ABH - CH 37 - To Fear the Dark

A/N: I cried writing this. You're welcome. Fifteen chapters ahead!!

Chapter Thirty-Seven

To Fear the Dark

Rise of Winter, Week 5, Day 5

She couldn’t see, that, Freddie thought, may have been the worst part. All that was in her line of sight was her own blood—glittering even in the darkness with its golden hues. She could see the way it bubbled and fell from her thigh, could make out the puddle it formed on the ground—growing much faster than Freddie would have liked in any situation. 

Freddie wished she could say that it was the pain making her delirious, that she knew better than to remove an unknown object from a puncture wound. But, in all honesty, Freddie couldn’t have cared less about the consequences of removing the spike from her leg. 

It needed to be gone. Freddie could muster enough mana to burn the wound closed. Maybe. 

“I am going to burn you alive, you stupid, overgrown, idiotic plant!” Freddie screamed into the dark before her voice lost all semblance of words as she pressed her good leg and arms down and clenched her abdomen so she could lift herself up. 

She got half a foot up, watched an obscene amount of blood begin to fall, realized she probably should have checked to see how high the spike went, and then slowly, agonizingly, dropped herself back to the ground. 

Gasping in pain, Freddie finally paused her screaming. 

She could still move both feet, she was pretty sure, but the act of trying hurt her enough that Freddie clenched her teeth and took a slow breath through her nose. 

Without sight, there was only one way to know how high the overgrown thorn went. Bracing herself for what would surely be another painful endeavor, she tightened her core and lift her arm, reaching for the thorn that was piercing her thigh. As her fingers made contact with the slick wood, wet with her blood, she spread the golden liquid up the spike, outlining it through the darkness. When she couldn’t reach any further, Freddie forced herself up on her other palm, fighting back a growing scream of pain. 

That was the only way to reach the tip of the spike. 

As she did, she felt the cold touch of a vine and ripped her hand away. 

The jumping vines went just above the spikes. And the spike itself was several inches thick at its base—barely angled at all until two feet up when it dramatically shrank to form a point. Freddie looked at the glittering form of the thorn. Then, Freddie wrapped her palm around the midsection of the thorn.

It was difficult to hold, being wet with blood, and her hand being shaky with pain. But Freddie used her meager grip on the thorn to support her as she brought up her other hand and locked herself into place. Freddie, simply put, couldn’t get her body up high enough to go over the spike as it was. 

The reason was simple. Though Freddie was young and mobile, with plenty of Dexterity and Endurance, she was short. Barely four feet tall, like the goblins that infested the dungeon. She couldn’t bend enough to get her leg up two feet, not with a spike in her thigh. 

It couldn’t have wrecked an ankle? That would be so much easier to lift, Freddie growled to herself. 

Lacing her fingers together, Freddie lowered her grip to be right above her thigh. Squeezing her palms around the spike, she slowly amped up the amount of Strength she used.

This thing, if it’s [Common], the most it can have is 20 Endurance. If it’s [Uncommon], 40 or 50. And that’s if the thing was focused on Endurance. Don’t think about whether it’s [Rare]. That’s not happening. Come on, Fred. Just keep going, the spike will cave eventually. Don’t let up. Press harder, firmer, you can do it. You are Strong.

“They’re coming to save me,” Freddie whispered, power and surety filling her. “I will not die before they get here.”

The spike succumbed to Freddie’s strength, and she could hear the splintering crunch beneath her palms. Shards of the thorn lodged into her hands, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The adrenaline and pain from failing were far from being overcome by a splinter. 

Wiping the loose bits away from the thorn, Freddie laid back down.

This was not going to be pleasant. 

So few things in life are, though. Freddie sighed, then doubled the amount of force she was using to clench her teeth. 

With as much force as she could muster, Freddie positioned her left leg close to her right knee and reached behind her with her arms. Arching her back, she pushed. 

Fighting another scream, Freddie could feel the way the spike slid through her flesh, before feeling a horrible coolness. That was when Freddie twisted her midsection and rolled to the side. 

Tensing her muscles, Freddie forced her body to still. She was lucky she was close to the pit wall and didn’t fall on another spike. The cool stone brushed against her skin as Freddie repositioned herself into an upright position, and she eventually settled with her back to the wall. 

For a second, Freddie watched the slow trickling of her blood in the darkness. Then, realizing she might very well bleed out at that rate, she ripped off her jacket and began packing and wrapping both sides of her wound. 

She had left her bag up above, with the health and mana potions she’d need to survive this fall. So, after wrapping the jacket sleeves into a mockery of a tourniquet, she took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“Ok,” she said, hushed. “Mana. I need mana.”

Closing her eyes, Freddie used a Skill she hardly remembered. A Skill she’d thought useless. 

“[Meditation]”

Being blind helped, then, because the world was already halfway faded. [Meditation] dimmed it the rest of the way, giving her a visualization of her mana veins instead. 

