Chapter 0003

Every time I came home after a fist fight in middle school, Dad used to tell me any fight can be solved with calm, composed conversation.

I register my lungs straining for breath as I remember those words. Be calm. Be composed.

Slowly, carefully, I turn my head around to stare at the person currently holding a very long, very sharp blade to my neck. I can only stare at his boots, my muscles too tense to look all the way up to his face.

"Hello, Sir, I'm sorry to intrude. I came through the gate."

I must be more winded than I expected, because my words are jumbled and breathy. The adrenaline is leaving my system fast and goddamn its freezing out here. My legs are sore and my arm—

Someone sniffs. The cold metal poised near my neck moves away, out of sight with a scraping sound.

The person in front of me crouches, and I fall back with an undignified squawk. I suck in a sharp breath as bright silvery eyes stare back at me. Something painfully familiar to fear fills up my lungs, primal and suffocating. I don’t know why, but every cell in my body is screaming at me to run, run, run.

"You're wounded." He turns his eyes to my right arm

In the dim light of the single oil lamp, I can see three long slashes along my upper arm. Blood has already flaked on my skin, all the way to my hand. More still seeps out, and I stare at it with morbid fascination.

"Oh," Shock and cold make my voice waver, "This might need stitches."

Try as I might, I can't peel my eyes off the wound. It’s not that deep, I think distantly. This much blood, and it’s not even deep. The irony.

The sound of gravel crunching under feet pulls me from my thoughts, and the man stands with a sort of grace I haven't seen before, there’s a scraping sound, a hand is extended in my direction.

"Can you stand?"

"Just," I swallow thickly, nodding, "Give me a moment."

I thump a hand to my chest, willing my heart to stop racing, for the shock to subside. I get to my feet, wobbling slightly. Focus, Dinah!

"Thank you for your help." I look over shoulder where the nightmarish creature still is. It's real. I tip my head to look up, "Can I borrow a phone? O-Or could you call an ambulance?"

He sniffs the air again, a deep inhale, and I can't see his expression. I'm suddenly struck by the fact that I'm in an unknown place, with an unknown man who looks like a professional athlete and has a sword.

He then lets out a deep, long sigh, "Come inside."

With that, he turns to the gloomy building that stands before us. I remain rooted to my spot. At once, my instincts remind me of danger.

"That's alright," My thoughts come into focus, voice steadying, "If you could just give me the directions to the nearest road, I'll be fine."

The dark haired man pauses to look over his shoulder, eyes that are much too bright stare at me.

He just saved my bum from getting eaten by some unearthly thing, but still something about him is... off. The animal part of my brain wants to squirm away from his gaze.

"You're afraid." He says in the way of observation. If that offends him, he doesn't let it show.

Without another word or waiting for an answer, he reaches down to pull something from his boot before extending it towards me. Dumbly, I just take it. The sharp blade of a dagger shines before me.

"I heard having a weapon in hand makes uncertain situations easier."

I gape at the blade, then at him. Who in their right mind hands a knife to someone they just met?!

I swallow once again. On one hand, I'm definitely grateful for some means of protection. On the other hand, the ease with which he gave this to me doesn't cultivate trust at all. There could be more people inside. This could be some sort of trick.

Even so, I'm better off taking my chances with a human than with a reptile.

So I steel my nerve, "Lead the way."

The wooden doors creak as they open, and the hallway ahead is dark, only illuminated by the moonlight that spills inside through the windows. I clutch the dagger firmly in my hands as I follow behind the person who seems to be the owner of this place.

This place seems deserted, dust coats the stone floors, cobwebs hang in the windows. At least, it doesn't seem like there's anyone else here. I'm not sure if I'm glad or alarmed.

Another creak of doors reaches me, and light and warmth aren't far behind. It's a kitchen of sorts, if kitchens are ever that big. It's bigger than the living room at Mrs. Gaines' house.

"Are you going to stand there?"

My gaze swims back to the owner, who's standing by a long table.

I couldn't get a proper look at him in the dark but here I do.

His profile is striking, with high cheekbones and an angular jaw. Grey eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness outside, are hooded with indifference here. He wears a white shirt under a black, high collared jacket, trimmed with leather, silver buckles across his chest.

There are two sheaths attached to his belt, and one of them is empty. I'm suddenly reminded of the fact that he threw a sword at that creature.

He's unfazed like he finds bleeding people and ferocious beasts on his front door on a typical Tuesday.

My hands tighten on the dagger, "Sir, where is this place?"

He stares at me for a moment before answering.

"SeraphFall Manor."

Worry slowly seeps into my mind, "What city?"

"The closest you'll find is Aquiliona." He says, and then sighs, "You're confused. Please, have a seat."

I've never heard of a city called Aquiliona in the whole of California, and definitely not near Mrs. Gaines' house. A hundred thoughts pour into my mind, and I can’t decide why he's saying that.

He's lying for sure, but it doesn't sound like it at all.

I assess the dark haired man doubtfully. He doesn't seem hostile— despite my paranoia— and he did give me a dagger freely.

Swallowing, I step inside the kitchen. The dark haired man walks off to one of the shelves at the far wall. My head is spinning so badly, I take a seat on one of the chairs at the table.

Alright. I just need to retrace my steps. My phone should still be around that well, or I could borrow one from him. It's alright.

A bottle and cloth is placed on the table in front of me, and I jump in surprise. The owner of this place extends a hand towards me once more.

"Show me your arm."

"What's this?" I observe the glass bottle, but can't see any medicinal labels on it

"Alcohol," He picks it up, uncorking it with two fingers, "Hold still."

