𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐝.
in a post war-torn, dystopian neverland, the choices of one young boy will change the course of the magical realms forever - all the while a desperate young woman and her family search for her son,
a warrior in exile trie...
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THE FIRST THING HENRY saw when he opened his eyes to the world was the black veil draped over him like a funeral cloth.
It wasn't the kind of darkness where he could at the very least see the outline of his hands if he blinked a few times—no, this was the kind of darkness that absorbed all color and light, swallowed everything until all the brightness was consumed in between its preying jaws.
Forcing his eyes to peel open completely, lashes sticky with residue of sleep and damp like dew had fallen on them, Henry felt the overwhelming tropical humidity fold over him like a thick blanket. In the darkness, his body warm from sleep, it was more unbearable than he could imagine: the warmth of the air rolled over his body in thick swathes like a tongue licking a bleeding wound, pouring in from every opening and crevice on his skin. He could feel the beads of sweat oozing out of his pores, making his matted hair stick to his forehead in dark, tangled clumps and his shirt to his back and armpits. It was as if he couldn't breathe when he took in a mouthful of watery, humid air that condensed almost instantly when it hit the skin of his throat in a thick, balmy ball.
Henry remembered the events that took place before this, whatever this was. Parts of it, that is. He remembered waking up on the beach and the gritty sand coarse under his hands and face, the thick forest and jungle overflowing with trees and leaves and branches. He remembered climbing high into the sky and the hunters' torches ablaze under his feet like he was standing on the top of the world and staring down at the pinpoints of lights. He remembered the salt on his tongue and the soil beneath his fingernails and the sweat under his arms. Then, it was nothing. Like his mind had tuned off to make records of whatever happened after. It was like a puzzle with missing pieces. Even with what he had in his hands, it wasn't enough to complete the picture.
Henry felt his throat constrict, his hands break out in a cold sweat even though his entire body felt warm, as if a fire was lit inside his veins. A sickening, twisting nausea formed in the pit of his stomach and bile rose in the back of his throat until his tongue was coated with the acrid taste. He clamped a hand over his mouth, gasping as he tried to contain the fear and panic creeping over him. He knew he had to calm down his rushing mind for the sake of thinking logically and most importantly staying alive. He had no knowledge about his whereabouts, didn't know if he was in safety or had fallen right into the hands of those who were unleashed to kill him. Was there truly safety for him? He did not know; nothing at that moment made sense except for the thick odor of sweat in this dark, claustrophobic space and the sweltering heat and the nausea pulling in his stomach.
The throbbing, loud ache on the side of his head was enough to distract his body from shutting itself down completely. Tears filled his eyes when he felt the tremors of the wound course through his body like millions of knives, one that he hadn't been aware of until now. Henry did not know if he was bleeding or not, or if he was hurt so badly that he needed to take care of his wounds soon. He closed his eyes as soon as he had opened them, hoping that the pain would go away. The darkness behind his eyelids was welcoming and he breathed out slowly and steadily as best as he could through the thick air, counting the rise and fall of his chest.
