THE BREAK BETWEEN BREATHS
Raul stood against his car, a sleek black machine that glinted under the weak, overcast light. The polish on its surface was immaculate, reflecting the morning like a distorted mirror. His hand rested lightly on the hood, fingers tapping out a rhythm so faint it barely registered—but Sirreth felt it. Each tap ticked in his mind, slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat counting down to something inevitable.
Raul's dark hair framed his face with an almost deliberate precision, the strands falling neatly across his forehead. Every feature of his face was too symmetrical, too sharp like it had been chiselled to perfection. Except for the scar.
The scar slashed across his cheek, jagged and stark against his pale skin. It started just below his eye and carved its way down to the line of his jaw, uneven but impossible to ignore. Sirreth's eyes locked onto it, his breath catching. His chest felt tight, his lungs resisting every inhale. He couldn't look away.
That scar—it wasn't just a mark. It was a story, a reminder, an accusation. And it twisted Raul's face into something alien. His gaze flicked up to Raul's eyes—grey and cold, sharp as shards of glass. There was no fury in them, no gloating, but that made it worse. Raul didn't need anger. His smirk said everything.
The faint curve of his lips pulled at the scar, making it move with a life of its own. Sirreth's stomach churned. It felt wrong—Raul shouldn't be smiling. Not like that. Not at him.
The parking lot faded. The muffled sound of footsteps blurred into a distant hum. Raul became the only thing in focus, too vivid, like he was lit from within. Sirreth's body tensed, his fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeves until his nails bit into his palms. He didn't feel the sting.
Raul tilted his head slightly, a slow, calculated movement that caught the light on the scar again. The tap of his fingers stopped, and the absence of sound made Sirreth's pulse roar in his ears. His breaths came short and fast, but he barely noticed.
The fragments clawed their way to the surface, jagged and incomplete. Blood.
The metallic taste of it coating his tongue.
The snap of something breaking—flesh? Bone?
A scream. His? Raul's?
Sirreth blinked, but the image of Raul's scar burned into the backs of his eyelids, searing like an ember pressed to his skin. Raul shifted again, leaning slightly forward, his weight pressing onto his fingertips as they trailed along the hood of the car. The movement was subtle, so casual it felt mocking. The smirk deepened, twisting the scar into something cruel, something alive.
"Sirree?" Bella's voice reached him, faint and distorted, like it was coming from underwater. She was close now, her presence warm and grounding, but it didn't pull him back.
Raul's grey eyes locked on him. They didn't blink, didn't waver. They pierced through Sirreth, carving into him with something cold and deliberate. It wasn't anger. It was worse—something calm, detached like Raul was waiting.
The students weren't moving. Sirreth saw them out of his eye, their gazes darting between him and Raul. They weren't laughing or whispering like they should have been. They were watching. Waiting for something to happen. For him to break.
Bella's hand on his arm jolted him, a sudden burst of warmth against the ice creeping through his veins. He flinched, his head snapping slightly toward her, but his eyes flicked back to Raul immediately, drawn to him like gravity.
"Sirree, you're scaring me," Bella said, her voice sharper now. "What's going on? Who is that?"
Her words barely registered. His thoughts fractured, the edges of memory and reality clashing.
Flesh beneath his teeth.
The sound of a snarl—his? Someone else's?
Hands grabbing him, jerking him back.
Blood dripping, hot and thick, onto the ground.
Raul's hand stilled completely, his fingers splaying out against the hood of the car. He leaned back slightly, but the smirk stayed, his lips barely parting as if to speak. He didn't, but the shape of it was enough to make Sirreth's stomach turn.
"Sirree." Bella's grip tightened on his arm. She was pulling at him now, her voice cracking with frustration. "Look at me. Please."
He couldn't. He didn't even know if his legs would hold him if he tried to move. His chest felt like it might collapse under the weight of Raul's gaze, the smirk, the scar. The fragments of memory churned harder now, unrelenting.
Blood on his hands.
Teeth sinking into something soft, then meeting resistance.
The faint metallic tang flooding his mouth.
