Stones. I hated stones.

  They were the silent companions to my misery—always there, always beneath my feet, always cutting, grinding, bruising. The last stretch of my journey toward the needle had been nothing but an endless landscape of rocks. Smooth, round stones that rolled underfoot. Jagged stones that tore into my soles. Charred black rocks, sullen grey ones, and a few bleached white as bone. I trudged through them all, furious and unseeing.

  Aska. That bastard.

  I was still burning with resentment that he understood me better than I understood myself. That he gave me something I hadn’t even known I wanted. The needle, the gift, the cryptic message… it all drove me to madness. I hadn’t watched my step in hours and had already tripped once—face-first—over some absurd stack of stones. Who in their right mind built such a ridiculous tower down here, of all places?

  Aska. It had to be him. Only he would leave silent insults in stone form for me to stumble over.

  It was probably for the best he wasn’t around. If he’d so much as smiled at me with that usual smugness, I might have gouged his eyes out with one of those damn rocks.

  Then, I saw it.

  “Fire? Are you kidding me?” I muttered, narrowing my eyes.

  Just ahead—maybe two hundred metres at most—a small fire flickered. Not a wild flame, not some tormented soul burning in effigy, but a steady, contained torch. My first instinct was pure, unfiltered fury. If I had dragged myself through miles of gravel and silent wrath for this… Aska's death would not be swift. Or painless.

  But as I approached the fire, my anger stalled—then sputtered out entirely, replaced by a bewildered kind of wonder.

  Someone was lying next to it.

  A human.

  Not glowing, not translucent. A real, living human. Breathing was barely perceptible, but the rise and fall of his chest was there. He lay on the gravel in a half-armoured sprawl, one hand resting over a sword like a sleeping knight who had just collapsed mid-guard.

  I stood still for a few heartbeats, stunned.

  He had to be about twenty. His heavy armor bore scratches and burns, but the open visor showed his face clearly. A young face, handsome despite the scar cutting across his right cheek. His hair was tousled and golden, catching the torchlight with a dull shine. For a moment, I couldn’t look away. Compared to the drifting, glowing husks that wandered this place, he was a miracle.

  A real person.

  I didn't wake him. Instead, I retreated as quietly as I could, staying just outside the flickering circle of light. My mind raced. What should I do? I felt the earlier rage ebb into something almost like excitement. Joy, even. This—this was what the needle had pointed to. A living, breathing human. The object of desire, apparently. Aska, damn him, had been right again.

  My fingers curled into fists, not out of anger anymore, but calculation. I couldn’t just walk up and say hi. Not like this. A red-eyed twelve-year-old, eerily clean in a place full of dust and death? No. That would terrify him—or worse, make him cautious.

  I crouched down in the shadows, dishevelled my hair with both hands until it tangled wildly, then rolled in the gravel until my knees and arms looked suitably scraped and filthy.

  When I finally stood up, I looked exactly like what I needed to be—an abandoned, desperate child lost in a world that devours souls.

  I took a breath, stepped back toward the firelight, and screamed.

  “HELP! Please, somebody!”

  I ran, wild and staggering, not directly at him but near enough to be seen. “Please! Mr. Knight, please help me!”

  He stirred. His sword was halfway drawn before his eyes were even fully open, scanning the darkness behind me. His gaze was unfocused—he didn’t seem to see me yet. I kept running, clutching my side, pretending to limp.

  His sword twitched slightly in my direction when I entered the fire’s light, but he immediately turned his head back to the shadows behind me, as if expecting monsters to materialise.

  I didn’t hesitate. I ducked behind him like a frightened child and clung to his cloak.

  “Sir Knight, they’re coming! Please save me!” I cried, my voice cracking as if on the edge of tears.

  He held his sword up, poised for a fight. But nothing moved in the darkness.

  Seconds passed.

  “…Who is coming?” His voice was steady, but I could hear the confusion in it. And maybe something else too—concern, or suspicion.

  I stayed behind him, panting theatrically, but inside, I smiled.

  Oh, this was going to be fun.

  “Hounds… they were right behind me… it seems I lost them somehow.” I panted between breaths, my voice trembling with just the right amount of fear. I reached up and tugged lightly on the corner of the knight’s tunic that peeked out from beneath his armor, my fingers trembling. Dirt streaked my face. My hair hung around my cheeks in a chaotic snarl. The very image of a lost, frightened child.

