Embracing the Fire

The sleepwalkers closed in, their cold, puppet-like arms encircling him, a tender yet utterly predatory embrace. They were eager accomplices, their grip firm as they guided the blade, helping him flay his own flesh from bone. It was a macabre ritual, a long-desired sacrifice, and Ru was merely the vessel for their grim devotion.

And Ru pondered as he struggled against the overwhelming scent of his own blood:

"What am I doing? Why am I doing this?"

No answer came. Not at first. Just the agonizing stretch of flesh, the tearing pain that threatened to consume him.

But as the dagger sank deeper—metal slicing through muscle, carving through layers of pain and forgotten dread—a whisper, thin as a ghost's breath, rose from the red fog in his mind:

"For freedom."

Freedom?