The scar burned into his vision. It was his. He didn't know how he knew, but he did.
The students lingered, their gazes sharp and uncomfortable, their anticipation suffocating. Raul's smirk stayed in place, his presence overwhelming even in its stillness.
Sirreth's hands trembled, his nails digging harder into his sleeves, but he remained frozen, the world shrinking to the suffocating weight of Raul's gaze and the jagged, undeniable truth:
The scar was his to give.
The thought lingered like a cold brand, pressing deeper into Sirreth's mind, even as the air around him thickened with the weight of something unspoken. The noise of the parking lot seemed distant, muted, the faint shuffle of students a dull hum beneath his pulse.
Then came the shriek.
A high-pitched, unnatural scream ripped through the quiet, sharp and metallic. Sirreth flinched, the sound digging into his ears like nails. The noise came again, louder this time, dragging his attention outward, forcing him to look.
A van.
It careened across the lot, the tyres screeching against the slick asphalt. The brakes howled in protest, refusing to catch. Sirreth's eyes locked on it, his chest tightening as the van swerved wildly, its heavy frame spinning toward the rows of parked cars—and toward him.
The students froze.
Everywhere, faces turned slack with fear. Their movements stopped mid-step, their voices swallowed by the van's unrelenting approach. It was like the world itself had held its breath.
He saw Raul then.
The smirk was gone, wiped clean from his face. His expression twisted into something stark and raw—wide eyes, parted lips, frozen terror. The confidence Raul wore as armour shattered in an instant, leaving behind only the hollow vulnerability of someone who knew the inevitable was coming.
That expression—so vulnerable, so exposed—forced Sirreth's gaze back to the oncoming van.
It was closer now.
The hulking frame of the vehicle dominated his vision, the shadow it cast swallowing the icy pavement. The tyres screeched louder, skidding as the van fought the slippery ground. His breath caught, sharp and painful, as his chest tightened further.
Every detail stood out in vivid clarity: the blue paint reflecting the pale morning light, the driver's white-knuckled grip on the wheel, the faint mist of exhaust curling in the cold air. Sirreth couldn't look away. The noise of the parking lot, the students, and even Bella faded, leaving only the van.
It was all he could see.
It filled his vision now, rushing toward him. His muscles tensed, frozen, his body unresponsive even as his mind screamed for him to move.
And then it hit.
Not the van—the force came out of nowhere, a blur of motion slamming into him with inhuman speed. His back hit the side of Bella's truck, hard, the impact rattling through his bones as metal groaned under the strain. Then came the crack—a sharp, sickening noise as his head struck the edge of the truck's door frame. White-hot pain erupted in his skull, a flash that seared through his senses and left his vision swimming.
His vision shattered like glass, the world tilting violently as a hot burst consumed his senses.
The noise disappeared.
For a moment, there was nothing—no van, no students, no Raul. Only the ache radiating from the back of his head, a dull and relentless throb that pulsed through his body.
When the world returned, it came back in fragments.
He was slumped against something—Bella's truck? The icy chill of the metal pressed into his back, grounding him faintly as his senses reeled. The hiss of steam cut through the silence, faint but sharp, accompanied by the acrid stench of burnt rubber.
He blinked, his vision blurry, the edges of the parking lot tilting as he tried to focus. Slowly, shapes began to form: the crumpled nose of the van, twisted inward like paper; the shattered glass scattered across the asphalt, glittering faintly in the light.
And there, in front of him, were two pale hands.
They were pressed firmly against the van's mangled hood, the hands planted on the dented metal with an ease that felt unreal. Sirreth's gaze climbed upward, his breath catching painfully as the figure came into focus.
Edward Cullen.
He stood rigid, his posture unyielding, his golden eyes cool and unreadable. The crumpled remains of the van hissed beneath his palms, but Edward didn't look fazed. He didn't look human.
The fragments of the moment collided in Sirreth's mind—Raul's shattered smirk, the oncoming van, the impact that had thrown him back. His head throbbed again, a steady ache burrowing deeper with every passing second. The metal of Bella's truck pressed cold and unyielding against his spine, but his eyes were locked on Edward, unable to look away.
