By Scott Austin Tirrell
Here is a little novelette of what happens to Erikson Gray companions, Reese and Cyrus, in the first chapter of Dawn of the Lightbearer (book 1 in the Absolution of the Morning Star series). Enjoy!
Act 1
The end of fun and games
Reese stumbled over a twisted root, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he glanced back at the ancient oak. The gaping hole beneath its roots yawned like a maw, swallowing the bright light of the afternoon sky. Erik had vanished into that darkness. The moment played over and over in Reese’s mind—Erik standing resolute at the pit’s edge, his face grim, pushed forward by Cyrus’s taunts, before disappearing into the unknown. He had let out a shout, and then the whispers started, faint at first, intermingled with the cicadas’ buzz but grew louder, like a chorus of voices speaking in a language that didn’t belong in this world.
“Keep moving,” Cyrus snapped, his voice taut with frustration. Several paces ahead, his broad shoulders hunched as he hacked at the undergrowth with a stick. “Get it out of your mind. We’re not going back for him.”
Reese hesitated, glancing again toward the oak. “We can’t just leave him, Cyrus. What if he’s—”
“Alive?” Cyrus whirled on him, his face pale and glistening with sweat. “Then he can find his own way back. You heard those whispers. Whatever’s down there ain’t natural, and I, for one, ain’t sticking around to risk my neck for a bastard.”
Reese opened his mouth to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. The whispers followed them, faint but insistent, echoing through the trees like the remnants of a dying wind. Reese swore they were calling his name. His skin prickled as he thought about what he’d seen—or thought he’d seen—just before they fled: a flash of movement at the pit’s edge, something pale and inhuman shifting in the shadows- remerging like a hatched maggot.
“Reese!” Cyrus barked. “Come on.”
“I think we’re going the wrong way.”
“I know which way to go. Move, damn you!”
Reese forced his legs to obey, stumbling after Cyrus as the forest thickened. The trees grew darker here, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands. The varicose vein roots twisted across the ground, forming a treacherous maze that seemed determined to trip him at every step. The whispers didn’t fade; if anything, they grew louder, the voices overlapping until Reese couldn’t tell if they were real or a trick of his mind.
They pushed on in silence for what felt like hours. Gray clouds ate the sun, killing their sense of time but doing little to alleviate the heat. Reese’s legs burned, and his lungs ached with every humid breath, but he didn’t dare slow down. Cyrus moved ahead with determination, cutting a path through the undergrowth without a glance back, letting branches smack Reese in the face.
Finally, they reached a small meadow abuzz with bees hopping between wildflowers and lazy butterflies flipping above the golden foliage. Cyrus stopped, leaning on his stick to catch his breath. Reese collapsed onto a fallen log, his chest heaving, sweat dripping to the earth.
“We need to talk about what we’re going to do,” Reese said between gasps.
Cyrus let out a bitter laugh. “What we’re going to do is get the hell out of this cursed forest. That’s it.”
“But what about Erik?” Reese pressed. “We don’t even know if he’s—”
“Stop,” Cyrus snapped. “Just stop. Do you think I want to leave him? Huh? Do you think this is easy for me?”
Reese flinched at the anger in Cyrus’s voice. “It doesn’t look like it’s bothering you much.”
“Don’t you dare,” Cyrus growled, raising the stick slightly. “You aren’t the one who always has to save his ass… every damn time. You aren’t the one who has to plead with your father to keep the watch from going to his uncle or, worse, locking him in the stocks. Erik made his choice. And now we have to make ours.”
Reese looked away, his jaw tightening. He wanted to argue, to fight back, but the words wouldn’t come. Deep down, he knew Cyrus was right. Erik had made his choice. But that didn’t make leaving him behind any easier.
As they sat in uneasy silence, the forest around them seemed to shift. The bees stopped, and the butterflies took refuge. The air grew heavier, and the forest groaned as the shadows deepened despite the afternoon light. A cold breeze blew, chilling the sweat on Reese’s brow. He turned and searched the trees. Something wasn’t right.
“Do you feel that?” he asked quietly.
Cyrus frowned, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Feel what?”
“The air. It’s… wrong.” Reese stood, his eyes scanning the clearing. The whispers had stopped, but the silence that replaced them was worse. It was thick and oppressive, pressing against his eardrums like a deep dive into water.
Cyrus straightened, his hand tightening on his stick. “Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “I don’t think we’re alone.”
