12-08-2025, 01:37 AM
Kaelan didn’t move when Nazariy approached. He couldn’t. He felt the man’s fingers at his shoulders, plucking away the last hanging tatters of the hazmat suit. They came off like old, dead skin. Soft sounds, no force, just the slow undressing of what remained of his dignity. Kaelan stared straight ahead the entire time, muscles stiff, breath shallow.
If he wanted to kill me, this would be the moment. Right here. Now. But no knife came. No blow. Just the gentle, deliberate removal of his suit, like Kaelan was a piece of fruit being peeled.
When the last piece was gone and placed beside the stove, Kaelan shivered. The man said something about kindling and poured hot water as if nothing had happened.
Kaelan took the mug with numb fingers. His hands were trembling so badly he nearly spilled it, but he got it to his lips. The warmth was a small mercy. It gave him something to focus on besides the acidic fear eating away at his gut. But he couldn’t help but wonder how badly the water was contaminated.
The man described Shaykra as if announcing that Kaelan had just been introduced to a neighbor or passed a local test. Kaelan let out a breath that was nearly a sob. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't process the words that followed. All he could think was: I’m going to die here. Not from violence, but from exposure or monsters. Either was going to seep into his body and destroy him. His fingers tightened around the mug.
He looked down at himself; his skin was clammy, his under layers soaked from when he’d lost his bladder during the attack. His heart pounded under his ribs like it wanted out. His mind screamed at him to leave, get out, now, but where would he go? His suit was gone, and that creature was still out there.
So Kaelan nodded, once, stiffly. “I’ll sleep.” It came out hoarse and without gratitude. It was a forced circumstance that angered him.
He let himself be guided to the mattress laid askew across the floor. The blankets were mismatched, layered with some strange logic, but they were warm. Too warm, almost. The heat radiated into him in slow waves, as though the room had its own pulse.
He curled onto his side. Every muscle ached. His body remembered the way Shayka had touched him. The pressure. The pull.
He closed his eyes. He could still hear it: the wet whisper of the suit being stripped from his limbs. The way its body hadn't walked but shifted, like oil under tension. He didn’t think he’d sleep. But somehow, after a long time of staring into the darkness, his breathing slowed. The warmth surrounded him like a cocoon. The low crackle of the stove became a heartbeat.
Sleep came, brittle and anxious. He dreamed of being smothered. Of shadows reaching for his throat. Of the black humming beneath his skin, vibrating like it wanted out.
Kaelan woke with a gasp. Light filled the room in a dull, gray wash through a gap in the curtains. He was cold. Sweat had dried against his skin, leaving a sour salt-stink. He felt filthy and raw, like he’d spent the night in someone else’s skin. He sat up slowly, every joint stiff. His stomach growled.
In the corner, folded with uncanny precision, was a new set of clothes. Pants. A button-down shirt. Socks. Even a belt.
Kaelan stared at them. The fabrics were old but intact. Pilfered from survivors of a forgotten decade. The kind of clothing someone might’ve laid out for work the morning before the evacuation orders came. The implication made his skin crawl. These belonged to someone. He hesitated, looking toward the door. Then down at his current state: half-naked, urine-dried and shivering. Dignity was no longer a currency he could afford.
He changed. The clothes smelled faintly of dust and plastic. They fit almost perfectly. He zipped up the pants with a grimace and tugged the shirt over his shoulders, wincing at the chill of fabric against his skin. From his pack he pulled a protein bar and tore it open with shaking hands. The first bite was unpalatable, but he devoured it in four more. He wiped his mouth. Cleared his throat.
It was time to get what he came for. He didn’t want to speak first. He didn’t want to break whatever spell the night had cast. But when the silence stretched too long, Kaelan looked up, voice dry.
“You said you’d show me the black. Let’s get it over with.” So I can get out of here.
If he wanted to kill me, this would be the moment. Right here. Now. But no knife came. No blow. Just the gentle, deliberate removal of his suit, like Kaelan was a piece of fruit being peeled.
When the last piece was gone and placed beside the stove, Kaelan shivered. The man said something about kindling and poured hot water as if nothing had happened.
Kaelan took the mug with numb fingers. His hands were trembling so badly he nearly spilled it, but he got it to his lips. The warmth was a small mercy. It gave him something to focus on besides the acidic fear eating away at his gut. But he couldn’t help but wonder how badly the water was contaminated.
The man described Shaykra as if announcing that Kaelan had just been introduced to a neighbor or passed a local test. Kaelan let out a breath that was nearly a sob. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't process the words that followed. All he could think was: I’m going to die here. Not from violence, but from exposure or monsters. Either was going to seep into his body and destroy him. His fingers tightened around the mug.
He looked down at himself; his skin was clammy, his under layers soaked from when he’d lost his bladder during the attack. His heart pounded under his ribs like it wanted out. His mind screamed at him to leave, get out, now, but where would he go? His suit was gone, and that creature was still out there.
So Kaelan nodded, once, stiffly. “I’ll sleep.” It came out hoarse and without gratitude. It was a forced circumstance that angered him.
He let himself be guided to the mattress laid askew across the floor. The blankets were mismatched, layered with some strange logic, but they were warm. Too warm, almost. The heat radiated into him in slow waves, as though the room had its own pulse.
He curled onto his side. Every muscle ached. His body remembered the way Shayka had touched him. The pressure. The pull.
He closed his eyes. He could still hear it: the wet whisper of the suit being stripped from his limbs. The way its body hadn't walked but shifted, like oil under tension. He didn’t think he’d sleep. But somehow, after a long time of staring into the darkness, his breathing slowed. The warmth surrounded him like a cocoon. The low crackle of the stove became a heartbeat.
Sleep came, brittle and anxious. He dreamed of being smothered. Of shadows reaching for his throat. Of the black humming beneath his skin, vibrating like it wanted out.
Kaelan woke with a gasp. Light filled the room in a dull, gray wash through a gap in the curtains. He was cold. Sweat had dried against his skin, leaving a sour salt-stink. He felt filthy and raw, like he’d spent the night in someone else’s skin. He sat up slowly, every joint stiff. His stomach growled.
In the corner, folded with uncanny precision, was a new set of clothes. Pants. A button-down shirt. Socks. Even a belt.
Kaelan stared at them. The fabrics were old but intact. Pilfered from survivors of a forgotten decade. The kind of clothing someone might’ve laid out for work the morning before the evacuation orders came. The implication made his skin crawl. These belonged to someone. He hesitated, looking toward the door. Then down at his current state: half-naked, urine-dried and shivering. Dignity was no longer a currency he could afford.
He changed. The clothes smelled faintly of dust and plastic. They fit almost perfectly. He zipped up the pants with a grimace and tugged the shirt over his shoulders, wincing at the chill of fabric against his skin. From his pack he pulled a protein bar and tore it open with shaking hands. The first bite was unpalatable, but he devoured it in four more. He wiped his mouth. Cleared his throat.
It was time to get what he came for. He didn’t want to speak first. He didn’t want to break whatever spell the night had cast. But when the silence stretched too long, Kaelan looked up, voice dry.
“You said you’d show me the black. Let’s get it over with.” So I can get out of here.
![[Image: Kaelan-Signature-1.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/Kaelan-Signature-1.png)