It didn't make sense. None of it did.
"Sirree..." Bella's voice was faint, trembling. "Are you okay?"
He tried to answer, but the words slipped away, lost somewhere in the churning haze of his thoughts. His chest heaved as he fought to steady his breathing, each inhale scraping against his ribs. The air felt heavy, too thick to draw in fully, and something sharp and distant buzzed at the edges of his awareness. He clenched his jaw, willing the pounding in his head to ease, but it only grew worse—a steady, unrelenting drumbeat that rattled through his skull.
The world around him tilted, slightly at first, like the ground beneath his feet was no longer solid. He blinked hard, but the sensation didn't pass. The edges of his vision wavered, shadows twisting and bending as though he were underwater. He swayed, his hand reaching out instinctively, but it only brushed the air before falling uselessly back to his side.
"Sirree!" Bella's voice sharpened, closer now, but it sounded warped, like a recording played at the wrong speed. He turned toward her, or at least he thought he did—her face flickered in and out of focus, a pale blur against the shifting grey of the overcast sky.
A tremor started in his fingers, faint but insistent, crawling up his arms like static electricity. He pressed his hands to the truck, trying to ground himself, but the sensation deepened the disconnect. The cold metal burned against his palms, too sharp, too real, while the rest of the world seemed to fade, dissolving into a smear of distorted shapes and colours.
The light reflecting off the cars was blinding now, fractured into jagged shards that pierced his vision no matter where he looked. His stomach churned, and the pavement under his feet seemed to tilt again, rolling like a ship caught in a storm. He tried to steady himself, but his knees buckled, his back slamming into the truck again with a dull thud.
Then came the screams.
The students burst into life, their panicked voices colliding in a chaotic roar. Footsteps pounded across the asphalt, shouts rang out, and the low hum of someone calling emergency responders buzzed faintly in the background.
"Get Tyler out of the van!"
"Is someone on the phone?"
"Help—over here!"
The cacophony swelled, pressing against Sirreth like a weight he couldn't shake. His chest heaved, but his breaths came shallow and uneven, the metallic taste of blood sharp in his mouth. Each inhale snagged on something invisible, his lungs fighting for air that refused to come.
"Sirree!" Bella's voice broke through the noise, sharp and panicked. Her hands gripped his arm, pulling him forward with surprising force.
"Lean your head down," she said, her voice trembling. "Do it now!"
Sirreth obeyed numbly, the motion was sluggish and unsteady as the world around him pulsed and blurred. Bella's fingers brushed the back of his head, and he felt her freeze.
"Oh, God," she gasped. "You're bleeding."
Her words barely registered. The warmth of his blood trickling down the back of his neck felt oddly detached like it belonged to someone else. Bella pressed her palm carefully against the base of his skull, her breath trembling as she tried to steady him.
"Stay still," she said softly, her voice wavering but determined.
But Sirreth couldn't stay still—not entirely. His fingers twitched uncontrollably at his sides, curling and uncurling in uneven spasms. His vision fractured, dark spots creeping into the corners, interspersed with flashes of stark white light that burned into his retinas. The parking lot flickered like a faulty film reel, colours bleeding into one another. For a moment, he swore he saw Raul's smirk, stark and twisted against the flashing brightness, but when he blinked, it was gone.
The distant hum of the parking lot turned sharp and shrill, the sounds blending into a single, high-pitched whine that clawed at his ears. The shapes of cars distorted, elongating unnaturally as if the world was warping around him.
"Bella..." he tried to say, but the word came out as a broken hum, swallowed by the rushing static filling his head. His knees began to buckle, the strength in his legs draining away with every passing moment.
The pounding in his head grew relentless, a brutal hammering that echoed through every fibre of his being. Brief, flickering images invaded his sight—trees bending unnaturally, a flash of blood-soaked pavement, the sharp glint of shattered glass. None of it made sense, the disjointed hallucinations melting into the spinning haze of his surroundings.
