The Creature
1787 Words
Ellie woke to birdsong and cold ash.
The fire had burned low, leaving only a faint halo of warmth around the stone pit. Morning light filtered through the trees in thin silver threads, catching in the fog and making the world look half-dreamed.
Mars stood exactly where he’d been the night before.
Still.
Watching.
She didn’t know if he’d slept. She didn’t ask.
The boat was gone.
She sat up slowly, stretching the stiffness from her back, and glanced around. “What happened to the boat?”
“Dismissed,” Mars said without turning.
“Dismissed,” she echoed. “Like a… person?”
Still no answer.
He turned and strode toward the tree line, as if expecting her to follow.
She did.
⸻
The forest was quieter than before. The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful—it was waiting. The ground was soft underfoot, springy with moss, the trees crowding close overhead. Ellie glanced around, unsettled.
“Bit eerie, don’t you think?” she muttered.
Mars didn’t respond.
Ellie pressed her lips together. “Right. Forgot. Talking’s not your strong suit.”
The silence stretched until it broke—not by him, but by the sudden crack of a branch behind them.
Ellie froze.
Something was watching them.
She turned just as the creature burst through the brush.
A twisted tangle of muscle and vine, hooved but clawed, its skin bark-thick and veined with glowing green. Its eyes were blood-hot and feral.
The Gravethorn.
Mars was already moving.
Ellie could only stare as he intercepted it mid-charge, magic bursting from his palm in a flash of white-blue light. The creature recoiled but didn’t stop. It lunged, horns low.
A sharp vine lashed out—catching Mars along the ribs.
He staggered.
“Mars!” Ellie shouted, but he didn’t look at her.
The Gravethorn pressed in, heavier than it should’ve been, as if the forest itself bent beneath its weight.
Mars raised his arm again, but the beast slammed him to the ground.
Ellie reacted without thinking.
She raised her hand to shield herself—and the air pulsed outward in a hot, invisible burst.
The Gravethorn reeled back, unsteady.
Mars rolled clear and struck again—this time sinking magic straight into the beast’s chest.
It collapsed, body spasming once before falling still.
Silence returned, like the forest had been holding its breath and just let go.
Ellie’s hand trembled.
Mars stood, one hand pressed to his side where blood soaked his coat.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He watched her a moment longer, then turned away and began binding his wound.
⸻
They continued on foot through thick trees and old hunting paths, the sun climbing overhead. Mars moved slower than before, though he tried not to show it.
Ellie walked behind him, caught between watching the woods and watching him.
The attack had left her shaken. But more than that—her own reaction had.
That magic, or whatever it was, had come from her.
It had felt like something pulled through her, from some sun-lit core buried deep inside.
It had felt… true.
She didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
⸻
By midday, the forest opened into a field of golden grass, dotted with old stone markers—half-swallowed statues worn by time.
The Kavari waited there.
It stood beneath a tree, shimmering in the dappled light. Not quite horse, not quite anything else—its body sleek and powerful, hooves like silver obsidian, breath curling into mist.
Ellie stopped in her tracks.
“That’s not a horse.”
“No,” Mars said. “It’s a Kavari.”
The creature turned its gaze on her—calm, almost curious.
She backed a step. “It looks like it eats horses for breakfast.”
Mars stepped forward and laid a hand on its flank. It lowered its head in greeting.
“They’re bred for the Virelith,” he said, and with a small wince, he swung into the saddleless back.
He turned to her. “Up.”
She hesitated. “No saddle? No reins? No thanks.”
Mars extended a gloved hand down to her. “You’ll fall behind.”
Ellie sighed dramatically, placed her hand in his, and let him lift her. She landed behind him, legs straddling the Kavari’s warm back, her arms awkwardly catching around his waist.
The creature didn’t flinch.
Her breath caught. “Okay. This is fine.”
“Don’t let go.”
“You say that like I would.”
⸻
The ride began swift and smooth.
Ellie quickly realized it wasn’t like riding a horse. It was something else entirely. The Kavari didn’t trot—it glided. Its movements were impossibly fluid, like the land itself bent to its will.
The wind pulled through her hair, strands whipping into her mouth until she shoved them behind her ears. Her grip around Mars tightened as the terrain sloped downward.
“Could’ve warned me it’s like riding a thundercloud,” she muttered.
Mars didn’t respond.
She leaned closer, half because she had to, half because—well, maybe just because.
“Do you all get these things?” she asked. “Or is it just you elite storm-born soldier types?”
“Only the Virelith.”
