Almost Drowned

The cold water coursed around him, dragging him further downstream, pulling him deeper into unconsciousness. Oliver could feel his body slamming against rocks, sharp and jagged, like a ragdoll caught in a storm. Each impact sent a shock through his spine, but he couldn’t muster the strength to cry out or move. The river was relentless, its icy currents forcing their way into his mouth and nose, leaving him gasping for air only to be submerged again.

His mind flashed to brief, fragmented memories: the sensation of being yanked by a tree branch, its rough bark scraping his skin as it tried to catch him; a moment of sheer panic as he was dragged through thick grass and bramble, the painful thorns catching at his clothes and skin. But nothing made sense. Everything was dark and blurry, his vision spinning, his mind unable to grasp any sense of coherence. He didn’t even know if he was alive or if he had already slipped away into some half-dead state.

Then, everything stopped.

There was no more movement, no more water. It was silent. A cold, sharp, unrelenting silence that clung to the air like a thick fog. Oliver’s chest ached with each labored breath. Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself back into awareness, his senses returning one by one. The first thing he felt was the sharp sting of cold air against his face, the dampness of his clothes clinging to his skin. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his limbs shot through him like an electric current, forcing him to stop. The ache in his bones was overwhelming.

Oliver blinked against the dimming light of the moon above him. It was strange—the moon had once been so bright, and now it had started to fade. Time had passed. But how long? How much? It was impossible to know.

He finally managed to push himself upright, his back protesting with each movement. His fingers scraped against the dirt as he braced himself, his chest heaving with the effort. He was alive, but barely. His vision swam, and his senses were muddled, but he wasn’t alone.

A figure sat a few paces from him, cross-legged on the ground. A woman. Her long hair, silver and matted, hung in tangled strands over her shoulders, blending with the natural elements of the forest. She was dressed in a dark robe, worn and tattered, its edges frayed and torn. A green corset clung to her torso beneath the cloak, the color faded and stained with dirt. She sat in an eerie stillness, her hands steepled before her, palms facing one another, as though in deep meditation.

Around her, hovering in the air like small orbs, were wisps of green magical energy. They spun lazily around her, swirling in lazy circles, casting dim light in the shadowy underbrush of the woods. There was an aura of quiet power about her, a strange calmness that felt out of place in the chaos of the world. She seemed completely unaware of Oliver’s presence, lost in her trance.

But as Oliver shifted, the clink of his armor broke the stillness like a crack of thunder. The orbs of green light flickered once, then winked out as if extinguished by some invisible force. The woman’s eyes snapped open, wide and alert, her expression unreadable. The orbs dissipated into the air like smoke, and she stood, fluidly and with purpose.

Oliver’s hand instinctively went for his sword, but when he looked down, it was gone. Panic surged through him, but his eyes quickly found the weapon lying beside the woman. Her hand had already reached out and grasped it by the hilt, lifting it with practiced ease.

“Who are you?” Oliver demanded, trying to push himself to his feet. His body protested the movement, but he was determined to stand. He clenched his jaw against the pain, steadying himself.

The woman studied him for a moment, her eyes calculating, as if she could see right through him. She didn’t seem frightened, or even particularly cautious, despite the situation. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, as if intrigued by him.

“Everything is alright,” she stated in a voice that was calm, almost soothing. Almost as if she was quieting a scared animal.

Oliver’s brow furrowed, confusion clouding his thoughts. “What do you mean?” he asked, still on edge.

The woman’s eyes dropped to his armor. “I know what you are,” she said softly, her lips curling into something of a knowing smile. “You’re one of the Bone Lord’s emissaries. I can tell by your armor.”

Oliver tensed. He didn’t want to give her any more information, didn’t want her to know too much about him. But she already had. She knew.

“How do you know that?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

The woman didn’t seem bothered by his suspicion. “The armor is distinctive,” she explained. “A emissary’s armor is not easily mistaken.” She let out a small sigh, then stepped toward him, still holding his sword by its hilt. “I don’t think you’re going to tell me the full truth, but I can see you’re not exactly who you’re pretending to be.”

Oliver straightened, though the effort was exhausting. His hand reached out for his sword, and the woman handed it to him without hesitation, the hilt cool against his palm. There was no sign of aggression in her. She wasn’t his enemy, at least not in the way he expected.

“You’re in no position to be hiding anything,” she said, reading his confusion. “But I understand. I’m not interested in your secrets.”

Oliver took the sword from her, clutching it tightly. It was a comfort to feel its weight again, even if he didn’t know how to use it properly. It was his only means of defense, and it was a reminder of everything he was caught up in—everything he didn’t understand.

“I was attacked. I don’t know how long I’ve been out.” Oliver said, hoping to divert her attention from further probing.

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying him. “You were attacked, hmm?” She motioned vaguely toward the woods behind him. “You were dragged through the water and nearly drowned. I saw it from afar, but I didn’t interfere. I’m not one to get involved in others’ affairs. But you’re alive, and that’s what matters.”

Oliver stared at her, trying to process her words. His mind was still foggy, but her story made sense. He’d been pulled from the river, dragged through the grass. He still didn’t remember who had helped him, but somehow, he’d survived.

“What were you doing there?” the woman asked, her tone shifting slightly.

“I’m looking for someone,” Oliver answered quickly, trying to keep his words vague. “I’m headed to Gloom to find them. That’s all.”

She nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. Then, she stepped closer to him, her hands clasped in front of her. “Gloom is no easy place to reach especially on this side of the river.”

Oliver didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t have anything else to say.

“I’m also headed that way,” the woman continued, her voice steady. “I’ve lost my family. I think they’re there. That’s where they’re supposed to be.”

Oliver was taken aback. He hadn’t expected such a personal admission. The woman had a calm, collected demeanor, but there was something raw and painful in her words.

“Your family?” Oliver asked, unsure what else to say.

“Yes,” she said, a shadow passing over her face for a brief moment. “They were taken from me. I don’t know how, but I can feel it. They’re there.”

Oliver’s instincts told him that she was telling the truth, even if it sounded strange. She had an aura of quiet determination about her, one that didn’t look like it would be swayed by anything.

She extended her hand toward him, gesturing to a break in the woods. “It’s best we go now. The longer we wait, the harder it will be.”

Oliver didn’t hesitate. With no better plan, and no other choice, he nodded and followed her. Whatever was waiting for him in Gloom, he hoped that somewhere, somehow, Lilith and Fernwyn were still alive.