Chimera

01|One

Hemlock was running.

He didn't know where his feet took him, just that he had to keep running. Dregan would be on him in no time, fueled by the raw power of ancient bloodlines and his own wrath, and Hemlock stood no chance as a bumbling newborn. But he had to go, and go far. So he did.

Thorned branches tried clinging to his arms and whipped at his face. The mud threatened to drag him down with every step. Even the earth was against his defiance. But the wind whispered go—go here, go this way, go past this tree. Hemlock had no mind to question the whispers as Kaskan held far too many oddities to even begin narrowing down what it might be, and there was more chance of it being his paranoid mind fracturing completely than a natural oddity. All he could do was run, run, run, and push his exhausted body past its limits.

Turn. Turn now.

He heard too late. Hemlock's foot slipped and he skidded, crashing onto his side and splattering mud everywhere. Thunder rumbled from above. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. His heart pounding in his ears drowned out the laughing owls and roar of the rain, but not loud enough to cover his fears. They paralyzed him. The what-ifs, the inevitable punishments. Would Dregan kill him for this? Or would he torture him for eternity, make Hemlock an example of what happened when the newborns tried to escape? Death would be preferable to whatever cruelty floated within Dregan's mind. The shower of rain ran down his face in a parody of tears.

The screech of bats in the distance kickstarted Hemlock's adrenaline. The wind whipped and screeched back, and it almost felt like mini whirlwinds yanked at his limbs to get him up faster. Hemlock didn't care. All that mattered was getting up, and he flailed like a panicked deer on its back before he managed to get himself on his feet. Turn. The whispers said turn. Hemlock bolted further into the woods.

And just in time. He didn't dare look, but he could hear the angry chatter of bats behind him as the hoard found where he had just been. The woods groaned and snapped in response. Grass twisted around his ankles, but he slipped through their rain-soaked grip. Gusts of wind battered him from behind and propelled him forward. Just a little further. He just needed to get a little further.

Dregan didn't continue after him. Either he lost the scent or gave up the chase, but Hemlock didn't want to take any chances. He kept running until he couldn't anymore. He kept going until he tripped yet again and collapsed into a heap on unforgiving concrete. He feared the worst until the cloud of bats didn't follow him to his grave. Nothing more than a crumpled heap in the dirt, he sought out death and found the scythe nowhere to be seen. A whimpered wheeze escaped his lungs. With the last of his strength, Hemlock got to his elbows and flipped onto his back to get a glimpse of his surroundings.

Angry grey clouds flashed with lightning and buried him under the promise of a flood. Craggy and ancient trees loomed just below with a crown of circling ravens. Just inside his peripheral stood a proud but equally as ancient stone building, with words carved into it that Hemlock couldn't read. Just from the top corner he could see, he knew it was grand; likely once important, too, now left abandoned to rot. Hemlock felt a pang of kinship with the sentiment, though he felt far from proud and important.

To his side, a headstone mocked him with a weather-erased name. Hemlock turned his head and let himself finally give up.

**

His mouth tasted like old copper. It had been weeks since his last feeding, and his stomach cramped and screamed in agony, but he had no way of knowing if he'd be allowed to feed again soon. The dark cell offered no promise of help.

Years upon years of living like an animal, and yet it never got easier—the waiting, the hunger, the torment. Hemlock rested his forehead against the cell bars and closed his eyes, catalogued the scents drifting about and connected them to conjured images. The dungeon, his home, had been the only place he knew in this lifetime. An underground fortress full of twisting hallways with steepled ceilings, grand statues of different figures, massive braziers set an exact distance apart from one another, and layers upon layers buried deep within the earth, it housed not only him, but hundreds of others stuck in the same position as him. The stonework held memories of an ancient time, and spoke of builders proud of their work, but filth accumulated over the years from neglect. Now, whatever purpose it served before had fallen into ruin in favor of becoming a place of torment and misery. Death.