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  For the ones who always feel like they don’t belong

  Let’s forget about reality for a moment

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  1.

  Azren

  Some people say villains are made. But what if they are born? What if the rot is not learned, but inherited? Threaded through bone and marrow long before you ever make a choice? What if becoming the villain of someone else’s story is not a fall, but fate?

  Those thoughts gnawed at me as I stared down into the pit where my father had been kept for the last twenty years. Prison was too generous a word. These were wounds in the earth. Open, festering holes carved into what had once been a garden. The ground sagged with decay, choked by dead roots and crumbling stone.

  A narrow path of cracked slate wound through it, ending at a solitary willow tree whose branches dropped as though mourning something it could never bury. Woven against it stood a dead oak tree. The same one my parents and grandparents had used to escape this place. But now the stone in the oak tree had turned dull. All its magic seemingly gone.

  An orchestra of whispers trembled the air. Slithering through the garden like a breath between teeth. Pleading and weeping. The whispers came from the pits, from the depths below, calling my name with mouths that no longer existed.

  Come closer, Azren.

  Remember us.

  Help us.

  I ignored them.

  My father lay curled in the corner of his pit, skeletal and shrunken, more shadow than man. Black hair streaked with grey clung to his skull in brittle strands. His body barely moved, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

  And I felt nothing. No pity. No love. Not even anger. Just a hollow stillness, as though some door inside me had closed long ago and sealed itself shut. Perhaps it was protection. Or perhaps I was simply broken. Born broken, incapable of empathy in the way my mother had always said mattered most.

  Pathetic creature, the voice called in my mind. A voice that sounded like my own. Always judging, always patronizing me. I ignored it. A laugh clawed its way up my throat, sharp and inappropriate. I sucked in a breath and crushed it down. Laughing at the misery of others was wrong. My mother had taught me that. Learned sympathy. Was I really this rotten? Had my father struggled with these feelings as well?

  A sound cut through the whispers. My head snapped up just as the great doors of the Fiend’s castle groaned open. I slipped back into the shadow of the willow, pressing myself into its bark as if the tree might swallow me whole.

  The Fiend emerged in long, furious strikes, his cloak snapping behind him like torn wings. His gaze locked onto the pit of my father below.

  “Wake up, Ash,” he hissed.

  The name slithered through the air like a curse. A faint shuffle came from the pit. The scrape of skin against stone as my father dragged himself closer to the grate above him.

  “Have you thought about my proposition, boy?” The Fiend asked. His voice was like the lingering echoes of death.

  “L…leave me,” my father rasped. Even hearing his voice did nothing to me. I had always known who he was. I had grown up hearing the stories of my mother with her friends; Artemis, Ash, Spook and Elora. Ash was my father and ever since I was young, I wanted to see him.

  I had learned to soul-wander as a child like my mother, slipping free of my body in the Mid Realm, following the pull of places I did not yet understand. That was how I found him. How I kept finding him.

  Somehow, I could still reach this realm, even after Artemis shattered the ley-lines that connected the Underworld with the Mid Realm. Maybe it was because blood recognizes blood, breaking the barriers between realms.

  Ash’s soul was trapped here. He had made a deal with the Fiend. And when he died in the Last War, the Underworld claimed what it was owed.

  “Your soul will unravel here,” the Fiend continued, pacing the edge of the pit. “This realm is dying, thanks to your precious allies.”

  “Y… you’re w…wrong,” Ash croaked. “A… Artemis p… promised…. all… s… souls would be reborn.”

  “Reborn?” The Fiend laughed.

  The sound was low, cold and ancient. It raised the hair along my arms.

  “Can’t you feel it?” he snarled. “The magic is thinning. The cost of every spell rises. Memories are dissolving like ash in water. No more souls come to us. The cycle has ended and we’re fading.”

  He leaned closer, teeth bared.

  “What do you think will be left of you when this realm finally collapses?”

  “L… leave,” Ash whispered again.

