In The Shadows of Our Pale Companion

Skalds and Shadows

The year 2020, 10:45 PM.

The cool, damp night air hung over the city, one that its humming noise of traffic can still be faintly heard through the narrow hallways of a residential building. A 17-year-old, dressed in non-gender-confirming clothes fumbled for her keys as her backpack slung over her shoulder. Jostling her overused old skateboard under her arm she nudged the door open. The familiar scent of her empty apartment greeted her in comfortable dead silence, a sanctuary from the chaos of city life. It had been a long day, and she only wanted to crash on her couch. Her phone buzzed softly in the back pocket of her jeans as she dropped her backpack by the entrance but something else snagged her attention.

Her eyes quickly caught something out of place— A trail of red on the floor, small and scattered. It wasn't dirt or paint, but undeniably blood.

She knew what paranoia felt like; she'd lived with it ever since the incident that took her childhood from her at eleven. But this wasn't paranoia—this was real. She sensed her body stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. Instincts honed from years of surviving the streets kicked in. She tracked the spots with her eyes. The trail led toward the living room, where the door was cracked open just a sliver. The lights were off as usual, but something felt wrong, unsettling. A chill ran down her spine, but Hani wasn't the type to back down. She'd spent her early teenage years fighting with the neighborhood boys, refusing to be seen as weak. Still... her heart began thudding in her chest. Is someone in there?

She crept forward, her skateboard tight in her grip as she approached the door. Peering through the slight gap, she tried to make sense of what lay beyond. She squinted through the gloom, trying to make out more details in the darkness that obscured most of the room, the darkness began to take form. A giant figure lay sprawled across her couch, unmoving. Blood soaked through his clothes, pooling beneath him, staining her upholstery.

What the—

Her thoughts were cut short. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and a shiver ran down her spine. Someone else was concealed in the shadows behind the door. Close. Dangerously close.

Before she could react—a whisper of air shifted, and a glint of metal flashed in the dim light with terrifying speed pierced through the air, aiming straight at her.

Instinctively raising her skateboard for a shield in perfect timing. A metal blade crashed against the wood with a powerful impact. The force of the strike jarred her bones and nearly sent her stumbling back, but she held steady. A sword? Her mind screamed in disbelief, but there was no time to question. The blade had punctured the center of her board and stopped just inches from her face.

Breathing hard, her gaze shot up and locked eyes with her attacker.

He was a middle-aged man who stood taller than her, with dirty blonde hair falling in long, wild locks around his face, a mustache, and a beard braided at the chin. Dressed like some extra from a historical drama, a tunic of a deep, rich red, contrasting sharply with the dark lighting of the apartment. His chest rose and fell with adrenaline. He was ready for a fight, prepared to kill if necessary. His intense eyes were wild, assessing her like he was trying to place her face. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, sword still clutched tightly in his grip.

"Hani?" The stranger man's voice was low and rough, wavering in disbelief. He stared at her as if she were some sort of apparition. "A kid?"

The absurdity of it all—the bleeding giant on her couch, the sword-wielding lunatic in her apartment, and the fact that her skateboard had just saved her life—hit her all at once. But it's the look in his sky-blue eyes that threw Hani off the most. Surprise. Confusion. She blinked, still gripping the skateboard with all her strength, heart pounding, but even as the tension swirled in the air, something clicked and caught her attention. But instead of panic, her mouth moved faster than her brain.

"Legolas?" she said, still catching her breath, her eyes narrowing at the man's facial hair. "What's with the beard?"

The man—Legolas, as she now mentally dubbed him—blinked in confusion, clearly didn't seem to know what it meant, nor did the sarcasm from the kid who just blocked his sword so easily. He opened his mouth, about to speak when Hani's eyes flicked back to the bloodstains leading from the door to her couch, to the figure lying there. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit her. This wasn't some game or prank. Something serious was going down in her apartment. And she had no idea who these people were or what they wanted with her.

There was something about the way Legolas had said her name—Hani—with such certainty that struck something deep inside her. She replayed the moment in her head, her brain catching on the sound of her name from his lips as though he'd spoken to her many times before. But there was no way. She didn't know him, and she couldn't know him. And yet...

The air thickened with tension, an awkward standoff on the edge of confrontation or explanation. The blond man still had his sword in hand, though his grip was now more uncertain. His brow furrowed as he looked at Hani, visibly trying to connect the dots as he was trying to reassure himself about something. He raised his head slightly, still bewildered by the name she'd just called him. "Who is Legolas?"

Hani, not quite sure how to explain the reference to the Lord of the Rings elf. The moment was shattered when they both heard the sudden knock on her door—loud, authoritative, and painfully familiar to her.

"Police! Open up!"