The words sent a jolt of fear through Reese’s chest. He turned slowly, his eyes darting between the trees. At first, he saw nothing. But then, just beyond the edge of the clearing, something moved. Thin and gaunt, a pale shape slid between the trunks with unnatural grace.
“There,” Reese whispered, pointing. “Did you see it?”
Cyrus followed his gaze, his expression hardening. “Stay close,” he muttered, stepping forward. “You can’t show these things any fear… just like a bear.”
The movement came again, behind them and closer. Reese’s heart pounded as he caught a clearer glimpse of the figure. It was humanoid, but its limbs were too long, its movements too fluid. Its skin was an unnatural shade of pale, almost translucent, and its eyes—when it turned toward him—glowed faintly with a sickly yellow light.
“Run,” Cyrus shouted.
“But…”
“Don’t argue. Just run.”
Reese didn’t need to be told again. He turned and bolted, the undergrowth tearing at his boots as he sprinted back the way they’d come. Behind him, he heard the sound of Cyrus’s stick breaking, followed by a guttural growl that didn’t sound human.
Reese ran, the blood pounding in his ears drowning out all other sounds. The forest blurred around him, a tangle of shadows and twisted roots. He tripped and stumbled, his hands scraping against bark and dirt as he pushed himself upright again. Behind him, the growl deepened, a primal sound that seemed to tug at his innards.
“Cyrus!” Reese shouted, his voice cracking with panic. “Come on!”
No answer came.
Reese stopped, his chest heaving as he turned back. The forest was unnaturally still. His feet dragged through the leaves. Should he go back? The hairs on the back of his neck stood in riot. “Cyrus?” he called again, his voice trembling.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. Some bushes moved and parted. Cyrus emerged, his head low. Reese’s relief was short-lived as Cyrus raised his eyes to him. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and the veins beneath it pulsed with a faint, sickly green light. His eyes glowed faintly, like embers buried beneath ash.
“Cyrus…” Reese whispered, taking a step back. “What happened?”
Cyrus tilted his head, the motion too sharp, too mechanical. “Reese,” he said, his voice a low rasp that sounded like it didn’t quite belong to him. “Why are you running?”
Reese’s throat tightened. The way Cyrus spoke, the way he moved—it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. “What’s wrong with you?” Reese asked, his voice shaking. “What’s happening?”
Cyrus stepped forward, his lips curling into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so unnatural. “The forest,” he said. “It’s alive, Reese. It’s beautiful. Don’t you feel it?”
“No,” Reese said, his voice firm despite the terror gripping him. “You’re not right. You need help.”
Cyrus’s smile widened, and his hands flexed at his sides. “Help?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Reese. You’ll see soon enough.”
The whispers returned, louder this time, their cadence faster and more insistent. Reese clapped his hands over his ears, but the sound burrowed into his mind like an auger through his skull. Cyrus’s eyes flared brighter, and his body began to tremble, his limbs twitching unnaturally, and for a moment, the real Cyrus pulled free.
“Run, Reese,” he said, his voice squeezed. “Run while you can.”
Reese hesitated for only a moment before turning and bolting into the woods. Behind him, he heard the sickening crunch of bone and the tearing of flesh. Cyrus’s anguished scream pierced the air, followed by a deep roar that didn’t belong to any man.
Reese didn’t stop running until his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed onto the forest floor, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. The whispers were quieter now but no less menacing, like a constant murmur just beyond the edge of hearing.
He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Cyrus—or whatever he’d become—charging after him. But the forest was empty, the shadows deeper and darker than before. The silence felt alive as if it was watching him, waiting.
Reese crawled to a tree and pressed his back against the trunk, trying to steady himself. His hands were shaking, his palms slick with sweat and dirt. “This isn’t real,” he muttered to himself. “It can’t be real.”
His arms began to burn. Reese looked down. Strange symbols rose from his flesh like cat scratch fever. They pulsed faintly as though in response to his fear. He scrubbed at the runes with his hands, but they didn’t fade. If anything, they burned brighter, the heat sinking into his skin like embers. He knew these symbols. Every kid in Lucardia did. It was the language of the Nephilim.
The word came unbidden to his mind, the whispers seizing on it and repeating it like a chant. The stories his father used to tell him late at night swirled with all the images he had conjured of them in his youth. The name carried a weight of visceral fear, a shared human memory lurking at the edges of his mind.
He closed his eyes, his breath shallow as the whispers grew louder. Images flashed behind his eyelids: towering figures with black crystal crowns and eyes like burning stars, their bodies wreathed in light and fire. They moved with purpose, their voices reverberating through the earth as they commanded armies of the damned.