  He turned to look at me fully—and then, he saw them.

  My eyes.

  The moment our gazes locked, I felt it shift in the air—the brief flicker of trust or confusion replaced by suspicion. Red eyes never meant safety. Red eyes meant danger. Red eyes meant monster.

  I gasped, recoiling like a kicked dog. “P-Please don’t hurt me!” I stammered, stumbling backwards until a stone caught my heel and I fell with a pathetic thud, landing hard on my backside. I winced but didn’t cry. Not real tears, anyway.

  His sword was already drawn, pointed at me with alarming precision—but he didn’t strike. Not immediately. His posture was guarded, but his expression flickered with uncertainty. He wasn’t sure what I was, not yet. But he wasn’t about to lower his guard either.

  “You can drink my blood, just—please don’t kill me!” I cried, curling inward, arms wrapping tightly around my knees, making myself small. Pitiful. Innocent.

  The knight blinked, confusion sliding into his voice. “What? Why would I drink your blood?”

  His sword never wavered, but I could tell he wasn’t fully convinced I was dangerous. Not yet. The hesitation was enough. His stance spoke of experience—balanced, practiced—but he wasn’t reckless. Which meant I had a chance. If I lunged now, I might be able to surprise him, but I’d lose. I knew it. He was too calm. Too focused. No matter how much the shadows bent around me, I wouldn’t win that fight.

  So I did the next best thing. I played the long game.

  “You… You have red eyes,” I whispered, letting my voice crack just enough. “Like a vampire…”

  It was a gamble. Would he think I was just scared? Was I planting the idea that I was something unnatural—like him—or was I simply naming what I feared? I couldn’t tell which way he’d lean, and he took his time, the silence dragging out far too long as he weighed my words.

  Finally, he spoke.

  “Miss, I’m not a vampire. This place… it twists the senses. It wants us to see monsters in each other. To fight. To destroy. But you’re safe now.”

  That na?ve, knightly idealism might’ve made me laugh under different circumstances. But hearing it now—so confidently, so calmly spoken—it actually worked in my favour. I let my mouth twitch into the smallest, sweetest smile as he finally, finally, sheathed his sword.

  “Sir Knight… how did you get here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Then, with carefully rehearsed helplessness, I added: “I fell into a well… and then…”

  He knelt beside me. A gesture that might have been kind if I hadn’t wanted to recoil. His shadow fell across me, and as his hand reached out to pat my head, I felt bile rise in my throat. I hated his touch. His pity. The false comfort in his hand that tousled my tangled hair. But I didn’t let it show. I had my role to play.

  “I… I lost my family,” I whispered, voice quivering, eyes wide with unshed tears. I choked on a sob I didn’t feel. “I was playing near the old well behind our house, and then—then everything went dark…”

  He looked heartbroken. Or maybe guilty. Either way, it was progress.

  “We were exploring the lower levels of the labyrinth of Corsk,” he said, voice low, like it pained him to recall. “Some creature ambushed us—threw me into a pit. I blacked out. When I came to… I was here.”

  Labyrinth of Corsk. I stored the name away carefully. It felt important, like a thread I could pull later.

  He reached again—this time to brush a tear from my cheek—but I twisted my head away sharply, letting him see the flinch. I didn’t have to fake that part. His touch disgusted me. Not because of who he was, but because of what he represented. The idea that I needed saving.

  “But…” he continued, glancing around now. “How did you find me? This place is vast. An endless underground… there’s no way you could’ve just stumbled on me, is there?”

  His tone had shifted. Subtle, but real. Less comfort. More suspicion.

  And there it was—my cue. The moment the cracks began to form.

  I looked up at him with wide, glistening eyes and said, slowly:

  “I didn’t find you. You were shown to me.”

  Reluctantly—so very reluctantly—I raised the compass from beneath the folds of my ragged dress, letting the firelight glint against its tarnished metal surface. It was still cold in my hands, impossibly cold, as though it hadn’t belonged in this world—or any world—for a long time. Two slender needles glowed faintly in the amber flicker: one unwavering, locked firmly onto him, the other angled back toward the direction I had appeared to come from. I had been careful not to approach directly from that path, just in case. I was always careful.

