Day-Lynx (EDITING)

Eight Marks the Spot

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When Rozell turns his head, a monstrous flame flares on the snowed debris, giving birth to black-clothed humans. Blood seeps out from the trails they leave on the ground. Their war cries and weapons shake the entire forest, almost throwing Rozell off his footing.

Rozell shakily puts four of his paws on the ground, with two of them shaped like human hands. Even when his heart thuds in his chest like it's about to explode, he forces himself to run away from the shrieking forest, the deadly crowd, and their hungry weapons.

It's like the snow is swallowing him alive. Whenever he tries to unstuck his feet, they always sink deeper into the ground, tangled with the debris and foliage.

And so he forces them to run away from the blood now soaking his fur and Opus' identical features on these hunters. With a blade still poking out of their lower legs, they limp through the snowy hills.

The trees lessen. As Rozell darts through some gnarled stumps, one of them sprouts into a harpy eagle, wearing its crown-like crest. With a low caw, it exclaims, "Beware, son of the woods. Darkness is coming for you like a snaking fog, soon to entangle you in its seductive vines."

The tightness in Rozell's chest grows. "What darkness?"

As the harpy eagle flies over him, Rozell looks back only to find clumps of dead grass peeking out of the ground.

The harpy eagle's flapping wings snap Rozell's attention back to it. "Of darkness so great, no sunlight can ward it away. Of a pain too heavy to carry on your own, worse than the potion can punish you. And of coldness so greedy not even a single breath can thaw it away."

"W-What? But why?"

A hollow voice echoes throughout the forest, "Because deep inside you know you have killed me." Opus lets out a sputtering cough, wrapping the air in ash.

The ash slithers into Rozell like a thief, squeezing his soul out.

Rozell snaps his eyes open, leaping off the mattress with a storming heart. He grits his teeth together to stop them from disturbing Mielle's sleep.

It's like the night breathes at Rozell, blowing both icicles and snow.

The darkness allows Rozell to weep silently. Opus' face resurfaces again in his mind, only to wilt away like the trees in winter. The image of Opus' severed leg still haunts Rozell, along with the fresh blood coating it.

Is he dead? I should've never taken that road; I was only trying to scare them away! I never want to hurt anybody.

The pain from the potion he drank earlier sinks in a few counts later. It starts with a sharp tingle on his back, followed by hundreds of others. Something crawls up his spine, licking his nape with a tongue as sharp as an ax. Rozell sneaks under his blanket, trying to comfort the aches shredding his joints apart. Muffling his cry, Rozell puts his hands over his mouth to ignore the itches worming through his teeth.

The animals in his body howl in distress.

What could be worse than this? It's already much worse than death.

Death could just let me die. I would rot underground with the critters and dirt, free of all pain and guilt.

In the middle of that soundless dawn, a snore flits from Rozell's side. Mielle murmurs some incomprehensible words, making Rozell long for her company.

But if I had died, what would become of Grandpa, Da, Ma, and Mielle?

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