The visions shifted, and Reese saw cities burning, their walls crumbling beneath the weight of an unholy fire. He saw fields of the dead, their bodies twisted and broken. Surveying the destruction were dark forms, their spilt-ink shadows spreading over the land, their power undeniable and absolute.
Reese’s eyes flew open, and he scrambled to his feet. The whispers faded, but the vice of the visions pressed against his chest. He had to get out. He had to warn someone.
But as he stumbled through the forest, the trees leaned closer, ensnaring him with every branch, vine, and thorn. The whispers returned, slower now, no longer foreign, more deliberate, speaking directly to him.
“Harbinger,” they said. “You will be our voice.”
Reese froze at the word. Harbinger. The whispers repeated it, the sound growing louder and more apparent, as though the forest had learned to speak. The runes on his arms flared with heat, and he clutched at them, his breath catching as pain radiated through his body.
“Stop!” Reese shouted, his voice cracking. “Leave me alone!”
The forest did not reply, but the whispers receded slightly, their cadence slowing. Reese stumbled forward, his movements frantic as he fought the suffocating sense that the trees were smothering him. Each step felt heavier, and his legs trembled with exhaustion.
He tripped over another root and hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his already frayed nerves. His face was pressed against the dirt, its smell metallic, its taste like ash, and for a moment, he lay still, too weak to move. Then, as he lifted his head, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
A footprint.
It was massive and inhuman, pressed deep into the soil as though left by something impossibly heavy. The edges of the print glowed faintly, the same sickly green light that shone through Cyrus’s skin. Reese scrambled backward, his heart pounding as his gaze darted around the clearing.
“Cyrus?” he called out, his voice trembling. “Is that you?”
The forest remained silent.
Reese forced himself to stand, his legs unsteady beneath him. The print wasn’t alone. A trail of them led deeper into the woods, their glow faint but unmistakable. He hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to run in the opposite direction. But something pulled at him, a morbid curiosity he couldn’t suppress.
He followed the trail.
The footprints led to a small clearing, the air around it heavy and oppressive. Reese stopped at the edge, his breath catching as he took in the scene before him. The ground was scorched, the grass and leaves charred to ash. At the center of the clearing lay a figure, its body twisted and broken. Had he run in circles? Was this the meadow that, only moments before, was virile, warm, and full of life?
“Cyrus,” Reese whispered, stepping closer.
The body shifted.
Reese recoiled as Cyrus’s head turned toward him. His face was barely recognizable, his skin stretched tight over bone and glowing faintly with that unholy green light. His eyes locked onto Reese’s, filled with something that wasn’t entirely human.
“You shouldn’t have returned,” Cyrus rasped, his voice hollow and broken.
Reese couldn’t speak. He took another step back, his legs trembling as he tried to understand what he saw. Cyrus’s body began to convulse, his limbs twitching violently as the green light spread through his veins like dragon’s breath.
“Get away!” Cyrus screamed, his voice distorted. “It’s inside me—run!”
But Reese couldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot, his mind frozen as Cyrus’s body twisted and grew, his skin splitting as something darker emerged from this cocoon. The glow from his eyes intensified, and his form shifted, no longer human but something monstrous.
The transformation was over in moments. Where Cyrus had been, a hulking beast stood, its body wreathed in shadow and its eyes glowing like twin suns. It roared, shaking the trees and reverberating through Reese’s chest.
The beast turned toward him.
Reese finally found his legs. He turned and ran, the forest a blur as the beast’s heavy footsteps pounded behind him. The whispers returned, their voices a cacophony that matched the thundering of his heart. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.
The beast roared again, and the sound was closer this time. Reese pushed himself harder, his lungs burning as he tore through the undergrowth. The runes on his arms flared brighter, the heat searing into his skin as though trying to consume him.
He burst through a thicket and collapsed to his knees as exhaustion overtook him. He spotted a small cave, scrambled to the shelter, and hid. The beast’s roar was close. Heavy footsteps crushed the underbrush. Reese curled into a ball, his eyes tight, pleading to any god who listened that it would pass him by. The footsteps faded into the distance, and the forest fell into an oppressive silence again. Reese released the breath he was holding, his entire body trembling as he clutched his burning arms.
The whispers returned, slower now, almost gentle.
“Harbinger,” they said again. “Our voice. Our vessel.”
