Echoes of the Seed

Time itself seemed to shudder, the world grinding to a halt. The crackling fire at the hearth froze mid-flicker, its light trapped in a ghostly glow. Reed's breath hitched as the air around him grew still, heavy, and cold. The warmth of the room was replaced by a damp chill that crawled over his skin.

A humid breeze brushed against the back of his neck, carrying the faint, metallic scent of something otherworldly. The hair on his arms stood on end. Slowly, as if compelled by forces beyond his control, he turned.

And then he saw it.

Hovering just beyond the edge of the firelight was a creature unlike anything he could have imagined. Its enormous, unblinking eye, the size of a wrecking ball, stared down at him with a gaze that seemed to pierce through his very soul. Its scrawny, elongated arms ended in three spindly fingers, each flexing with a deliberate, unnatural grace. When it smiled, its uneven, jagged teeth glinted like shards of broken glass.

"Speak," it whispered, its voice like dry leaves rustling in a tomb.

Reed's heart pounded, but his face remained calm. He had expected this—or something like it. The creature's presence didn't terrify him; it only confirmed what he already knew. He had made his choice long before this moment.

"I have nothing left to give," he said, his voice steady but quiet. "Only myself."

The creature tilted its head, its grotesque grin widening. "How curious."

Reed didn't respond. He simply stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had already accepted what was coming. There was no point in fighting it.

The creature's eye narrowed, its amusement fading into something colder, more calculating. "Very well."

Before Reed could react, the creature lunged. Its spindly fingers shot forward, piercing his chest with a force that felt like lightning. Pain exploded through his body, white-hot and all-consuming. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His vision blurred as his dark blue hair drained of color, fading into a stark, unnatural white. Blood welled from his eyes, his nose, his nails—every pore—as though his body was being hollowed out.

Through the haze of pain, he glimpsed his reflection in a shard of broken glass near the hearth. His once-healthy frame was withering before his eyes, his muscles shrinking, his cheeks hollowing. He could barely see his parents and Jade frozen in time, their faces blissfully unaware. A choked sob escaped him as tears mingled with the blood on his cheeks.

The pain faded into numbness, and Reed lay motionless on the floor. Minutes passed—or maybe hours. He wasn't sure. The silence felt eternal.

Then, through the void, came a whisper.

"The trade has been witnessed. The fate, blood, and history of the boy for the seed."

The voice was soft, almost playful, yet laced with something unspeakably cruel. Reed gasped as his eyes fluttered open. He was alive—but not the same. His body was frail, his strength all but gone. The world around him had resumed, the fire crackling again, voices faintly audible from the other room.

Reed stumbled to his feet, his legs shaking as he made his way to the door. Each step felt like a monumental effort, but he pushed forward. He couldn't stay.

Outside, the winter night was merciless. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped into the cold, the biting air slicing through his weakened frame. The moment the door shut behind him, his legs gave out.

Reed collapsed into the snow, leaning heavily against the door. His breath came in shallow, labored gasps as he clawed at the ground, trying to stand. His fingers trembled, his body unresponsive.

Minutes dragged into what felt like an eternity. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to try again and again, but his body betrayed him. The snow soaked into his clothes, the chill numbing his skin, yet he kept pushing.

Voices from inside the house floated faintly to him, muffled by the door.

"Honey, did you make extras tonight?" his father's voice asked, warm and familiar.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," his mother replied, a hint of laughter in her tone. "Something must've come over me."

Jade's voice chimed in, light and cheerful, though tinged with confusion. They were talking, laughing, as if nothing had happened.

Reed gritted his teeth and, with trembling arms, finally pulled himself up. His legs wobbled as he limped forward into the snow-covered night, each step heavier than the last.

A little further out, he paused and turned back toward the house. Through the frost-covered window, he could see his father leaning back, patting his stomach with a satisfied smile.

"I don't remember the last time my belly's been this full," his father said, his voice carrying faintly through the night.

Reed stood still, staring at the warm glow of the home he had just left. He let out a slow breath, his chest tightening with an ache he couldn't place.

"Your sin is now forgotten," he whispered to the night, his voice heavy with something between acceptance and despair.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He turned away, limping into the endless white of the winter, his figure soon swallowed by the cold, unyielding night.

***

The warmth of the makeshift fireplace filled the small room, its flickering light casting dancing shadows on the cracked walls. The family of three sat on the cold, uneven floor, their meal spread out on a wooden crate that doubled as a table. The air smelled of mutton stew, rich and savory, steaming in chipped bowls alongside chunks of crusty bread.

Reed's father leaned back with a satisfied sigh, patting his stomach. "I don't remember the last time my belly's been this full," he said, his voice warm and content. "You've outdone yourself tonight, dear."

Reed's mother smiled, her hands busy folding a patchwork quilt. "It's just stew," she said modestly, though her eyes sparkled with pride. "I added a bit of thyme this time. Thought it might make it feel... special."

Jade grinned, tearing off a piece of bread and dunking it into her bowl. "Special? It's amazing! I could eat this every day."

Her father chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair. "Careful, or your mother might take you up on that. We'll be eating stew for a month!"

The room filled with laughter, the sound bright and carefree. Jade leaned back, her arms stretched above her head. "I wouldn't mind. As long as there's bread to go with it."

Her mother shook her head, her smile soft. "You two are impossible." She glanced at the empty space beside Jade, her brow furrowing for a moment. "Did we... forget to set a place for someone?"

Jade followed her gaze, her expression blank for a second before she shrugged. "I don't think so. It's just the three of us, right?"

Her father nodded, his voice easy. "Must've been your imagination. Anyway, pass me the extra slice of bread, would you? This stew's too good to waste."

As the family continued to eat and laugh, the warmth of the fire wrapped around them like a blanket. The room felt cozy, safe, and whole—as if nothing were missing at all.

***

After the laughter and chatter of dinner faded, the house grew still. Jade hummed softly to herself as she prepared for bed, her tune light and carefree. She padded across the room toward the haystack bed where she slept, her mind already drifting toward dreams.

With a small leap, she plopped down onto the haystack—only to yelp in pain.

"Ouch!"

She sat up, rubbing her back with a wince. Something hard and unyielding had jabbed her. Puzzled, she pushed aside handfuls of hay, her fingers brushing against a solid object buried beneath. After a moment of digging, she unearthed a wooden sword.

Jade held the wooden sword up, turning it over in her hands. Confusion flickered across her face as she examined the carvings. The weight of it was familiar, the smooth grain of the wood carefully polished. Her fingers traced over the patterns etched along the blade—patterns unmistakably hers.

And then her gaze landed on the base of the hilt, where a name was carefully carved.

"Reed."

Her breath hitched. A tear slipped unbidden down her cheek, catching her completely off guard.

"Huh?" she whispered to herself, her voice trembling.

Why do I feel sad? This name… Reed. Who is Reed? Why can't I remember?

Her free hand flew to her chest, clutching at her heart as it raced beneath her palm. An ache bloomed deep within, sharp and unrelenting, as though something precious had been ripped away, leaving a gaping void.

The sword trembled in her grip as she held it closer, her tears falling faster now. The feeling was inexplicable, but it consumed her entirely—a loss she couldn't name but felt with every fiber of her being.