Aran was drifting, his consciousness a pinprick of light in an endless void. Currents and eddies swirled the darkness around him, gently tossing him on gentle waves, his mind slow to respond. It felt comfortable here. Soft, silent, and soothing. The silence smothered his thoughts so he drifted lazily, unthinking, just barely aware. But the quiet sound of feathers rustling shattered the silence. He grumbled, annoyed, trying to pull the darkness tighter around him, block out the intrusion. The rustling turned to flapping wings, fluttering as if in anger. He focused, pulling away from the noise. Who would be so rude to interrupt his peace? The sound faded, dimming. He sighed.

The flapping gave chase, however. He focused, trying to leave it behind. All this effort was waking him, though. He slowed down, seeking comfort in the stillness, but the flapping always caught up. He burrowed deep, attempting to drown it out with the silence of this place. Deeper and deeper he went, until all that remained was still, even the currents gone.

CAW!

The raucous call shattered the silence, the void splintering around his mind. Anger flared within him, then guttered out. Where was he? As he focused, the void around his mind cracked more and more, light escaping through the cracks, nearly blinding him. He pushed, focusing his mind like a scalpel, peeling away the darkness. As he cut away, the veil of darkness fell away, and he opened his eyes.

He was still kneeling, but not in the cave.

He looked up, the black stone floor reflecting his face back in the dim, but somehow harsh light of a massive iron chandelier hanging above him. Deep lines were carved into the floors and walls, depicting murals and lettering in a language he didn’t know. Scenes of conquest, famine, and death adorned nearly every surface, the figures tall, but all bowing before one central figure, a black crown atop her head. The crown was black, but polished as bright as a mirror, as it sat atop her lustrous black hair, surrounding a pale face with deep purple eyes. Pointed ears peaked out from her hair, dissuading him of any notion of humanity. She sat before him, lounging on what could only be described as a throne, looking down with eyes that seemed to pierce straight through him. She was draped in a dress of midnight cloth, form fitting but severe in its cut. She said nothing, staring at him.

He slowly clambered to his feet, looking around. He cleared his throat, it felt dry all of a sudden. “Uh, where am I?” Her eyes narrowed.

“You are in my home, child, yet you do not know me. We’ll rectify that soon enough. Did you enjoy your time with Narcin? He does tend to make a mess, but it’s rare to have a servant that enjoys their work so.”

Aran’s mind slowly put the pieces together, a small smile playing on the woman’s lips as she watched him struggle. The elf. Had to be that damn elf she was talking about. Which made her… someone powerful. Still, he glowered at the memory of what Narcin had done. With a start he remembered what had brought him here, running his hands over his chest frantically. The wound from where the elf had stabbed him was gone, his skin, while certainly not smooth, was as hole-free as ever.

His eyes narrowed. Am I dead? He glanced up at the elf woman, and around the room. This all felt… real. But how did he get here? The knife had certainly felt real enough. Though, he supposed it didn’t really matter, since he was still here, and if he was dead, well, there wasn’t much he could do about that. But this ‘Narcin’ had done more than just stab him, he remembered, anger snapping him out his reverie.

“He killed them.” Calling them friends seemed wrong, like he was claiming something that didn’t belong to him.

A tinkling laugh echoed off the stone walls. “Ah, yes. A necessary sacrifice. I had to know, and Narcin needed the extra bit of power to send you here. There is so much power in death, after all.” She eyed him knowingly. “Did you enjoy it? You certainly seemed to revel in attacking Narcin.”

Aran’s brow furrowed. “What? No! How could I enjoy seeing them die?! That’s sick!” She leaned back, faint disdain flitting across her face.

The shadows in the room flickered, seeming to gain mass, making Aran feel slightly claustrophobic, and simultaneously very small. “Disappointing, but we can only deny our natures for so long. I brought you here to see what to make of you, but I think you need more time before you’ll be useful.”