His heart raced erratically, its rhythm mismatched with the frantic chaos in his mind. The air felt colder now, biting against his skin even as sweat slicked his forehead. Somewhere in the distance, Bella's voice wavered, but it was overwhelmed by the flashing lights and Raul's distorted laughter, echoing in his mind.
The dizziness swelled into something unbearable. The world tilted sharply, and for a brief, agonizing moment, Sirreth wasn't sure which way was up. His body jerked suddenly, a sharp shudder that rippled through him. The lights danced faster now, harsh and disorienting, and his vision burned with afterimages of shadows he couldn't place.
Around them, the chaos overflowed.
"Someone call again!"
"They're hurt—get them out!"
"The driver—are they okay?"
The sound came in broken fragments, words splintering and scattering like leaves caught in the wind. Sirreth's head pounded relentlessly, a brutal rhythm that seemed to grow sharper with each passing second. His breaths were shallow and uneven, scraping against his ribs as though his lungs could barely keep up.
"...even listening to yourself?" Bella's voice punched through the haze, sharp and furious, but it was distorted, like a radio signal fading in and out. "You didn't... him... okay!"
The words slipped away, swallowed by the deafening roar in his head. Then came the pain—sharp, sudden, and blinding, like a lightning strike detonating at the base of his skull. It spread outward in jagged waves, settling behind his eyes with a crushing weight that made his vision blur.
Sirreth blinked sluggishly, but the world swam before him, the faint outlines of the parking lot twisting and shifting. His body felt disconnected, and heavy, like it wasn't his own. The warmth of blood running down his neck felt distant, unreal.
"...choice," Edward's voice followed, low and clipped, but Sirreth only caught the edges of it. Static filled the gaps, a high-pitched whine that pulsed in time with the throbbing in his head.
"...slammed him into a truck!" Bella's words cut through, sharp and trembling. "He's... breathing... something's wrong!"
Her voice cracked with panic, but Sirreth couldn't hold onto it. The edges of his vision flickered, dark shadows creeping inward as bright, strobing lights flashed in and out of existence. The lights burned, carving into his sight like jagged shards of glass. He tried to move, to speak, but his body refused to obey, his muscles twitching faintly in uneven spasms.
"Sirree?" Bella's voice came again, closer this time, but it faded mid-syllable, lost in the roaring noise that consumed his thoughts. "Hey... hear me... say something..."
He couldn't make sense of it. Her words were fragments, scattering before they could connect into meaning. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe through the sharp, crushing pain spreading through his head. Every beat of his pulse sent another wave of agony crashing through his skull, leaving him gasping.
"...alive," Edward said, his voice fractured and barely audible, "I stopped... matters."
"...not enough!" Bella snapped, but her words were hollow, slipping away into static. "Look at him...needs help!"
Sirreth's thoughts splintered further, shattering under the weight of their words and the relentless pounding in his head. Flashes of distorted images—Raul's twisted grin, the truck's dull red, Bella's pale, frantic face—flickered across his vision, each one fading before he could make sense of it. The headache pressed harder, sharper, carving through him with unbearable force.
"...please!" Bella's voice cracked, sharp and desperate. Her hands found his arm, shaking him gently, but the touch barely registered. "Sirree... me."
The ringing in his ears grew louder, a keening noise that smothered everything else. His body trembled faintly, muscles jerking involuntarily, and his head lolled forward as the strength drained from him entirely. He thought he heard Bella's voice again, but it was faint now, distant and unreachable.
Sirreth didn't know how long it had been. Time seemed to stretch and fold in on itself, moments slipping through his fingers like sand. The focus in his mind was ebbing out, every coherent thought unravelling, leaving only the pounding ache in his skull. It felt as if he were everywhere at once—floating, sinking, spinning—his body and mind disconnected in a way that was both terrifying and numbing.
He didn't know when the EMTs arrived or when the van had been moved. The world around him had fractured into fleeting, disjointed moments—flashes of red and blue light, voices rising and falling in urgency, and the relentless pounding in his head. He wasn't in his body anymore, not fully. It felt as though he'd been yanked free, floating just above the chaos, watching it all unfold like a dream.
