Isle of Beasts and Shadows (The Forgotten Isle Saga #1)

Chapter 3

Jonathan gazed across the vast waters of the ocean’s horizon, the soft hues of the setting sun painting the sky in breathtaking shades of orange and pink. The ship, a magnificent vessel with billowing sails that caught the evening breeze, had just set sail, its wooden hull creaking softly as it glided through the gentle waves. His unexpected encounter with the one and only daughter of Lysander Devereaux, a moment filled with a mix of curiosity and intrigue, had caused a flood of memories to rush through his mind.

Standing near the hull of the grand warship, Jonathan could feel the pulse of the ship beneath his feet, a rhythmic beat that matched the flutter of his own heart. The seagulls, elegant creatures with wings outstretched, sang their melodic goodbyes as they soared gracefully into the distance, bidding farewell to the coast of Eldaraya, their cries echoing in the salty air.

Amidst the bustling activity on deck, men moved with purpose and determination. Each soldier, clad in weathered uniforms that bore the marks of countless voyages, carried out their designated tasks with precision. Some diligently scrubbed the upper deck, their movements methodical and efficient, while others manned the helm, guiding the ship towards its mysterious destination—the island that had captured the imagination of many.

Whispers of the island’s recent discovery had spread like wildfire through the kingdom, igniting a sense of wonder and curiosity among the inhabitants of Eldaraya. It had been only a month since one of the king’s intrepid travelers stumbled upon its shores during a perilous voyage, returning to the kingdom with tales of uncharted lands and untold treasures waiting to be uncovered. Jonathan, his mind abuzz with the allure of the unknown, felt a sense of anticipation building within him as the ship sailed ever closer to the enigmatic island on the horizon.

As the red-haired man turned his back to the sea, the sun cast a warm, golden glow over his freckled face. He caught a glimpse of Duran, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening with concern. Jonathan felt a pang of guilt as their eyes met briefly before he averted his gaze, focusing on the weathered wooden floorboards beneath his feet. The salty sea breeze tousled his hair, carrying with it a sense of melancholy that lingered in the air. Duran’s once warm demeanor had turned frosty ever since The Executioner’s departure from this world. Jonathan remembered his first experience with the great war hero, each detail etched into his memory like a haunting painting.

His first encounter with the man took place 15 years ago.

Untrimmed and scarlet red hair fell into the boy’s dirtied face, the strands clinging to his cheeks as if seeking solace from the chaos surrounding him. Amidst the debris, one could discern the beautifully soft skin that contrasted with his glistening eyes and defined cheekbones. His green eyes, wide and unblinking, reflected a mix of fear and sorrow as he witnessed his village engulfed in flames, the crackling fire painting a nightmarish scene before him.

As tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision, the ten-year-old boy scrambled to his feet, his young heart heavy with the weight of the horrors he had already endured. Despite his tender age of 10, he had witnessed a level of death and destruction that no child should ever experience, serving as a grim reminder of the cruelty of war that had engulfed his home.

“Mother!? Father!?” His voice pierced through the pandemonium, a desperate cry amidst the cacophony of panic and destruction that engulfed the once-serene village of Oxreach.

The air reverberated with the sounds of anguish and terror as the Eldarayan soldiers unleashed their wrath, sparing none in their path. The onslaught shattered the serenity of the small town, replaced by the harrowing symphony of screams and crackling flames consuming homes and hopes alike.

“Jonathan? Where are you?” The sound of a familiar yet concerned female voice rang out, echoing through the bustling crowd.

Jonathan’s eyes, filled with a mixture of panic and confusion, desperately scanned the sea of scrambling people, his attempts hampered by his petite stature. Sweat glistened on his forehead as worry creased his brow.

And then, as if a beacon in the chaos, a gentle hand enveloped his shoulder, its touch grounding him.

“There you are!” The voice, now tinged with relief, belonged to Scarlet, his older sister. Jonathan’s tense muscles relaxed slightly as she turned him around with a reassuring smile.

“Scarlet!” Jonathan’s voice wavered with a mix of fear and relief as he embraced his sister tightly, seeking solace in her familiar presence.

At that moment, amidst the crowd and the uncertainty, they found each other, realizing they had become separated from their parents in the midst of the bustling crowd.

“Follow me!” She gripped his hand, her fingers interlacing with his as she turned to run with urgency.

