The place felt different now.
I wandered around the old building—one of those half-fallen places Jareth and I once claimed as our kingdom. Our battleground. Our fortress. It was crumbling now, its bones creaking with time and silence. Back then, we'd grab sticks and shout like warriors, defending imaginary lands from invisible monsters.
Now, it just looked like a graveyard of memories.
I walked to the corner where we used to argue over who got to be the hero. I smiled, a broken, short smile.
"Protectors, huh?" I whispered bitterly.
Then my voice dropped to something softer. "What kind of protector can't even protect her friend… when he needed her the most?"
The words fell heavy on the floor like broken glass. I sank down, my back pressing against the cold stone wall, knees to my chest, arms around them. Then I cried. Not the pretty kind. The ugly, gasping kind of crying—the kind that drags your soul down with it. I wept until the sky dimmed and my eyes ached. Then I stood and went home.
When I opened the door, the scent of my favorite meal wrapped around me—Selena had cooked. The warm spices, the soft steam rising from the plates… Normally I'd rush in and grab a plate like a wild beast.
But that night, I walked past it all.
No appetite. No energy. Just emptiness.
Selena didn't notice—she was busy in the kitchen, humming softly.
But Valen did.
My father watched me, quiet and still. I didn't say a word as I went to my room and collapsed on the bed, gripping my pillow tightly like it was the last thing keeping me from falling apart. My tears came again, slow and silent this time.
Then, I felt the bed shift.
Valen sat beside me, wordless, and rested his hand gently on my head. I turned slightly. He saw my red eyes, my wet cheeks. I expected him to say something like "It'll be fine" or "Be strong." But instead, he pulled me into a hug. A tight one. A real one. I melted into it, holding him as if letting go would shatter me completely.
"It's all going to be okay," he whispered, over and over again.
And that was enough for me to sleep.
When I woke up, I found myself between them—Valen and Selena—on my bed. Their arms wrapped protectively around me. I hadn't felt that kind of warmth since... since before everything.
I didn't know how they got there, but I slept like a child. I woke up feeling lighter.
At breakfast, Selena said gently, "Why don't you visit Uncle Tav today? Fresh air, old stories… maybe that'll help."
Before I could answer, Valen nodded. "That's a good idea."
Something about the way they said it made me realize they had talked about this already. Decided it together.
So I went.
---
Uncle Tav wasn't family by blood. But he was blood to the village. A relic. A storyteller. The old man lived on the outskirts, in a crooked house that leaned like it was too tired to stand straight. He smelled of river moss and dried tobacco. His eyes were cloudy, but they saw more than most.
He didn't greet me with a smile.
"You walk with grief in your steps," he said without turning from the fire he was stirring.
I didn't respond.
"Sit," he said. "You don't have to speak. But let the fire listen if you won't."
I sat beside him.
The fire cracked and popped, casting shadows on the old stone walls. Outside, birds called like echoes from another time.
After a long pause, he spoke again.
"Ever heard of the Chains of Blind Blood?"
I blinked. "Is that one of your war stories again?"
He gave a half-smile. "No. Older than war. Older than this town. It's a story… and maybe more than a story."
His tone shifted, darker now. And despite my sadness, I listened.
"They say beneath Setvastl, beneath the roots and rivers, lies a prison not made of walls, but of chains. Chains forged not by men, but by blood drawn from the blind. Creatures were once bound there—not quite gods, not quite beasts. Rulers of a time before memory."
"Why blind blood?" I asked, my voice raspier than usual.
"Because to see is to understand. And to blind the blood was to silence truth itself. That's how the chains were made."
My heart beat faster. Not from fear. From... something else. I didn't know what.
"They were betrayed," he added. "Not slain. They couldn't be killed. So their own were forced to bind them beneath the earth. Chained by sightless sacrifice. Some say they sleep. Others say they whisper still… calling to those who'll listen."
I laughed, nervous and quick. "You really want me to believe that?"
He didn't flinch.
"I want you to remember it," he said. "For myths often return to those who need them most."
---
That night, I dreamed of chains.
Thick and black and bleeding, slithering across the floor like serpents. They curled around my arms, my legs, my throat. Cold. Alive.
And from beneath the ground, I heard a voice—Jareth's voice.
No, not quite his. Something deeper. Something darker. Something that knew my name in a way even I didn't.
I woke up with sweat clinging to my skin, fingers clenched into fists. My heart pounding in my chest like a drum of war.
And for the first time since losing him…
I wasn't just grieving.
I was listening.
Because deep inside me, I asked myself—
Was it just a story or something else