Thaddeus didn't sleep.
The others did — or at least, they closed their eyes and sank into that thin, restless half-sleep born of exhaustion and survival but not him.
He sat with his back to the rock, watching the fire slowly die, watching shadows crawl across the walls. The boy kept his promise and stayed awake a while, pacing near the cave's mouth with a short blade drawn — but eventually, even he sat down and started to nod off.
Thaddeus listened.
To the water droplets to the breathing of the others, to the silence between each sound.
There was something… off about it all. Not in a bad way — just different. As if this place followed rules not written for humans gravity felt thin, like the air didn't weigh enough time ticked wrong.
And that sky… that twisted sky from before…Where the hell am I?
When morning came — if it was morning — the fire had died down to cold embers.
The old man stirred first, groaning softly as he sat up and stretched until his back cracked. He moved like a man who'd done this a hundred times before.
"Still alive?" he asked casually, not looking at anyone in particular.
The girl opened one eye and muttered, "Barely."
The boy,, was still snoring.
The old man reached into his satchel and pulled out a flask and a strip of dried meat. He tore the strip in half and handed one to Thaddeus.
"Name's Jorah," he said. "The sleeping beauty is Ty. And the sword-sleeper is Gwen."
Thaddeus nodded, cautious. "Thaddeus."
Jorah studied him for a moment. "You've got the look."
Thaddeus frowned. "What look?"
"The 'I just woke up in hell' look. We've all had it."
Ty yawned and sat up. "Ugh… I was dreaming of bread."
"You always dream of food," Gwen muttered, rising and sliding her sword back into its sheath in one smooth motion. "Even in nightmares."
"Healthier than dreaming about what's out there," Jorah grunted.He turned to Thaddeus, thoughtful. "Well, young man… we can't do much about those chains. But if you want to tag along, we'll be moving soon. There's a trail past the river that leads to a small village… if it's still there."
Thaddeus agreed.His feet were bare the cold stung like needles as he followed them down the slope, snow crunching underfoot, e didn't say much at first just walked, Watched, and Listened.
The mountain bled into a dense forest, blanketed in frost and silence. No birds. Just the wind and the sound of four travelers making their way through what could only be called a dream — or a nightmare.
They stopped by a river to fill their flasks and clean the grime from their faces. Gwen caught two slippery fish with a thread-line trap, and Ty made a fire with flint.
It was all so… routine. Like they'd done this a dozen times before.
But that was what disturbed him most.
The longer he walked with them, the more they spoke.
Gwen was sharp-eyed but uncertain, still new to danger. She had the kind of rigid poise that said she'd trained for adventure — but never lived it. Ty, on the other hand, was light-hearted, almost too casual, as if the darkness didn't bother him at all.
Jorah… Jorah was something else. Wise, maybe. Or just old. He moved with a calm that felt rehearsed, like he'd seen a thousand boys like Thaddeus.
"You've got strange stamina for someone in your condition," Jorah noted after an hour of hiking. "Barefoot. Wrapped in chains. No coat. And you're walking like a soldier."
Thaddeus blinked. "I… didn't notice."
He wasn't limping. He wasn't stumbling In fact, he wasn't even cold.
That's when he realized he could see farther than before — the faint imprint of animal tracks in the snow, the subtle tilt of broken branches, the shimmer of birds hidden in the trees. His hands moved without thought, crafting a rudimentary snare from twine and bark.
Jorah squinted at Thaddeus's exposed shoulder as they trudged through the snow.
"You a hunter?" the old man asked. "No offense, but you don't seem the type. Not at your age."
Thaddeus didn't answer right away. He was too busy noticing how easily he moved — how natural this all felt, despite the freezing wind and bare feet.
Jorah tilted his head. "But that ink on your shoulder… that's not decorative."
Thaddeus glanced down. There it was — a dark, curling mark etched into his skin in smooth black ink. Intricate, sharp-lined, coiled like a predator It was old, but still crisp looked ceremonial. Almost tribal.
"And your skin…" Jorah went on, "That tone, that region… I've seen it before. Once. A small hunting village near the southern mountains. People who inked their skin with signs of beasts — wolf, hawk, serpent. Said it gave them strength. Said it kept the monsters away."
He paused."But it didn't, did it?"
Thaddeus winced. Something twisted in his chest, Memories rushed in — or maybe they weren't his a village burning, Screams, and Chains. A black steed. A man with a dragon-crest on his shoulder riding through blood and fire. Faces he'd never seen but somehow recognized he staggered.
"You alright?" Ty asked, walking beside him.
"I… I remember things," Thaddeus whispered. "A village. Fire. Slavery."
He didn't know why, but he told them everything. As if some buried part of him needed to gwen listened Jorah just nodded quietly ty stayed silent, for once.
Not long after, Gwen raised a hand to stop them. "Imps," she said. "Six of them."
Up ahead, the forest shifted with movement. Small, twisted things with greenish-gray skin and long limbs crept through the underbrush, teeth gnashing, claws twitching. Their eyes glowed yellow.
"They haven't seen us," Gwen said. "Stick to the plan. I go first. Ty supports. Jorah cleans up."
Thaddeus stepped back he wasn't part of this Not really.
Gwen surged forward, silent as smoke. She drew her falchion in one smooth motion and cleaved the nearest imp cleanly through the chest. It dropped like a sack of meat.
The others shrieked in unison.
Ty loosed his bow — an imp dropped, arrow in its throat Another bolt followed, striking one mid-leap. Two more lunged at Gwen; one scratched her arm, but she swept her falchion low, cutting its legs out from under it. The final imp tried to flee.
Ty didn't miss. It collapsed, twitching.
Jorah moved in and placed a hand on Gwen's arm. A soft green light flowed from his fingers, closing the fresh cut on her forearm. "No scars," he muttered.
"Not worried," Gwen replied. Ty grinned. "That was better than last time."
"You missed one," she shot back."I let you finish it," he said with a shrug.
Thaddeus didn't speak he watched.
The teamwork was perfect the roles clear no arguments just roles and work.
The blood the imps spilled smelled wrong Thin, Metallic, but not quite real.
Still, the others acted like nothing was amiss.
And so Thaddeus followed.
They reached the village just as the light began to fade.
It sat nestled in a clearing, surrounded by frost and low stone walls. Wooden homes, roofs sagging but intact, smoke from chimneys shuttered windows.
somehow, No guards, No dogs, No noise.
They walked through the gates in silence.
The longhouse sat at the center — tall, warm, and still standing.
Inside, a pale old man greeted them behind a low table.
"You've returned," he rasped. "And with proof?"
Gwen dropped a bloodied sack onto the table. Imp claws, ears, and one dark fang spilled out.
"The pack is dead," she said.
The elder nodded.He produced a wrapped bundle — silver coins, dried meat, and a curved token etched with a tree "Your reward."
Later, Thaddeus sat on the steps outside.
Wind whistled over the rooftops smoke spiraled into the blue-tinged sky a bell rang in the distance — one low tone Then silence.Inside, Ty was already snoring.
Jorah sat by the hearth, feeding the flames, Gwen leaned against a beam, sharpening her blade in slow, precise strokes.
Thaddeus stared out at the stillness. Maybe… just maybe… this won't be so bad
was danger, sure. But the rhythm of it all — fight, rest, reward — felt manageable
Familiar.
He allowed himself the smallest smile piece of cake.
But something inside him — some half-formed instinct — whispered the truth:
This wasn't the end It was the beginning.
And the dream was about to break.