  His eyes followed the compass as if it might suddenly speak. I kept my expression blank, wide-eyed with just enough fear, just enough awe.

  “I… I found this with me when I woke up down here,” I murmured, the words soft and uncertain, as though I hadn’t already practiced them in my head a dozen times. “It kept pointing… so I followed. It led me to you. I thought maybe the other needle—maybe it points to a way out of here? Or… someone else?”

  It was a fragile hope, and I knew it. But to a man trapped in this pit of darkness, the idea of escape would be intoxicating—blinding, even. He might not stop to wonder how a frail girl with no torch could navigate this endless stone crypt. He didn’t know I could see the dead. That the souls wandering this place glowed just enough to guide me. He had no such light—no such curse.

  But I had made a mistake.

  A subtle one. A slip in logic. One that could unravel everything if he stopped to think clearly. Panic fluttered in my chest—not because I feared him, but because the illusion had to remain perfect. Before he could question me, I let my breath hitch and summoned tears once more, pushing my face into my sleeves and sobbing quietly. Not loud, not theatrical—just small, broken weeping. It worked like a charm.

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  He crouched beside me again, eyes soft with sympathy. “Hmm… That might be it,” he said, nodding slowly as he took the compass from my shaking fingers without hesitation. “Or maybe it’ll lead us to others. People like us.”

  Like us. The words made something in my stomach twist. Just like that, he’d placed me in his little category. A fellow survivor. A vulnerable girl in need of protection.

  He turned his back to me, examining the compass as though it were sacred. And took it. He took my one tool—my only anchor in this forsaken maze—as if it were his by right.

  I stood up on unsteady legs and reached for the hem of his shirt again, fingers trembling. Still careful—so careful—never to touch him. I didn’t want his skin against mine. I didn’t want the heat of him, the scent of iron and sweat that clung to him like rot.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he bent to retrieve the still-burning torch, “I’ll lead the way.”

  And so we walked.

  We didn’t speak much as we made our way back—though not from any shared understanding of solemnity. I was simply too disgusted and furious to keep up the performance. My responses, when he did speak, were clipped and minimal. He took it as lingering fear. Good. That was easier.

  He still tried. Tried to comfort me with pointless conversation and soft reassurances. He even glanced over his shoulder at me often, as if expecting me to vanish if he didn’t keep watching. But his eyes didn’t always land on my face. More than once, I caught him eyeing the neckline of my dress when he thought I wouldn’t notice.

  Disgusting.

  Why was it that the only two intelligent beings I had met since descending into this abyss were both perverts? I adjusted my dress each time, pulling the neckline higher, but it hardly helped. His gaze was greedy, pathetic.

  Eventually, the dark gave way to a faint, flickering halo. The house came into view—a soft glow nestled in the stone expanse like a heartbeat in the void. Souls clustered within the lights, flickering like dying stars, but I said nothing. I wanted him to see it on his own.

  He did.

  In a split second, the confident knight dropped low, yanking me down beside him. I allowed the stumble, playing into the helplessness. He squinted ahead, clutching my arm, gaze fixed.

  “There’s something up ahead,” he whispered. “Stay here. I’ll check it out.”

  I blinked, trying not to let the alarm show. That was the worst thing he could do. If he stepped inside that house, even for a second, he might see the photos—traces of my life with Aska. That would unravel everything.

  “Sir Knight…” My voice trembled like a candle in wind. “Please… please don’t leave me alone again. I’m so scared…”

  He paused, turning to look at me. His expression softened. Pity and compassion. The kind I loathed most. He squeezed my hand gently, and it took everything in me not to scratch his eyes out. His palm was damp, sticky with sweat, and the warmth of his grip made my stomach churn.

  And then he smiled. A soft, understanding smile, as though he believed this moment mattered.

  I nearly vomited.

  He handed me the torch with paternal ceremony, as though he were passing me a torch of hope, not just literal fire. Then, with his dominant hand, he unsheathed his sword and turned back toward the house. The other hand still held mine.

  He thought I was a child. A lost, innocent soul in need of rescue.

  And for now, that was exactly what I wanted him to believe.

  But soon—soon, he’d learn what I really was.