  “You won’t remember your little elfling,” the Fiend pressed on. “No return to your loved ones. No reunion. Just oblivion. We need to—”

  “LEAVE!”

  The word tore out of my father like rusted metal dragged across stone. For a heartbeat, the Fiend’s eyes flared wide, startled. Then his hands clenched.

  “Fine,” he spat. “Rot, then. I’ll find help elsewhere.”

  He turned and vanished back into the castle. I waited, counting my breaths. Only when the garden settled back into its whispering misery did I move. I knelt at the edge of the pit.

  For a moment, an image flickered through me; my mother standing by a grave, tears streaking her face as rain soaked into the earth. Even after finding happiness with Spook, a part of her had never stopped mourning the man she had loved first.

  “I can get you out,” I whispered.

  Two emerald eyes – so much like mine – snapped up. his face drained of what little colour it had left, fury blazing through the fear.

  “I said leave,” he hissed.

  I frowned. I was offering freedom. Why did he look at me like I was the danger? He’s not worth it, the voice said.

  “I—”

  “I h… heard you, y… you monster,” he spat. “I don’t want to m… make a deal!”

  “But I—”

  “G… get away from me.”

  He retreated into the shadows, curling in on himself. A sudden flare of heat burned in my chest as if someone lit a match behind my ribs. My lips pressed into a thin line and I slammed my fist against the metal grate above him. The clang echoing through the pit.

  “I was trying to help you,” I hissed, my voice shaking. Tears burned, but I refused them. I stood and turned away without waiting for another word.

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  Monster.

  The voice repeating this word again and again in my head. It wasn’t the first time someone had called me that. My eyes frightened people. When my emotions slipped their leash, the green bled away, swallowed by pitch black. Fear, anger, grief, happiness… it didn’t matter which emotion.

  My mother always said monsters were created, not born. That I was perfect as I was. That I was enough. Still, it never dulled the sting when people recoiled. There was only one person outside my family who never had.

  Raelynn.

  I wished she could see this place. Everyone called the Underworld horrific, but it had its own beauty. A dark, mysterious place. I knew she would be intrigued.

  I lifted my gaze to the castle doors; heavy wood carved with black roses. Gargoyles leered down at me, tongues bared. Above them, gothic towers spiralled into a blood-red sky, the moon staining everything it touched.

  Inside, the halls were silent. Shadowy creatures fled away at my approach, as if fearful. Except for her.

  The undead elven girl that often came to see me when I was in the garden, now followed me in the hallway. She slipped from the shadows, hollow eyes bleeding darkness. Blood dripped from her mouth as she dragged herself forward on broken fingers.

  “Brrr… brrrr…”

  “Shoo,” I muttered, waving her away. She reached for me anyway. I sighed, rolled my eyes and walked away. She slipped into the shadows behind me. Kill her! No, I said to myself and moved on.

  I always wanted to see the inside of this grand castle, but never dared to venture further than the gardens. Afraid the Fiend might spot me and imprison my soul.

  Although, once I visited the red, gurgling river that wound around the castle. That was a mistake. Those reaching, burned, skeleton hands and the horrifying screaming. It haunted my nightmares for years. I shook my head, shaking the images from my mind and let my gaze wander.

  The halls were vast, made from dark stone and towering pillars wrapped in carved serpents. Candlelight flickered, fighting the cold that seeped into my bones. The smell of sulphur burned my lungs and blood lingered in the air.

  At the far end of the corridor, a soft glow illuminated the hallway. Whispers curled from the room beyond. I knew I shouldn’t go closer. But something inside me couldn’t suppress my cursed curiosity. Something Hazel and I had in common.

  “…is dying.”

  The words slithered through the air. Not like any other voice I’d ever heard. It was cold, dark and ancient. I held my breath, my steps faltering as dread pooled deep in my chest.

  That voice couldn’t be mortal. It didn’t use the Common tongue. It talked in the tongue of demons. I knew the language. I had studied it out of morbid curiosity, tracing sigils and phonetics in stolen tomes, never expecting to hear it spoken aloud.