The EMTs surrounded his prone body, working with steady urgency. One knelt by his head, shining a flashlight into his eyes, while another stabilized his neck with gloved hands. Sirreth could see his own pale face, blood-streaked along his temple and pooling beneath him on the pavement. It didn't feel real, didn't feel like him.
"Pupils sluggish—left is blown," the EMT with the flashlight said grimly. "Possible intracranial bleed. BP's low—88 over 54."
"Prep the oxygen," another EMT said sharply. "15 litres, non-rebreather. Stabilize the C-spine—we can't risk moving him yet."
"Sirree, can you hear me?" The flashlight moved again, stark and sharp as it traced across his vision. "Blink if you can hear me."
The light burned into his retinas, but he couldn't respond. His body didn't move. Instead, his focus drifted to the crowd of students hovering a short distance away. Faces pale, mouths agape, eyes wide with horror—they stood frozen in place, their fear radiating like a tangible force.
The EMTs barked at them, trying to keep the chaos at bay. "Everyone, move back!Now!"
The students shifted hesitantly, their movements slow, as if they couldn't quite process what they were seeing. Jessica Stanley clung to Angela Weber, her face streaked with tears, while Mike Newton stood further back, his hands buried in his hair. Even Lauren Mallory, normally composed and cool, looked stricken, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Sirreth's gaze shifted again, landing on Bella. She was crouched nearby, her hands trembling and slick with blood—his blood. It streaked her arms, dripped faintly onto the pavement, and shone under the flashing lights. She wasn't crying, wasn't speaking, just staring at him with wide, glassy eyes. The EMTs moved toward her, their voices firm.
"Ma'am, you need to step back," one said, reaching for her arm.
Bella blinked slowly, her hands falling limply to her sides. She didn't argue, didn't protest. She let them guide her back a few steps, her body moving mechanically, but her eyes never left Sirreth's convulsing form.
"Pupillary reaction's worsening," the EMT by his head said. "We need to reassess. Sirree, can you follow my voice? Can you move anything for me?"
The flashlight swept across his face again, but before they could continue, it hit.
His body convulsed sharply, jerking upward as his back arched off the ground. His limbs flailed violently, colliding with the pavement in erratic, uncontrollable spasms. He felt the impact of his own body but as though from a great distance, as though it weren't truly his.
"Seizing!" the EMT shouted. "Hold the C-spine steady! We need suction now!"
The EMTs moved quickly. One braced his head and neck while another tilted him slightly to the side to prevent aspiration. Foam bubbled at the corners of his mouth, faint but growing as his jaw clenched tightly.
"Keep his airway clear!"
"Pulse's irregular—prep for transport immediately!"
"Get that suction in—don't let him aspirate!"
Bella had stepped back further now, standing numbly with her arms folded close to her chest. Her hands, still streaked with blood, trembled uncontrollably. She didn't say anything, just stared as though frozen in place.
The seizure peaked, Sirreth's body convulsing harder, his head twisting to the side. His muscles locked and released in jagged, violent waves. He could hear the EMTs shouting, their words blending with the rising static in his ears, but he couldn't make sense of it anymore.
"Seizure dissipating—postictal state."
"Shallow respirations, oxygen at 90%. Bag him if it drops further."
"Suspected intracranial bleed—prep for immediate transport."
Sirreth floated, detached from the chaos below. His body on the stretcher twitched faintly now, the violent convulsions easing into weak, erratic jerks. The EMTs worked efficiently, their voices crisp and urgent, but their words reached him as though through water, muffled and distorted.
He couldn't feel anything—no pain, no pressure, no weight. His awareness hovered somewhere above the flashing lights, the blur of faces, the streak of red pooling beneath his head on the pavement. His vision drifted, settling briefly on Bella. She stood a few feet away, pale and trembling, her bloodied hands clutched tightly to her chest. She moved without resistance as an EMT guided her further back, her eyes wide and glassy with shock, never leaving his prone form.
