32

  William stepped through the final line of swords, the air shifting from metal and dust to the scent of brine. The shoreline stretched before them—a wide mirror of water, unmoving, like gss id over the world. No tide. No wind. The surface shimmered softly under a pale sky, as though time itself refused to stir.

  Marco walked forward, slowed, then stopped.

  There—half-buried in the silken sand—stood a bde. Not a sword in the traditional sense, but a small scythe. Arm-length. Curved gently like the crescent of a waning moon. Its edge was jagged with fine teeth, and its handle was wrapped in bckened leather that seemed impossibly intact despite age.

  Marco felt something tighten in his chest.

  It called.

  He swallowed hard. “William… look.”

  But William was already walking—drawn.

  He approached the bde slowly, step by step, as though sleepwalking. He bent down, staring at it with an intensity Marco had never seen. His eyes didn’t blink. His breathing slowed.

  “William?” Marco touched his shoulder.

  No response.

  William grasped the hilt with both hands.

  A gasp escaped him—a sound dragged from deep inside. The air around them trembled. Wind rushed inward, colpsing toward the bde like it were a hole in the world. The surface of the shoreline rippled violently without moving.

  Marco stepped back, arm rising in his chest.

  A shadow—thick and dark—began to seep from the bde, coiling around William’s fingers, climbing his arms. William’s muscles convulsed. His neck strained. The shadow forced itself toward his mouth, pulled inward like smoke being swallowed.

  “William! Let go!” Marco shouted.

  But William did not let go.

  He held tighter.

  The darkness surged. William’s back arched. He rose to his feet, pulling the Karit from the sand in one hard motion.

  Silence.

  Marco stared.

  This was not William anymore.

  The figure before him had skin ashen gray, stretched tight over lean muscle. His eyes were bck voids, with yellow slits burning at their centers. Two horns pushed from his skull—one whole and sharp, one broken halfway. His ears tapered to cruel points. His lips curled into a grin far too wide.

  Marco’s heart cracked.

  “W—William…?”

  The creature answered with movement.

  A blur.

  Marco barely drew his sword in time as the Karit swept toward his neck. Metal cshed, sparks leaping. The force nearly buckled Marco’s stance.

  “William! Listen to me!” Marco shouted as he stumbled back.

  But the creature moved too fast. It struck again and again, each swing wild yet precise, as though guided by instinct older than memory. Marco blocked, dodged, using fallen swords around him for leverage and cover. Still, cuts opened along his cheek, his arm, his leg—blood mixing with sand.

  “William! Stop! You said—we would go together—you said—!”

  The creature did not hear.

  Or worse—heard and did not care.

  Marco’s heel struck something—an enormous sword embedded upright in the ground, taller than a tree. He stumbled and fell hard, sand sticking to his blood. His sword slipped from his hand.

  His limbs trembled. He couldn’t rise.

  He shut his eyes.

  He remembered training in the courtyard, ughter echoing between stone walls.

  He remembered racing horses across Aurum’s rolling pins.

  He remembered Sophia smiling, calling them brothers.

  “I’m sorry,” Marco whispered.

  The air shifted.

  The bde sang.

  The killing blow—

  Never came.

  A loud thud hit the sand beside him. Marco’s eyes snapped open.

  A teenage boy—wild-eyed, wearing a school uniform completely foreign to this world—had tackled him, shoving him aside just in time. The Karit sliced the air where Marco’s neck had been.

  The creature—William—staggered a step, surprised.

  And on the ridge, the man in dark red and bck—the watcher—tilted his head.

  This… was unexpected.

  The boy stood, shaking visibly, breathing fast, chest rising and falling.

  Marco recognized the fear in his eyes.

  He had no idea where he was.

  He had no idea what he had just interfered with.

  And yet—he had moved.

  A soft rustling sound joined them. From behind the boy, a lynx padded forward—muscles taut, fur bristling, golden eyes locked on the horned creature. It stood at the boy’s side like a guardian.

  Marco struggled to his feet, sword retrieved, blood dripping down his arm.

  The boy and Marco stood shoulder to shoulder.

  Both trembling.

  Both terrified.

  The creature—William—tilted his head. The grin returned—too sharp, too knowing. The Karit hummed with hunger.

  The shoreline wind finally stirred.

  The watcher in red whispered one word beneath his breath—

  “Interesting.”

  And the creature lunged.