Join me in night painted with crimson and black.

The moon barely lit the path Tiyan had chosen. He knew the forest – or at least most of it. He had spent nights in the wilderness before, but rarely had he felt so exposed. The cold bit into places he had thought were well protected. The cold stars gave off no light. Tiyan was alone – and solitude in the darkness was dangerous. Night had begun to rule over the forest, making the branches look like hands and the roots like claws.

Tiyan wasn’t a child, but once, when he had gotten lost in the forest, he knew he had to keep animals at bay with fire and not provoke them. Even as a little boy, he knew how to survive in the thicket, because back then, nothing cloaked in magic stalked him, nothing seethed with unquenchable hunger, dreaming of his soul.

After the Great War, creatures from long-forgotten tales made it clear that they could – and would – cross the boundaries between kingdoms. And humans, as victims, as those who had lost their free will, had to accept it. They were merely fodder for the darkness.

Tiyan couldn’t even bring himself to hate the fae. All the inhabitants of the Vennklan Valley knew who was responsible for their torment. They knew – but they could do nothing. And so the hatred faded, leaving only a cold will to survive.

Snow. Snow muffled emotions, as if enchanted, like a pillow that both suffocates and soothes.

Tiyan adjusted the sack on his back and moved down the slope, still seeing no lights from the village.

He knew he should be able to see them by now. He had an inner compass tied to a clock in his body that had never failed him. He should, in truth, already be in the village.

And that could mean only one thing. Or rather, two.

He was lost in the dark. Or… someone had twisted the paths and led him astray. Or rather… something.

Inhale. Exhale. Once, twice. Was that the sound of a breaking branch, there, to the left? Did the mourning call of the nightjar sound louder than it should have?

Tiyan couldn’t let himself panic. If it was the Fae toying with him, only calm could save him. Think. Think. Don’t let yourself be deceived if they try to enchant you.

But if they attacked and wanted to eat him…

There were times when Tiyan would have said the little folk rarely ventured near the Vennklan Valley, sticking to the main roads where it was easier to feed on emotions, fear, and human flesh. But he was aware that it was only his luck that had kept his encounters with the fae limited. Still hoping that he had simply gotten lost, that nothing was creeping behind him, hungrily catching his scent, he trudged onward, determined not to surrender to fear.

To feel fear in the forest is to stay alive.

Perhaps. But fear dulls the senses and makes you think only of escape, and every interaction with the Fae required precision and quick reflexes. Which he certainly lacked now.

His path still led down the slope, and now even his doubt-filled mind had to admit that the roads had shifted, and the call of the nightjar sounded like the hysterical song of a drunken bard.

Don’t lose your nerve. Not now. It’s another game. And you are their prey.

He began to walk faster, not looking back. The rustle of trees reached him with doubled force; the forest was speaking, sharing secrets he didn’t want to know. The path became steeper and steeper, and it seemed to him that one of the roots was sliding toward him, slowly crawling, dragging soil along. The snow clung to his feet like sticky spider webs.

His heart began to beat in rhythm with the forest, which he felt under his skin. The forest, which was the domain of the Faerie, just like the snow and the icy cold. The forest, which seemed to cut into his spirit, his body, and his thoughts.

He had no friend in it – the wilderness preferred the illusory beauty of the immortals to the fragile – and short – thread of human life.

The wall of darkness seemed to press against him, touch him, the night danced around him as if it were a living creature. One that longed for him to surrender and offer his life in sacrifice. He thought he heard laughter – clear as crystal and just as deceptive as the fae folk themselves.

He felt it more than he saw or heard it. The branches seemed to reach toward him; one of them caught on his hat – it fell into the snow, right beside him. And when he gave up all hope that it was merely an illusion, that fear was painting false visions before his eyes, he could do only one thing.

He sat down in the wet snow, ignoring the cold sucking the warmth from his body through his soaked clothes. He closed his eyes; he shut off his thoughts – or at least tried to erase every image and every word that might oppose the power that would soon begin to penetrate him.

A wave of wings attacked him almost immediately. Delicate Fae brushed him in a maddened jig, tore away his scarves, bit into his clothes, trying to find an exposed spot to reach his body. The darkness around him seemed to tighten, wrapping him in a cocoon. Fear began to force unwanted thoughts into his mind, and his life depended on their absence.

When he was sure the moment would never come, when the dance of wings seemed to last an eternity, he heard the voice of one of the Fae. Directly in his head. He clenched his eyelids even tighter.

“Human prey. He knows the ancient laws. He knows the rules of the old speech. And he seeks to avoid death by invoking them.”

Tiyan knew that now every answer he gave could be cruelly torn to pieces and used against him. He decided to give the simplest responses, so the fae couldn’t latch onto his words.

“I respect the ancient laws of the Fair Folk.”

“But he refuses a meal? Refuses bone and flesh?”

