He awoke, utterly changed, wholly unaware. His hand clenched an axe slick with blood that dripped languidly down its wooden handle, pooling at his knees as he collapsed. The weapon dissolved into nothingness, leaving his trembling fingers empty. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, his vision a haze. Fragments of a dream resurfaced, fractured and fleeting, pulling him back to someone—a solitary figure who had lived within it. But now, he was alone. For the first time, the gnawing absence of another presence in his mind left him hollow.
As he forced himself upright, his knees buckled, but he caught himself. Tears mixed with the blood streaked across his face as he wiped them away with trembling hands. The room was deathly still, frozen in more ways than one. A thick layer of ice sealed the door, its jagged surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. His breath misted in the frigid air, condensing into soft clouds as he stumbled past a shattered mirror.
In the broken shards, he caught his reflection. Disheveled black hair framed a face gaunt with exhaustion. His emerald eyes, once vibrant, now seemed dulled, almost lifeless, and the scar beneath one eye stood out starkly against his pale skin. He barely recognized himself.
He turned to the door, desperation overriding his pain. Bare fists pounded against the ice, each strike sending splinters of frost cascading to the floor. His knuckles split open, crimson blooming against the unyielding surface. With a primal growl, he dug his fingers into the cracks, prying until the barrier gave way. Behind the door, the air seemed heavier, oppressive, but he pressed on, ignoring the agony in his hands.
Drops of blood marred the floor ahead, leading into the shadows. He followed them, leaning against the wall for support. Memories assaulted him with every step—fragments of a life he could scarcely bear to recall. Snow-covered landscapes. Faces blurred by time and grief. A broken sledgehammer, splintered in his grasp. Someone fading from existence before his eyes. The weight of an axe in his hand, biting into flesh, splitting bone. His breathing quickened, heart pounding as he relived the horror of confining someone in ice, locking them away with a single, heartless command.
And then, the final memory: the other self, the shadow he had caged deep within.
At the end of the bloodstained trail, a door loomed, shut tight against him. He rattled the handle, cursed under his breath, then threw his full weight against it. Again. And again. The door held firm, mocking his efforts. With a roar, he surged forward, smashing through the barrier and collapsing to the ground.
His eyes adjusted slowly to the room beyond. There she was—the one he had encased. Her lifeless form lay in a pool of blood, her dark hair veiling her face, her body broken. The gash across her torso was deep, and her missing arm left only a jagged stump.
"No..." His voice cracked, barely audible.
He crawled toward her, tears streaming down his face. His hands, slick with her blood, trembled as they reached out. He brushed her hair away, half-expecting those familiar deep blue eyes to flicker open to meet his. But there was nothing. Only the faint glimmer of a blue aura slipping from her body, like a final exhale.
"This wasn't me..." he whispered, though the words felt hollow.
His hand shot out instinctively, gripping the aura as if it were tangible. He couldn't let it leave—not her, not now. His other hand ignited with a green glow, the power of renewal stirring to life. It burned against his skin, his raw palms screaming in protest, but he focused, pouring every ounce of himself into the act.
Slowly, her wounds began to close. The blood flow slowed, the jagged edges of her torn flesh knit together, and the aura faded back into her body. He tied her tattered sleeve over the stump of her arm, carefully cradling her against his chest as he rose to his feet.
Each step was agony. The room spun, his vision swimming, but he pushed forward. He found another door ajar and nudged it open with his shoulder, stumbling into a dimly lit bedroom. The bed was unmade, sheets tangled in disarray, but it would do. He laid her down gently, pulling the blankets over her fragile frame.
For a moment, he stood over her, watching her chest rise and fall, her breath visible in the cold air. Relief washed over him. She was alive.
His knees buckled, and he caught himself against the wall. He wiped the blood from his hands onto his shirt, staining the white fabric crimson, and turned to leave. At the doorway, he hesitated, glancing back. She stirred slightly, her remaining arm shifting, her breathing steady now.
A faint smile flickered across his lips before exhaustion overtook him. He collapsed to the ground, his vision fading. As the darkness claimed him, one image seared itself into his mind: her lifeless form on the floor, a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his days....
Much later on, a soft tap on his leg dragged him from uneasy dreams. He blinked awake, disoriented, his head pounding. Memories lingered, dark and unwelcome. Turning his head, he saw her standing there, wary and tense.
