Softness cradled his back, an unfamiliar sensation that pulled him from the depths of unconsciousness. When Oswald stirred awake, he was utterly confused. How did I get here?

  His body recoiled at the unnatural comfort. The sensation was almost suffocating, as if he were sinking into something that wasn’t meant for him.

  Despite this, Oswald pushed himself upright. A thick wool blanket slipped from his chest as he sat up. He glanced down, shocked at the sight of crisp white sheets and a sturdy wooden frame beneath him. Well ain't this place fancy.

  He had no memory of crawling into an inn. Someone took me here.

  Oswald looked around and saw immaculate walls, polished wooden furniture, as well as a small table tucked into the corner. It was nothing like the places he usually woke up in. After all, there was no scent of piss and cheap ale clinging to the walls.

  Panic gnawed at the edges of his mind, but before he could think any further, a violent cough tore through his chest, wrenching him forward. The force of it sent pain splintering through his skull, and a fresh wave of dizziness crashed over him.

  He barely had time to brace himself before his vision blurred. His stomach twisted in protest, and with no strength to hold it back, bile surged up his throat. He lurched forward, vomiting onto the wooden floor with a sickening splatter. Shit, this has to be 'cause I used the damn eye.

  He'd felt bad after using his right eye before, but never quite like this. It was as if the strength had been sucked right out of him, leaving only an empty husk behind.

  His gaze darted around the room, frantic despite his exhaustion, searching for anything that might help soothe him. And then, he saw his salvation, resting atop a small table. A glass of water and a plate with bread.

  Relief surged through him, raw and desperate. He didn't stop to wonder who had left it there or if it was meant for him. His body moved before his mind could catch up, driven by sheer survival instinct. He reached out, fingers weak and trembling, barely managing to grasp the glass. Lifting it to his lips, he drank in greedy gulps, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat.

  Some of it spilled down his chin, but he didn’t care. The moment the glass was empty, he turned his attention to the bread, tearing into it with shaking hands. It was soft, fresh, and slightly warm, so much better than the stale scraps he was used to scrounging from market stalls or trash bins. He devoured it with a hunger that surprised even him.

  The food settled in his stomach, and though the nausea didn’t disappear entirely, the dizziness eased a little. Okay... okay... let's think about how I got here.

  Oswald' mind struggled to piece together the events that had led him here. He remembered the alley where he fought those thugs. He’d taken them down one by one. But after that… What happened next?

  There was a gap in his memory. He shut his eyes, trying to force the recollection, but all he got were flashes: strange words floating in the air, shimmering faintly before his eyes. Souls. Resonance. Skills.

  The words felt important, but their meaning slipped through his fingers like sand. He could almost remember, but then the memory would flicker and fade, leaving him with nothing but confusion and unease.

  Yet, a sudden creak made his breath hitch. His body tensed, and his head snapped toward the door just as it eased open. A woman stepped in. That’s the lady I saw in the alley!

  She was tall and striking. Her long, white hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her alabaster skin looked like something out of a legend, almost too flawless.

  The woman wore a pristine white cloak draped over her shoulders. It obscured much of her figure, but he could still see the outline of a sword strapped to her waist. No, not just one, but two. The second sword was bound in chains, an odd sight that made Oswald uneasy. Who goes around carryin’ a weapon all locked up in chains?

  Oswald swallowed hard. His hand twitched toward his side before he remembered that he was completely unarmed. If she meant trouble, he was in no condition to stop her.

  The woman looked at the mess on the floor, then looked back at him. Her violet eyes held his, assessing, weighing, before she spoke. “You’ve quite the audacity. Not only did you help yourself to my food and drink, but you also had the discourtesy to vomit on the floor.”

  Oswald winced. He forced himself to sit straighter, ignoring the way his muscles ached and his head swam. Shit… that was hers?

  “Uh, Lady, I… didn’t know it was yours. I just… I was desperate. And as for the vomit…” He glanced at the mess, grimacing. “That's my bad, couldn’t really help it.”