“My bones and flesh are worthless.”

“On the contrary! Good blood—we feel it in his veins.”

“I can… I can offer something else.”

“A human, a human?”

“No. Animals. But bigger than me, with more flesh, bones, and blood. I can hunt them for you, fill you with their fear.”

“Animals here do not feel fear. Animals rot until they grow numb. We can hunt them too. Poor trade.”

But they can feel despair, thought Tiyan, recalling the look of the anglor he had killed, deliberately not responding to the last remark. His options were dwindling.

“But no human soul. Human souls are so delicious.”

Laughter. Like wind-chimes stirred by the breeze.

Tiyan didn’t know how to respond. He would have panicked if not for the second voice that joined the first. Which was strange, because the melding of minds was only possible between one human and one fae. The second voice began to speak quickly, and soon another joined, something that was beyond his comprehension.

“This is…”

“… it’s him…”

“… it’s him…”

“No… it’s impossible…”

“He commanded…”

“… never defy the shadow…”

“… never defy the night…”

More voices joined, and soon Tiyan heard a cacophony of sound in his head, tearing at his skull, thundering in it like an avalanche.

And it ended as quickly as it had begun. And before him were the familiar lights of his village – cozy, though not promising much.

To him, they promised life.

Shaking, Tiyan stood up, grabbed the sack of meat, checked if it hadn’t been emptied by the ravenous Fae, and staggered toward the lights. The voice of the Faerie haunted him all the way to his doorstep. A voice through which he heard again and again: “It’s him.”

They knew him, knew who he was – whoever he was to them. And since they hadn’t killed him, it meant they planned to play with him, which was worse than death.

Never defy the shadow.

He wouldn’t dare.

As long as he could stay away from any shadow that hid secrets full of teeth and wings.

The cold mist has taken over the forest, dancing between the trees, and obscuring the setting sun with gossamer veils. Day was giving way to night, the last throes of the moderate safety the sunlight was offering. Dusk has painted the sky crimson, promising to spill the red not only between the clouds.

Tiyan’s tired feet left footprints in the thick snow – they were impressing in the white and soon, disappearing, swallowed by the falling petals. The silent landscape seemed to laugh at his efforts, but the boy knew he couldn’t return home without a kill. Hunger was creeping into his house – and not just his. The whole Vennklan valley was frozen in time – held in cruel talons of eternal winter. It sapped their strength and drove them to despair. This winter felt harsher, as if it wanted to see how long they could live in these conditions without breaking in half.

Some were broken.

Some were still fighting.

Some, like Tiyan, had certain skills that helped them survive. Existence became a string of days that dragged through the snow like a wounded moose, an endless darkness with no hope for the better. Maybe only for the worse.

Tiyan felt the cold creep under his jacket and he tucked himself deeper into the layers of scarves. This kind of clothing slowed him down, but he had no choice. The freezing air liked to find holes in his defenses.

He was equipped with a sharp hunting knife which he kept in leather sheath by the belt and a short spear, his freezing hands, which he couldn’t hide in gloves, were barely usable.

But the wind, the cruel wind, had brought the scent of the carcass. Which could be his salvation.

Where there is fresh carcass, there is at least one anglor.

Anglors, the scavenging type of wolf that evolved during the long winter – touched by decaying magic –  were among the biggest but at the same time weakest animals in the Vennklan forests. Only them, and a few other species, hadn’t been touched by the dark spells that made them inedible. And even if the skin of an angler was full of rot, its flesh was mostlyclear and, though bitter in taste, didn’t cause illness.

Before the Fae invasion, no one would have thought of eating a canine. Now, twelve years after it, everything had changed.

The woods were filled with ill-fated creatures, sometimes people would disappear and return – white-haired, with dead eyes, almost frozen – but still breathing, like puppets held together by some unknown and terrifying force.

His father always told him that the Vennklan valley was still in better shape than the villages in the mountains, closer to the Unseelie Realm. This was only partly true. The animals they usually hunted lost their common sense and began to attack human settlements, mushrooms growing out of their skin, mouths full of blood, eyes blind – or the opposite, seeing too much. Decay took their minds and their instincts.

Then came magical abominations. Animals that were only partially touched by rot. Beasts that had been so altered by the magic that had seeped into Avras that they no longer resembled anything living. Yet they breathed and lived, dangerous as stepping over the abyss, bloodthirsty and ever stronger, ever more dangerous than their mundane ancestors.

Magic crept from the Fae realm, untamed, wild and deadly.

And those who ventured too close to the Unseelie lands, the Fae lands, never returned. Devoured by the magical overgrowth of the Fae realm. No one knew what would happen to them, if they were killed – or worse. The Fae could appear beautiful and gracious, but their calculated ruthlessness was something all humans living in Avras knew all too well – and tried to avoid when given the chance.

