Childhood Hunted

Ten years went by. Ten years of wind blowing dust against the shutters. Ten years of fear curling like a snake in the heart of the little cottage.

Julius was a quiet child. While other children in the scattered, struggling settlements might run and shout, Julius moved like a shadow. He learned stillness before he learned his letters. His favourite game wasn't tag or hide-and-seek, but "Be the Stone." Elara had taught it to him, her voice was a soft whisper, barely heard over the constant wind.

"Be still, Julius." she'd whisper, kneeling beside him behind a stack of firewood or tucked into the narrow space beneath the stairs. "Still as the earth. Quiet as the dust before the storm. Breathe slow. Feel nothing. Be nothing."

He was good at it. Unnaturally good. Sometimes, Roric would sometimes see his son sitting without moving, staring off into nothing. It gave him a cold feeling that had nothing to do with the weather. Was this the emptiness Sophia had spoken of? Was this how a child with no soul behaved?

They never spoke of Sophia's words. Not aloud. But the knowledge hung between Elara and Roric, a heavy cloak they both wore. They loved Julius fiercely, protectively. His smiles were rare but precious, his small hand trusting in theirs. He was their son. But he was also a secret, a terrifying vulnerability in a world that devoured weakness.

The lessons weren't

just games. Roric built a false bottom in the storage chest. He loosened a floorboard in the corner, creating a space barely large enough for a small boy, covering it with a worn rug. Julius knew these places intimately. He knew how to slide into them quickly, silently, pulling the cover over himself, and how to regulate his breathing until it was barely a whisper of air.

He didn't fully grasp why. He knew his parents were afraid. He saw the way they scanned the horizon whenever they stepped outside, the way their hands instinctively tightened when a stranger approached on the dusty track leading to their isolated home. He knew his stillness made them feel safer. So he practiced. He became the stone, the shadow, the quiet space where life seemed to pause.

One afternoon, the wind carried more than just dust. It carried a sound – a low, guttural chant, barely audible but deeply unsettling. Roric, mending a fence near the cottage, froze. His head snapped up, eyes narrowed, scanning the grey, lonely stretch of land.

Then he saw them. Three figures coming through the swirling dust like ghosts. They wore cloaks and hoods, their shapes unclear, but something about them felt cold and dangerous. Even from far away, Roric felt a deep wrongness, a kind of hunger. Soul Trackers.

He didn't shout. He didn't run. Panic was a luxury they couldn't afford. He moved with swift, practiced urgency back towards the cottage, his hand already reaching for the door.

Elara met his eyes from the doorway, Julius standing just behind her skirt. She had heard it too. Fear, stark and cold, flashed across her face, but years of vigilance had honed her reactions.

"Julius," Roric said, his voice low but clear, devoid of panic. "Floorboard. Now."

Julius didn't hesitate. He knew the drill. He darted to the corner, lifted the edge of the rug, and slipped the loose board aside. Without a sound, he lowered himself into the dark, cramped space below. The smell of damp earth and old wood filled his nostrils. He pulled the board mostly shut, leaving only the tiniest crack for air, and drew the rug back over it as best he could from below. Then, he went still. Stone quiet.

Above, he heard the heavy scrape of the door bar sliding into place. His mother's breathing was shallow, fast. His father's footsteps moved towards the centre of the room. Waiting.

Heavy boots crunched on the dirt outside. A rough fist hammered on the wooden door. Once. Twice.

Silence stretched, thick with tension. Julius held his breath, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. He needed to listen.

"Open up," a voice rasped through the wood. It sounded like stones grinding together. "We know you're in there."

Julius heard his father take a steadying breath. "What do you want?" Roric's voice was tight, but held firm.

"Just passing through," the voice outside sneered. A lie, slick and cold. "Looking for shelter from the dust. And perhaps… something more."

There was a scraping sound, metal on wood, as if testing the door's strength. Kael's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. He forced himself to slow his breathing, mimicking the stillness Elara had taught him. Be nothing.

He heard the Trackers moving around the outside of the cottage. Footsteps near the shuttered window. Faint voices in quiet conversation.

"...weak sparks here..." one voice muttered, closer now. "...barely worth the effort..."

"...felt something... odd... nearby earlier..." another voice murmured back. "...a flicker? Or... an absence?"

An absence. The word echoed in the small space where Julius hid. Was that him? Were they talking about him?

A heavy thud sounded near his hiding spot. One of the Trackers must have leaned against the inside wall, right by the corner. Julius could almost feel the pressure through the floorboards. He froze completely, not daring even to blink. He imagined himself fading, becoming part of the dirt, the shadows.

More muffled conversation. Impatience in their tone now. The weak lights inside weren't the prize they sought. Perhaps the strangeness they sensed wasn't strong enough to investigate further, not when stronger souls might be found elsewhere.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the footsteps receded. Julius listened until the crunching sounds faded, carried away by the wind's endless howl.

Silence returned, but it felt different now. Brittle. Threatened.

He waited. He knew not to move until his parents gave the all-clear. Minutes crawled by. Then, he heard the bar being carefully lifted from the door. He heard his mother let out a long, shaky sob.

Soft footsteps approached his corner. The rug was pulled back. The floorboard lifted. Elara's pale, tear-streaked face peered down at him.

"Julius? You can come out now." Her voice trembled.

He pushed himself up, blinking in the dim light of the cottage. Roric was there, pulling him out, his large hands gentle but shaking slightly. He knelt and hugged Julius tightly, burying his face in his son's hair for a moment. Elara knelt too, wrapping her arms around them both.

Neither spoke for a long moment. The fear was a physical presence in the room, clinging to them like the dust. They had survived this time. The Trackers hadn't sensed Julius, or hadn't cared enough about the 'absence' to break down the door. Sophia's gamble – that a void might be invisible to those hunting sparks – had held. For now.

Roric finally pulled back, looking Julius in the eyes. His own gaze was filled with a mixture of relief, terror, and a fierce, desperate love. "You did well, son," he said, his voice thick. "You did very well."

Julius nodded silently. He looked towards the door, towards the howling wind and the swirling dust where the Trackers had vanished. He hadn't felt the fear they felt, not in the same way. Hiding was just… something he did. But as he stood there, held tight between his trembling parents, he felt the quiet inside himself more deeply. A vast, silent space where a spark should be. An absence. And for the first time, a sliver of understanding pierced his childish innocence. He wasn't just hiding himself. He was hiding nothing. And that nothing, somehow, was the most dangerous thing of all.