Reese looked down at the runes. They pulsed faintly as if in rhythm with his heartbeat. The whispers spoke of the Nephilim’s plans, their words seeping into his mind like poison. He saw their armies rising, their shadows spreading across the land. He saw cities burning and mountains crumbling- the world brought to its knees under their dominion.
“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “This isn’t real. It can’t be real.”
The whispers didn’t respond, but the images flooded his mind. Reese clutched his head, his fingers digging into his scalp as he tried to force them away. But the visions wouldn’t stop. They grew more vivid, more insistent until he couldn’t tell where they ended and his thoughts began. The images shifted, coalescing into something horrifyingly clear. He saw the Nephilim themselves—towering figures with bodies wreathed in slithering shadows. Their presence was overwhelming, their voices an unrelenting tide that drowned out his own thoughts. They spoke in a language he didn’t understand, but the meaning behind their words was unmistakable: domination, destruction, and rebirth of a Nephilim age.
He clutched his head tighter, his nails scraping against his scalp. “Stop,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Please, stop.”
But the visions didn’t stop. If anything, they grew more assertive.
Reese saw the creature that was Cyrus standing at the head of an army, his monstrous form a grotesque amalgamation of shadow and flesh. Behind him, other beasts emerged from the darkness, their glowing eyes reflecting the fire that consumed the land around them. The Nephilim stood above it all, their gaze fixed on Reese as if they could see him watching.
“You will be our herald,” the voices whispered. “You will carry our truth to the world.”
“No!” Reese screamed, his voice raw. He slammed his fist into the stone wall of his little cave, the pain sharp but grounding. The images faltered, the edges of his vision blurring, but they didn’t disappear entirely.
He crawled from his hole and forced himself to his feet. The whispers receded slightly, their intensity dulled but still present. He stumbled forward, his only thought to escape, to put as much distance as possible between himself and this impending possession.
The forest seemed to swirl around him, the trees bending and twisting in ways that defied logic. Reese didn’t care. He pushed on, his breaths ragged, his body screaming for rest. The whispers were quieter now, like a distant echo, but he could still feel their presence lingering at the edge of his mind.
He had no idea how long he’d been walking when he finally broke through the tree line, and the forest gave way to a cliff. The sudden expanse of sky before him was both a relief and a disorienting shock. He fell to his knees, his chest heaving as he gulped down the cool, clean air.
For a moment, he let himself believe he was safe.
Then he heard the growl.
Reese slowly turned, his heart squeezed as he looked back toward the forest. The shadows at their edge seemed to ripple, shifting and merging into a familiar shape.
What was left of Cyrus stepped into the open, his glowing eyes fixed on Reese. Its form was sinewy and bristling with strength, its head red and bald like a vulture, its body covered in coarse black hair that writhed and shifted like living smoke. It opened its mouth, revealing rows of jagged teeth, and let out a roar that shook the ground.
Reese didn’t move. He couldn’t. His legs atrophied into stone, his mind paralyzed by the sheer wrongness of the creature before him.
The beast took a step closer, the claws of its feet digging into the earth.
“Cyrus,” Reese whispered, his voice barely audible. “It’s me. Please…”
For a moment, the beast hesitated. Its eyes flickered, and Reese thought he saw a flash of recognition—a spark of the boy who had once been his companion. But then the shadows surged, and the light in its eyes burned brighter, the humanity snuffed out.
The beast roared again, the sound filled with rage and pain.
Reese looked at the drop of the cliff. It was far, perhaps forty-feet. Certainly, it would be better than being torn to shreds by this creature. “Forgive me,” he whispered and jumped.
Reese floated, the wind rushing by his ears. He waited for the hard jolt to darkness but connected with branches instead. His body tumbled between these arms, passed from one to another, each exacting a toll upon his flesh. His arms instinctively reached out for something to grasp; sometimes, his fingers would find purchase, only to be wrenched free by his weight. He hit the ground hard. It was not hard enough to kill, but it still jarred him to black for a moment and filled his mouth with metal. He sucked in a mouth of air. The pain came next. He had landed on his hip, and the agony spread up his side and down his leg. He rolled to the opposite side and gently felt the impact site, fearing what he would find. Remarkably, there was no wetness- no protruding bone. In fact, there was nothing broken at all.
Reese lay back and looked to the sky. High above, on the cliff, the beast stood watching him. The beast scanned about and then disappeared.
Reese laughed a mirth he had never heard come from his mouth. He had escaped! But he had to keep moving. The creature would find a way to get to him. He rolled to his hands and knees and pushed himself up. His hip throbbed, forcing him to limp, but he could still walk.
