As I looked around, I saw the familiar sight of water. I'd been here a few times before. The tiny flames that once flickered faintly across the surface had grown—now too many to count comfortably, so I didn't try. But something was different this time.
Heather's sleeping form lay next to me on the little island, her presence as calm and radiant as ever. I wasn't sure if she was meant to be here—if this place had drawn her in by mistake or if some part of her belonged here, too. She seemed undisturbed by the strange surroundings, as if she hadn't even noticed we weren't still on our cot. I found myself staring at her, thinking about how beautiful everything was—the still water of the lake reflecting the tiny motes of flame, Heather's sleeping frame beside me, all of it quietly glowing. It felt peaceful. Cozy, even.
I sat down on the island and let myself relax, closing my eyes and breathing it in. A gentle, cool breeze brushed against my skin—strange, but not unwelcome. I stayed like that, eyes closed, leaning back into the stillness. It wasn't until the breeze turned cold that I opened my eyes.
I looked around—and in the distance, I saw a shadow. It threw me off. I'd never seen anything like that here, and something about it felt… wrong. Like it didn't belong. I watched as it swayed gently at first—then, without warning, it dove beneath the water and vanished.
The sight unsettled me. I felt something run down my spine as a few things began to dawn on me. I had felt cold. I hadn't felt that in years. That alone shouldn't have been possible. And the shadow… it looked eerily humanoid.
Still staring in that direction, I didn't notice the change nearby—not until a figure rose from the water, much closer. It didn't climb or swim. It lifted, slow and rigid, like a corpse pulled from the depths—not by effort, but by command. Its body moved as one unbending piece, slowly lifting from the water as though it had been lying flat beneath the surface and was being reeled upward by invisible strings—heels first, spine straight, arms resting behind its back—until it stood.
I didn't move. I barely breathed. I hadn't known I could feel true terror until that moment. Its face was a desiccated husk, drawn tight over the shape of a man. Its eye sockets were hollow, but I swore they watched everything—me, the flames, the water, even the dream itself. It didn't blink. It didn't tilt its head. It just stood there.
The shadow clung to its body like tar at first, but slowly began to slide away, dripping in strands like oil dissolving into water. What it revealed had once been regal—the remnants of a ceremonial robe, layered and lined in half-rotted golden thread, with a torn pyre embroidered on the chest. Underneath, strange bulges twisted the silhouette—shapes that pressed against the cloth in ways no human body should. Something had taken root beneath the fabric… and it didn't move, but it waited.
As I stared, the figure began to move its head—slowly, widely—scanning not me, but the world. Like it was remembering where it had left off. It began to drift forward, not walking, just skimming across the water's surface. It came to a stop near one of the flames, then knelt, still silent. The little flame bent back, like it was trying to pull away from the figure. But it couldn't.
The thing reached out and scooped the flame into its hand. For a moment, I thought maybe I'd misjudged it—maybe it was just studying the light, curious, harmless. It held the flame close, almost reverently. Then I heard it—a wet, splitting sound. The skin at the corners of its mouth tore open, and without ceremony… it swallowed the flame.
It felt like a sacrilege, unfolding right in front of me. Something serene being defiled—not in anger, but in indifference. Despite the fear clawing at my spine—despite knowing better than to draw its attention—I stood. My hands were shaking. I wasn't even sure from what—rage, terror, or some mix of both.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" I blurted it out before I could stop myself, and prayed my voice cracking wasn't too obvious.
Its head turned to look at me—but its body didn't move. The motion was slow, unnatural. I had been standing slightly behind where its torso faced, so to see me, it had to turn its head all the way around—until it looked at me over its own shoulder blade.
"Ah… a vessel stirs. I had not known these cinders were claimed. Laid bare. Drifting. Forgotten. No stewards left to tend the flame." It tilted its head, ever so slightly. "And I… so hollow, so hungered. You let them float like lanterns, young one… and wonder why I breathe them in."
Its body stood up and turned toward me. And while I tried to process exactly what it meant, it began to glide closer.
"So young… You must be the last of us."
It tilted its head, studying me—not with eyes, but like it remembered me.
"Do you have a name? I was never given one. No hymns. No title. But you may call me First. Or Elder. Or Brother, if it makes this easier."
Its tone was calm. Casual. Like we were just meeting for the first time, not standing in a dream full of souls it had started to devour.
"Now then, younger sibling… Why have you left your soul so open? I didn't knock. I didn't carve a mark. I simply walked in."
It leaned ever so slightly forward. The hollow of its face didn't change, but I could feel something beneath the words—amusement? Disappointment?
"You must be more careful with things like that."
"You… I mean… Older brother, why are you here?" I stammered, hoping the title might appease him. "I get that you're hungry, but surely there's something else you'd prefer over flame? If you tell me where to find you, I can bring you something. Something to eat…"
I hoped that playing into the mock familial bond might keep me alive.
"Ahhh… I like that. Older brother…" it mused. "You know, I had a true sibling once. But never mind that."
It looked past me, slowly scanning the island again—then stopped.
"Do not worry. I feel sated… for now. But we will see each other soon. I foresee that."
Its gaze lingered on Heather's body. Just a moment too long. I felt ready to fight should I need to, although I wasn't confident in even hurting it. Then it began to glide away, slowly, until it reached the water's edge—and sank, without a sound.