Page 8 of Sundered By Fate

Malekith, bound in chains, shrouded in flame. The fire danced around him, and he writhed in agony as his flesh blistered and burned. His screams reverberated through Aric'sskull, and he the heat licked at Aric's own skin, smell the acrid stench of burning flesh.

"Stop it," Malekith whispered through the pain. "Make it stop?—"

"Are you all right?" Tomas asked, voice distant and tinny.

The vision snapped away, leaving Aric gasping for air. The sigil on his back still burned, searing him from the inside out. Malekith's presence lingered on, his power, resonating through him like a dark echo.

"I'm fine," Aric said hoarsely. He forced himself to look at Tomas—a face creased with concern, not fear. "I just . . . need a moment."

But Tomas wasn't buying it. "I've seen that look before," he said quietly. "You saw something, didn't you?"

Aric wrestled with himself. Tomas had been nothing but kind, trusting him even when others shied away. But that was exactly why Aric didn't want to burden him, to drag him into the web of secrets and lies that ensnared his own existence. He didn't want to become a source of fear for Thornhaven's people any more than he already was.

"It's nothing," Aric said finally, forcing a smile. "Just an old memory."

Tomas studied him a moment longer, but whatever he saw in Aric's eyes must have satisfied him, because he nodded slowly. "All right. But if there's anything you need to talk about . . ."

Aric's chest tightened. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

After his investigation in the woods, Aric returned to Thornhaven with a strange sense of unease, the details of his vision gnawing at him. He barely slept that night, the sigil onhis back burning hotter with each passing hour. But he forced himself to push it aside, to focus on the task at hand: proving himself to Thornhaven's people.

He reported his findings to Mayor Virida, careful to frame them as anomalous—perhaps the lingering effects of the crumbled wards or one of the demons' curses. She listened closely, her frown deepening as he spoke.

"I don't like it," she said finally. "But I believe you when you say it's not a demonic threat." Her tone was uncertain, as if she were trying to convince herself. "Still, we can't be too careful. I'll have the guards increase patrols in that area and set up protective wards."

"Thank you," Aric said. "I only want to help."

Virida watched him, her expression softening ever so slightly. "I hope you mean that," she said. "Because Thornhaven could use someone with your skills right now."

Aric nodded, a weight lifting from his chest. Slowly but surely, he was earning their trust.

That evening, Aric was surprised when he received an invitation from the tavern keeper to join some of the guards and townsfolk for drinks. It was the first time anyone had reached out to him since his arrival, and he accepted with a cautious smile.

Inside the bustling tavern, laughter and music filled the air. Bastian, the guard captain, was already seated at a long table with a tankard in hand. He gave Aric a nod as he approached, though there was a tightness around his eyes that warned Aric off of saying anything more.

"Figured it was about time we got to know each other," Kamlo, an older guardsman, said, his gruffness softened by the ale. "You've done good work these past weeks."

"Thank you," Aric said, though a part of him still waited for the other shoe to drop.

As the night wore on, more townsfolk joined their table, sharing stories of demon raids and victories won. A woman named Delia recounted how she'd taken down three demons with her crossbow while defending the walls. A burly blacksmith named Jorun bragged about forging armor for half the town's defenders. Each tale was met with raucous laughter and sloshing tankards.

Aric listened in awe, feeling a bittersweet pang in his chest. These people were strong, resilient, even in the face of all they had lost. They were everything he had once aspired to be. And yet now he was only an outsider looking in, a ghost haunting his own past.

Just as he began to feel truly at ease among them, though, a small child burst into the tavern.

"A monster! Near the town's edge!" she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The revelry died instantly as everyone turned to stare. Aric set down his tankard with a grim smile. "Looks like we might have some company."

Aric leapt to his feet, and in moments, they were racing toward the town's edge, several townsfolk following. The firelight danced wildly around them, casting strange shadows over faces lined with panic.

As they approached the scene, Aric's breath caught in his throat. A corpse lay sprawled across the cobblestones, but it was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

The body had been twisted, contorted by some unseen force. Limbs bent at impossible angles, skin stretched taut over warped bones. Worst of all were the eyes—empty sockets oozing with dark, viscous liquid.

"What in the gods' name . . ." a guard murmured, face pale.

Aric knelt by the body, heart pounding. The proximity to his visions made it hard to focus; it felt as if he were caught in Malekith's gaze once more.

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