Reese didn’t stop until he reached the river he, Erik, and Cyrus had frolicked in earlier in the day. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his entire body trembling as he drank long and hard from the cool water. The whispers were gone now, replaced by a pillowed silence. He clutched his burning arms, the runes glowing faintly in the fading light. He dipped them in the flow, but the symbols did not wash away or ease their discomfort.
As he pulled his arms from the flow, images of the Nephilim flashed in his mind. Their voices echoed, and their plans were laid bare in horrifying detail. They would rise, their power unstoppable, and the world would fall beneath their shadow. They wanted him to be their messenger, their harbinger of doom—a gateway to the fear of his people.
The thought made him sick. He doubled over, heaving as the weight of it all crushed down on him. Nothing came but water and bile. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to carry their message, to be their harbinger. But the runes on his skin told a different story. The curse had taken root, and there was no escaping it.
He had to warn someone. He had to try.
Grafton Notch was still miles away, but it was his only hope. Summoning what little strength he had left, Reese pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward.
Act 2
A harbinger’s tale
The river gave Reese a brief reprieve, but the sense of dread never left. With every step, his thoughts turned to Cyrus—what had happened to him, what he’d become. The glow of the runes on Reese’s arms was a constant reminder that whatever had overtaken his friend could be working its way through him, too. Each faint pulse felt like the forest reaching out to claim him.
Reese crossed the river and dove into the forest again. Night fell fast, but the sun’s death did little to extinguish the heat. Luckily, the whispers hadn’t returned, but the air felt heavier, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional snap of a branch or the distant call of some unseen creature. He didn’t know if they were natural or unnatural. Without light, all were monsters.
His feet squished, and he found himself in a swampy area. It was likely a pond, but the recent drought had sucked it almost dry. He found some standing water at the center, reflecting the night’s sky. He collapsed beside it, desperate for some respite from the heat. He splashed some of the muck on his sweaty face. It was icy and sharp against his skin but soothed the heat, if only for a moment. He cupped his hands to rinse again but caught his moonlit reflection flickering in the ripples. His face was pale, and his eyes wide with exhaustion. But what truly caught his attention was the color of his hair. Usually, it was a rich chestnut, but it had all gone white.
“Lord beheld,” he whispered as he tugged on his albino locks. “What’s happening to me?”
He rechecked his reflection and let out a shout. It wasn’t his own.
A Nephilim stared back at him, his golden eyes burning like molten suns. Reese jerked, kicking the water away. The reflection disappeared into chaos, but the image was seared into his mind.
“I must get to Grafton Notch,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Someone there can help you… yes, Edgar the Elder must have a cure.”
Buoyed by this hope, he continued.
The humid night finally broke and grew colder as Reese pressed on, his body trembling with fatigue. He tried to focus on the path ahead, but the runes clawed as a constant reminder, the pain like slow-moving needles grating his skin. The whispers came with each scratch, a gentle murmur coming from everywhere and nowhere.
“Harbinger,” they said. “You will deliver us.”
Reese shook his head, his pace quickening. “No,” he muttered. “Not me. You’ve got the wrong person. I’m just a nobody, a stupid boy.”
The forest responded. The shadows deepened, and the trees seemed to shift, their branches twisting unnaturally. Reese felt the ground beneath his feet grow soft like the earth was giving way. The soil sucked on his feet, and he fell, his hands also sinking into the damp soil.
When he looked up, figures stood in the darkness, their forms tall and unyielding, their golden eyes fixed on him. Reese tried to pull himself free, his heart pounding as the whispers grew louder, but he was stuck.
“Why?” he shouted, his voice breaking. “What do you want from me?”
The figures didn’t move, but their presence pressed against him, suffocating in their intensity. The whispers became a single voice, deep and resonant, speaking directly into his mind.
“You are our vessel. Through you, the world will know we have returned.”
Reese shook his head violently, the twist of the voice making him dizzy. “I’m not your vessel! I’m not anything to you! Please, just let me go!”
The figures vanished, the forest was empty again, and he untethered.
Confused, Reese staggered to his feet. The burn of the runes was worse now, spreading up his arms and into his chest. He felt an urge like he was missing something important. A lesson or a show. It was something he was supposed to see, and it was right through those trees. He stumbled forward, desperate not to be late. For what? He did not know.
