Ruby`s Moon: Fragments of the Abyss

Several more days passed after that spark of return. Gradually, I began interacting more with Lyara. Even though our conversations remained short and infrequent, her presence—once distant—was now something I could face, albeit with difficulty. She was always patient, careful, but there was a constant tension in her gaze, as if afraid that any word might shatter me.

When we finally ran out of firewood, she mentioned, without lifting her eyes from the list she was making, that she would need to buy more from a local woodcutter.

That was the first time I felt that small, stubborn urge to act.

Before I could speak, I hesitated. My fingers trembled slightly on the table, my throat dry. Words spun in my mind for minutes, while she calmly separated some coins—so used to handling everything alone.

I was tired of feeling like dead weight. Tired of watching the world from behind a window. How many people had fallen because of me? Staying inside was like facing them every day, in every corner. It wasn't just firewood I needed to carry—it was the burden of myself.

My voice slipped out before I could stop it, soft, nearly a whisper swallowed by the cold morning air.

"I need to go out, Lyara."

She froze, surprised, as if those words had struck her unexpectedly.

"Kael… maybe that's not a good idea. You're still recovering. And…" Her voice died before finishing, her gaze lowering, fingers tightening around her sleeve as if she wished to disappear.

But I already knew what she wouldn't say. She wanted me to stay hidden. Safe. Untouched.

"I need to go out, Lyara. I don't want… to stay trapped here forever. Please let me help."

She hesitated for a moment. Her eyes, always glowing with that intense crimson hue, softened slightly, as if something inside her was about to break.

"Only if you promise to keep your head down. No drawing attention."

I nodded without hesitation.

And so, I stepped outside for the first time.

The cold air scratched at my skin like brittle branches. I hesitated at the doorstep, my heart pounding, my stomach knotted tight. The village shadows seemed denser than they should have been, too long, as if watching me in silence.

But I took a deep breath… and took that first step.

The village was smaller than I'd imagined—simple wooden houses, most surrounded by small gardens or makeshift chicken coops. The streets were dirt, and each of our footsteps seemed to echo in the oppressive silence.

The stares. I felt them before I saw them.

People stopped what they were doing. Some froze in place, others quickly changed direction or pretended to be too busy to notice us. No one looked directly at me, but every glance was hastily avoided, suspiciously so. As if my existence was a stain no one wanted to admit seeing.

Hands clutched baskets tighter, footsteps subtly quickened as we passed. The air tasted bitter, as though every hidden glance left a metallic trace on my skin.

Lyara walked firmly by my side, eyes forward, ignoring everyone. I tried to imitate her, but each step felt like sinking deeper.

When we reached the clearing, the scent of freshly cut wood mixed with the warm smoke from the small cabin's furnace. Irregular piles of logs and kindling surrounded the rustic building, each piece roughly hewn. The woodcutter, a broad, muscular man, swung his axe with practiced ease as he tied bundles of firewood. His graying beard, speckled with sawdust, swayed with every motion, and his leather coat creaked under the strain of his shoulders.

Lyara stepped forward, gesturing quickly and diplomatically, but the world around me seemed to slow down—the creak of wood, the distant crackle of fire, every syllable of their negotiation echoed in my ears, as if I were underwater. The sounds arrived distorted, wrapped in a thick fog settling inside me.

When I bent to pick up the first bundle, a lump caught in my throat. The woodcutter looked up—small, slate-gray eyes—and shoved a pile of cracked, splintered sticks toward me.

"Take it. That's what I've got," he grumbled, his voice as rough as the saw he'd used minutes before.

In that instant, I realized. It wasn't just coldness—it was pure, undisguised disdain.

Lyara didn't hesitate. Her eyes narrowed, her voice cutting through the air like a half-drawn blade.

"This isn't what we agreed on. Not even close."

The woodcutter dropped the bundle to the ground with a dry thud, arching a brow as he let out a humorless, rasping laugh.

"Pretty lady, money's money. If you want luxury, go to the city."

My chest tightened, but I kept my tone low, almost a whisper, trying to defuse the moment with as little friction as possible.

"That's enough. We'll take it."

He slammed a wooden mallet against the bundle, stamping a silent, mocking agreement, then stepped forward—not with words, but with the weight of his body, imposing himself like an immovable wall.

"That's what there is," he repeated, his tone now so low it sounded like a veiled threat.

For a moment, everything inside me trembled. The tension in the air was nearly tangible, thick as mist before a storm. Slowly, the world returned to its rhythm—the smell of smoke, the crackle of logs, the biting wind.

I picked up the bundle he'd set aside, its weight anchoring me back to the present.

I carried more than just splintered wood—I carried the echo of that hostility, a memory carved beneath my skin.

"Thank you," I muttered, lowering my gaze.

Lyara stood by my side, her body stiff, as if debating whether to intervene or retreat. But between us, there was that silent understanding—that sometimes, it was safer to just walk away.

The woodcutter chuckled lowly, returning to his piles of wood as if nothing had happened.

We returned to the cabin in silence. Each step made the dry earth groan beneath me, and deep down, I knew—what I carried in my hands was light… compared to what weighed on my chest.

Back at the cabin, I set down the firewood and apologized.

"I promise I'll repay what I spent. I'll find another way to get the rest."

She sighed, weary.

"No need, Kael. You've already done more than enough."

But I insisted, and maybe she understood that I needed to say something—anything—to show I was still trying.

I realized, with a mix of gratitude and guilt, that Lyara was the only thing anchoring me here. But even she seemed on the verge of breaking under so much weight.