  I crept closer, every movement measured, breath shallow. I pressed myself against the stone, dissolving into shadow the way Spook had taught me.

  When I reached the door, the air itself warned me. Pressure crashed over me like deep water, crushing and absolute. My throat tightened. My body screamed; run. A primal urge linked to survival when approaching great danger.

  I swallowed and peered inside. The room beyond was vast and terrible in its beauty. Black stone ribs arched overhead, sweeping upward like the bones of some ancient god, cathedral-high.

  Moonlight bled through towering windows, the red glow of the sky staining everything it touched. A hearth burned at the heart of the room. Shadows clustered thick where its warmth failed to reach.

  A seating area rested beside the hearth, dark furnishings atop a large rug. Along the walls, shelves sagged beneath old tomes. Magic hummed faintly in the air.

  The Fiend stood before the fire. Behind him hovered another presence. A cloaked figure, veiled in black. Its face hidden behind a mask of blackened metal, veined like roots. Twin horns rose unevenly from its helm. Hollow eyes burned within. Undead. Endless.

  It did not touch the ground. Long, tethered fabric drifted beneath it like severed shadows.

  My heart hammered in my chest.

  “My master is willing to help you, Lord Umbraeth.”

  The voice rasped like it had been dragged through death and back again. It echoed against the stone, vibrating through my bones. The Fiend flinched. And so did I. The sound scraped along my nerves, setting them alight.

  I should leave.

  I knew I should leave.

  Stupid boy, the voice slithered in my mind.

  But the name lodged in my mind like a blade. Umbraeth. Was that the Fiend’s true name? I knew from history class that he had proclaimed the title ‘The Fiend’ after defeating all other fiends in the Underworld.

  “He’ll offer us the magic we need to prevent the realm from fading?” the Fiend asked, cautious now, turning to face the creature.

  “He will help halt the Underworld’s collapse,” the figure replied. “In exchange for your aid in his wishes.”

  “What wishes?” the Fiend snapped. “You speak of my people’s extinction. I do not give myself into someone’s service lightly if that means abandoning my people.”

  “I share only what my master has shared with me,” the creature said smoothly. “Aid for aid. Do you accept it?”

  The Fiend dragged a hand down his face, breathing hard.

  “You do not have much time,” the figure continued. “With each passing day, this realm thins. Souls unravel. None will survive.”

  Cold flooded my veins. Did that mean my father would truly vanish, like the Fiend had said? That Artemis’s promise of the souls being reborn, was all a lie?

  “Fine,” the Fiend growled at last. “Fine… when he arrives, we’ll discuss terms.”

  “My master will be pleased, Lord Umbraeth.”

  The creature bowed and the Fiend flinched again hearing his own name. Suddenly light flared, harsh and white. I leaned forward instinctively to see what was happening.

  The Fiend stood over a document now, parchment glowing faintly. His hand hovered above it. He began to write.

  Then stopped.

  His head snapped up.

  Onyx eyes locked onto mine.

  Time seemed to slow. I had stayed too long. Ice flooded my body. I turned, melting back into shadow, panic clawing up my spine. My heart thundered. I had to leave now. I squeezed my eyes shut, reaching desperately for the tether to my body.

  Metal slammed around my throat. Air vanished. My eyes flew open to the masked face inches from mine. Two pinpricks of red burned through me, stripping me bare. White-hot pain erupted as if my soul were being torn apart. Thread by thread. I cried out in pain.

  “Unwanted shadow,” the creature whispered. “Born of love after it cost everything. One who walks between light and ash. Burned divinity.”

  Its voice echoed off the walls. I barely registered the words through the numbing pain.

  “You will perish.”

  You deserve it!

  My hands clawed uselessly at its grip.

  “Drop him.”

  The Fiend’s voice cracked like thunder. A blade of shadow pressed to the creature’s throat. Slowly – one by one – metal fingers released me. I collapsed to my knees, gasping, vision swimming.

  Relief came. And shattered.