It wasn’t long before he found the source of his panic. A massive tree, its roots gnarled and twisted, stood at the center of a field turned to ash. The air around it was thick with decay, and the ground was littered with bones—small animals, birds, squirrels, rabbits.
The tree hummed a low, faint pulse, its bark etched with glowing runes that mirrored the ones on Reese’s arms. The whispers grew louder as he approached, the words forming a rhythm that throbbed his head. It was a rainbowed ironwood. The rarest of threes. He spouted a sword, glowing at its base.
“Harbinger,” the whispers said again. “Kneel and be knighted- receive your crown and take the only oath that matters.”
Reese froze, his chest heaving as he fought the urge to obey. The runes on his arms flared, the heat spreading through his body like fire. He dropped to his knees, not because he wanted to, but because the pain made it impossible to stand.
The whispers changed, their tone shifting to something almost reverent. Images again flooded Reese’s mind—cities reduced to rubble, rivers running red, mountains crumbling into dust. Again, the Nephilim stood above it all, their forms wreathed in light and shadow, their voices commanding armies of beasts like the one Cyrus had become. Before them, people fled with wide-eyed glances and screams- oh, the terrible screams.
Reese saw himself among them, his body twisted and broken, his voice joining theirs in a terrible chorus. The sound ripped from his throat as he tried to claw the visions from his mind.
The tree pulsed again, the runes on its bark glowing brighter. Reese collapsed forward, his forehead pressing against the ground as the whispers faded. “No… No, don’t make me do this. I don’t want to be a knight- I don’t want to be an Oathtaker.”
Silence.
Reese forced himself upright, his head swimming from the visions. The tree that loomed above him and the sword at its base were gone. He teetered back, his legs barely holding him as he tried to distance himself from the cursed place. The bones underfoot crunched with every step, their dry, brittle sound cutting through the stillness.
The sound of heavy footsteps stopped him in his tracks. They were slow and deliberate, their weight making the ground tremble faintly beneath his feet. Reese turned, dread curling in his stomach as the creature Cyrus emerged from the shadows.
“Why do you torture me? Why don’t you kill me?”
The creature’s vulture head turned toward him.
Reese took a step back, his heart pounding. “You want me to run again, don’t you?”
The creature tilted its head, its motion jerky and unnatural. For a moment, Reese thought it would reply, but what came out was not human. The shadows around its body writhed as if feeding on the faint spark of humanity that remained.
“Cyrus, please,” Reese said, his voice rising in desperation. “Fight it! You’re stronger than this!”
The creature took a step forward, its claws digging into charcoal earth. Reese’s breath hitched as he realized the chase must resume. A part of him wanted to submit, but the desire for life was too strong. He turned and fled. No longer able to run, he limped, dragging his injured leg.
His slower pace did not reduce the forest’s resistance to his flight. Branches lashed at Reese’s face and arms, the pain barely registering through the adrenaline coursing through him. He didn’t have to look back. He knew it was there. It would always be there, perhaps for eternity. Reese could hear branches snapping as the creature tore through the undergrowth in mocking pursuit, its rumbling growls almost like laughter at his torment.
Reese’s lungs burned, his legs long past protest. They moved until they would not. The forest blurred around him, the shadows stretching and twisting. He may be running in circles. Panic clawed at his mind, and the whispers returned, threading through the pounding of his heart.
“You cannot escape,” they said. “You are ours. You flee until your message is given.”
Reese stumbled down a hill and hit the ground hard at the bottom, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He rolled onto his back, gasping for air, and saw the creature looming above him. Its glowing eyes were intense, its mouth curling into a grotesque smile. It raised a clawed hand, the shadows around it coiling like snakes, ready to strike.
Reese scrambled backward, his hands clawing at the dirt as he tried to distance himself from the monster. His back hit a tree, and he braced himself, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Reese threw himself to the side just as the creature’s claws gouged into the trunk where he had been moments before. He scrambled and tried to run, his mind a blur of fear and desperation. He didn’t know where he was going—he just needed to get away, to put as much distance as he could between himself and the nightmare that had once been his companion.
The forest seemed to stretch endlessly. The whispers taunted him, their words indistinct but filled with malice. The glow of the runes on his arms flared, the heat searing into his skin and sapping what little strength he had left.
Finally, Reese stumbled into a small clearing, and his legs ceased, and he fell. With the last of his strength, he rolled over. Reese lay there for what felt like hours, his mind numb and his body aching. He knew he shouldn’t stay in the clearing—couldn’t risk being found. But he also knew he couldn’t return the way he had come.
