Shadow slave: In The Eye of The Beholder

The clouds sailed gently across the bountiful sky.

Under its curtain, in the mellow, luscious fields of the farm, Silas sat by the lake's edge. The peaceful environment of the farm even had an effect on the usually energetic youth.

He found it hard not to just sit by and watch the wheat sway in the wind.

The desire deep inside him, the fire in his heart that usually blazed with passion, felt dulled—like it was being suppressed.

'It's probably the environment, he thought. It's nice sitting under the shade of the crops, letting the sun kiss my skin. It's hard to think about the future when the present is so nice.'

He had made the conviction earlier and was sure to act on it. But for now, he could just stay still a little longer.

No nightmare creatures had snuck up on him, so maybe they were in different areas. Or perhaps the spell had spared him such monstrosities.

'For once, I might actually be lucky.'

These troublesome thoughts were distracting, preventing him from appreciating the beauty of the nature in front of him, so Silas pushed them away. In the outskirts, he had to constantly scavenge to survive; such stillness was new to him.

He looked back into the crystal-clear waters, observing every little movement—from the smallest fish to a little bug gliding across the water's surface, riding the tiny currents made by the calm wind.

He activated his aspect, watching as the surface of the lake lit up with tiny strings forming an incoherent web above. The end of the initial thread faded as the bug skated, while the start of it continued to grow and weave around the lake.

A subtle thought arose in the silence. 'What about my own movement? Can I see my strings? ' With a solemn glance, he looked towards his reflection, only to find that he could not see his own strings—or those of anything around him.

'Weird'. Any further insight seemed pointless as the whistle of the wind subsided it.

Silas continued in this state for about ten minutes until—

Rustle, rustle.

He turned his head towards the disturbance, his mellow expression fading as his thoughts began to race.

A golden string, about a meter off the ground, was staying still, the very end of the string stopping just in front of Silas, slightly wavering in place.

The silence and idleness that had weighed on his mind faltered, the desire in his heart sparking up once more, dulling the suppression.

'This is still a nightmare, not some paradise! Why was I so ignorant?' Silas exclaimed internally, gripping the scythe in his hands, the wood handle scraping against his palm as he desperately held it with all the strength he could muster.

'There's something with the field, it must be'. his mind racing, panic overtaking his form. I've never been so stupid as to not be on guard in a place designed to kill me; it must be a creature affecting me.

Any other outskirts kid might be unaware of what was happening, but Silas had overheard many things during his time as a test subject for the legacy clans.

The kind of effect from an area can only be from one thing…

The answer came to mind, and true to its namesake.

'A terror!'

And he certainly felt it.

A figure emerged from the bushes.

In one quick motion, Silas steadied his form, bracing his core, he twisted his whole body as he swung the scythe with all his might. The metal sheen sliced through the air, aiming for blood.

The figure retreated with a single step; the skilful swing missed pitifully. While Silas had done the right movements, he'd forgotten the most important part of an attack:

Strength.

His weak body had little to spare.

His eyes darted to the creature that emerged, only to realize it spoke.

"Woah—Dorian, be careful where you're swinging that thing!" A deeper, reprimanding voice entered his ears. Silas looked at the man, who had his hands in the air, confusion, shock, and relief washing over him.

With his heart still threatening to beat out of the cage that was his chest, it seemed the terror was somewhere else, hiding in the vast fields. Though he wanted to run away from this place, the person in front of him took priority.

The man, still with his hands in the air, looked at Silas, confusion and concern written on his face. The fact that Silas had tried to cut him down didn't seem to faze him.

That probably meant one of two things:

'Either he's underestimating me, or he's strong…'

In the silence, Silas quickly recovered, lowering his scythe to the soft grass and looking at the man, desperately trying to salvage the situation. He bent his back slightly, avoiding meeting the man's amber eyes.

Of course, this was all a façade.

'Okay, okay, he doesn't seem mad. Maybe I can redeem the situation. He called me Dorian, right? He must know this body. Act natural, Silas—for the love of the spell, act natural!'

Despite his efforts, anxiety seeped through the disguise, his jaw jittering uncontrollably.

Silas's eyes flew up, attempting to see the man through the veil of his steel grey locks, reaching within his pupils as [Beholder of Strings] bloomed—a mirage of pallets flowering from his ashen eyes.

Within a few moments, he observed a golden string parting from the man's towering form, aiming for his head. The survival instincts burned into his bones flared violently.

'He's—he's going to strangle me! 'Silas screamed internally, intending to fling himself away from the attacker.

But he was too slow. The hand reached out and grasped his skull. For a second, Silas felt hidden power in the grip, though it was light now; it could easily pop his head like a grape.

The man shook Silas's head back and forth…gently.

His burly fingers ran through the tough hair, scratching between the strands and massaging his scalp. The sensation was bizarre. It felt, for some reason…nice?

'What…?'

He craned his head up and looked the man straight in the eyes, his thoughts scrambling in utter bewilderment. The terror that once gripped his mind seemed to obscure. This was far more astonishing.

Noticing the gaze the youth was giving him, the man removed his hand from Silas's hair and chuckled, his white teeth gleaming in the morning sun.

"Nephew, please, I'm not going to hurt you." The gleam of his teeth was blinding, causing Silas to flinch back.

The man followed up by bending down to Silas's level and poking his forehead.

"You've always been a scaredy cat. It's mostly my fault for surprising you out of the blue."

With a pivot, the towering man turned his seemingly vulnerable yet impenetrable back to Silas and began walking back into the fields of wheat. He turned his head slightly, showing his profile to Silas as he spoke again.

"Now c'mon, Dorian. If you spend any longer out here, it's going to get dark before we get home."

With that final proclamation, he reached the crops, easily treading through the forest of farmland, his sturdy body soon vanishing into it.

Silas still hadn't moved, staring deeply at the spot where his "uncle" disappeared. Although he didn't have to follow the man, he felt compelled to.

'It's risky, but I'll follow him. If needed, I'd rather have him between me and the terror—it might give me more time to run.'

And with cautious steps on the patchy grass, Silas followed in the man's footsteps.