  By sheer, dumb luck—or perhaps guided fate—we approached the shack before ever drawing close to the main house. I exhaled quietly in relief, concealing it behind the soft rustle of fabric. The knight’s grip on my hand had grown taut as we neared the door, every muscle in his arm telegraphing unease. Still, he moved with quiet determination, his torch held high, his other hand resting near the hilt of his blade.

  The shack greeted us with the same tired stillness it always held, its door creaking open like the slow inhale of something long asleep. We stepped inside together. The interior, unchanged from before, was little more than grey boards and emptiness. Except now, in the flickering glow of the fire, the cage in the center loomed like a waiting jaw, and the trapdoor at the back seemed to hum with the promise of something unknown.

  I could feel his attention snap to that door almost immediately. It drew him like bait, whispering false secrets. But I knew better. I had checked it before. Beneath it lay nothing but loose gravel and cold disappointment. It was a red herring, a perfect lure for a curious mind—and his was exactly that.

  Without a word, he began to move toward it, slow and steady, one cautious step at a time. I let my grip on his hand slip, falling just slightly behind as I waited—waited for the next player to step onto the stage.

  And then, with brutal suddenness, I was yanked backward.

  My heels scraped against the wooden floor as a steel-strong arm wrapped around my chest. A jagged dagger kissed the skin of my throat and bit deeper with every twitch I made. Hot blood began its slow descent down my collarbone, soaking into the fabric of my dress. I tried to scream, but another hand clamped down hard over my mouth.

  Pain flared. Sharp. Cold. But I didn’t cry out because of that.

  I cried because it made the illusion more convincing.

  “Release her at once!” the knight barked, turning so fast he nearly lost his footing. His sword came up, gleaming in the dim firelight, trembling ever so slightly in his grasp. But he didn’t lunge. Didn’t charge. The tip of the blade hovered mid-air, uncertain—held back by the threat hanging against my throat.

  Good. The trap was working.

  The knight’s eyes darted between the dagger and my face, and for a brief moment, I saw indecision flicker in his gaze. He was weighing options. Calculating. I wondered how long he would hesitate—how long before he chose self-preservation over morality.

  “I’ll kill her if you move one step closer,” came the low, calm voice of my captor—Aska, playing his role to perfection. To emphasize the point, the dagger pressed deeper, and a fresh rivulet of blood joined the first. My tears now welled freely, a glimmering mask of fear. I let my legs shake. Let my body tremble.

  The knight’s grip on his sword shifted. I could see the conflict spreading through him like a sickness.

  “Who are you?” he asked, instead of anything useful. My eyes nearly rolled back in frustration. The man had a hostage bleeding in front of him, and that was his first question?

  The dagger hand tightened slightly, and I briefly considered sinking my teeth into the other one—just to keep the scene moving.

  “My name is Aska,” came the reply, flat and measured.

  The knight blinked. The name meant nothing to him. A blank stare was all he offered, his sword steadying a little. Clearly, Aska wasn’t a deity in this man's world—or perhaps the knight just wasn’t bright enough to recognize a god by a single name.

  “What do you want?” the knight asked next.

  Again, why were we still introducing ourselves like this was some tea party?

  Aska ignored the sarcasm boiling beneath my surface and delivered his line flawlessly. “I need a sacrifice to go back to my world,” he said. “It’s either you… or this girl. If we do this peacefully, the other may return with me.”

  I had to hand it to him. As endings went, it was a spectacular third act twist.

  And I was going to make it better.

  With a sudden lurch, I twisted and sank my teeth hard into Aska’s hand. He gasped—real, pained—and recoiled just enough for his grip to slip. I thrashed, genuinely now, struggling to break free with wild, erratic force. I didn’t care if the dagger cut deeper; I needed to sell the moment.

  But he recovered quickly, too quickly, catching my flailing arms and pinning them effortlessly. My mouth was free, though, and that was all I needed.

  “He’s lying!” I shouted, my voice hoarse and cracking. “Please don’t listen! Don’t worry about me!”

  Every word was soaked in desperation, but not just for the knight's benefit. I wanted both of them to hear it. To feel the weight of it. I wanted the knight to believe I was choosing him, that I was sacrificing myself to protect him. I wanted Aska to feel the performance, to admire the chaos I was weaving from nothing but panic and breath.