Freddie watched as the dull orange of her mana dripped through her usually full veins. She focused on the way it moved, on how much it would take to refill it. She imagined a faucet, refilling the magma in her veins, drop by drop. 

With every splash, Freddie integrated the coolness from the faucet into the heat of her mana veins. She imagined it working its way back into her muscles, the tendons and sinew. She imagined being empowered, of being returned to her strength. 

When she next opened her eyes, she saw two separate notifications—the crimson of the System shining in the dark.

[Congratulations! Meditation is now Level 2.]

[Congratulations! Meditation is now Level 3.]

“Barely useful,” Freddie groaned, her skin clammy, and felt in her reserves for what mana she had recovered. 

It wasn’t a lot. But, Freddie let a smile slip out. 

It was enough. 

Enough to staunch the bleeding and allow it to scab over. 

Enough to close the wound, if not fully heal it. 

It was enough. 

[Regenerate]

She didn’t want the Skill to suck her dry, she just want to be able to stand. So, she imagined her leg, with skin and muscle perforated, and imagined the outer layer extended, closing the hole she could feel in her thigh. 

It wasn’t fun, directing her healing. It felt as if ants were crawling under her skin. And the pain of the injury was still intense. 

But Freddie was not so weak as to let that stop her. 

After a brief stint of healing, Freddie cut off the Skill. All that was left was the passive regeneration it gave. She would have to hope that was enough. For the moment, though, Freddie used the wall to support her as she tried to stand—and immediately found herself surrounded by vines that were wrapping themselves around her. Her wrists, her neck, her head, they weren’t going to let her go without a fight. 

Freddie slid back down the wall, pain and exhaustion overcoming her. She wouldn’t be able to get out of the pit until the vines were burned, and she couldn’t get up to burn them until her leg was healed. 

She would have to stay put.

Sighing, Freddie let her head hit the wall lightly. 

“[Nemoan Protectorate]”

In her mind, the lands of Nemo spread before her—and even lands that weren’t Nemo. Her view went out to the western lands of Dawn, across the mountains separating the ducal lands from one another. None of that mattered, though, all that mattered was the moving piece that was her grandfather. 

Freddie felt wetness fall from her eyes. 

“He’s coming to get me,” she whispered. “He won’t let me rot.”

She couldn’t help but think of elsewhere, of the useless people she’d been forced to call family—who were the reason for her suffering more than any singular misfortune. Of a father who once shoved a shard of glass into her back. Of a mother who once tried to smother her while Freddie slept. Of locked rooms and tears turned into punched walls and screams. Then, of course, there were the Games. Gladiators fighting for the entertainment of all of Moscow in pits so deep there was no hope to climb over the other bodies to escape. 

All so her father could afford his vices. 

But, at the edge of it all, there were memories she couldn’t find. 

Memories she thought she knew, but could not name. 

Of warmth and light in a land of dark. 

But what were they of? And where had they gone?

“She said the edge of grief would be dulled,” Freddie mumbled, fresh tears falling from her face. “So why does it feel like there is none at all?”

What did she take from me?

Freddie knew, then, that the Goddess who brought her here was not as she seemed. Compassion? Yes, in a way, ripping her of the gentle memories could be considered compassion. But grief was love overflowing. Grief was earned. It was proof that you continued to live beyond your loss. 

“What a fool I’ve been,” Freddie choked out. “I want to remember. I want it back. I want to know what it is I’ve lost—even if I’ve gained much more.”

In her mind, glimpses of memories shifted. They weren’t straightforward—they were tinged with anger and resentment, but Freddie supposed that was why they were still there at all. 

Flashes of a girl who grew to be a woman alongside Kalina, who joined the Games for a lack of places to go. A name lost to the ripped tapestry that was her memory. 

A man, older but not elderly, who taught her everything she needed to know to survive. Who kept her from death many times over. 

Others who came and went, small kindness and large. All so hard to find in the depth of her mind. 

“I don’t want to go it alone.” Freddie cried, rubbing her eyes roughly. “I want someone to call my own. Someone who can fight beside me. Someone. Anyone.”

Around Freddie, the air grew warm, the humidity becoming muggy. In the dark, Freddie was acutely aware of the change on her skin. 

“Anyone?” A small voice asked, the sound of crackling embers and the spark of wind popping underneath it. 

Freddie froze. 

She couldn’t see the thing that had spoken, couldn’t do anything but feel the warmth it was radiating. 

But it was radiating the warmth, wasn’t it?

“Anyone,” Freddie choked out, reaching out for the fire she was sure was before her. 

Fire has never hurt me before, has never told me a lie, has never burned me worse than I could burn myself. 

“Then,” the voice said, tinged with hope and anger, “you have to give me a name. A purpose. Let me rampage on your behalf.”

“Yeah, okay, little flame,” Freddie sighed. “You will be a remnant of a life lost to me. You will be my light in the dark. You will be Ogon.”