The crunch of gravel and the sharp slam of a car door pierced the static. Charlie was there now, moving with purpose. His face was stoic, controlled, but Sirreth saw the cracks in his expression—the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands balled briefly into fists before he approached the EMTs. His father's presence should have comforted him, but from this distant place, it barely registered.
"Charlie!" Bella's voice cracked as she stumbled toward him. Her bloodied hands hovered as though unsure what to do. "He—he was seizing. He—he—" Her words tumbled out, broken and frantic.
Charlie steadied her with a firm hand on her shoulder, his voice quiet but commanding. "They've got him," he said, though his eyes flicked back to Sirreth's still form on the stretcher. His voice trembled for just a second before he continued, "Let them do their job."
He stepped forward, his police instincts kicking in to suppress the storm of fear and helplessness swirling inside him.
"What's his status?" Charlie asked, his voice clipped and professional.
"Severe seizure likely caused by head trauma," one EMT replied. "Left pupil's blown—suspected intracranial pressure. He's postictal, but we need transport now."
Charlie's hand went to his radio, his voice sharp and steady. "Forks PD, this is Chief Swan. I need all units to clear the roads from Forks High to Forks General Hospital. Emergency transport en route. Code three. Priority one."
A burst of static crackled before a quick response followed. "Copy that, Chief. Units mobilizing. Roads are clear."
"You've got a clear path," Charlie said, his voice hardening as he turned back to the EMTs. "I'll escort you."
The EMTs nodded as they lifted the stretcher into the ambulance with careful precision. Sirreth's body sagged against the orange fabric, his chest rising and falling in weak, shallow breaths. Charlie turned to Bella again, who stood frozen near his cruiser. Her hands, smeared with blood, hung at her sides, trembling. Her tear-streaked face was etched with helplessness as she watched the EMTs secure Sirreth inside the ambulance.
"I want to go with them," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Charlie shook his head gently. "Let them do their job, Bella. You'll only slow them down."
"But what if—" Her voice broke, and she pressed her hands to her mouth, her sobs shaking her shoulders. "What if something happens?"
Charlie softened, his voice quiet but firm. "I'll be right behind them. I promise. We'll get him there."
Bella nodded weakly, stepping back toward the cruiser, her movements wooden. Charlie gave her shoulder a brief squeeze before turning and climbing into his vehicle.
The ambulance doors slammed shut with a final, metallic clang, the sound reverberating through the air. The sirens wailed, piercing and loud, as the vehicle sped off with Charlie's cruiser following closely, its lights flashing in sync.
Inside the ambulance, Sirreth's world flickered. The detachment wavered, the stillness cracking as a sharp tug seemed to pull at the edges of his awareness. The EMTs leaned over him, their hands adjusting the oxygen mask, voices murmuring faintly.
"Hold steady. Pupils still blown—stabilize his head."
"Oxygen saturation climbing—91%. Keep monitoring."
And then, like a taut wire snapping, Sirreth was yanked back into his body.
The transition was abrupt and jarring. The searing pain at the base of his skull flared to life, spreading through his head like wildfire. His chest heaved, his lungs fighting against the oxygen mask that now felt suffocating and foreign. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint, harsh lights flashing in bursts that made his head pound harder.
The voices around him grew louder, and clearer, crashing over him all at once. The jolts of the moving ambulance rattled through his frame, every bump sharp and unrelenting. The weight of his own body bore down on him, overwhelming and too real, as though the numbness of before had been stripped away.
Sirreth's fingers twitched weakly, a faint response he couldn't control. His breath hitched, ragged and shallow, as the weight of consciousness threatened to pull him under again. The last thing he registered before the darkness claimed him once more was the sound of the sirens blaring and the faint echo of Charlie's voice over the radio.
Darkness. Endless, suffocating darkness.
It had no edges, no beginning or end. Sirreth floated in it, weightless and disconnected, as though time itself had unravelled. He didn't know how long he had been there—it could have been seconds, hours, or an eternity. The void pressed in on him, cold and heavy, filling every space, every thought. There was no sound, no movement, no feeling. He was nothing here.
