Chapter 01 Trapped

  Darkness.

  Then, a rush of sensation. His body felt light—too light. His arms, his legs—they did not respond as they should. Panic surged through him, but even that was unfamiliar. His chest ached, his breathing shallow and quick, like a bird trapped in a cage.

  He opened his eyes. The process was slow and unfamiliar, as if he were doing it for the first time. As he fumbled with even the simplest tasks, a suffocating terror gripped his chest, spiraling his panic into a cold, inescapable dread. Was he paralyzed or blind? He was lost in a circle of panic.

  After an eternity in suffocating darkness, a sliver of light carved through the void. Slowly—agonizingly, impossibly slowly—shapes emerged from the abyss. Then, without warning, reality crashed down on him.

  A blinding surge of light, color, sound, and scents detonated in his mind, each sensation raw and violent. Agony lanced through his skull as if his very senses were being ripped apart and crudely stitched back together. The world around him was alien in every way, yet he knew it somewhere deep in his bones.

  Not as a memory.

  As a truth, he had somehow forgotten.

  A wooden ceiling, aged with time, loomed above. The room smelled of herbs and candle wax, with the faintest hint of something metallic, like blood. He tried to move, but his limbs barely twitched, and his movements were sluggish and unfamiliar. Only a garbled noise escaped his throat when he attempted to call out.

  The footsteps came closer—measured, unhurried. A woman stepped into view, strands of dark hair slipping free to frame her face. She wore a deep blue tunic, the embroidery along its edges neat and deliberate, layered over soft linen.

  He looked up at her, eyes heavy. He didn’t have the strength to move. Didn’t really care to.

  She leaned down and spoke. The words didn’t make sense, but her voice—low, melodic—wrapped around him like a lullaby meant just for him. He didn’t need a translation. The sound alone quieted something inside him. Just for a moment, the chaos faded.

  Her words reached him like they were coming through water—muffled, warped, stretched in odd ways. He caught the shape of vowels drawn out too long, the soft drift of “O”s curling through the air with a rhythm that felt almost familiar. Italian? Spanish? He wasn’t sure. The sounds floated just out of reach, like the hook of a song he used to know but couldn’t place.

  Of course. Languages.

  God, he sucked at them. That wasn’t just a passing thought—it was a well-earned scar. College French had burned it into him, a humiliation that still stung. He could practically hear the professor’s exhausted sighs, remember the bleeding red marks on every quiz—verbs, tenses—just noise back then, impossible to grasp.

  Maybe if he’d actually applied himself, this would make more sense now.

  But he hadn’t.

  And it didn’t.

  The woman kept speaking, voice smooth, words unreadable. A slow unease spread through his chest, cold and quiet. He tried to grab hold of something—anything—he could understand. A name. A place. A memory.

  Nothing.

  Just fog.

  He reached for some thread of familiarity, something solid to hold on to—but came back empty.

  Nothing.

  No name. No place. No context. Just an overwhelming, gut-deep certainty that this—this—was not his body.

  His breath came sharp and uneven as he forced himself to look down. Small hands. Tiny fingers. His skin was smoother and softer than it should have been. His arms were thin, weak, too weak. His body felt strange and foreign, as if he were wearing a costume that didn’t fit. Panic clawed at the edges of his mind.

  He was no child.

  And yet, the evidence said otherwise.

  Flashes of memory crashed through his mind, jagged and disorienting. The buzz of a smartphone, the cool metal of a laptop beneath his palms, a screen glowing in the darkness, tall buildings of glass and steel, Ranks of models moving over a miniature battleground, star-lit nights around a fire, the weight of a steering wheel under his hands, music thrumming softly in the background.

  Familiar. Yet completely, utterly alien.

  His chest tightened. He knew these things—knew of them—but at the same time, he didn’t. The memories felt real, but they made no sense. He could picture a phone and almost feel the smooth glass beneath his fingertips, yet he had no idea what it was for. A car—he remembered the rumble of an engine, the press of pedals beneath his feet—but the knowledge came to him in fragmented, useless pieces. It was like trying to remember how to swim while drowning in the middle of an ocean.

  His breath hitched. His pulse pounded in his ears, too loud, too fast. His hands—his small, weak hands— tried to curl into fists but failed. None of this was right. None of this made sense.

  A sharp, panicked thought clawed its way to the surface.

  Who was he? Where was he? What had happened to him?

  His breathing became shallow and ragged. The walls of the unfamiliar room seemed to close in. The flickering candlelight cast shadows that felt too long and unnatural. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to make sense and for something—anything—to ground him.

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  But the harder he tried to hold onto them, the more they slipped away.

  But none of this place matched any of this.

  Instead of a soft bed, he lay on rough, scratchy linen, the thin mattress pressing against his aching body. The air was thick with unfamiliar scents—wood smoke, sweat, something earthy and raw. No hum of electricity, no distant murmur of a world in motion. Only silence. Heavy. Suffocating. The stillness wrapped around him, alien and absolute.

  His heart pounded. This wasn’t right.

  No name. No place. Only panic—a crushing, breathless terror. This was not his body. It couldn’t be. His thoughts fractured, spiraling, slipping through his grasp. His limbs—small, weak, alien—trembled, refusing to obey. The world tilted, his vision blurred, and a suffocating dizziness pulled him downward. His mind swam, consciousness fraying at the edges, fading into the abyss.

