Page 69 of Storm and Sea

He imagined the old scar tissue tugging and pulling his skin. Puncturing his muscles. Scraping against bone. It throbbed despite the wound being a decade old. It was a phantom pain, all in his head. It was nothing but a scar on his back now. Yet tonight… it hurt. It hurt, and Atreus was half convinced that if he rolled over, his sheets would be stained with blood.

Atreus walked through a field of wildflowers, their glow harsh and white against the surrounding gloom. The light wasn’t warm or inviting—it was cold, so bright it hurt to look at for long. Their eerie luminescence was the only thing that existed in the endless void. No stars. No horizon. Just oppressive darkness. The diamond-shaped petals stirred a sense of nostalgia Atreus couldn’t catch. He stepped around them carefully, unable to crush even a single bloom, as if breaking one would shatter the fragile glass casing of memories he wasn’t ready to face.

But something wasn’t right.

With every step, the air grew heavier. A prickling sensation crawled up Atreus’s spine, and his heart pounded in his chest. He tried to shake it off, focusing on the glowing petals. The buds swayed to and fro, though there was no wind. The feeling gnawed at him as he sensed movement beneath his feet—something below.

He glanced back, knowing he’d see nothing. The nameless flowers danced innocently under his gaze. Still, he felt it. The ground pulsed beneath him as if something deep down was stirring. His steps quickened, fear bubbling in his throat.

Suddenly, the earth trembled.

A soft rumbling, like a beast shifting beneath the soil, sent the flowers quivering. Atreus broke into a run, his feet slamming into the soft earth as the ground beneath him rippled with every stride.

The rumbling grew louder. Faster.

He felt it, whatever it was, chasing him—hungry, savage, unseen, and terrifyingly close. His legs pumped faster. Each step felt more uncertain, the ground growing softer, threatening to give way.

The glow of the flowers was no longer comforting. It illuminated the terror—the closeness of the thing below, the thing that would soon drag him under. He tried to scream, but the sound died before it left his lips.

A crack split the ground. The earth shifted violently beneath him as something below finally caught up, ready to pull him under.

Black vines burst from the soil, reaching for him. Their thorns cut into his skin as they coiled around his ankles, dragging him through the wildflowers. Atreus cried out, his fingers clawing at the petals, ripping them from their roots. For a moment, they shimmered in defiance—beautiful and useless—before the glow faded, the petals turning black and crumbling to ash in his fingers.

They never offered any help.

They didn’t back then.

They didn’t save her.

And now, they would do nothing to save him.

The vines tightened, winding around his calves, thorns digging deeper with every pull. The ground split, revealing a yawning pit.

It was going to take him. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t⁠—

The voice came, low and menacing, like an echo from the earth.

“You are mine.”

“Atreus! Atreus, wake up!”

It wasn’t the sinister voice from the pit. It was…

The whispering tide.

The sighing swell of water.

The gentle murmuring of the sea.

It pulled him away from the blackness.

“Atreus!” It was louder now, more urgent. “Wake up!”

Atreus shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, heart racing so fast he might choke on it. His hands flew to his ankles, frantically searching for the vines, expecting the sharp sting of thorns. But his fingers only met smooth skin.

No vines. No thorns. No blood.

Atreus blinked rapidly, disoriented, still half in the dream, running from the tendrils. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling as the nightmare refused to release its hold. He barely noticed Nyel kneeling beside him, brow furrowed, his hand resting on Atreus’s shoulder.