Her silky hair, a mirror to his own, cascaded behind her like a vibrant flame, dancing in the chaotic air of the burning town. Leading him towards the ancient well that stood solemnly at the heart of the fiery chaos, memories flooded Jonathan’s mind. Recollections of his mother’s voice echoing instructions to fetch water from the very well he now approached.

As they reached the well, a sense of foreboding crept over Jonathan, making it hard for him to grasp the gravity of the situation unfolding before him. His sister swiftly secured the wooden bucket to the well’s edge, ensuring it hung steadily from the rope that dangled ominously in the darkness below.

“Hold on to this,” she instructed him, urgency lacing her words. Jonathan obeyed, his hands gripping the weathered rope while he tentatively placed his feet into the bucket.

“I’ll come back for you, okay? I’m going to find Mother and Father. You’ll be safe down here. I love you, Jonathan,” his sister’s words tumbled out hurriedly, leaving little room for a response.

Before he could utter a word of protest or farewell, she planted a quick kiss on his forehead and began lowering him into the shadowy depths of the well.

Jonathan clung to the rope with a desperation that mirrored his fear, realizing that his very life hung in the balance. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched the blue sky recede further with each passing moment, feeling a sense of isolation engulf him.

And then he fell.

The slack in the rope grew, giving the eerie sensation that there was no one above to guide his descent. In that heart-stopping moment, Jonathan grappled with the realization that his sister had either lost her grip on the rope or had fallen victim to the Eldarayan soldiers who haunted their village.

Jonathan hit the shallow water below with a splash, the cool liquid engulfing him suddenly. Unfortunately, the water lacked so much depth that he hit his head against the stone ground beneath the murky water, causing a sharp pain to shoot through his skull. Emerging from the water, he gasped loudly for air, his heart pounding in his chest.

With a bloodied face, the boy’s eyes frantically scanned the dark abyss he found himself in, the dim light barely illuminating his surroundings. His head throbbed with pain, but his immediate concern was the chaos unfolding above him. Eldarayan soldiers were attacking Aurian, the sound of battle echoing through the air. The declaration of war resulted from a breach in a treaty the two territories once agreed to, shattering any semblance of peace that once existed.

Now, the boy was stuck in the heart of the conflict, his thoughts racing as he grappled with the gravity of the situation. Alone with his fears and a cracked skull, the 10-year-old felt a sense of hopelessness creeping in. His mind spiraled with visions of the worst probable outcomes his family might be enduring, a nightmare playing out before him.

Hours seemed to drag on as the screams faded into the distance, leaving him alone in the cold, murky waters of the well. A sense of surrealism washed over him as he teetered on the edge of consciousness, unsure if he was dreaming or truly living this nightmare.

In a haze, he observed from a distance as soldiers clad in Eldarayan armor lifted his limp body from the well. Among them stood a man whose presence commanded attention, his armor as black as night. Duran, as Jonathan would later come to know him, exuded a mysterious aura that set him apart from the others, despite his less-weathered appearance at that moment.

“Are you sure this is the last of them?” Duran’s voice cut through the air, his arms crossed in contemplation as he surveyed the scene before him.

“I fear he may be beyond saving, sir,” a soldier replied somberly, checking for signs of life in the motionless child. “It appears he drowned... I believe he was still alive when the girl brought him down.”

As the boy watched his fate unfold before him, a sense of terror crept over him.

“No! It can’t be... I—I’m alive!”

Jonathan’s heart raced as he sprinted towards the soldier who stood beside his lifeless body. Desperation filled him as he reached out to touch the soldier’s shoulder, only to watch his hand pass through the man’s transparent form.

Wide-eyed with disbelief, Jonathan gazed at his own hand, realizing the surreal nature of his surroundings. A dark shadow swept towards him, engulfing everything in its path—the realm of Limbo, the in-between.

“I refuse to die!” Jonathan’s voice echoed with defiance as he clenched his fists, a surge of determination coursing through him. Just as the soldier cast a last glance at Jonathan’s motionless body, reality shifted.

Cough after cough wracked Jonathan’s body, each painful hack a reminder of the harsh reality he now faced. Gasping for breath, he mustered the strength to lift his gaze, meeting the cold, calculating eyes of the unfamiliar figures looming over him. These were not just strangers; they were the very embodiment of his nightmares—the ones responsible for the unspeakable tragedy that had befallen his village, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake.

However, one soldier stood out from the rest. He wore intricate black armor and sat on horseback, towering over all others. The man with strange eyes reached out his gloved hand to the child. Although the young boy found a great hatred for these people, his hand somehow met that of the stranger.