  “It must end,” the creature said.

  “No!” the Fiend called out. The world seemed to hold its breath. It raised his hand, a black void blooming in its palm. Devouring all the light. Whatever it was, I knew it would erase me completely.

  I felt the pull then. The faint, desperate tug of my body calling me back. I clung to it. Followed it.

  Light exploded behind my eyes.

  ? ? ?

  I jolted awake with a sharp gasp, my body shuddering as if I’d fallen from a great height. Breath tore in and out of my lungs. Hay scratched against my palms and back.

  I was home. My soul had snapped back into my body, leaving the echo of cold metal and tearing pain still ringing through me. I lay on the hay pallet tucked away in the barn. A place I always fled to when my twin siblings grew too loud, too much.

  “Azren? Sweetheart?”

  My mother’s voice cut through the fog. She stood a few steps away, leaning heavily on her broom as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

  Ever since the twins were born ten years ago, her body had never truly recovered. Her hips troubled her, her lower back aching so fiercely some days she could barely sit, stand or walk for long without pain.

  “I’m fine,” I murmured, sitting up and brushing hay from my clothes while I fought to slow my breathing. She lowered herself down beside me with a quiet grunt.

  “Have you been soul wandering again?” she asked gently, her sharp eyes searching my face.

  I shrugged. It was a useless attempt to lie. She had always known me too well. A soft chuckle escaped her as she plucked a strand of hay from my raven coloured hair.

  “You were always more gifted with magic than I ever was,” she said. Then her tone softened. She slipped her fingers beneath my chin, lifting my face until I met her gaze.

  “But please,” she whispered, “don’t go somewhere I can’t save you.”

  “I’ll be careful, Mum,” I promised. The words tasted thin, but I meant them. I kissed her cheek and stood, helping her to her feet as well. She reached for the broom again.

  “You want me to do that?” I asked, nodding at the dirty floor. She shook her head firmly.

  “No, no. I’ve got it. You go help your dad.”

  I pressed my lips together, unconvinced. But I knew better than to argue. She was as stubborn as stone when she wanted to be, and I had no strength left for a debate.

  “Fine,” I said, stepping out into the sunlight.

  The moment I did, chaos nearly flattened me.

  “Hey! Watch out!” I yelled as Hazel and Milo tore past me, laughing wildly, Jimmy the horse galloping after them with far more enthusiasm than sense.

  “Sorry, Zuzu!” They called in unison. I rolled my eyes, failing to hide my smile. The twins were walking disasters, but I loved them nonetheless.

  “Son! Give me a hand with loading the wagon, will you?”

  Spook’s voice rang out from the yard. I groaned softly but hoisted a hay bale over my shoulder.

  “I can only help for a few minutes, Da,” I said. “I’m meeting Rae later.”

  “A few minutes is all I need,” he replied. “Thank you.”

  Sweat glistened on his sunburned skin as he worked, auburn hair greying at the temples. Lines of age and hard-earned wisdom traced his face. The moment my mother emerged from the barn, pinning her brown hair into a bun, his whole expression changed. Brightened. A familiar roguish grin spread across his face, making him look years younger.

  “Not even a kiss for your lovely husband, little fox?” he teased.

  I sighed. Of course.

  My mother swatted him lightly with her broom.

  “Not in front of the kids, Spook.”

  “Yeah, Da. Please don’t,” I added.

  “Oh come on,” he laughed. “You’re an adult now, son. A little intimacy won’t scar you.”

  He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my mother’s forehead. She smiled, her fingers tracing his face with quiet affection.

  “I don’t shy away from intimacy,” I muttered. “I just prefer not witnessing my parents’.”

  They laughed together, warm and unbothered. I slipped away toward the house, still on edge. Not from embarrassment, but from the memory of metal fingers and the words whispered in that grating voice.

  I tried to think of Raelynn, pushing away the image of the dark entity from the Underworld. But his words still lingered in my mind.

  One who walks between light and ash.

  What did that even mean?

  It means you’re doomed. The voice said.