  The woman chuckled. “This reminds me of a certain incident in a desert outpost. There was a goat, a spice merchant, and far too much fermented cactus wine involved.”

  Oswald blinked. “Huh?”

  A wry smile ghosted across her lips. “Never mind, tell me, how do you feel now?”

  Oswald rubbed his face with the back of his hand. The water had helped, but his insides still churned and his head throbbed with dull pain. “Not great, but not bad either."

  The corner of her mouth twitched, whether in amusement or pity, he couldn’t tell. She stepped around the puddle of sick on the floor and pulled a wooden chair close to the bed. “You were fortunate I found you when I did, had it been any later, I doubt you would have survived.”

  “What’re you talkin’ about, Lady? Survived what, exactly?”

  “Surely you must have felt more… ill, recently? And over time, you must have noticed your condition worsening.”

  Oswald was unsure how he should answer. So, he decided to give a vague answer, but not necessarily a lie. “Yeah, I… ain’t exactly been feelin’ great lately. Might just be ‘cause of the way I live, though. Shouldn't be hard to tell that I don’t got it easy.”

  “That would explain part of it. But not all.”

  “You think this is somethin’ else?”

  "I am quite certain of it. Illness from exhaustion and hunger will pass with rest. But what troubles you now comes from elsewhere. I believe, deep down, you know that too."

  “Lady, I… I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

  She exhaled slowly. “Listen, I know what dwells in your right eye. It’s called an Animus. A power not commonly found in someone like you… and certainly not without consequence.”

  Animus… The word dropped into Oswald’s thoughts like a stone into deep water, pulling everything else down with it. It didn’t feel like something meant for someone like him, like it belonged to a world far beyond what he knew. But more than the word, it was the memory that struck hardest.

  Oswald could still remember his last moments in the alley. When the woman saved her, and how odd her eyes were.

  At first, they looked normal. Striking, sure, but human. Then they changed. Strange, pulsing sigils bloomed across her irises, each shaped like a five-pointed star. Her eyes were weird too. So, maybe…

  “Wait… Lady, you… do you have one too? An… uh, an Animus, I mean.”

  "Yes, I have an Animus.” The woman said, chuckling lightly.

  "Guess that explains a lot." Oswald said.

  The woman leaned back slightly in her chair,. “Do you know what the Animus actually is?”

  “No clue. Just thought it was some kinda curse. Gives me power, but it rips me apart every time I use it.”

  “Then do you at least understand the cost of using it?”

  “I got a guess, feels like it’s killin’ me slowly. Ain’t just pain. it’s like it’s drainin’ me dry."

  “That is not an inaccurate understanding. Without control, the Animus will eat away at your body. Piece by piece, until you are no longer capable of surviving its weight.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Oswald didn’t flinch. He’d known. Deep down, he’d always known. “So there ain’t a way out?”

  “There might be, I could teach you how to wield your Animus properly and how to keep it from destroying you. But it will not be easy.” The woman said bluntly.

  Oswald’s fingers curled tightly around the blanket as the woman’s offer echoed in his head. She’s offering a way out. A real one.

  “I’m willin’ to do whatever it takes. Doesn’t matter how hard it is. I ain’t afraid.”

  But the woman lifted a hand, halting him. “You are far too hasty, boy. Training under me is not merely difficult, it is dangerous. You may yet die, even with instruction. In all honesty, I am not entirely certain your body will withstand the process."

  “I don’t care. I got nothin’ left to lose. So if you’re willin’ to tell me what to do, I’ll listen to whatever you say.”

  Her expression didn’t change. Then, she slowly closed her eyes. Oswald’s breath caught in his throat the moment she opened them again.

  Her Animus was active now, two violet irises laced with black sigils, each shaped like a five-pointed star. They pulsed with unnatural power, drawing him in and pushing him away all at once.

  He staggered, chest locked tight. It was like a mountain had dropped onto his shoulders, crushing the air from his lungs. I can’t move… can’t even breathe. What is she?

  Terror flooded his veins. He couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away, even though every part of him screamed to run. His body refused to listen.

  “This is but a fraction of what you will endure if you choose to follow me.” The woman said.