He scrambled to his feet, forgetting his pain, his exhaustion. Relief surged through him. She was alive. He reached out instinctively, but she flinched away, her whole body recoiling.
The gesture froze him mid-motion. Her reaction was a knife to his chest, a brutal reminder of what he'd done. He stepped back, lowering his hand. A flash of light accompanied the sudden weight of his axe materializing in his grip. He held it out to her, blade pointed toward himself.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, voice cracking.
Her eyes darted to the weapon, then back to his face. She took it from him, her expression hardening as her fingers tightened around the handle. Rage flickered behind her gaze. Without a word, she hurled the axe across the room. It clattered against the floor, the sound echoing.
Before he could react, her clenched fist struck his chest with all her strength, driving the breath from his lungs. He staggered backward, not resisting.
"You brought me back? After everything you did?" Her voice trembled with fury and disbelief. She lashed out again, this time kicking upward. Her foot connected with his jaw, snapping his head back against the wall.
He slumped to the floor, dazed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He looked up at her, eyes clouded with guilt. "I..." he started, but she cut him off.
"Why?" she demanded, stepping on his leg. The pressure made him wince, but he didn't fight back.
A cough wracked her body, blood staining her lips. He raised his hand, green light glowing faintly in his palm, the energy humming with quiet intent.
Her expression darkened. "Just do it and get out," she snapped, stepping away.
He hesitated but obeyed, touching the wound he had inflicted. As her torn flesh knitted together under his trembling hands, his breath hitched. He didn't dare meet her eyes. When he finished, he turned and walked out of the room, his shoulders hunched, hands shaking.
She watched him go, a storm of emotions swirling within her. Glancing at her hand, she clenched it into a fist and closed her eyes, taking a slow, steadying breath. Her body ached, but the cold hallway beckoned. She stepped into it, the metallic tang of blood catching her attention.
Following the scent, she noticed the walls. They were strange—shadows of another life etched into the surface. This wasn't just a house; it was something far older, far heavier.
She stopped at the doorway of a room without a door. A faint trail of blood led inside. Her curiosity compelled her forward, though part of her wanted to turn back. She glanced over her shoulder, but the hallway was silent. No sign of him.
The sharp sound of the axe being dismissed rang out from somewhere behind her, followed by a sudden flash of light in the bloodstained room. Her heart raced. She broke into a run.
When she reached the room, she froze. He was there, standing over a pool of blood, the axe lying at his feet. He gripped a chair, poised to smash it into the puddle.
"Stop!" she yelled, thrusting her hand forward. A brilliant blue light erupted from her palm, forming a chain whip that coiled around the chair's leg, wrenching it from his grasp.
He turned to her, his face etched with sorrow.
"You're not leaving that easily!" she shouted.
The chain whip faded as she yanked the chair away. It clattered to the floor. She moved toward him, but he raised a fist, and she faltered. Memories of what he was capable of rooted her in place.
He swung downward—not at her, but at a nearby table. The impact split it in two, wood splintering violently.
She seized the moment, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him close. "I don't know what made you change, and I don't care! You're not walking away after what you did to us!"
He gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know it's not enough. It'll never be enough..."
His knees gave out, and he sank to the floor, arms outstretched in surrender. Tears glistened in his eyes, though he refused to let them fall.
She stared down at him, her fury tempered by exhaustion. The wind outside moaned through the cracks in the structure, a hollow, mournful sound.
"I'm not going to kill you," she said finally, her voice low and steady. "You're going to carry that weight. Every second of it."
She released his shirt and turned to leave, but something made her pause.
"The blood," she said, glancing at the puddle. "Whose is it?"
"It's yours," he replied, his voice barely audible.
Her stomach twisted. She touched the scar on her torso, stunned by the revelation.
Another surge of anger boiled over. "Why? Why not just let me die, like you did to them?! Why save me?!"
He didn't look up. His hair veiled his face as he raised a trembling hand. "Because... you're the only one I could save in time."
Before she could respond, he grabbed the axe and moved faster than she could react. Her breath caught as he swung it.
The sound of tearing flesh filled the room. She flinched, but there was no pain. Opening her eyes, she saw him standing beside her, the axe buried in the skull of a massive wolf. Blood pooled beneath its lifeless body, its jaws still clamped around his arm.
"I don't care if you hate me," he said quietly, pulling his arm free from the beast's mouth. "I'm just glad you're safe."
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