The Black Curse (Rough Draft)

Chapter Seven

The rising after was draped in a silence that felt as tangible as the thick woolen blankets that lay tangled at the foot of the bed. The storm had passed, leaving behind a clarity in the air that only served to amplify the discomfort between Theory and Niro. Breakfast was a silent affair; the clinking of utensils against plates seemed to echo like accusations, a reminder of the unspoken tension that hung heavily between them.

Theory sat across from Niro, his spoon tracing patterns in his porridge, unseeing. The gentleness he had witnessed in Niro the night before unnerved him. It was a side of the warrior he hadn't known existed, a contrast so stark against the usual rough-hewn demeanor that Theory found himself questioning the reality of what had passed between them.

He was grateful, in a way, for the storm that raged outside, for it gave him a natural excuse to huddle close, to seek the heat that Niro's body offered. But now, in the cold light of day, that same warmth felt like a brand against his skin.

The heat—his heat—had come early, an anomaly that twisted his insides with worry. Heat cycles were private, and now Niro had witnessed one, shared one with him. Theory couldn't help but wonder, when his body betrayed him again, as it inevitably would, how he would explain the irregularity. Would Niro suspect something? Fire Drakes like Niro were not bound to the lunar cycles like the Elves, and yet...

Could there be Elven blood coursing through his veins? Theory mulled over the thought as he toyed with the remnants of his meal. Elves experienced swells with every moon, a fact that could provide convenient cover for his condition. A Fire Drake and an Elf... The union seemed improbable, and yet the world was full of improbabilities.

Like Theory's inability to shift. Perhaps this was the cause? The mixed blood hindering him from one side taking over completely?

Why had he not thought of it before?

As the sun broke through the remnants of the storm, casting dapples of light across the inn's wooden floor, Theory and Niro packed their belongings in silence. The innkeeper, with eyes that missed nothing, presented them with the bill for the damages. The room had borne witness to the chaos of the night, to the tempest of emotions and the clash of bodies. Paying was a small price for the semblance of normalcy it bought.

They set out once more, leaving behind the village that had served as a crucible for unspoken revelations. Their next destination was devoid of the answers Theory sought—no horses for sale, no further clues to his lineage, just another place on a map that felt increasingly meaningless. As they rode on the single mare, the lingering awkwardness from the rising weighed on him, a heavy cloak that threatened to smother the fragile ember of curiosity that Niro had ignited within.

The silence was a presence unto itself, a third rider alongside Theory and Niro. It nestled between them, thick and unyielding, as they journeyed on horseback through the newly washed landscape. The freshness of the air after the storm did little to alleviate the tension, and Theory was acutely aware of the man behind him, the occasional brush of Niro's chest against his back with each trot of the horse. It was a contact that remained steadfastly ignored, as if by some unspoken agreement, they both decided to pretend that the proximity meant nothing.

The horse moved with a rhythmic gait that allowed for little conversation, not that either seemed inclined to speak. Theory was grateful for the lack of dialogue; it gave him a chance to gather his thoughts, to piece together the fragments of the night before into something he could understand, something less disarming than the reality.

Several horas had passed when the outline of a creature appeared on the side of the road. As they drew closer, Theory's sharp eyes discerned the shape of a Kappa, his amphibian features unmistakable even in his obvious distress. It was an unusual sight this far from water; Kappas were creatures of lakes and rivers, not dry land and certainly not roads traveled by predators.

Theory pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a cautious stop a safe distance away. The silence finally breaking as they considered the injured male before them.

"A Kappa..." Theory's voice was a low murmur, filled with both curiosity and suspicion. "No lakes. No colonies. What brings them here?"

Niro's reply was noncommittal, a mere grunt as his mismatched eyes studied the surroundings, alert for any sign of danger or trickery.

Theory's thoughts turned briefly to King Ellis, the ruler whose concerns lay elsewhere, tangled in court politics and grand ceremonies. Would he bother with the plight of a single Kappa, or the deeper unrest it might signify? Theory's lip curled slightly at the thought. The Crown Prince's Consort ceremony—now, there was a matter that would command Ellis's full attention, while creatures like them suffered, caught in the crossfire of a nature they couldn't control.

"The unrest between the Kappas and the Nymphs..." Theory mused aloud, more to himself than to Niro. "It's spreading further than we thought."

Niro was silent, his gaze still scanning the horizon. Theory could feel the weight of the unsaid between them, a chasm as wide as the one that separated the troubled Kappa from its home waters. But for now, there were more pressing concerns than their personal turmoil—like the injured creature that looked up at them with eyes that mirrored the storm they had just weathered.

Theory's boots hit the damp earth as he dismounted, concern drawing his brow together as he made to approach the Kappa. But before he could step forward, Niro's hand clamped down on his shoulder—a warning grip that pushed him back. Theory's body tensed, ready to protest, but the shock of the gesture muted his usual defiance. His gaze flicked to Niro, noting the fierce protectiveness in the man's stance, the way his hand hovered over the pendant he always wore—an emblem of something hidden and powerful.

The Kappa's plight, lying vulnerable on the side of the road, stilled Theory's retort. He watched as Niro moved ahead, the warrior's cautious approach a silent acknowledgment of the potential danger they faced. The sight of Niro's protective silhouette struck Theory oddly, stirring an unfamiliar and disquieting blend of feelings.

As Niro examined the Kappa, Theory's sharp eyes sought signs of struggle or theft—the heart of a Kappa was a treasured commodity in dark circles. Yet what he saw was carnage, not careful extraction. The creature's insides were a brutal mess spilling onto the ground. No Nymph had the physicality to rend flesh in such a manner. The realization sent a cold trail down his spine.

The Kappa's eyelids fluttered, a weak attempt at focus, before his hazy eyes locked onto theirs. Niro and Theory leaned in, a silent breath held between them, as the creature's lips parted with effort, straining with his final breath to form words that fell like stones into the quiet.

"They hunt."

The words were a death knell, the final note in the Kappa's life. As the light faded from his eyes, the silence that followed seemed to press heavily upon the living.

Theory and Niro exchanged a look, a wordless conversation fraught with questions. "They"—not Nymphs, then, but who? The clues didn't line up, and the mystery of the Kappa's cryptic warning added a weight to their journey.

"If Kappas are venturing this far west," Theory finally broke the silence, "then the unrest isn't just a border skirmish. It's escalating."

Niro's green-red gaze met his, a rare moment of agreement in their often-turbulent interactions. "We must move quickly."

With solemnity as their companion, they paid their respects to the fallen Kappa, setting stones over a shallow grave as a silent promise to remember. The deed done, they mounted their horse once more, the animal's breath clouding in the cool air as they set off for the next village, the Kappa's whisper haunting their departure. "They hunt"—a warning that neither could afford to ignore.