Page 13 of Unseen Eye
“Oh, please, I’m practically a hazard out here,” I say in a mock-serious tone, glancing down at our feet. “If we get through this without me tripping, it’s a miracle.”
His smile widens, and I notice the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “In that case, I’ll risk it. You’re worth a miracle or two.”
His words take me by surprise, a spark of heat flaring in my cheeks as I stifle a nervous laugh, my mind scrambling for a witty comeback that doesn’t quite materialize.
The song winds to an end, and the warmth of his gaze lingers as he steps back. “All right, I’m calling it quits while I’m ahead. I’m going to grab a drink.”
“I’ll get it for you,” he offers. “You find us a spot, and I’ll be right back.”
I slip away, letting the cool night air brush over my cheeks as I find an empty bench near the edge of the square. Settling down, I glance back at the crowd, a feeling of quiet contentment washing over me. I spot Nessa and Finn—she’s trying to drag him into a dance while he stumbles with exaggerated reluctance. Nessa’s infectious energy, her laughter ringing out above the music, and Finn’s playful demeanor, always ready with a joke or a witty comment.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Garet weaving his way back through the crowd, balancing two cups in his hands. I let myself really look at him—the easy way he moves, the confidence in his smile, the warmth that seems to follow him. I feel the tug of possibility, wondering if maybe I could finda place by his side, the kind of life where I’d belong. Traveling, trading, discovering new places and people along the way. It would be a good life, comfortable, a far cry from last night’s chaos.
But as much as I try to picture it, I can’t help but find myself comparing him to the mysterious man. Garet’s comforting presence is familiar, like a warm blanket on a cold night. Yet, there was something about the man from last night that stirred something deep within me. A sense of excitement, of the unknown, of a world beyond the one I’ve always known. Sure, merchants lead relatively interesting lives compared to shoemakers; they travel from town to town, experiencing the world in all its variety. But this man... he felt like a gateway to a realm I’ve never dreamed of.
Just then, Garet returns, breaking me from my thoughts. “Here you go,” he says, handing me a drink, his grin warm and easy.
I thank him, and as I lift the cup to my lips, he reaches out, brushing a stray piece of hair from my eyes that I hadn’t even realized was there. The simple gesture sends a spark through me, catching me off guard. There’s a moment of silence between us, and I see a change in his expression—the playfulness fading into something softer, almost tender, as he holds my gaze.
The drinks are forgotten as he leans closer, his hand still lingering by my cheek. His eyes search mine, and I can feel my heart begin to race. Then, without a word, he closes the distance between us and kisses me.
Chapter Six
For a moment, time stops. His lips are soft and tentative, and I close my eyes, trying to summon a feeling—any feeling. I brace myself for the rush of emotions, the sparks I’ve read about, the thrill and fluttering that are supposed to follow a kiss.
But the rush never comes. There’s no spark, no thrill. Just a hollow emptiness that catches me off guard. His touch is gentle, yet distant, as if an invisible barrier keeps us apart. I wait for the flutter in my chest, for warmth to spread through me—but instead, all I feel is a cold detachment.
When he pulls away, he looks at me expectantly, opening his mouth to say something. But before he can, a scream pierces the air. My head whips around to see people running, their faces nothing but terror. Despite the chaos, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Whatever’s happening, at least it spares me from this awkward, uncomfortable conversation.
“What’s happening?” Garet shouts, standing up and looking around frantically.
My heart leaps into my throat as I spot the source of the chaos. From the shadows, hellhounds emerge, their blood-red eyes gleaming as I remember them. But this time, they’re not alone. Accompanying them are figures—dark, nebulous shapes that seem to absorb the light, their forms shifting and writhing like living shadows, their outlines barely visible against the night.
Shrieks rip through the night, shattering the festive air in an instant. People scatter, their joy replaced by sheer terror. The hellhounds snarl, snapping at anyone who stumbles too close, their eyes blazing with hunger. Amid the chaos, something else emerges—vague, flickering shapes that seem to waver between existence and nothingness. Their forms shift like smokecaught in a restless breeze, never fully solid but unmistakably menacing.
Where their faces should be, there’s only darkness—voids that swallow the light and leave behind a bone-deep chill. Their movements are unnervingly smooth, gliding rather than walking, as though the world itself recoils from their presence. Shadows twist and deepen in their wake, the air growing heavier, as if they drag an unnatural darkness with them, suffocating everything in their path. Garet grabs my arm, his eyes wide with fear and something else I can’t identify. “Eva, we need to get out of here. Now.”
I nod, my mind racing. The memory of the previous night’s encounter floods back. Instinctively, I reach for the dagger I found, its weight reassuring in my hand.
“We need to find Finn and Nessa,” I say urgently, scanning the crowd for any sign of them.
“There’s no time!” Garet shouts, his eyes wide with urgency. “I’m sure they’re safe, but we need to get the hell out of here.”
Before I can argue, the hellhounds are upon us. Garet moves with surprising agility, using a sword he must have taken from one of the festival guards. He slashes at the hellhounds, his face a mask of determination.
“What are those things?” I yell, pointing at one of the dark, shifting figures.
“Shadowfiends,” Garet whispers, “they shouldn’t be here.”
Before I can process what he means, the fiends strike. One of them lunges, stretching out an elongated, clawed arm that cuts through the air like a blade, aiming right for me. I barely dodge, feeling the cold bite of its shadowy claws pass inches from my face. The creatures are relentless, weaving around Garet’s strikes, circling us with eerie patience, as if testing our defenses.
I manage to get a few solid swipes in, even take down one of the hellhounds, but it’s not enough. The shadowfiends hover justout of reach, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Their forms twist and ripple, drifting closer in eerie silence, then suddenly lunging forward with deadly accuracy, their shadowy tendrils slashing and clutching, leaving icy trails across my skin that burn like frostbite.
Garet fights protectively in front of me, his sword flashing through the darkness with precise, practiced movements. “Stay behind me,” he commands, his voice steady even as chaos erupts around us. The hellhounds snarl and snap, eyes glowing with malevolence, while Garet moves like a seasoned warrior, each swing calculated and deadly. I’ve never seen him like this, and it’s both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.
“Garet, look out!” I scream as a hellhound lunges. He spins just in time, his sword slicing through the air, but the creature’s claws catch his arm, raking deep. Blood spatters onto the ground, and Garet stumbles, clutching the wound, pain contorting his face. But he doesn’t falter. With a roar, he drives forward, plunging his blade into the nearest hellhound, the creature dissolving into smoke as his sword cleaves through its center.
