The trees beyond the village outskirts stood like old watchers twisted, bent, and scarred by time and weather. Few dared wander this far, not even the bravest of the village boys. But for Khaos, the woods offered the one thing Velmira never could.
Silence.
He lay beneath a crooked ash tree, staring up at the gray canopy above. The morning mist filtered through the branches, dulling the sun into a pale, sickly disc. Insects buzzed softly, leaves shifted in the breeze, and his body, tired and sore from another sleepless night, slowly began to relax.
His eyes grew heavy.
And then
Darkness.
The silence in his dream was suffocating. Cold. He stood in front of the Barrier, its translucent veil humming faintly. On the other side barely a few steps away—lay two mangled corpses, limbs twisted, faces unrecognizable. Blood soaked the earth, already turning black in the moonlight. He didn't move. Just stared.
Behind him, he could feel them.
The villagers. Dozens of them. Silent. Watching. Judging.
Their hatred pressed against his back like cold steel, but Khaos couldn't look away. Couldn't cry. Couldn't scream. His small hands trembled at his sides, but his face remained still. Only his eyes betrayed him wide, glazed, hollow.
Pain and sorrow. That was all that remained.
The dream faded like smoke.
Khaos woke with a sharp breath, heart pounding. His body was damp with sweat despite the chill in the air. The trees no longer felt like watchers they felt like tombstones. He sat up slowly, rubbing his face, the ghost of the memory still clinging to his skin.
He stood, dusted off his pants, and without a word, turned toward the Barrier.
The path was quiet, the village still waking. He kept to the shadows, avoiding the early risers setting up their market stalls. No one paid him any mind, not really. He was a ghost among them now seen only to be hated, ignored only to be remembered at the worst times.
The forest was still.
Khaos stood in front of the Barrier, the great invisible veil that shimmered faintly between the village and the wilderness beyond. It hummed quietly—an eerie, living sound that pressed gently on his ears. The grass at its edge was sparse and dry, as though even nature had learned to stay back.
He stopped just short of it.
There, beyond the veil, half-buried beneath dirt and ash, lay what remained of his parents.
Bones. Weathered, scattered, and untouched for seven long years.
Khaos stared.
He always came when no one was watching. Not that they would have stopped him. They didn't care if he spoke to ghosts.
His knees trembled slightly as he lowered himself to the ground, just inches from the Barrier. His fingers curled into the soil, cold and damp beneath his nails. But no matter how far he reached, he could never cross. The magic repelled everything. Even grief.
He looked up slowly.
There by the gnarled roots of a tree, where the mist clung to the forest floor like a second skin lay a fractured skull. Small. His mother's. The jaw was missing, and vines now grew through one of the sockets. Beside it, bits of a ribcage jutted from the earth, barely held together. Further off, a single leg bone was propped oddly against a rock, as if someone had tried to stack it long ago.
It was all that remained.
No burial. No mourning. No prayers. The villagers had refused.
"They don't deserve it," they'd said. "Let the Xylens eat what's left."
Khaos didn't cry.
He never did here.
He only stared.
Wind brushed past him, tugging at his cloak. A raven cawed once in the distance. But nothing moved beyond the Barrier. Not anymore. The beasts had fed their fill and wandered off. The forest had reclaimed what was once human.
He leaned forward slightly, pressing his forehead to the invisible surface. It felt like warm glass. And though he knew they couldn't hear him couldn't answer—he still spoke.
His voice came low and soft, more like a breath than a whisper.
"You left me."
The silence that followed was brutal.
"I waited for you," he said. "I thought maybe… maybe you'd crawl back. Maybe someone would pull you through. I waited right here."
He closed his eyes. The memory flashed again sharper now.
A boy. A wall of light. Two still figures on the other side, faces frozen in death. Behind him, the entire village gathered like a mob. Not a single hand on his shoulder. Not one voice calling his name.
"I didn't understand at first," he continued. "I thought maybe you were just sleeping. That someone would help. That someone would care."
His jaw tightened.
"But they didn't. They just hated you. They still do. And they hate me just the same."
The Barrier pulsed beneath his skin. Not in kindness. Not in comfort. Just a cruel reminder.
"I wish I could bring you back. Even just your bones. But they won't let me. No one will. You're to rot here, forgotten."
He reached out again, letting his fingers hover inches above the line where the world ended. The longing in his chest grew sharp like a blade twisting between his ribs.
"I talk to you sometimes," he said. "When it's quiet. When I'm scared. When I want to scream but no one listens. I pretend you're still here. That maybe some part of you hears me."
The wind picked up. Leaves danced along the path behind him. He didn't move.
"I hate you sometimes. For leaving me. For making me live through this. But I also… I miss you. So much, it makes me sick."
His throat burned. But he didn't cry. He just knelt there, forehead against the glass, trying to feel something that could never touch him back.
Minutes passed. Or maybe an hour.
Then slowly, painfully, he pulled himself up.
"I'll come back," he whispered. "Even if there's nothing left."
He turned from the Barrier, the humming behind him already fading.
His stomach grumbled. He hadn't eaten in a day. Maybe two.
With what little strength he had left, he started walking toward the safer part of the forest. There were roots to dig, herbs to find. If he was lucky, he could trade for a stale loaf or a bruised fruit.
He never wanted much.
Just enough to survive.
Just enough to come back again tomorrow.
The path away from the Barrier twisted through brittle underbrush and crooked trees. Khaos walked slowly, each step heavy with the weight of old memories and a hollow stomach. The sky above was gray, clouds stirring like smoke over the canopy. He kept his head low, scanning the ground for familiar roots gildthorn, blackleaf, bleeding nettle. Anything that might be worth a few copper coins at the apothecary.
Then he heard them.
Voices. Laughter. Cruel and sharp, like stones clacking together.
He didn't stop.
He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Well, well," came Dylan's voice, mocking and smooth. "Didn't know you had conversations with corpses, Khaos."
Footsteps crunched behind him. Three sets. Dylan and his usual crew cedric and lena, ghey where there son and daughter minor nobles, both stupid enough to follow Dylan anywhere.
"Were they giving you advice?" Elrik snorted. "Or just telling you how much of a disappointment you turned out to be?"
Khaos kept walking.
Dylan didn't like that.
"Hey." His tone sharpened. "You think talking to bones will bring 'em back? Or maybe you're hoping they'll open the Barrier for you."
That made the others laugh.
"Yeah," said cedric. "Maybe he wants to fight it. Just punch his way through the magic. Be the first orphan to lose to a wall."
"Fight the Barrier," Dylan repeated, louder, like it was some inside joke only they understood. "You hear that? Maybe if you scream loud enough, your parents'll crawl out and save you."
Khaos paused only briefly.
He looked straight ahead and walked on, ignoring the sneers at his back, the echo of their footsteps slowly fading behind him.
They could laugh all they wanted.
He was used to it.
Used to being haunted by ghostsand hunted by the living.
Right now, he just needed to find enough herbs to sell or Something bitter, something edible. Maybe a root to chew on. Maybe something to keep the hunger down.
The pain in his chest lingered, but he buried it.
There'd be time to feel later.
When the world was quiet again.
When he was alone.