The muscle spasms eased in time. Taking a deep breath, Reese pushed himself to his feet and began walking again. His steps were slow, each a cramping struggle, but he forced himself forward.
The whispers crept back so softly he didn’t notice, nor did Reese reply. He didn’t have the strength. All he could do was move forward, one agonizing step at a time. He couldn’t stop. Stopping meant the whispers might creep in again, might pull him back into the images of the Nephilim and their world of ruin. Stopping might mean Cyrus catching up to him—or whatever Cyrus had become.
As he pressed forward, Reese began noticing strange changes in the environment. The air grew colder, the forest darker, and the ground beneath his boots became soft like it had rained recently—though no rain had fallen. His feet sank slightly with every step, and the squelch of wet earth filled the silence. He saw something unnatural: a bird, its body bent at an impossible angle, its feathers gray and brittle. It didn’t look dead, not in the traditional sense. It looked… wrong. Twisted. It was as if life had left it, but something else had tried to force it back.
“Vessel,” the whisper said. “Harbinger. Witness.”
Reese stumbled back from the bird, his foot slipping on the damp ground. He fell hard, the impact jarring his already bruised body. Gasping, he felt the burn of the runes flaring on his arms. The whispers grew louder, their cadence quickening, and his vision blurred. The forest around him melted away, replaced by another vision. The little bird fluttered and twisted, growing larger. When it pulled back its wings, there stood a human form.
“Erikson Gray,” Reese managed to whisper until exhaustion took hold, and his world went black.
When Reese woke, the sky above was still black but roiling with clouds that flashed with bursts of red light. He turned to the south. The horizon was crimson as blood and angry. A low rumble came from that way, foreboding, like great stone wheels pulverizing the world to dust.
His hands were trembling, his body soaked with sweat despite the chill in the air.
“Why must I be your harbinger?” he sobbed. “Why am I anything to you?”
The forest didn’t answer. It was too busy preparing for the coming.
Reese pushed himself to his feet. His legs wailed, but he moved, and their anguish eased when he found the smooth grade of a path, the trees hugging it into a tunnel. Reese pushed through. He knew this path and traveled it often. Grafton Notch’s trappers laid it. He was getting close.
“You left me.”
The voice started Reese. “Erik?”
“You let me fall into a fate worse than death.”
Reese pulled at his face and ears, “No,” he whispered. “No, you went in. You—”
“You left me… this is all because of you.”
Reese searched the night. But Erik was not there.
“It’s my mind… it plays tricks. Yes… tricks. Your fate is yours, not mine.”
There was no response.
Act 3
Inheritance of the void
Reese’s legs gave out beneath him as he stumbled onto the road leading to Grafton Notch. His body was shaking, his skin slick with sweat, and his breath came in shallow gasps. The whispers were faint now, more like an echo than a roar, but their presence remained, a dark shadow over his thoughts.
The city’s gates rose before him, illuminated by the flickering light of torches. Hurried and tense guards patrolled the walls. The sound of bells echoed through the night, mingling with the distant rumble of thunder. A storm was coming.
Reese dragged himself forward, each step a monumental effort. His arms throbbed with pain, the runes glowing faintly in the darkness. He could feel the curse coursing through him, replacing his blood with poison, a relentless tide he couldn’t resist. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to keep moving.
As he neared the gates, the murmurs of the crowd grew louder. He could see figures gathered just beyond the hallows of torchlight, their voices rising in panic and fear. Reese’s stomach churned as he realized they were waiting for him—or rather, for what he had become.
The gates creaked open, and Reese staggered through. The crowd parted, their faces pale and eyes wide with horror. Whispers filled the air, their words sharp and accusatory.
“The boy’s cursed,” a woman hissed, clutching her child tightly. “Look at him. He’s been marked.”
Reese didn’t respond. He didn’t have the strength. His gaze flickered to the center of the crowd, where his father stood, his face pale and streaked with tears. In his arms, somehow, his body already lay—limp, lifeless, and impossibly white. His voice trembling. “That’s not me. It can’t be.”
Vale’s bloodshot eyes raised from his corpse and focused on him standing there. His father’s expression twisted with rage. “You,” he growled, his voice thick with grief. “You did this to my boy.”
Reese shook his head weakly, his chest tightening as he tried to find the words. “I… I didn’t… I don’t… I am not dead. I’m here, father.”
“You coaxed him out into the forest,” Vale spat. “You brought this curse upon him. Upon all of us!”
