Cold.
The first thing I noticed was the cold.
Not the kind of cold from winter air or icy water. This cold felt wrong. It clung to my skin like a wet sheet, but I wasn't wet. It pressed into my bones like fingers, searching for something. I tried to move but my body wouldn't respond.
Then came the smell were dust, ash, and something sharp, like burnt metal.
My eyes snapped open.
Stone ceiling. Cracks. Faint green light pulsing like a dying heartbeat. I was lying on a stone floor, stiff and sore, like I had been here for a long time. When I tried to sit up, pain shot down my spine and my arms shook. But I forced myself up.
Where the hell am I?
Then I saw it.
A tall mirror stood at the far side of the room. Not a normal mirror but this one was twisted, the glass rippling like water.
But my reflection was clear.
And it wasn't me.
Sharp jaw. Pale skin. Long, white hair falling over narrow shoulders. Eyes the color of blood. My body was thin but strong, dressed in black robes lined with red thread. On my right hand, strange black marks coiled around my fingers like tattoos but they moved, twisting slowly.
"No way," I whispered, my voice deeper than I remembered.
This was Kael Thorne.
The villain.
The warlock. The tyrant. The cursed one
.
I knew this man. I had read the novel Whispers of the Hollow Vale three times. Kael dies in Chapter 3, ripped apart by spirits he tried to control. It was brutal, short, and painful.
And now… I was him.
My chest tightened. My breathing grew fast. I held my hands out, staring at the ink-like markings crawling slowly up my arm. It wasn't a dream.
How did I end up here?
I tried to think. Last night I had fallen asleep reading the book again. I was at the part where Kael opens the Grimoire of Thorns and begins the ritual. I had always hated how his character was wasted. He had potential. Power. Even some depth. But the book made him a stepping stone for the hero party. Nothing more.
And now I was him, and his fate was mine.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "This can't be happening."
But it was.
Something shifted nearby. A soft rustle. I turned fast. My body was slower than I expected, but I managed to stand. Across the room was a wooden table. On it, a thick book sat open—its pages black with red writing. The cover was made of something like leather, but it pulsed faintly, like skin over a heartbeat.
I recognized it immediately.
The Grimoire of Thorns.
Kael's cursed spellbook. The source of his power. And the reason for his doom.
I walked toward it, slow and careful. The markings on my arm tingled. The book was alive. I could feel it watching me, even though it had no eyes.
As I reached for it, the book opened wider by itself. A page turned. Then another. It stopped on a page filled with symbols I didn't understand. But somehow… I could understand them.
"Blood binds," I whispered, reading the title. "The first spell…"
The moment the words left my mouth, the symbols on the page flared red. A pulse shot through my hand, burning up my arm. I stumbled back, gasping.
But I didn't fall.
The black markings had spread. They reached my shoulder now.
Then came the voice. It didn't come from outside—it came from inside my head.
"The pact is made. The blood is claimed. You are mine now."
I fell to my knees, gripping my head. "Shut up. Shut up!"
The voice laughed.
I was breathing hard, sweat dripping from my face. My heart pounded like a drum.
This was worse than I thought.
The book wasn't just cursed—it was alive. And now it had linked to me. In the novel, Kael loses control of the book by trying to unlock all its secrets too quickly. It drives him mad. It kills him.
That was just two chapters away.
I had to think. I had to survive. I wasn't just Kael now. I was me. I knew the story. I knew what was coming.
I had a chance.
The hero party would arrive in three days. They would find this place—Kael's lair—in the woods north of Hollow Vale. They'd break through the wards, fight their way in, and catch him mid-ritual.
But if I left now…
I turned toward the door. A heavy iron thing covered in runes. In the book, Kael never left. He waited here, thinking he was untouchable. That was his mistake.
Not mine.
I touched the door and whispered, "Open."
The runes glowed, then dimmed. The door creaked open slowly. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of dead leaves and rain. Beyond the door, a stone staircase led up into darkness.
I didn't wait.
I grabbed the Grimoire and wrapped it in cloth, shoving it into a satchel on the table. I found a black cloak on a hook nearby and threw it over my shoulders. Then I climbed the stairs, step by step, every muscle tense.
When I reached the top, I pushed open another door.
Night sky. Moonlight. Trees swaying in the wind.
I was in the forest. The Hollow Vale.
It was worse than I imagined.
The trees here weren't just trees. Their branches moved like arms. Their bark had faces. Some were whispering.
I stepped out slowly. The ground squelched under my boots. Mist rolled over the ground in thin sheets. Somewhere far off, something cried out—a long, low sound, like a child and a beast at once.
I had to get out of the forest.
In the book, there was a village just west of here. Wynmere. They hated Kael. Burned his old tower. But they might not recognize me yet. Not without the cloak and the warlock aura. If I could hide there, even for a little while, I could figure out my next move.
I started walking, keeping low, the trees watching me.
The Grimoire pulsed in my bag.
"You run, little thief. But I go where you go. You opened me. You fed me. You are mine."
I gritted my teeth. "Not your puppet."
"Then prove it. Cast again."
I didn't answer. Not yet.
I walked for hours, careful not to make noise. Shadows moved between the trees, some too tall, some with too many legs. I didn't look at them. I didn't speak.
At last, I saw a light.
A small cottage, lantern glowing in the window. A fence of bone-white wood around a garden. Smoke from the chimney.
I stopped.
In the novel, there was an old woman who lived near the Vale's edge. She wasn't in many scenes, but she helped the hero once. Gave him a charm. She was called Mother Gwill.
She might help me too… or she might kill me on sight.
I had to try.
I stepped toward the gate and knocked.
Silence.
Then footsteps. The door creaked open, and a wrinkled face peered out. Eyes cloudy with age, but sharp.
"You've got the eyes of a dying star," she said. "But not the soul to match."
I said nothing.
"You're not him," she said slowly. "But you wear his face."
My mouth went dry.
"Please," I said. "I need shelter."
She studied me for a long moment. Then, without a word, she stepped aside.
I walked in.
The door closed behind me with a soft click.
--------///-----
And so, chapter 1 is done.
So here I am thanking you for taking yout precious time to read this and your patience.
See you in the next one!