  And the knight… oh, the knight.

  I watched with exquisite delight as his sword slowly began to lower. The point dipped first. Then the arms softened. Then the breath—the deep, conflicted breath of a man at war with himself.

  He was considering it.

  He was actually thinking it through.

  Would he try to be a hero? Would he hurl himself forward in some last-second, futile attempt to rescue me? Or would he do what so many others had done when the price grew too high?

  Would he let me die to save himself?

  I couldn’t wait to find out.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  The words came out low, strained—like they cost him more than he could afford to give. He looked at me one last time, his expression carved from shame and sorrow. Then, without another word, he let the sword slip from his fingers. It fell with a dull clang, metal striking wood like the closing of a casket.

  And just like that, he turned and walked into the cage.

  My breath caught—not from admiration, but sheer disbelief. He stepped over the threshold with a strange kind of dignity, as if he were fulfilling some noble duty, some higher moral code. The door creaked shut behind him, and the soft click of the lock echoed with finality.

  I stared, momentarily stunned. What kind of idiot willingly cages himself?

  Aska, ever efficient, wasted no time. Still gripping me tightly, he dragged me after him until the cage was sealed before us. Only once the lock was firmly in place did he release me and slide the dagger back into his belt. His shoulders relaxed. The show was over.

  “What an idiot,” he said, exhaling a breath that quickly turned into a quiet snort of amusement.

  His words mirrored my thoughts. I was still too baffled to respond right away. I looked over at the knight—his shoulders squared inside the cage, staring silently outward like some tragic painting. There was no smugness in his posture. No self-righteous glow. Just… defeat. Quiet, bitter, and all-consuming.

  “I mean, I even told him you lied,” I finally said, rolling my eyes.

  Aska chuckled this time, louder, and we gave each other a firm high five—our hands clapping together like the curtain closing on an absurd play. The sharp contrast between our celebratory mood and the knight’s stunned silence made the moment even more surreal.

  Then, finally, realization dawned behind his eyes.

  “You… tricked me.”

  His voice cracked like a branch underfoot, brittle with disbelief. And then, like a dam breaking, the emotions flooded in—anger, despair, betrayal. He slammed against the bars with enough force to rattle the entire cage, shaking it like he could somehow tear it open with sheer will. But the metal didn’t yield. It never did.

  Yes, I tricked him. I played the part, sobbed the tears, clutched his shirt and made him believe. But in the end, he had chosen to be fooled. That was the more interesting truth.

  I turned back toward Aska, who was clearly reveling in the success of the plan, but a different emotion swelled in me. Not triumph, not pride—something softer. More genuine.

  “Aska…” I said, quietly at first, “…I’m sorry I freaked out earlier. It’s easy to see now—he’s my desire. You knew that even before I did and it′s no wonder. I wished for some fun for years already.”

  He looked at me, surprised by the shift in my tone.

  “Thank you,” I added. And then, without thinking, I wrapped my arms around him and buried my cheek in the fabric of his coat. It smelled of dust, old parchment, and something strangely comforting. I rubbed against it like a cat, taking solace in this simple, absurdly thoughtful gesture of his.

  He patted my back awkwardly, the laughter in his chest replaced by something warmer.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” he said. “What do you want to do with him, though?”

  Now that was the important question.

  I turned my head and looked at the knight again. He was still rattling the bars, his face red with fury. But behind the rage, I saw something far more useful: confusion. Powerlessness. A wounded pride that couldn’t comprehend how easily he’d been manipulated.

  Delicious.

  “I’m thinking…” I stepped away from Aska and did a delicate curtsy, lifting the hem of my dress like I had seen in dusty old portraits. “I’m thinking of becoming a princess.”

  Aska raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He didn’t have to.

  “And a princess needs a guard, doesn’t she?” I continued, turning to look at the knight with the sweetest smile I could muster. The kind of smile that promised nothing and threatened everything.

  He stopped rattling the bars, stunned into silence.

  I tilted my head and gave him a gentle wave. “Don’t worry, Sir Knight. I’ll take very good care of you.”

  My grin widened as I imagined all the possibilities. For a little while, at least, I would have so much fun with him.

  And what more could a princess ask for?