CHAPTER 2: Fourfold Night

CHAPTER 2

ΤΕΤΡΑΝΥΞ

Fourfold Night

A sharp breeze whistled through the tangled branches—but something was wrong.

The wind should have rushed down from the cliffs.

This came from below.

The rustling moved again. Behind her.

“Who's there?” Mēlesía called out, voice sharp. “Stay back!”

Her fingers held onto her knife, the bronze hilt now slick with sweat.

She took a cautious step forward, ready to defend her bounty from any man or beast.

Then—a voice.

Low. Unplaceable. Everywhere.

“You took life from my shadows...”

Her body locked up, muscles tightening, breath caught between her lungs and throat.

The words did not echo. They did not belong to the world around her.

Her heartbeat pounded as her eyes and ears focused on the forest around her—desperate to find the source of the voice.

Still, there was nothing, and no one.

Then, she felt a breath on her skin—too close to her ear.

It said: “Now, live within them.”

Ice shot through her veins.

The visible world was gone.

Snuffed out. Swallowed whole. Pure black.

She blinked. Again. Again. And again.

Nothing.

Her chest tightened.

She hit the ground hard, knees slamming into the dirt as her legs buckled.

Her arms stretched out below her, grabbing blindly at the cold soil she could still feel underneath her fingernails, yet could no longer see.

Her hands flew to her face—searching for blood, for pain, for any logical reason she had gone blind so suddenly.

She felt nothing.

And she saw nothing.

No outlines. No shadow. No flickers of light. Not even her own fingers when she waved them before her eyes. Only endless black.

She was completely sightless.

Her fingers dug into the frozen earth, clutching for something real, a solid reminder—an anchor to the world she had known just moments before.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

She had never feared the dark ... until now.

Before fear could take permanent control over her heart, she forced herself to focus—even blind, she could still feel. As long as she could still move, she could find a way.

The crunch of fallen leaves beneath her hands.

The wind through the trees.

Mēlesía inhaled deeply, feeling the ridges of tree roots beneath her hands.

She pressed her palms against the ground, steadying herself as she rose to her feet—slowly, cautiously, her legs trembling beneath her.

She had mouths to feed. She had responsibilities.

She had no choice but to be brave.

Her first step forward was slow and careful. Her hands hovered in front of her, searching for the tree trunks she knew must be there.

Her boots met frozen dirt, then tangled undergrowth. She stumbled, arms outstretched, colliding against a large tree trunk. Her fingers clutched at the bark, gripping tight—as if the wind might tear her away.

She kept her eyelids shut, as if that would somehow reorient her in the darkness.

But nothing worked.

Her breath trembled as she pressed her cheek against the tree. The rough bark grounded her.

“Are you truly … Nýxios ... the Unseen One?” she whispered, not expecting a reply.

Something shifted.

Not a sound. Not a breath.

She felt it.

A presence.

She snapped her head toward it—a habit useless without sight, forcing her to rely on her ears and sense of smell.

She forced strength into her voice. “I … I didn’t mean to trespass.”

She had fought off thieves, wolves—even men twice her size. But how could she fight something that had never been seen before?

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” Her voice wavered. “Please. Please, return my sight.”

This time, the voice replied—changed.

It was no longer vast, no longer something beyond comprehension.

It was distinctly human. Distinctly masculine.

It spoke as if nearby, “Not only did you trespass, but you stole a life.”

The humanlike change unsettled her more than she expected.

“You ask for mercy,” the male voice continued. “I have none to give.”

Her stomach dipped, the way it did when standing too close to a ledge.

“I had no intent to steal from you,” she insisted, her voice growing smaller, her throat tight. “I hunted only in the name of food. My family, my friends, my neighbors—they must eat. I must feed them.”

No response—only the feeling of something unseen, circling her.

Not a man. Something vast. Inhuman. Endless.

Watching. Waiting.

However, she knew not what for.

She only knew that she could not run. She was already caught.

She was not weak.

She was mortal; mortals are survivors.

If she could not run, if she could not fight ... then she would wager.

She drew in a breath, steadier this time, before she spoke again. “You took my sight...” she began slowly, building her confidence as she did. “Let me earn it back.”

Surprisingly, he took the bait, commenting immediately, “Mortals love to bargain.”

She latched onto the word. Bargain. A bargain meant possibility.

Before she could speak, he spoke first: “Very well. Your journey will be your tribute.”

“My journey?”

“Find your way outside of my ring of fig trees, as you are.”

“If I fail?”

“Then you remain mine.”

Mēlesía stiffened, startled.

“Yours?” she echoed. Her fingers curled, fists tightening. “You punish me for surviving?” she snapped, voice rose.

“I punish you for spilling life where life was not yours to influence. I punish you for trespassing upon land that was not yours to travel through.”

The fight in her didn’t die, but something within her stilled at his words—she couldn’t deny what she had done. She had taken the life of a stag from his forest. She had trespassed on his land—land that had been warned about for generations. All of it was true.

Why had she done it? Hunger? Desperation? Or merely for the ease of it?

She exhaled, long and slow.

“Very well,” she replied, readying herself. “I accept my fate.”

“You do not beg? Most do.”

She did not reply.

He continued regardless, “They wail. They shout. They curse the gods. Yet … not you.”

“Would it change anything?”

The moment she answered, his presence thinned, receding quickly, as if avoiding her question.

“Good fortune, Mēlesía...”

Without warning, his vastness vanished completely—so abruptly that, for a moment, she feared he had never existed at all.