Crimson & Light: Starting Over In A World Isn't As Easy As It Seems

A brilliant flash of green light erupted from her hands, and the next moment, Changra was sent flying backward. The world tilted as he hit the cold stone floor, his vision swimming with pain. Blood spilled from a gaping wound in his side, and his dagger clattered uselessly out of reach.

"What the hell?" Merrick shouted, his voice laced with both anger and confusion. Jane screamed, but her voice was muffled in Changra's ears as his head spun from the force of the impact.

Berethia stepped forward, her face contorted in a mix of anguish and something else—envy.

"You don't understand," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Her gaze flickered between the injured Changra and the rest of the group, who were frozen in shock. "None of you do. This is bigger than all of you."

"Berethia, stop!" Jane cried, rushing to Changra's side, her hands glowing as she tried to stabilize his wound.

Berethia hesitated, her eyes darting to Jane, then to Merrick, then back to Changra. Something dark flickered in her expression—guilt, perhaps—but it was swallowed by resolve.

"This isn't about you," Berethia said, her voice breaking slightly. "I never wanted this, but I don't have a choice."

Merrick stepped forward, sword raised. "What the hell are you talking about, Berethia? What are you doing?"

Before anyone could move, Berethia cast another spell, creating a barrier of green light between herself and the rest of the group. "I'm sorry," she whispered, though her words sounded hollow.

Changra's world blurred further, the edges of his vision darkening as the pain in his side grew unbearable. His thoughts raced. Why? What's happening? I thought she was—

His body gave out, and everything went black.

Changra's eyelids fluttered open, but something felt off. He was lying on the cold, hard ground, unable to move a single muscle. Panic gripped him as he tried to shift, to twitch even a finger, but his body refused to respond. His eyes, however, were wide open, taking in the frozen world around him.

Jane was slumped next to him, her hand just inches from his. Her expression was locked in an unreadable state, a mix of fear and exhaustion etched across her face. He wanted to reach out, to wake her, but he couldn't.

His gaze darted further across the room. Merrick stood by Tessa and Callen, his blade drawn, his body perfectly still. Tessa's staff was mid-swing, frozen in the act of casting a spell, while Callen looked ready to leap forward, his face twisted in determination.

Changra's heart sank as his eyes moved to the other side of the barrier. There she was—Berethia. She stood apart from the rest of the group, her hand still extended, fingers glowing faintly with residual magic from the barrier she had cast. Her shoulders trembled ever so slightly, and her emerald-green eyes glistened with unshed tears.

A single tear slipped down her cheek. Why? What's happening? Changra's mind raced as he tried to make sense of her expression. The usual warmth in her gaze was gone, replaced with something he couldn't quite name—regret, sorrow, envy? It felt raw, unguarded, and utterly unlike the composed Berethia he had come to know.

And then he saw it. The only thing in the room that wasn't frozen—the figure.

It moved slowly, deliberately, weaving between the frozen group like a predator stalking its prey. Its black, shadowy form shifted unnaturally, tendrils of darkness trailing behind it as it advanced toward the barrier. Its eyeless face turned toward Berethia, and though it had no mouth, Changra could swear he felt it smile.

Berethia flinched, her lips moving ever so slightly, though Changra couldn't hear a word. Whatever she was saying, it was meant for herself—or for the figure.

A chilling realization swept over Changra. The figure wasn't looking at the others. It wasn't even looking at him. Its entire focus was on Berethia.

What does it want with her? What is she hiding? Changra's thoughts spiraled as he willed his body to move, to do something, anything, but the paralysis held him captive.

The figure took another step forward, its form distorting as if it were bending the very fabric of reality. The air around it grew darker, heavier, suffocating even. Berethia's tear-streaked face hardened, her trembling ceasing as she squared her shoulders and stared back at the figure.

Changra felt his heartbeat quicken. What are you doing, Berethia?

The world around Changra remained utterly frozen—the flickering torchlight, the eerie stillness of Jane and Merrick, the shadows poised in mid-attack. Time itself had stopped, but only for two figures in the room. Changra's hand hovered over his dagger, his instincts screaming to move, to react, but he couldn't.

Berethia, however, was no longer frozen. She stood, trembling, her usual composed demeanor crumbling as she took a hesitant step toward the towering figure of shadows now standing in the room's center. Its form flickered like a dying flame, shifting between a human silhouette and something far darker, far less earthly.

"Y-You," Berethia stammered, her voice a mixture of awe and fear. Her emerald eyes filled with tears she made no effort to wipe away. "It's… really you."

The figure tilted its head, its face an ever-shifting void. Slowly, a hand materialized from the shadows, lifting as if to beckon her closer. "Berethia," it said, the voice deep and resonant, carrying a strange warmth beneath its menace. "Berethia of Envy."

Her breath hitched at the title, and tears began to stream freely down her face. She stepped closer, her trembling hand reaching toward the shadowy figure. "Crimson King," she whispered, her voice cracking. "After all these years… I thought you were gone. I thought I failed you."

