pressing against my thigh, as if it wanted to draw my hand toward it.
Nine years?
"Bastard. First my parents and now my brother and sister?"
With the last of my strength, I slipped my fingers into my pocket. I brushed it.
"Lirka. Run."
My last words came out almost breathless.
Lirka's here? Run, Lirka. Please.
"Where'd that damn fox go? After her!"
"Yes, boss."
How many are there? Too many voices. I have to memorize everything. This curse has to be good for something.
The boar pulled a purple silk handkerchief from his pocket with long gray fingers. He bent down, with a calm that made my blood boil, and picked up a black leather book at Emma and Sipar's feet, careful not to touch it, using the handkerchief like a glove.
"This'll fetch me a nice sum with that Elf."
He stood and passed the book to someone. I didn't have the strength to turn my head to see who.
I can't see, dammit. Can't turn my head.
The back of my head, resting on the square's pavement, should've transmitted the cold of the cobblestones, but the only cold I could feel was from the blade tearing through my lungs.
"You'll pay for this."
You'll pay, bastard.
Wet footsteps, damp with my siblings' dark blood, approached. Each step was a memory of their smiles, their caresses, every moment spent together.
He crushed his polished leather boot onto my sternum, robbing me of what little air I could still swallow. With an effort that felt like it would break me, I spat a clot of blood onto those shoes, mixing mine with the other dead.
"Haha. You're tenacious, kid."
His right hand plunged onto the hilt protruding from my ribs. The pain shifted: from cold it became a fire that devastated my chest. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled the blade from my side, repeating the same gesture he'd used to kill my mother years before. His small eyes remained fixed on mine, glassy, soulless.
He lowered himself to savor every instant of my last look. The stench of his breath, pungent and putrid, hit me.
Come on, Me. Do something. Anything!
My fingers grabbed the tusk in my pocket with such force I felt the bone pierce my flesh. I pulled out the tusk and hurled it toward his eye with all the strength I had left. The Breath of the Gods infused into the bone to make it burning hot, absorbing the heat the blade was pouring into my side.
On contact with his eye it exploded, spattering fluid and dark blood across my face.
I laughed. I was drained of all energy, even what I needed to close my eyelids.
The sound of his grunts, the way he held his face with both claws... worth every drop of blood I was losing.
The blade vanished, retreating into that damned ring with the purple gem.
He stood back up, breathing noisily. Every breath was a grunt.
"You got your little revenge, Champ."
That damned nickname.
"Now die!"
He raised his hand and summoned the flames dancing in the sky. Five of them moved to a breath from his fingers, growing in volume.
A howl tore through the night, loud enough to shatter the windows of nearby houses and the stained glass in our Church of Eteria. It lasted only an instant. My eardrums shattered like the glass and the only thing I heard after was a ringing.
But Vrogat heard. The fire went out and he brought his hands to his ears. He was looking at something beyond me and screaming, pointing in that direction. Figures in assassin's clothes, merchants, warriors, and even two in white and blue armor rushed toward that call.
I couldn't hear anything, but something wet and warm dotted my cheek.
Lirka, what have you become? Run!
After a moment something damp sucked in air above me repeatedly, so hard it moved my hair and white tunic. A white paw, big as me, positioned itself between my body and Vrogat's fleeing figure. The black claws sank into the cobblestones like they were made of cheese; large black cracks spread from them, like spiderwebs.
Two enormous elongated jaws wrapped around me. The pointed teeth, long as my arm, barely grazed my skin. A warm tongue and saliva surrounded me, immersing me in clammy warmth.
The mouth lifted, carrying me with it. I watched the rooftops of houses grow small, distant.
Then, with an abrupt movement, the creature launched me into the air.
Wind slapped my face, in the constant ringing of my torn eardrums. The roofs grew small, far away.
I'm flying. I'm dying.
Sky. Earth. Moon. City.
Everything spun.
My blood rained beneath me, drops the color of this red moonlight scattering in the wind before hitting the roofs.
As I reached the peak of the arc, the White Tower collapsed. Silent. Like the world was holding its breath.
Its burning top struck the distant market square and from the flames rose an enormous golden tree. It grew at an unnatural speed, its branches pushing upward until they covered part of the sky and the Moon.
I smiled, thinking I had died again watching that damned tree be born from that cursed tear.
What's happening? Is the world ending?
As I began the descent, I saw the enormous white fox open its mouth wide beneath me again.
Just before being devoured, I had absolute certainty: those amber eyes, I know them.
Lirka... it's you.
***