Ivarhood

At the time i pretended to not know who the man with no shadow is.

But truthfully I knew.

The man with no shadow is no man.

It's my nameless mother.

The woman who raised me after my father left my mom, sister, and me.

My father had a name, it was Ivarth son of Ivar.

He was kind, and he had absolutely no reason to leave us.

To this day I still do not know why he left us, but he said "it is for a good reason, son, believe me".

I didn't believe him.

Me and Illya left the café, and I switched my priorities.

"Illya." I said, "yes?", she answered.

"I need to go back to my family before finding the man with no shadow, is that okay?".

"Yeah", she said, "I understand you, I also want to go back to my dad".

And we talked for a bit before setting out to the Village of Taralatar'a,-my family's village-.

In our way we stumbled upon a village.

The village was small, barely more than a cluster of houses surrounded by farmland. The air smelled of damp earth and burning wood, and the people moved quietly, their faces tense. Something was off.

Illya grabbed my arm. "Do you hear that?"

I listened. There was a faint sound—like murmuring voices, but distorted, like they weren't coming from human throats.

We stepped forward cautiously. As we passed by the first house, an old woman peeked out from behind a wooden door. Her eyes locked onto mine, and she whispered, "Strangers shouldn't linger here."

I stopped. "Why?"

She shook her head. "The night is coming."

The sun was still up, but something in her voice made me uneasy. Illya frowned. "What happens at night?"

The old woman just closed the door.

I exchanged a glance with Illya. "We should move quickly."

We walked deeper into the village, but the feeling of being watched never faded. The villagers whispered to each other, stealing glances at us before hurrying away.

Then, we saw it.

At the center of the village stood a wooden post with a figure tied to it. A man, his head slumped forward, his arms limp. His clothes were torn, and his skin was pale. At first, I thought he was dead.

Then he moved.

A shuddering breath. A slow, twitching motion. His head lifted just enough for me to see his face. His eyes were pure black.

A villager stepped forward, gripping a long knife. "If you don't want to die, you should leave before the sun sets."

I clenched my fists. "Who is this man?"

The villager didn't answer.

Illya took a step back. "This place is cursed," she muttered.

I knew one thing for certain—we couldn't leave without understanding what was happening here.

I pulled out my Cultro.

The moment the blade left its sheath, the air around me seemed to tense. The villagers took a step back, their whispers growing frantic. The man tied to the post let out a slow, rasping breath, his black eyes flickering with something—recognition? Fear?

Illya grabbed my sleeve. "What are you doing?"

I didn't answer. I stepped toward the bound man, gripping Cultro tightly. The blade hummed faintly in my hand, reacting to something—maybe the presence of whatever had taken this man.

The villager holding the knife snarled. "You don't know what you're dealing with."

I ignored him. The bound man's breathing grew heavier, his fingers twitching against the ropes. I raised Cultro and pressed the flat of the blade against his shoulder.

His entire body convulsed. A horrible, wet sound came from his throat as his skin darkened, spreading like ink from where the blade touched. Then, with a violent jolt, his body twisted unnaturally, and the ropes snapped like they were made of paper.

Illya stumbled backward. "What—?!"

The man collapsed onto all fours, his head jerking toward me. His mouth opened, but the sound that came out wasn't human.

The villagers screamed. Some ran. Others dropped to their knees, muttering prayers.

I tightened my grip on Cultro. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't a man anymore.

And it was looking right at me.

I pulled out my Cultro.

The creature lunged, its movements jerky, almost broken, yet unnaturally fast. I barely had time to tilt my head before its claws carved through the space where my throat had been. The force of the strike sent a gust of air past my face, sharp like a blade.

I twisted, planting my back foot and bringing Cultro in a clean arc toward its ribs. The blade met resistance—not the kind of flesh and bone, but something denser, something wrong. The moment the edge touched its body, the creature's form flickered, like a distorted image struggling to stabilize.

Then it bent.

Not dodging. Not reacting. Its entire body just shifted, folding in on itself like a collapsing shadow, my blade sliding uselessly through the empty air it left behind.

I barely had time to register what happened before it was already behind me.

Illya yelled something—then hurled a spear. The wooden shaft spun through the air, aimed for its chest. The creature turned its head toward it, and in that instant, its entire form snapped sideways, not moving, but repositioning, as if skipping frames in reality.

The spear missed.

I spun, slashing downward. My strike was fast, but the creature was faster. It leaned back unnaturally, its body stretching beyond human limits. But this time, I was ready.

I didn't follow through with the swing. Instead, I adjusted mid-motion, angling Cultro straight for the space where its head should be next.

The creature flickered—right into my blade.

A sickening schlick filled the air.

For the first time, it reacted. It let out a sound—less of a scream and more of a warping distortion, as if reality itself was rejecting its existence. Its limbs spasmed, its form glitching violently. The edges of its body trembled, breaking apart in sections before desperately pulling back together.

I twisted the blade deeper.

The creature convulsed once—then went still.

Its body collapsed, its inhuman form stabilizing. No longer flickering. No longer shifting. Just…human.

I exhaled. My grip on Cultro loosened.

Illya approached cautiously, spear still raised. "Was it—?"

I nodded. "It seemed human. Once."

The village elder stepped forward, staring at the unmoving body. His face was grim. "You saw it, didn't you?" he asked quietly. "It was neither man nor beast. Something in between."

I looked at the body.

No. Not in between. It was something else entirely.