Then came the first ripple. A faint tremor in the stillness, barely noticeable but enough to shift the silence. It tugged at him, pulling him downward, and for the first time, he felt the faintest echo of weight. His chest tightened a pressure building like an unseen tide rising within him. The darkness pulsed now, alive and vast, and Sirreth felt himself sinking, drawn into its depths.
And then, motion.
It wasn't gradual—it was sudden and violent, like being ripped from still waters and plunged into a current. The darkness shattered into fragments, and Sirreth found himself running. His legs moved on instinct, tiny and trembling, his bare feet slapping against the cold, uneven earth. The forest around him surged into existence, its skeletal trees towering impossibly high, their branches twisting like jagged claws against a starless sky.
The air was cold, biting against his skin, but he barely noticed. Fear flooded every inch of him, raw and unrelenting, driving him forward. He didn't know what he was running from, but he didn't need to. He could feel it—something above him, behind him, watching, hunting. The shadows moved through the treetops, silent and deliberate, their forms flickering like smoke, their presence suffocating.
The ground beneath his feet turned uneven, roots and stones reaching to trip him. His small frame stumbled, tiny hands flailing for balance before he caught himself against a tree. The bark bit into his palms, rough and splintering, but he pushed off and kept running. Tears streaked his cheeks, but he didn't wipe them away. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, the sound drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.
Above him, the shadows gathered. They weren't moving randomly—they were circling, closing in, their hollow, formless bodies flickering in and out of sight. Sirreth didn't dare look up. He could feel their gazes—sharp and piercing, drilling into him, their silent hunger pressing closer.
The forest grew darker, the air heavier. Each step became harder, the soft earth dragging at his feet, slowing him down. His small legs ached, his chest heaving with every desperate breath, but he couldn't stop. He had to keep going.
A sharp crack echoed above, and Sirreth flinched. His foot caught on a root, and he fell hard, the breath knocked from his lungs as he hit the ground. He lay there for a moment, stunned, his tiny hands clawing at the dirt. He tried to push himself up, but his strength was gone, his trembling arms giving out beneath him.
The shadows stopped.
The air went still, the forest holding its breath. Slowly, Sirreth lifted his wide, tear-filled eyes, his small frame shaking with fear. The shadows hung above him, shifting and twisting, their forms impossibly long and unnatural. They seemed to pulse, their edges flickering like flames, their presence crushing as they watched him, waiting.
One moved first. It slipped from the treetops, its long, crooked limbs reaching down as it descended. More followed, their bodies merging and splitting apart, circling him in an inescapable ring. Sirreth tried to crawl backwards, his tiny feet scrabbling against the dirt, but the ground gave way beneath him, soft and unstable. He couldn't escape.
And then—something stepped into the light.
The figure was small, with the same frame, and the same features, yet it was different. Its skin glowed faintly, pale and translucent as if it were not entirely solid. Its eyes were striking—glowing lilac, cold and unfeeling, apathetic as they stared at him. There was no comfort in that gaze, no warmth. It watched him with detachment, as though he were nothing more than a curiosity.
The shadows retreated further as the figure approached. Sirreth's small body shook as he tried to press himself into the ground, his fingers curling weakly into the dirt. He couldn't run. He couldn't fight. All he could do was watch as the figure knelt before him.
The glowing eyes stayed locked on him, piercing and unreadable. For a moment, the figure simply stared, its presence heavy and overwhelming. Then, without warning, it leaned forward and wrapped its arms around him.
The embrace was warm, startlingly so. Sirreth stiffened, his small frame tensing at the unfamiliar sensation. The figure held him gently, its grip firm but not crushing, its warmth seeping into him, driving out the cold that had gripped him moments before. His trembling began to subside as the warmth spread through him, steadying him. Yet even in the embrace, the glowing lilac eyes remained open, staring over his shoulder at something unseen, distant and unknowable.
