In a land of immortal fae and magic, time is gold and years are power-and the Great Houses are willing to pay any price for it...
Quentin is a dreamer; a cautious soul that just can't seem to get out of his own head. But everything he's been avoidin...
That fact alone was enough to send shivers down Quentin's spine, raising hairs on the back of his neck. Each trudge through the dark mud and soil and crunch of the leaves sounded unnaturally loud in the eerie quiet of the leering trees and crimson paredion blooms. He was fairly certain they had been walking in circles, but Astoria persisted.
"The exit is right here, I know it," she exclaimed, folding her arms stoutly as her brown hues narrowed. "This is ridiculous."
Quentin dared to shoot a glance towards the red-haired fae trailing behind them. Florian hadn't spoken a word since they had begun their journey. It was clear from the cold, dark fire in his slitted eyes that the other's silver-tongued magic was the only thing keeping him from slitting their throats or lacing their necks with paredions.
Pang. Guilt sliced through his heart like an iron-tipped spear. The first few hours had been the worst; the pleading screams and shouting had cut through every tree, forming a horrifying background melody. Each sound elicited a violent shudder from Florian, until they grew so frequent the reaction subsided to no more than a twitch. Fierce, blazing anger was quickly replaced with a hollowness that seemed to swallow a thousand voids.
It was terrifying.
"It's this way," Astoria said firmly, breaking through his layers of tangled thoughts and guilt. "I'm sure of it."
Quentin exhaled slowly, raising a hand to rub his tired eyes. "Lead the way, Tori."
The fae followed her through the winding trees and undergrowth, steps dragging with fatigue. A light haze of mist had descended upon the treetops, shrouding their path from view. Between the fog and the never ending line of trees, they could have been anywhere in the forest and it wouldn't have mattered. Quentin shook out his wings uneasily, skin prickling. Something was... not right.
"Can you hear it?" The human paused, tilting her head with an eeriness he couldn't describe. Her brown eyes were vacant, even as they roved their surroundings.
"Hear what, Astoria?" Quentin asked carefully, paranoia sending goosebumps rippling down his skin.
"The voice," she replied monotonously, turning slowly to face him. "It's telling me to run."
Not even a breath after her words, the forest seemed to shudder, branches bending and snapping, leaves spiralling to the ground as a fierce gale shrieked through the trees. The roots rumbled ominously under their feet. Up high, a murder of crows cawed and winged away, midnight feathers quickly swallowed by the intensifying mist. Everything around him seemed to pulse with urgency.
Run. Run. Run, The forest breathed.
"We have to leave," Quentin spoke calmly, quickly, his tone laced with terrifying urgency. Hearing a muffled grunt, he whirled towards Florian, who was furiously gesturing in the air and pointing towards his ears. Astoria took the hint, clamping her hands over her ears and hunching over in a bracing position. Quentin did not.
The sound that emitted from the fog beyond was something that would forever haunt him. A siren-pitched wail that sent every hair on his body standing upright, something so feral and inhuman it paralysed Quentin to the core. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to move. Through the ringing of his ears, more voices became noticeable—frenzied pleas for help, voices begging, screaming.
"Help me!" Someone shrieked, the gentle cadence so familiar it could only be one person.
What was his sister doing in the forest? Quentin thrashed blindly through the wilderness, thorns snagging on his skin, leaving trails of ruby droplets that splattered against the mud.
"I'm coming," he called hoarsely, blinking through the blood dripping in his eyes. His mind was a spinning mess of distress and confusion, fighting against every instinct in him that told him to run. His heartbeat hammered in his chest, each breath shorter than the last.
He felt a hand grab at his wrist. Quentin whirled around with a snarl, trying to shake them off. Tears were streaming down his bloodied face. "Let go."
Their grip only tightened. He looked up, falling into slanted jewel-green eyes—Florian. The winged fae's silver-laced words didn't seem to affect him, seeming to bounce right off his ears. It was then that he noticed the makeshift ear plugs that had been stuffed into his ears, a mixture of soil and greens that would have looked almost comical if not for the dire situation.
"Quentin," Florian said, his voice firm yet frightened. "Quentin, that is not your sister."
The back of his neck prickled as sickening realisation dawned on him. He had been warned about the things that wandered in the forest, but never encountered anything—until now. He turned slowly, still clutching Florian with desperate tightness. Before him, writhing and coiling, rose a towering mass of twisting tentacles and shadowy limbs. The thing curved it's blindingly sharp teeth into a jagged smile, tilting its oily head.
"Oh, but I am," the thing replied in his sister's unmistakeable sweet, lilting voice. Dark, soulless eyes stared straight into his soul as it clicked and chattered, limbs snapping in jolting, unnatural motions. "It's me, Quentin. Do you want to play?"
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Author's note: A bit of a shorter chapter, but I hope you enjoyed! Things are finally coming into action now. When new creatures are introduced, I'll be including these little sheets as shown above. Let me know what you think so far!