The Crimson King reached out, a single shadowed finger brushing away one of her tears. The gesture was disturbingly gentle, almost human. "You could never fail me, Berethia," it said, its voice carrying an almost paternal edge. "You are my most loyal servant."

Her lips trembled, a genuine, heart-wrenching smile breaking across her face—a smile so pure that it seemed alien on her. But as her gaze met the flickering void that served as the King's face, a flicker of concern clouded her expression.

"You're not… whole," Berethia said, her voice now tinged with worry. "You're weaker than you should be. What's happened to you?"

The Crimson King's form shuddered slightly, the shadows flickering like an unstable flame. "This world has forgotten me," it said, its voice carrying a hint of bitterness. "My strength wanes, but I endure. Thanks to you."

Berethia took another step closer, her voice urgent. "Then let me help you. I'll do anything. Just tell me what you need."

The Crimson King's head tilted again, its shadowy form looming over her. "You already know what you must do," it said, its tone both commanding and tender. "You are my Envy. You are my anchor. Do not falter now."

Her hands clenched at her sides, and for a moment, her face hardened with resolve. "I won't. I'll see this through. For you."

The Crimson King turned slightly, its flickering form now facing Changra. Berethia's eyes widened in alarm, and she instinctively moved to block the King's path, her arms outstretched as if to shield Changra.

"No, please," she begged, her voice cracking. "He doesn't understand. Not yet."

The Crimson King paused, its shadowy gaze fixed on Changra, who still stood frozen, unable to move or speak. "Interesting," it murmured, the word carrying an edge of intrigue. "This one… I feel something in him."

Berethia's composure faltered further, panic creeping into her voice. "He's nothing. Just a boy. He doesn't matter."

The Crimson King tilted its head again, a soft chuckle echoing through the room. "Oh, Berethia," it said, almost fondly. "You forget yourself. Everyone matters."

The blackness around them thickened, like ink bleeding into water. Changra's chest heaved as his legs refused to move, his entire body locked in place. He could feel the hum of the Crimson Dagger beneath his cloak, its warmth strangely muted, almost as if it, too, was held captive by the oppressive force in the room.

A figure began to materialize out of the darkness—a tall, almost ethereal being cloaked in shadow. Its eyes glowed a deep, sickly red, and an unsettling grin spread across its face. It was the Crimson King.

The air itself seemed to quake as he stepped forward, his presence suffocating. Changra could feel the weight of his gaze, not on his body, but inside his mind, scraping against his thoughts like a jagged blade.

"You can hear me," the Crimson King said, his voice a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through Changra's very bones. It wasn't a question; it was a statement, as undeniable as gravity.

Changra's throat tightened, but he forced the words out. "What are you?"

The Crimson King tilted his head, his grin widening into something unnatural. "Nothing," he said, his voice echoing eerily. "Yet."

The single word left Changra more confused and terrified than before. He wanted to look at Berethia, to see if she was as frozen as the rest of them, but his body refused to obey. The Crimson King slowly turned his attention to her.

"Kill them," he said, his voice calm yet dripping with authority.

For a moment, there was silence, and something flickered across Berethia's face—a sliver of hesitation, a struggle buried deep within her. Her hand twitched at her side, her eyes darting between the frozen figures of her companions. Changra thought, for a fleeting second, that she might resist.

But then, something broke.

Berethia's expression shifted violently. Her usual warm and composed demeanor shattered like fragile glass, replaced by a twisted mask of rage and pain. Her emerald-green eyes darkened, and the air around her warped with an unsettling energy. She clenched her fists, her body trembling as a low, guttural laugh escaped her lips.

"I see it now," she whispered, her voice sharp and venomous. "All of you—so full of yourselves, so content. While I… I've had nothing."

"Berethia, stop!" Changra wanted to scream, but his frozen body betrayed him, leaving the words trapped in his throat.

Her gaze snapped to Jane, who was trembling, still locked in place. "You, with your talent and your innocence," Berethia spat. "It's sickening."

Then her eyes landed on Changra, and her lips curled into a snarl. "And you," she hissed. "Why is it always you? Why does everything revolve around you? What makes you so special?"

Changra's heart sank as Berethia's entire body seemed to twist, consumed by a swirling, greenish-black energy. Her voice rose to a fever pitch, her words laced with a manic intensity. "I am Berethia of Envy!" she screamed, her power erupting outward in a violent burst that shattered the oppressive silence.

The room pulsed with a blinding green light as Berethia transformed, her body contorting and growing with the energy coursing through her. When the light faded, she stood taller, her once delicate features warped into something monstrous—eyes glowing with malevolent energy, veins crawling up her arms like vines, and a wicked grin carved into her face.

For the first time since arriving in Elakia, Changra felt truly helpless. Berethia was no longer their friend, their guide. She was Envy incarnate, and she was ready to destroy them all.