The crowd murmured in agreement, their fear and anger rising in a wave threatening to consume Reese entirely. He took a step back, his legs trembling beneath him.
“It wasn’t me,” Reese said, his voice breaking. “It was the Nephilim. They—”
“Lies!” Vale shouted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You’re a demon. You’ve brought this darkness upon us!”
The whispers fed on Reese’s fear and the anger that surrounded him. The runes on his arms flared, their heat searing through his skin, muscle, and bone to reach his very core. He clutched his arms, his breath in ragged gasps as the curse tightened its grip, finding purchase on what was truly him.
The storm broke overhead, lightning splitting the sky and thunder shaking the ground. Rain poured down in sheets. The crowd backed away, and their fear turned to panic as the storm raged around them.
Reese fell to his knees, his body wracked with pain. He looked up at his father, his vision swimming with tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
But Vale didn’t hear him. The man’s grief had turned to hatred, his eyes burning with a fire that could not be extinguished. He held his son’s lifeless body close. The roar of the storm drowned out his sobs.
The rain became like blows, and Reese’s strength gave out. He collapsed to the ground. The whispers faded, replaced by a deafening silence that pressed against his ears. He could feel the curse swallowing his soul, its power consuming him entirely.
When he opened his eyes again, the crowd was gone. The world around him was empty, silent, and dark. Reese pushed himself up, his body trembling with exhaustion, and looked down at his hands. The runes were gone, their light extinguished, but the curse remained, a shadow over his soul.
He turned toward the gates of Grafton Notch, his heart heavy with sorrow and regret. The city was quiet now, its walls illuminated by the faint glow of torchlight. Reese knew he could never return. He was a harbinger of the Nephilim, a cursed vessel that would bring doom to all who crossed his path.
With a heavy heart, Reese turned away from the city and disappeared into the night. Rain lashed down in relentless sheets as he stumbled away from the gates of Grafton Notch, his legs barely carrying him. Each step felt like wading through thick mud, his body screaming for rest he couldn’t afford. The whispers had receded to the edge of his mind, but their weight lingered like a shroud, pulling at his thoughts. They would be there forever. Behind him, the gates of Grafton Notch groaned shut, the iron reverberation echoing through the rain-soaked valley. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.
Reese’s path carried him into the thick forest once more, the towering trees bending under the weight of the storm. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the twisted shapes of the branches, and for a moment, Reese thought he saw movement—a shadow darting between the trunks, its form too fast and fluid to be natural.
“Not now,” Reese muttered, his voice trembling. “Please, not now.”
But the forest had no mercy to offer. The shadows moved closer, their presence undeniable. Reese quickened his pace, his feet slipping on the wet ground as he pushed deeper into the woods. The whispers began to stir again, faint and insistent, threading through the sound of the storm.
“Harbinger,” they said, their voices calm and certain. “You have come home.”
“I can’t run anymore,” Reese said. “I submit. Do with me as you will.”
The shadows surrounded him, their forms coiling and shifting like smoke. The whispers grew louder, their cadence sharp and deliberate.
“Rest, child,” they said. “The world will burn, and you will carry the flame. You must gather your strength for our triumphant return.”
The shadows closed in, their cold touch brushing against his skin. Reese shivered, his chest tightening as the whispers grew deafening.
“You belong to us,” they said. “You will deliver us.”
Reese closed his eyes tight. When he opened them again, the walls of Grafton Notch stood in the distance. The sight sent a surge of hope through his chest, but it was short-lived. His legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the muddy road, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.
Shouts came from the walls, and the gates opened, spewing out running steps and flickering torches onto the rain-soaked road.
Reese looked up, his vision blurry. “Help…” he croaked, his voice barely audible. “Please…”
“He’s cursed,” someone shouted. “Look at the runes! He’s brought the forest’s wrath with him!”
“It’s the white death,” another hissed.
Reese tried to speak, to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. The runes on his arms flared, their glow casting eerie shadows across the road. The crowd backed away, their fear turning to anger as they murmured accusations and threats.
His father’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and filled with grief. “You brought this upon him. You brought this curse to my son.”
Reese’s strength finally gave out. His last thoughts were of Erik, of the moment they had left him behind, and a fresh wave of guilt crashed over him. He thought of Cyrus, of what he had become, and a pang of sorrow twisted in his chest.
As the world around him darkened, Reese’s lips moved, forming the last words he would ever speak.
“I’m sorry, Erik. You must be the Son of the Morning and creator of the dawn.”
End
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