The days that followed passed like a constant whisper of paranoia.

The crackle of embers in the fireplace filled the silence, an irregular sound that seemed to count the time between tragedies.

Hours later, as the night breeze began to blow, the sound of firm knocks echoed through the cabin.

Lyara rose slowly, her gaze meeting mine briefly before walking to the door. Each step on the creaking floor was tense, as if the air itself had grown heavier.

She opened the door cautiously.

It was the old man who had welcomed us upon arrival—gray beard, ice-blue eyes, a soldier's upright stance.

"Your friend… the time he paid for is running out. You have less than a month."

He asked to come in, and Lyara stepped aside, wordless.

He sat near the fireplace but avoided looking at me, as if I were an unwanted shadow in the room.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice firm, no pretense.

The silence that followed felt thick, heavy, like a fog creeping between us.

"The villagers… they're calling him cursed."

The words dropped like stones, shattering the air between us.

"They think you bring bad luck. Death. It doesn't matter if they truly believe it or not. That kind of fear is the worst. It's irrational."

He adjusted his coat, as if the words had placed a physical weight on his shoulders. His voice grew heavier when he spoke again, still avoiding my gaze.

"He shouldn't go out anymore."

Lyara muttered under her breath, her tone sharp with contempt, not bothering to hide her irritation.

"They don't even know what that word really means…"

He hesitated, eyes fixed on the fireplace flames, as if hoping they'd offer some answer.

"It's not just that…"

His voice dropped, dragging like a secret chained to the floor.

"There's more… A hunter."

He slowly lifted his gaze, meeting Lyara's with a seriousness that thickened the air.

"People are talking about a distant village that was… wiped out. Nothing left. No one knows exactly what happened, but they feel the bad omen. And now, with you here…"

He paused, as if the words burned his tongue before he finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of a sealed sentence.

"They say if the blood moon appears while he's here, they'll drive him out. Even by force."

He left shortly after, never once looking at me.

But they didn't need to drive me out.

Part of me had already left a long time ago.

After that day, Lyara stopped going out with me. Félix never returned. When I asked about him, she just shook her head, silent.

I began wandering more around the cabin. It was strange, but with every dragging step, I realized—time didn't heal anything. It merely made me more resistant to pain.

Lyara finally spoke of what she knew, her voice sounding like an ancient echo in the darkness.

"There are secret orders that study things like this, Kael. Curses, rituals… Few people believe in them. And those who dig too deep usually end up dead—or worse. This isn't like the stories. People don't understand the weight of those words."

She said what I carried wasn't ordinary. Not even she knew what it was.

That night, the cold felt sharper than ever. The dying embers in the fireplace were the only faint light in the room. The firewood had burned out too quickly.

Because of me.

I had been the one who insisted on going out with her. Lyara resisted, said it wasn't a good idea, but I pushed her. And she gave in.

Deep down, I knew she only agreed because she was tired of trying to protect me from myself.

She tried to negotiate, even raising her voice, but I stopped her before the argument could grow.

I didn't want another problem starting because of me.

I had already ruined enough simply by existing there.

I preferred to accept it. To pretend everything was fine.

This was the result—too little firewood, a supply that wouldn't last.

Now, she was there, trying to hide her exhaustion, stirring what little remained in the fireplace, as if trying to pull warmth from ashes.

If I had just stayed home…

She wouldn't be going through this.

I stared at the nearly dead embers, guilt piling heavier and heavier on my chest.

I waited until sleep finally overtook her. Every crack of the burning wood sounded like a cruel reminder.

I can't leave it like this.

I had no coat, no protection against the cold.

I grabbed the thickest cloth I could find, wrapping myself as best I could, clutching it tightly around my body.

But it didn't help.

The cold pierced through easily, like thin needles stabbing my skin.

Each step toward the door was a struggle not to collapse from shivering.

It was still strange to think about it. I didn't even know exactly where I was.

All I knew… was that winter had come too quickly here.

In the city where I grew up, it always arrived late.

I had never seen frost covering the ground this early.

Here, even before dawn, the grass and leaves already sparkled under the pale light, frozen solid, crunching under every step.

I need to fix this. Even if it's just bringing back a bit more…

I walked toward the forest. Each step accompanied by the creak of frozen earth beneath my feet.

It was just firewood. That's all.

The forest closed around me, its twisted branches creaking with the wind, as if it were alive.

I crouched down to gather some dry sticks when the air shifted.

The sound came first. Calm footsteps, too light, as if the ground itself avoided making noise.

My body froze before I could even think.

And then, I saw him.

A man. Alone. Walking with impossible calm between the trees. Long black hair draped over his shoulders. Thick clothes wrapped around him, blending him into the shadows themselves.

Every instinct screamed at me to run.

But he stopped.

And looked at me.

His eyes were so dark they seemed like bottomless pits. An abyss hidden beneath his skin.

My breath caught. My legs wanted to flee.

But my body wouldn't respond.

He smiled—a hollow, empty smile, as if he already knew me.

As if telling me I was exactly where he wanted me to be.

Time seemed to stretch, suffocating.

Everything around me vanished.

There was only him.

And that smile.

After an instant that felt like eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. A brief gesture.

Like marking his prey.

He turned away.

And disappeared among the trees, his steps as light as shadows.

I stayed there, paralyzed. Long after he was gone.

The cold still gnawed at my skin, but it was a different kind of ice that stopped me from breathing.

Deep down, I knew.

I would never forget that smile.