The Fae were creatures of old times and ancient darkness. They possessed abilities beyond human comprehension, and their hearts were filled with dark hunger and night from the eve of time. They held all of Avras under their boot, from afar, but very effectively. Snow and ice bound the whole kingdom, making life in it dependent and cruel. The Fae sometimes visited the human realm. And humans could only wish they didn’t find them interesting enough. Fairies liked to hunt and liked to play. And humans… were perfect in the role of playthings.

The stench of the carcass grew stronger. Tiyan fixed his cold hand on the spear and began to slowly cut through the bushes, trying to make as little noise as possible. The snow worked in his favour this time, muffling his tearing sounds as he crept through the branches and snow-covered foliage, which was catching his clothes with dry twigs, his feet with tangled roots.

The only sound was that of the anglor. He was there. Tiyan’s heart began to beat hopefully. He really was there.

He closed the fingers of his left hand around the hunting knife. If the animal took the bigger one, he could finish it with a cut through the aorta.

The anglor was already slurping the blood, a loud noise for which the boy was grateful. The scent of the blood masked his own, and the noises the anglor made made Tiyan’s approach even more silent.

He peered from the bushes, trying to be as invisible as possible. His leg, suddenly caught by the broken branch, slowly moved upwards, untangling from its embrace.

The beast was covered in old blood and old wounds. A colony of fungus was growing in the gash on its back, and its entire skin was covered in rot. Tiyan held his breath, waiting for the right moment to attack. The animal savoured the blood, bit through the bones and drank the marrow. Together with the overwhelming smell of decay, it made Tiyan sick, even though numerous hunts had taught him a certain resistance to such sights.

And then the beast spat blood and lunged at him, its horned head pointed straight at him.

Curse it!

Tiyan shook his leg from the lest of fallen branch, this time not caring if he makes noise or not. He met the anglor with spear in hands, pose half bent, ready to defend. He tried to pierce the beast with his spear, aiming for its heart, but anglor was exceptionally fast for a lost, hurt animal. The spear pierced the skin, slid on a rib, but the creature tore it with its sharp teeth from Tiyan’s hands. Its mouth dripped with thick saliva and something slimy and foamy. Do not let it bite you, he remembered his father’s words. One bite and you are dead, even if you walk for days without symptoms. His only chance now was the knife he quickly pulled from its sheath, but he would have to let the animal get very close, and that always meant risk.

Tiyan, eventually, had no choice and the anglor, using the moment between losing spear and pulling up the knife, fell on him like a huge sack of potatoes, pinning him to the ground with its sharp claws and rotting body. Its long tongue and fangs worked dangerously close to his throat.

Tiyan groaned in anger and fear as the overwhelming stench of decay assaulted his senses. The rotting fur and flesh seemed to enter his mouth and choke him. He couldn’t let it, and his hand slowly began to move beneath the anglor’s massive body.

“Get. off. me…” he murmured into the fur, trying to find a spot where the rot was especially loose and his knife would penetrate the healthy flesh more easily. The beast growled right into his face, hitting him with a breath full of vermin and stench; Tiyan almost choked on it.

Its teeth were getting closer and closer to his own aorta. His hand worked desperately, his fingers crawling under the large body until he found it… a small loose spot where the rot was so deep it was beginning to eat away at the muscles. Tiyan struck the large head with his elbow, moving the anglor a little, but enough to free the hand… and plunge the knife straight into the attacking animal’s flesh.

The wolf descendant screamed.

It was a real cry, pained, sad and shocked. Its eyes turned to him, even sadder. Almost human. Its pupils widened in horror and Tiyan felt a pang of guilt and a strange thought crept into his mind – if these beasts also suffer and how much they understand from their agonising condition. Are they mindless horrors – or, as he had always suspected, are they still animals of old, trapped in cages without locks or bars?

“I’m sorry,” Tiyan said, and slit its throat with a flick of his trembling hand.

Quickly.

He didn’t want to look into those eyes again.

As he stood over the corpse, trying to spit the rest of the diseased fur out of his mouth, he felt no victory, no elation from a job well done.

He thought only of how ugly this world had become.

And how much uglier it would become in the future.

Slowly, he began to strip the anglor of its rotten skin and cut off the healthy flesh.

The snow was coloured with blood. His hands barely moved, but he would never be able to carry the whole anglor on his back.

Cursed snow.

Everywhere and seemingly everything. Fitting into human bones with silent thorns.

It was everywhere, even in his heart.

Fighting the urge to vomit, he continued skinning until he had enough fresh meat to put in the sack and carry home. His sister was waiting for him, his father and mother. They waited for the hunter to return.

By the time he turned from the dead form of the skinned anglor, the sun was setting. In a hurry, Tiyan made his way to the Vennklan valley. At night, the darkness comes alive.

At night… the darkness grows hungry.