“Oh. So royalty gets a crown, and you get a death pony. Great system.”
Still nothing.
Ellie sighed. “You’re not much of a travel companion, you know.”
Mars shifted slightly. “Silence is safer.”
“So is joy. Ever try it?”
A pause.
“Once.”
She blinked. “Did it hurt?”
“Yes.”
Ellie laughed despite herself. She felt him stiffen, but not move away.
⸻
Eventually, Mars slowed the Kavari beside a half-collapsed stone bridge nestled in the crook of two hills. The afternoon light had dulled to a soft bronze, and even the Kavari seemed winded—its misted breath thicker now, hooves shifting against the stone.
“We stop here,” Mars said, dismounting in one smooth motion.
Ellie slid off after him and immediately stumbled, her legs protesting the motion. “Oh, thank the stars,” she groaned. “My spine is begging for mercy.”
Mars didn’t respond. He pulled off one glove with his teeth and pressed his fingers against his side. Blood still soaked through the makeshift bandage beneath his coat.
Ellie winced. “That doesn’t look better.”
“It’s fine,” he muttered, already reaching into a pouch for something metallic and sterile-looking.
She frowned. “Wait—don’t. You’re going to cauterize it, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer. Which meant yes.
“You’re not cauterizing a gut wound in the middle of a godsdamned field,” she snapped. “Sit.”
He looked at her.
“I said sit.”
To her surprise, he did.
Ellie knelt beside him and carefully peeled back the side of his coat. The shirt beneath was torn and stained dark, clinging to his skin. She hesitated, then reached for the hem.
Mars caught her wrist.
His grip wasn’t tight. Just… firm.
“You don’t have to,” he said, voice low.
“I know,” she replied. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
A moment passed. Then he released her hand.
She pulled up his shirt.
And stopped.
He was all lean muscle and old scars—long faded lines that crossed his ribs and back, runes inked in pale silver just under his skin. Not decorative. Not tribal. Bonded. Like something sacred was written there, something earned in blood.
Ellie swallowed.
“You heal fast,” she said, half to herself.
“Part of the tether,” he replied. “Virelith magic. We don’t scar unless we choose to.”
She blinked. “You choose to keep your scars?”
“They remind me.”
“That sounds broody.”
“It is.”
She smirked, then leaned closer to gently dab at the blood around the wound with a cloth from her satchel. Her fingers brushed his skin, and he tensed—but didn’t pull away.
The silence between them thickened. Not hostile. Just charged.
He was watching her—she could feel it, the weight of his gaze.
She glanced up.
Their faces were close. Closer than either of them seemed to realize until that exact moment.
Her breath caught.
He didn’t move.
She could hear his heartbeat. Or maybe it was hers.
Then, abruptly, Mars turned his head. “It’s clean enough.”
Ellie pulled back slowly, trying not to show the flush that had crept into her cheeks. “Right. Well. There. Heroically bandaged by an unqualified civilian.”
He stood, re-buttoning his coat. “I’ve had worse.”
“You probably are worse,” she muttered.
But she smiled as she said it.
And he didn’t correct her.
⸻
They continued through the afternoon, past ruined outposts and fallen statues swallowed by roots. Ellie pointed them out, trying to pull scraps of memory from the haze of her past.
None came.
At one point, the wind shifted. A storm brewed to the east, thunder murmuring over distant cliffs.
Rain kissed their cheeks lightly but never turned heavy. The Kavari didn’t slow.
Mars rode with mechanical ease, even with the wound.
Ellie leaned into him slightly now. Her fingers no longer clutched—just rested. He said nothing about it.
She looked at the back of his neck. “Why did you become a Virelith?”
A long pause.
“I was chosen.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” he agreed.
Ellie waited, but he said nothing more.
⸻
By late evening, they crested a final ridge.
Below, bathed in fading gold light, the capital loomed. Spires knifed the sky. The outer wall curled like a scar through the valley.
The Kavari slowed to a halt, mist curling from its nostrils.
Ellie dismounted stiffly, knees buckling slightly. Mars followed.
They stood side by side, wind tugging at their clothes.
“So that’s it,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
She glanced at him. “What happens when we get there?”
“You’re tested.”
“And if I pass?”
“You’ll be feared.”
“And if I fail?”
“You’ll be forgotten.”
The words hit like stone.
She stared at the capital again, fists clenched at her sides.
“Let them fear me,” she said softly. “At least they’ll remember.”
Mars turned toward her, eyes like frost and sky.
“You’re not what they think,” he said.
She met his gaze. “Neither are you.”
- Writer