He bristled. “I don’t intend to be used.” The thought reminded him too much of his mother, calculating and cruel. “Oh of course not,” she said in a mocking tone, “But what do you want? You humans have just been granted a tiny sliver of power, but what will you do with it?” She sat up straight, fingers pressed together in a bridge across her lap, eyes glued to him. He shrank under her gaze. What do I want? He considered the question. He supposed he wanted to live, but that wasn’t a goal, not really. Long term? He supposed he wanted to see some more magic, see more of what the world was now. Maybe find some people to spend time with. He hadn’t had any real friends in years, and the only new ones he’d started to make were just murdered in front of him. By the elf, because of her. He straightened his spine, meeting her gaze. “I want to see some more magic.” He paused, mustering his courage. “And I’m going to kill Narcin, and you, for what you did to Rick, Alice and James.”

She remained silent, staring at him. “I suppose you are not the gutless rat you appear to be, little human. I will allow your insolence this once, as you amuse me.” A wave of pressure slammed into his back, pressing him to the floor like some gnat beneath a boot. “But only this once. I have plans for you, and regardless of what you may think, you are helpless before my will.” With a gesture of a single finger, she lifted him from the floor, arms pinned to his sides with invisible chains of power, pulling him forward until he hovered just in front of her. She stood, meeting him eye for eye, and he could feel power coming off of her in waves, enough to drown for an eternity in. This was a being so far above him, it felt like suffocating just looking at her.

“I am Night, and you will be made to serve my Great Purpose. You will return to your fledgling realm, where you will face more trials. You will overcome them, glorifying my name, or you will die.” She lifted a hand, and placed it on his chest, black flames erupting at the contact as he screamed. She pulled away, leaving a smoking black brand. Tears ran down his face as he grit his teeth, each breath fresh agony as the skin pulled across his chest.

She sat down, looking bored. “We are done. I have marked you, now go.” She waved a hand, and the world went black once more.

------

Aran woke, chest heaving, gasping for air. He was lying on the cold stone of the dais, leg twisted uncomfortably beneath him. He levered himself up into a sitting position, groaning as he straightened. Only coals remained in the braziers, and the cavern was completely shrouded in darkness a few feet beyond the dais. He rubbed his chest, lifting his shirt, but no sign of either the brand or the stab wound remained.

“Ugh. What the hell?” He muttered to himself. “That definitely wasn’t a dream, so what the hell is happening? She and that other one were definitely straight fantasy elves. That’s…. That's weird. But, I guess if magic is real, elves are just the cherry on top of this whole apocalypse pie.” He ran a hand through his hair, the tang of blood still heavy in the air. Three dark lumps at the edge of the light confirmed he hadn’t dreamt what had happened just before he’d blacked out.

His eyes burned, and he could feel tears gathering at the corners, but they refused to fall. He felt burnt out, too drained to muster the grief he knew he should be feeling. Instead, he moved forward, close enough to see their withered bodies, little more than skin stretched too tight over bone. He forced himself to look away. Ever since the day the obelisks had arrived, the world had descended into madness, but this was a fresh horror. He had trusted these people, had wanted to get to know them. They had lives, concerns, a community that relied on them, and that… that bastard had just taken them away. And for what? That Night woman had said to send him to her, but that was ridiculous, barbaric. Was there no other way to communicate with magic than fucking murder? This was so wrong. They were obviously playing some game, scheming something, but people were dying! The world had gone to hell, and now some elves from who knows where were manipulating and murdering humans.

He slammed a fist into the stone floor. No. No this wasn’t good enough. He’d escaped from the nightmare that was life with his mother, had survived a nuclear bomb, and survived alone in a wasteland. The world was not going to devolve into elves and whatever-the-hell-else was out there just using humans like pawns, or playthings. Mana surged within him, filling his veins with liquid fire. Aran was going to kill those elves. And first on the list, was Narcin.

He stood, feeling filled with purpose for the first time in ages. He stepped around the bodies of his companions, vowing to return and bury them properly someday.

He strode past the edge of the light, and into the unknown.