Before I can say a word, he tips it over my arm. My scream is sharp and instant as I jump to my feet.

"What do you think you're doing?" I hiss out, stepping away, my arm feels like its on fire

"Cleaning it before binding it," He says flatly, as though it's the most normal thing to take wine straight from a bottle to clean a wound. As though my reaction is what doesn't make sense here.

He must've decided not to pay attention to it, because a moment later, he's holding the cloth. He catches my wrist, rigorously rubbing the blood from my skin.

Crap. It hurts. I have physically hold myself back from kicking him in the shin and getting away.

Finally, he puts the now bloody cloth away and grabs another from the table, wrapping it around my arm with deft fingers. It’s over so fast, I have to blink when he moves away, regaining my bearings. Upon closer inspection, I can see that it isn't gauze binding the wound, but rather a long strip of cotton, seemingly torn from something else.

This just keeps getting weirder.

"It's just a scratch," His voice reaches me, and I find he's moved all the way to the shelf again, "You were lucky."

"What was that thing?" I ask, cautiously surveying the place

"A drake."

My eyes snap back to him. A what now?

Distantly, I recall fantasy books and movies depicting creatures like dragon, but terrestrial.

I think I'll sit down again. "A drake. I almost got eaten... by a drake."

"It probably hatched just a few hours ago." A plate is set on the table, then a cup, "Like I said, you were lucky."

"Just hatched?" My eyes widen at the dark haired man, "It was three times my size!"

He looks at me then, silvery eyes give me an impassive once over.

The difference in our clothing is suddenly very apparent to me.

Him, in something of an expensive medieval cosplay. And me, old sneakers and leggings, an oversized button up thrown over a sports bra. Clothes that are absolutely battered and the button up which is now missing a sleeve.

He meets my gaze again, but his thoughts about my appearance are far from materialistic.

"That's a given. You're practically a midget."

At this point, I can't even muster up indignation. Instead, my eyes gravitate to the cup of water and the plate laden with beef jerky. I resist the urge to grab the water and drown the whole cup.

"Thank you for helping me." I turn to the stranger again, "But can I borrow a phone now, please? I don't want to inconvenience you further."

At that, he takes the chair beside me, turning it so we're facing each other. He looks at me with furrowed brows, as if faced with a particularly hard math problem.

"Uhm, Sir?" My grip on the dagger tightens

"I'm... as confused as you are," He crosses his arms across his chest, pressing his eyes close, "Can you explain how you came across this place?"

Okay. That's a reasonable request.

I relay the events of the night, feeling more and more absurd as I go on. But he listens attentively, not a hint of his thoughts on his face.

I'm honestly a little touched. If I were listening to myself, even I would think I'm being crazy.

"Then the gate opened, so I fell in." I end my tale, "And you know the rest."

His brows furrow once more, "The gate was bolted. How did you open it?"

"I just kept pushing, I guess." I shrug a shoulder. When he stays contemplatively quiet, I add, "It said 'Sanctuary for the weak' so I thought..."

His gaze snaps to me, and I hold back a flinch at the intensity of his expression.

"You could read that?" He asks sharply

"There was lamp there," I nod, caught off guard by his active interest, "And I just read the gate's inscribed words. I think that's what was written."

And he's lost in thought again.

Restlessness has startled settling in my frame. I want to get home. God knows everyone must be going out of their minds with worry right now.

"It's alright if a phone isn't available," I find that hard to believe, but I say so anyway as I stand, "I'm feeling a lot better, so I'll get going."

The dark haired man barely has to lift his head to meet my gaze.

"I understand you want to leave, but there's nothing around here for miles." He tells me evenly, "It's unsafe."

"Then just give me a phone." My patience is nearing its end

He stares at me for a long moment, lips pursed.

"I have no idea what that is."

Now I'm staring at him. He doesn’t know what now?

He's got to be kidding me. But his face remains as stoic as its been the whole time. My heart sinks to my stomach. Things had just started to make sense and we're back to square one.

"I have to go," I inch towards the door, but the minuscule movement is not lost to him

"You can leave if you must," His words catch me off guard, "But I mean what I said. It's unsafe. The forest is not kind, more so at night."

I weight my options, which aren't a whole lot. I haven't forgotten my welcome, the wound on my arm still throbs. I'm tired and ache all over. Even at my most confident, I don't think I can fight off a drake with this dagger.

But I could defend myself against a man with it.

I resist the urge to groan. This feels too much like walking straight into a trap.

My thoughts must be obvious on my face, because he answers my question before I can ask.

"If you do decide to stay, the left wing of the Manor is for guests." He says, getting to his feet "Take any room you'd like. There is no one here except the two of us."

"Why?"

He raises a brow at that, “Pardon?”

I keep my eyes on him, looking for the any hints of lying, "It's a huge house. Do you live here all by yourself?"

But there's nothing, no emotion on his well sculptured face. He simply points to one of the tall and narrow windows. I follow the direction, squinting my eyes at what he's pointing to. It looks like...

"A graveyard?" Unease coils around my stomach

"Everyone who used to live here is gone," He tells me, tone apathetic, "Whenever you wish to leave, let me know. Since you came to these doors, it’s my duty to escort you."

Without waiting for an answer, he offers me a nod and turns to the door, leaving me fumbling for words.

"Thank you." I manage to say yet again, though it comes out more confused than I intended

He stills at the threshold, and when he looks back at me, as impassive and daunting as he’s been this whole time.

"You're welcome," He says for the first time, "You came for sanctuary. I am no one to deny it."