For a brief moment, Sirreth felt safe, whole. But the warmth faded too quickly, stolen by a violent, jarring pull.
The forest shattered around him, crumbling into fragments of darkness. The figure disappeared, replaced by cold, harsh light. Pain exploded at the base of his skull, sharp and searing, yanking him back into himself. His chest heaved, dragging in shallow, desperate breaths as reality surged back in a rush of noise and motion.
The heaviness was suffocating, a weight that pressed Sirreth down into the bed, anchoring him to the void. His body felt wrong—distant, disconnected, as though it wasn't entirely his. The faint rhythmic beeping of a machine pulsed somewhere nearby, a hollow sound that echoed in his skull. He became aware of cool air brushing against his nose, and something invasive at the back of his throat, pressing uncomfortably every time he tried to breathe.
What's happening? The thought was fleeting, slipping away before he could grasp it. His chest rose shakily, the effort monumental, and the fog in his mind refused to clear.
A voice broke through, soft yet steady. "Sirree? If you can hear me, try to squeeze my hand."
The words were an anchor in the haze, pulling him closer to awareness. He focused on the coolness at his side—a hand, firm but careful, gripping his own. It took every ounce of effort to respond, but his fingers twitched faintly.
"That's good," the voice said, calm and encouraging. "You're waking up. Take your time."
The fog began to thin, sensations filtering in slowly. The cool weight of a blanket over his legs. The dull, aching pressure at the base of his skull. The rhythmic hiss of air from the tube helped him breathe. His eyelids fluttered, but the brightness beyond them stung, forcing them closed again.
"Sirree," the voice came again, low and melodic. "It's alright. You're safe now."
He tried again, slower this time. The light burned at first, but gradually, it softened, resolving into blurs of white and pale yellow. A figure leaned over him, the edges sharpening as his vision steadied.
At first, Sirreth thought he was dreaming.
The man was impossibly striking. Golden hair framed his face, catching the overhead light like a halo, every strand perfectly in place. His skin glowed faintly, pale and flawless as if carved from marble. His honey-coloured eyes were steady, watching Sirreth with a calmness that seemed to envelop the room. He wore a white coat, pristine and unwrinkled, with his hands poised as though they held the world steady.
For a moment, Sirreth thought he might be an angel.
"You're awake," the man said, his tone warm and deliberate. His smile was soft and careful. "It's good to see you."
Sirreth's gaze flickered, his thoughts sluggish and fractured. He didn't know who this man was, but there was something about him—his voice, his presence—that stirred something faint and far away in Sirreth's mind.
"Do you remember me?" the man asked, tilting his head slightly, his golden eyes studying Sirreth closely. His tone was kind, but there was an edge of curiosity beneath it, a quiet urgency.
The words hung in the air. Sirreth's chest hitched as he tried to respond, but the breathing tube made the attempt impossible. His throat ached, raw and tight, and his panic rose faintly, gnawing at the edges of his fragile awareness.
"Easy," the man said quickly, his voice soothing. "Don't fight it. The tube is there to help you. We'll remove it soon."
The reassurance steadied him, but his gaze stayed locked on the man. Those golden eyes—unblinking, perceptive—seemed to see through him. He couldn't answer the question, couldn't form a thought strong enough to hold onto. He stared at the man's face, searching for something he couldn't name.
"You've been unconscious for a week," the man continued, his words measured but gentle. "You had surgery to relieve pressure on your brain. It'll take time to recover, but you're doing well. Better than expected."
The name hit Sirreth like a spark, faint but startling.Carlisle.It stirred something deep in his mind, a flicker of familiarity that slipped away as quickly as it came. He stared at the man, his exhaustion pulling at him, and Carlisle smiled again, soft and reassuring.
"You're safe now," he said, his voice lulling. "Take your time. I'll be here."
The words were an anchor, grounding Sirreth even as his eyes fluttered shut again. The last thing he saw was the faint halo of Carlisle's hair, glowing like sunlight, and the soft curve of his lips as he spoke again, though Sirreth was too far gone to hear the words.
—
LAST EDITED:28/11/2024