Lost in Between

Chapter 1 (B)

A young man was laying on the ground, a fey from his otherworldly looks and clothing. He wore an all-black ensemble which looked even darker against his snow-pale skin. Strangely designed full-body coat with delicate gold embroidery, fitted pants, and boots with complicated fastenings. I didn't usually hide and shrink when confronted with his kind, but my instinct told me that I should this time. Something in him whisper-screamed danger. Still, I threw caution over my shoulder and rose from where I was crouching and peaked over the leaves. I looked him over from head to toe and realized that he wasn't danger — he was in danger.

A chain was tangled around his upper arms and torso, and seeing the way it was smoldering to a fiery ember, I was sure it was made of iron. The portions of his coat and shirt along the links were scorched and melted, and the skin under them were burnt raw and tender red. With his face scrunched up and eyes sqeezed close, he twisted and released a groan that sounded as though he himself couldn't believe how much pain he was experiencing. And I felt it, his anguish, even from just looking and listening.

For a while, he just lay there and kept still, with nothing for company but the sound of his steady breathing. Then all of a sudden, he bolted upright into a sitting position, the chain clattering but not falling off. He winced and gripped his right arm which hung limp and folded acrossed his abdomen. Then quickly and in such a vigilant manner, he looked around from left to right then up above him at the sky. He was gorgeous, I couldn't help notice despite the naked distress in his features. Shoulder-length golden hair with sporadic streaks of silver and a face of sharp angles with counteractive soft tones in between, all with that ethereal quality that was inherent to every fey.

He looked down at the chain on his chest and gripped it gingerly. Then he breathed, in deep, furious heaves through gitted teeth, and his hand spasmed as he unwound the chain from his body. It was heartbreaking to watch as he torturously revealed strip after strip of even more burnt flesh. But I was also impressed, because if it were me, I would have bawled my eyeballs out already. The chain came off, and he flung it at the cupheas nearby where it slid and rattled to the ground. He hung his head and stared at his burnt palm, his breathing steadying and shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

What should I do? The question popped repeatedly in my head, and a decision quickly began solidifying in my resolve. Then I remembered Esmé's rules, because how could I ever forget. Never. Never. Never. So I panicked and mentally fumbled with what little choices I had. But before I could make up mind, the man carefully propped himself on one knee and struggled to his feet. Then he turned and walked away slowly, but he didn't get very far. He swayed from side to side and stumbled forward, then he fell head first and landed on his face.

I bolted, the rules be damned, and jump over the wintercreepers and rushed toward his unmoving figure. I knelt at his left and stopped. The burns on his back looked worse up close, but luckily it looked better than it should. It smelled sweetly of steak and rancidly of copper, a combination that was as nauseating as the sight, if not more. I covered his back with the skirt of his cloak to protect the wounds from the dirt, then I rolled him gently around. He was passed out again. Blood dripped down his temple from a tear on his forehead, his chest was no better than his back, and his right shoulder was angled in a way that it shouldn't have.

Is he dying? Gods, I hoped he wasn't dying. I grabbed his good arm by the wrist and let his pulse beat strongly against my fingers. I sighed then held his hand absentmindedly as I mentally outlined the things that I must do and listed down the things that I would need. I nodded to myself then glanced at him and found out that he was awake, his deep blue eyes watching me. In my surprise, I jecked back and landed on my butt, his hand effectively slipping from mine in the process. He braced himself with an elbow to the ground then sat up gently, getting too close for my comfort and ruffling my composure even further.

"Be careful. I think you've dislocated you shoulder," I said, getting back on my knees and putting some distance between us.

He smiled, now completely at ease and without any trace of past discomfort. "I did notice from the severe pain and immobility."

"Ah, yeah. I didn't mean to— I just." I snapped my mouth and made a sheepish face. At least I knew when to stop embarrassing myself.

His eyes bore into mine, not in a threatening way but with genuine interest. "Who are you?"

"My name is Ash. That's short for Ashirak." My life story could have easily followed, but I shook my head and regained some composure. "Look, your wounds need immediate treatment, and I want to help you with that. There's a time for talking, and it's not now."

"Ashirak." He rolled it in his tongue like he was tasting it and ignored what I just said about his wounds, acting like he had all the time in the world. "It sounds like a faerie name, doesn't it? I'm Kairon."

Looking at his face, Kairon seemed all fine and dandy, which was suspicious and something I wouldn't have overlooked had I not been making a fool of myself. But now I noticed the blurriness in the edges in his profile. I gazed into his eyes and easily broke through the haze, and his relaxed facade quickly faded and was replaced by his true appearance. His was face was crumpled in agony, his back was slouched low, and his skin was glistening with sweat. I sighed and pursed my lips in annoyance, because of course he had to be such a fey.

"I know that you're thirsty from dehydration, drowsy from exhaustion, and suffering from extreme pain. You can't hide your vulnerabilities from me because I see through your glamour."