  I’m gonna die, he thought. If she wanted to, she could tear me apart right now. I don’t stand a chance against her. Maybe I never will.

  For a split second, fear almost won. A whisper in the back of his mind told him to stop deluding himself. That he was a fool chasing something way above his reach.

  But Oswald pushed those thoughts aside, as he reminded himself of what few options he had. What else is there? She’s the only shot I’ve got at makin’ it out alive.

  The woman’s eyes closed once more. The crushing pressure lifted. Oswald gasped, sucking in air like he’d been drowning.

  When she opened her eyes again, they were back to their normal purple, without the terrible gleam. “To host an Animus is to carry both a gift and curse. It is not a path for the faint of heart. Tell me, are you truly prepared to accept that burden?”

  “I’m ready for whatever you got for me. I wanna be somebody, and if that means takin’ the hard road, so be it.”

  “Even if it costs you your life?”

  Oswald let out a short breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. “Lady, I’m already halfway there.”

  The woman smiled, a hint of mischief flickering behind her composed expression.

  “Then I shall remember your words.”

  Oswald tilted his head, raising a brow. “So… does that mean you’re gonna help me?"

  “I don’t see why not. You do appear quite desperate, after all.”

  “Uh… thanks?"

  She gave a soft chuckle. “No, I should be thanking you. I have searched far longer than you’d imagine for another Animus host worth training. Because—”

  But suddenly, she stopped herself, as if she'd caught the edge of some deeper thought and decided against it. “In any case, if we’re to travel and train together, I shall at least need to know your name.”

  “Oh. Right, it’s Oswald. Just Oswald. No last names or nothin’ like that. What about you?"

  “Selene Whiteheart, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Oswald.”

  His jaw dropped. “Wait, what? You’re Selene Whiteheart?”

  Selene gave a small nod, evidently amused by his reaction. Perhaps it was rare for her to find someone who didn't recognize her.

  “You’re really Selene? The sword-saint? The dragon slayer? The woman on all those posters? That Selene?” Oswald asked, still partially in disbelief.

  “I suppose I’ve been called worse.”

  Oswald stared, utterly floored. How the fuck didn’t I recognize her? I’ve seen her face a hundred times. Heard stories from every barkeep and beggar. But looking at her now… she looked even more striking in person. The stories didn’t do her justice. She’s way prettier up close, he thought, before immediately pushing that thought down with a curse. Nope. Stop. Not the time.

  “Is something the matter?” Selene asked.

  Yet, before Oswald could answer, a violent cough ripped through him without warning. His body jolted forward, muscles clenching as pain flared in his chest like fire. He gasped, one hand clutching his ribs as the fit worsened.

  His vision swam, threatening to swallow him whole. He gasped for air, but instead of relief, the sharp tang of iron flooded his mouth. Thick, hot blood rushed up his throat and splattered against the sheets, painting them in deep crimson.

  Selene moved faster than he could process, her hands clamped down on his shoulders. “If you want to live, you’re going to have to make a contract with your Animus Spirit.”

  Oswald’s head lolled slightly, his breaths shallow and ragged. “Wha…?”

  “An entity lives within your Animus, it’s the source of your power. If you can strike a deal with it, you will survive. If not, you will die.”

  The words cut through the haze, sinking deep. A deal? With the thing inside my eye?

  His body had no strength left to fight, no room left to argue. He barely managed a weak nod. “What… what do I gotta do?”

  “Take off your eyepatch, I’ll handle the rest.”

  Oswald hesitated initially. This would be far from the first time he took off the eyepatch. But for some reason, the thought of exposing his right eye now felt like stripping away the last layer of protection he had.

  But the boy pushed his doubts aside as he felt his condition becoming worse. Selene knows way more about this stuff than I do. Gotta trust she’s got it figured out.

  With a shaky breath, his fingers fumbled at the strap. Slowly, he pulled the eyepatch away.

  In response, Selene closed her eyes briefly. The air in the room thickened, pressing down on him like something unseen had stirred awake. When she opened her eyes again, Oswald barely had time to register the change.

