Smoke.
Thick and greasy, it hung in the forest like a second skin, choking the breath from the air.
The heavy stench of roasting meat drifted with it — but there was no hunger in it.
No warmth.
Only decay.
Beneath the trees, sprawled around a crude firepit, the bandits laughed.
Filthy. Drunk.
The rattle of flasks.
The crackle of fat dripping into flames.
They sprawled on logs and overturned crates, boots muddied, faces smeared with grime.
They passed a spit between them — something blackened and twisted roasting over the fire, something better not looked at too closely.
And behind them, in the shadow of their drunken revelry —
Cages.
Lashed together from bone-white wood and rusted iron.
Crammed full of bodies.
Men.
Women.
Children.
Too bruised to cry.
Too broken to fight.
A dry, rattling cough came from one cage.
A skeletal hand slipped between the bars, reaching—
A boot smashed it back into the mud.
Someone jeered.
Another, barely able to stand, stumbled over and lobbed a stone, catching a captive in the temple with a sickening crack.
The others roared with laughter.
No cruelty here.
Just entertainment.
The merchandise only had to stay alive until it was sold.
No longer.
***
Branches snapped.
Hoofbeats pounded against the soft forest floor.
One of the bandits wiped ale from his mouth, squinting into the dark.
"Boss?!"
The forest spat out a rider.
A figure swathed in black, horse snorting with agitation under him.
A long cloth masked the man's face, but the deep, savage scar running from ear to collarbone spoke for him.
His eyes, sharp as broken glass, cut through the bandits like knives.
"Think I came out here for the smell?" he asked — voice like dry gravel.
"We just… uh…"
One bandit snorted, pinching his nose, still half-laughing.
The rider dismounted without a word.
Each step measured. Heavy.
He moved around the fire, silent as a shadow, ignoring the drunks.
Stopped at a cage.
Peered in.
Behind the bars — wide, hollowed-out eyes stared back.
No hope left there. Only the instinct to flinch.
"What is this?" he asked, voice low.
"Escape," a bandit grunted.
"We caught most of 'em back. Had to rough them up a little."
The rider turned slowly.
"Had to?"
The words were a knife edge.
He seized the man by the front of his tunic and yanked him close.
"Expendable meat, you said?"
"The lord ordered—" the man wheezed.
"Exactly," the rider hissed.
"And if he doesn't get what he paid for, the Church will burn you first."
The fire flickered.
The drunken laughter died.
"No guards?" the rider continued, deadly quiet.
"No watch?"
"We thought… the riot was over," someone muttered.
"Half-dead, we figured—"
The rider shoved the bandit aside.
"The girl?"
"Separate. Unharmed. Like we were told."
He exhaled slowly.
"Good."
A pause.
"At dawn — we ride for the city."
He turned to go — then stopped.
"Tom's dead," another blurted.
The rider didn't move.
"Who?"
"We don't know… but it was magic. Fire. A spell."
The air seemed to freeze around them.
Slowly, the rider's gaze lifted to the black treetops.
"Don't take your eyes off her," he said.
Each word heavy as a hammer.
"If she disappears…
You all disappear."
Without waiting for an answer, he mounted his horse and melted into the trees.
Gone.
Only the fire remained — and the stink of fear.
"…Shit," a bandit whispered.
"I'd rather face wolves than him."
***
The Forest
Darkness pressed in from all sides.
Twisting branches clawed at their clothes.
The ground oozed with mud and rot.
Behind them — howls.
Closer now.
Sam stumbled, nearly falling.
His chest heaved with every breath.
His body screamed with exhaustion.
Kyle darted ahead, pointing.
"Cliffs! Over there!"
Through the trees — a narrow split in the rocks, gaping open like the mouth of some ancient beast.
"Here!"
They plunged inside.
The air shifted immediately — thick and stale, heavy with the weight of unseen things.
Inside: darkness so deep it clung to the skin.
Sam doubled over, gasping.
"Kyle?"
"I'm here."
He closed his eyes.
Magic is imagination.
He lifted his hand, fingers trembling.
"Candle," he whispered.
A soft flame flickered into life — small and warm.
Its golden glow licked the stone walls, casting dancing shadows that twisted and shifted like living things.
Sam collapsed against the rock, letting it hold his weight.
"This will do," he rasped.
Kyle stared at the flame, his face pale.
"What… what was that?" he asked, voice shaking.
"I imagined it," Sam said simply.
"No scroll? No seal?"
Sam shook his head.
Kyle stepped back.
Fear writhed across his face.
"You're not supposed to do that," he whispered.
"Why?"
Kyle swallowed.
"Because no one can.
Magic isn't made. It's read.
Given by priests. Owned by nobles.
Anything else is…"
He hesitated.
"…heresy."
Sam said nothing.
The flame trembled in his palm.
Kyle hugged himself.
"There was a guy once.
A farmer.
They said he wished for rain.
And when it came, they found him in a ditch a week later."
Sam closed his eyes.
"Doesn't matter if it's real," Kyle said bitterly.
"As long as people are afraid."
Sam clenched his fists.
Afraid.
Not of the act —
Of the idea.
The silence stretched.
"You're not like us," Kyle said quietly.
Sam opened his eyes — tired.
Broken.
"Maybe not," he said.
Kyle hesitated, then added:
"But thanks… for not leaving me."
Sam didn't respond.
Just closed his eyes.
"I just… couldn't."
The flame flickered lower.
But the fire inside him — the strange, aching fire that had woken with him in this world —
only grew.
***
A Dream
Sunlight.
Laughter.
The smell of tea and fresh grass.
"Sam, we'll be back soon. Just a few days. Be strong."
"Of course, Mom."
Her smile.
Bright.
Fragile.
Footsteps across gravel.
"Sammy!"
A girl's voice — bright, sharp.
"Vic!"
He scooped her up.
She laughed — arms around his neck, smelling of crayons and bubblegum.
"I wanted to say goodbye!" she pouted.
His father chuckled.
"Martha, look. They're like twins."
"The looks are mine," she said with a wink.
"But that stubbornness?
All you."
The car door closed.
Tires crunched away down the drive.
And the world…
shifted.
***
Back in the Cave
Sam woke with a start.
The candle had burned low — a tiny flicker battling the darkness.
His muscles ached.
His mouth was dry.
The stone walls around him whispered and sighed.
Something moved.
Not the wind.
Not imagination.
In the deeper dark beyond the flame's reach —
Something watched.
Not breathing.
Not blinking.
Alive.
Or worse.
Sam stayed perfectly still.
Kyle stirred behind him, but Sam lifted a hand — warning him to stay quiet.
The flame in his hand danced wildly — sensing the tension.
Sensing the wrongness.
The thing stepped closer.
A shape — long, thin, wrong.
Its limbs twisted at odd angles, bending where no joints should bend.
Its skin was too pale.
Its face… almost human.
Almost.
Like a reflection in broken glass.
It smiled — a slow, cracked thing.
Sam gritted his teeth.
The flame flickered.
If it goes out… we die.
The creature's clawed fingers flexed — like it was savoring the moment.
Sam gathered every last shred of focus he had.
Whispered under his breath:
"Light."
The candle flame flared, brightening to a fierce white-blue.
The creature recoiled, hissing like torn fabric.
It shrank back into the dark — melting away.
Gone.
For now.
Sam let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
The cave fell silent again.
But he knew —
This world was full of things that waited for the light to die.
And next time?
Next time they might not be so patient.