  The woman—his caretaker?—touched his forehead, a cool, comforting press of her palm. With her other hand, she picked up a small vial filled with a shimmering violet liquid. It pulsed faintly as though it were alive. He stared at it in shock. Was it… glowing?

  She was the last thing he saw—her face flickering, distant, unreachable—before the shadows surged forward. The world folded in on itself, swallowed by the crushing tide of darkness, and he sank, lost to the void.

  …

  The great hall of the Avalon manor hung heavy with the aroma of roasted fowl and fresh-baked bread, but no one at the table ate with any real appetite. A single candle burned in the center, its wavering flame casting long, thin shadows across somber faces.

  At the head of the table sat Lord Eldric, shoulders squared as always, though his expression carried more weight than authority tonight. Grief clung to him—unspoken, but unmistakable. To his right, Aldric sat rigid, fists pressed tight against the wood. Across from them, twelve-year-old Lisette pushed food around her plate, her usual spark dimmed to a quiet worry.

  Lady Seraphine's chair remained empty. She hadn’t left the sickroom since their middle child had fallen ill. Not once.

  Doctor Samole was preparing to leave, his silence upon departure speaking louder than words. The dreaded sickness—Eternal Punishment—had seized the child, and only one has ever recovered from its grasp.

  Lord Eldric exhaled and set down his goblet with a quiet, deliberate thud. “We need to prepare ourselves for the worst.” His voice was steady and low, his soldier tone meant to anchor—but sorrow flickered behind his eyes. “Your brother is fighting. But this illness… it rarely shows mercy.”

  Lisette bit her lip. “But what if—”

  “There’s always hope,” Eldric said, his tone softening as his gaze turned to her. “But we must also be strong. Your mother is beside him, doing everything she can. Falling into despair won’t help him. Or her.”

  Aldric scowled. “I should be there too.” His voice was tight with frustration. “I should be doing something—anything—rather than sitting here.”

  “You think I don’t feel the same?” Eldric’s voice cut sharper than he intended. He sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple before softening. “If I could fight this battle for him, I would. But this isn’t a foe strength and steel can cut down. We have to trust Doctor Samole. And your mother.”

  Lisette’s hands trembled as she gripped her spoon. “But what if he—what if he doesn’t make it?”

  Silence fell between them, thick and long, broken only by the crackle of the hearth across the room.

  Eldric reached out, his broad hand settling gently over hers. “Then we will remember him. And we will endure. That’s what it means to be family, to be Avalon.”

  Aldric shoved his chair back with a sudden scrape. “I can’t sit here anymore,” his voice thick with frustration and unease.

  He didn’t wait for a response. His brisk footsteps echoed down the corridor, quick and heavy.

  Lisette looked at her father, bracing for the sharp edge of his disapproval—for anger, or worse, disappointment. But it didn’t come.

  Instead, there was only a weary sigh and the weight of a father holding too much sorrow. His eyes, usually so steady, carried a flicker of pain... and something softer. Concern.

  As his eyes followed his eldest, he said. “Go with him, Lisette,” he said, voice low. “He needs someone who won’t let him drift too far.”

  “Go with him, Lisette,” Eldric repeated quietly. “He needs you.”

  She hesitated, then slid from her chair and hurried after her brother.

  …

  Lisette found Aldric standing in the courtyard, his hands braced on the stone balustrade as he looked out into the darkness. The air was cool, scented with the rain that had passed earlier in the day. Just as she caught up to Aldric, something moved near the front doors. Lisette turned her head and saw Doctor Samole step outside. His head was down, his coat drawn tight around him as he walked quickly toward his horse.

  He didn’t even glance back at the manor.

  A cold feeling slid through her chest.

  “He didn’t say anything,” she whispered, barely hearing her own voice.

  Aldric’s jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the dark. “Because there’s nothing left to say.”

  Lisette didn’t answer. She just stood beside him, her hands curled into fists, as they watched the doctor ride off into the night.

  Behind them, two servants—Marian, a kitchen maid, and Joran, a stable hand—spoke in hushed voices by the entrance.

  “I heard his breathing is shallow,” Marian murmured. “And his skin’s turned gray.”

  Joran shook his head. “Eternal Punishment! It is said the Veils curse those who bear it.”

  Lisette spun around, eyes wide, face flush with anger. “Don’t speak of him like that.”

  The servants froze, realizing too late they’d been heard. Marian dropped into a quick bow, her face pale. “Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t say he’s cursed,” Lisette said, her voice shaking. “He’s my brother.”

  Marian nodded quickly, her voice small. “Of course, my lady. I meant no harm."

  Lisette turned back to Aldric, fists clenched tight. “I hate this. I hate standing here doing nothing. I hate feeling useless.”

  Aldric didn’t look at her right away. He stared ahead, jaw tight, then exhaled hard through his nose. “You’re not the only one.”

  She hesitated before whispering, “Do you think… do you think he’s afraid?”

  Aldric was quiet for a long moment. “If he is, then Mother is with him.”

  The words did little to ease the ache in Lisette’s chest. She pressed a hand to her heart to keep it from breaking. “I want to see him.”

  Aldric looked at her sharply. “Father said—”

  “I know what he said,” she interrupted. “But what if he never wakes up? What if he—” She swallowed hard. “I need to say goodbye,” as she started to move with intensity.

  Aldric’s face twisted with conflict, but then he nodded. “Then we go now before anyone stops us.”

  They took each other’s hands and turned toward the manor, stepping into the uncertain night, carrying the weight of love, fear, and a desperate hope that the dawn would bring mercy.