  Her irises weren’t just violet anymore. A black sigil glowed within them, forming a five-pointed star. It flickered like fire, shifting, twisting, alive.

  “This will hurt a great deal.” Selene warned.

  Oswald exhaled shakily, bracing himself, though he had no idea what for. "All good, I'm ready."

  “We don’t have time for a proper ritual, I am… sorry.”

  His stomach twisted. “Sorry for—?”

  The question never left his tongue. Oswald saw a flash of steel. Then, he felt a sharp pressure in his chest.

  His body jerked violently, vision snapping white with pain. The world around him dissolved into raw agony.

  Something cold pierced straight through his heart. He barely registered the steel buried inside him, but the fire it unleashed in his veins burned through every nerve, every inch of him screaming at once. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, but no sound came out.

  There was only pain. So much fucking pain.

  His body sagged against the blade, the last of his strength crumbling away. The edges of his vision blurred, shadows creeping in, dragging him under.

  Yet, even as everything slipped away. It was her eyes he couldn’t look away from.

  ***

  A sharp inhale ripped through Oswald’s throat as his body jolted awake. His lungs burned like he’d just been dragged up from drowning, and a sick warmth clung to his skin.

  His stomach twisted as he forced himself upright, palms pressing into something warm and wet. The ground wasn’t earth or stone but a shifting mass of crimson liquid, rippling under his weight. Veins of thick blood carved through the landscape, dragging along limbs, shattered bones, and skulls staring up before vanishing beneath the surface. What is this place? Am I dead?

  The sky stretched endlessly overhead, nothing but swirling red clouds that pulsed like they were alive. No sun. No stars. Just a smothering, oppressive void pressing down, swallowing everything in that same sick, bloody hue.

  Oswald swallowed hard, his throat burning with the acrid taste of bile. The air felt thick, clinging to his skin, but he forced himself to move. Yet, no matter where he turned, nothing changed. The same endless nightmare stretched in every direction. I need to get out of here.

  He looked down, scanning himself with an uneasy urgency. Clothes? Still there. Gear? Nothing missing. His fingers brushed over his face, pausing at the bare skin around his right eye. No eyepatch.

  Oswald sucked in a slow breath, tapping the exposed area. It’s uncovered… but I don’t feel anything weird.

  His chest tightened as he took in his surroundings, an endless stretch of blood-red earth, stained and cracked, stretching out as far as he could see. If this place’s tied to my Animus somehow, then that means… my Animus Spirit should be here too. And maybe findin’ it is my way out.

  “Hey! Animus Spirit!” Oswald yelled out, but nothing stirred. No wind, no response, just more silence pressing in like a weight on his chest.

  He shifted his footing, rolling his shoulders before trying again. “Can you hear me?”

  Still nothing. Am I actually alone here?

  He scowled, irritation creeping in to mask the unease building in his gut. “I know you’re here somewhere! If you’re—”

  Then, a sharp whistle tore through the air. Oswald barely had time to react before a crimson spear slammed into the ground inches from where he stood, sending a shockwave through the bloodied soil.

  He stumbled back, heat rushing to his limbs as he drew his shortsword. His breath came sharp as he looked towards the source of the attack.

  Through a swirling red haze, a figure stepped forward. Long red hair cascaded over her shoulders, blending into the eerie glow of the battlefield. But it was her lone crimson eye that locked him in place. It bore into him, heavy with something ancient, something dangerous, sending a creeping chill down his spine. The other eye was hidden beneath a black eyepatch, one that looked far too much like his own.

  His grip on his sword tightened as he took her in. Black horns curved from her head, smooth and ridged like something carved from obsidian, and pointed ears twitched slightly beneath the weight of her hair. She wore a fitted black ensemble lined with crisscrossing straps, sculpted for movement and agility.

  Obsidian-black wings unfurled from her back, stretching wide. The thin webbing shimmered with an unnatural sheen, the faintest movement catching the sickly red light above.

  But as he stared at her, realization settled in. She’s gotta be my Animus Spirit.