The Threshold

The city of Azuros wouldn’t be the same without its gloomy towers, hardened citizens, and most importantly--dangerous nightfall, and tonight was no exception. Moon-kissed rooftops frame the city’s innards as vendors lock up shoppe, their customers all rushing home to their families. Like the pouring of sand, the marketplace is quickly emptied, left looking as though it’s not been inhabited for ages. Anyone with an inkling of sense knows not to stay out at night, as it’s been drilled into everyone’s brain since they could form coherent sentences.

Tales of monsters and ghouls thriving in the darkness strike fear into children and adults alike. “Best be home before dark, lest the Valravn get ye,” a parent warns their kin to keep curfew. “It’s said intentions shift with the light of day, so those who loiter the streets ‘round dark are on their worst behaviour. Under threat of both man and monster alike, home is the safest place one could be, yes?”

Unfortunately, this did not hold true for everyone tonight.

“He...lp…” a man croaks, limbs sprawled across the floor of his foyer where he lays in a growing puddle of his own blood. “...H…el...p…me...”

He stares at the sky through the door frame, watching the clouds drift by, as though pretending not to see him. As his vision fades in and out, he senses that this may well be the end for him. With steady breath, he closes his eyes as if to die a dignified death, but painfully, he chuckles at himself and thinks,

There is no dignity in death by family affairs.

“Hoo!”

Surprised at the sudden greeting, he opens his eyes to see a barn owl looming over his face. Dark, glaring eyes reflect his dying visage back at him.

“Hoo!”

Delusion, or a sign from the Gods? Certain of one thing: he cannot--will not--die today; he refuses. As a tear beads in the corner of his eye, he begins his struggle towards life.

Get up.

“AAAAUUUUURRGGH!!!” he strains, flexing his core and trying to regain control in his arms.

Sit. UP.

“AAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGHHH!!!” his shrieks echo the manor. Hot pain courses through his veins, carried by what little blood he has left. The owl examines him, unfazed by his cries of pain. He spends a moment collecting himself and catching his breath. With one big inhale, he readies himself for one more push.

GET THE FUCK UP.

“AAAHHHAAAAAHHUUUUURRGHH!!!”

The echoes filling the air slowly fade into complete silence. He is hit with the realization that he is not physically strong enough to support himself, regardless of his determination and willpower. The owl stares in silence, then turns around before flying away. Now, he is truly alone.

The only sound he can hear is the blood decelerating in his veins, accompanied by a roaring quiet. He sniffles softly; a shed tear growing into as hard a sob as he can manage, laying there in the exact same position that he was minutes ago. Blackness completely encompasses his vision, even though his eyes remain peeled wide open. It does not matter how hard he wants to fight--he simply can’t.

His time is almost up now. His eyes are open but he can’t see. His fingers twitch, yet he can’t feel. He lays in warm blood, shivering from the chilling grasp of the void. His mind is racing, however, no coherent thoughts seem to form.

Knock knock

He can only assume that The Requiem herself has come to collect him. He no longer has the time for delusions or signs from Gods. This is it.

“May I come in?” a low, rumbly voice swims its way through the air, seemingly directly into his psyche. A warmth seems to spread throughout his brain. No longer able to speak, he manages a weak, shaky nod.

The sound of heavy boots approach him, lightly splashing in the pool of his life essence. The stranger pauses, making all the hairs on the man’s body stand in anticipation. A warm breath rolls across his face like mist on mountains, contrasted by a cold, clammy hand placed gently on his cheek. His weak heartbeat begins accelerating upon realizing that this stranger is no delusion, deity, or omen. This person is real.

The stranger slowly inches his face closer to the man’s ear, and in a deep, grumbly whisper, he asks the man:

“Do you wish to live?”

Without thinking twice, the man nods once more and is met immediately with an excruciating, deep, sharp pain piercing into his jugular. His blood rushes towards the new wound, dancing in celebration of departure from his body, and is replaced with what feels like lava from the deepest pits of Lotheria.

His body contorts in unimaginable ways, like he is being pulled in all directions. His jaw drops in an attempt to cry out in agony, but his lungs feel as though they’ll collapse on themselves if he makes even the smallest peep. The black shroud that blinded him turns red, like a drop of blood that spreads through a pond of murky water, infecting everything that once inhabited the darkness. The suffering rapidly expands inside him, growing to the point where he feels like he will pop, before falling unconscious as it becomes bigger than he.

***

A bright blue sky stretches across the city, the sun kissing the rooftops as if to say that the outside is safe once more. Singing birds serenade the townsfolk, enchanting them with well-wishes and plans for the day. Soon, the streets are alive once again: couriers calling out the news, vendors promoting their products, and people bustling to complete their to-do lists for the day.

Pale arms fly out from under a bougie duvet, stretching sore muscles and aching bones, accompanied by a hearty yawn. The man looks out the window beside his bed, more than content with the quality of sleep he’d just tasted. For some reason, the world outside today is blindingly bright. Must just need to adjust, he thinks to himself, sighing peacefully out his nose as he moves to get out of the covers.

“Sleep well?”

An all-too-familiar voice jolts him to his senses, memories of what he’d just gone through last night flooding back into his mind. He whips around to face the stranger sitting in the corner of the room. He’s met with the gaze of a dark, handsome man, grinning smugly like he’s in on some secret. A barn owl stands proudly on his shoulder, staring like it’s part of the conversation as well.

“Wh-who are you!? Stay back!” The injured man falls back into his bed, cowering into the corner. “I’ll scream for the guards!”

The stranger stands unfazed by his threat, slowly approaching the bed. “Oh? And where were the guards when you needed them the most?” His eyes seem to pierce through his skull, like performing brain surgery, excavating his thoughts as if they were play-things. The owl hops on the bed, walking onto his chest and staring him in the eyes. “I am the one who saved you, and you should learn gratitude.”

“Hoo!” the owl chimes.

Fixated on the feathered creature inches away from his face, he grimaces, recognizing his debt towards this man. “What do you want?” he spits out, reluctantly.

The stranger smiles proudly, as if he’d just successfully tamed a wild animal. “Pardon my rudeness; my name is Svain Dagyr,” he extends his hand, waiting to be met with a handshake. After a short pause, it becomes apparent there would be no such greeting. “You’ve been through a lot, and I’m afraid you will go through much more. I’m here to help...though, you’ve no longer a choice in this matter. So let me ask you a question. Who are you?”

The injured man’s restless eyes rapidly dart around the room, then close for a moment as he recomposes himself. Upon opening, his gaze finally meets Svain’s, exuding a confidence that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“I am Nikolai.”