Zeke blinked.

  For the longest moment, he had absolutely no idea where he was, but he did know one thing – he was angry. Like a caged animal, whipped into a fury, he lashed out. With a roar, he threw himself to his feet and searched for some way to vent his confused ire. His eyes immediately settled on a silver-masked monster with a forked tongue. It squatted on the edge of an gilded chest of drawers, its head cocked as if it was curious what he might do next.

  Zeke threw himself at the monster.

  But he only covered a foot before he stumbled, then fell. Thankfully, someone caught him. Strong hands grasped his shoulders, hauling him upright. “Woah there,” came a smooth voice. “Calm down.”

  Zeke struggled – because of course he did. With the fury raging through his mind, he wanted to kill something. Anything. Whether it was the monster squatting on the dresser or the man who’d dared to manhandle him back onto the bed, it didn’t matter. He needed to loose his anger on someone.

  He glared at his captor.

  Then, he blinked again.

  That face – it was familiar. Strong jaw. Glittering blue eyes. Black, wavy hair. “Who are you?” he croaked, his voice raw and weak. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

  “Ouch,” the man said, clutching his chest. “You don’t even remember your own brother?”

  “Brother? My brother is dead.”

  Zeke didn’t know why he’d said that, but the moment the words left his mouth, he was certain that they were true. They had to be. He felt it in the deepest parts of his soul. But the man in front of him…

  He was his brother.

  But his brother was dead.

  Back and forth those thoughts bounced. One second, he was sure that any brother he’d ever had was long gone. And the next, he knew that the man was who he claimed to be. It was maddeningly confusing.

  But that was his life, wasn’t it? That was what he’d become. A confused and old-before-his-time man.

  “How long has it been?” Zeke grumbled, his shoulders slumping in exhausting. He simply didn’t have the energy to remain upright for long.

  “Since you went to sleep? A few hours,” the man – his brother – said.

  “No. Since the beginning.”

  “Ah. This question again,” his brother said, reaching out to gently guide Zeke back onto the bed. He tried to flinch away, but he couldn’t move that quickly. “Fifteen years. You know this.”

  The silver-masked monster remained in place, studying him, its split tongue tasting the air with every passing second. It had no eyes, but Zeke knew it was looking right at him. Right through his soul. They were always there, now. Always watching. Studying. Waiting for something. Zeke just didn’t know what it was.

  “Fifteen years,” he breathed, his voice rattling. He knew he wasn’t old, that he should have had a long life ahead of him. But he was just as aware that, if he looked in the mirror, he’d see a decrepit man on the verge of surrendering to age. Wrinkles marred his face, dragging deep creases across his features. His limbs were thin, weak, and bony. His back was bent and his shoulders were stooped.

  He didn’t even have any hair left.

  “It’s okay,” said his brother, sitting next to him. Zeke wanted to flinch, but his body wouldn’t obey that command. So, he sat there, trembling slightly with the effort of holding his torso aloft. “Do you want to go out today? We could visit that bakery you like so much. The ones with the apple turnovers.”

  “I…I would like that…”

  “Well, let’s get you dressed, then,” his brother said.

  After that came one of the most humiliating – yet normalized – things he’d ever experienced. It was one thing to know just how weak he was, but it was something else entirely to be completely incapable of dressing himself. Through it all, his brother’s strong hands were there. His patient, handsome face looking down on him with care.

  It was nauseating.

  And yet, it warmed his heart as well.

  He knew just how lucky he was. After a while, Zeke was dressed. Not well – in his condition, wearing the finery in his closet was out of the question – but he still had his cane. It was a pretty thing of etched bone, with two sharp flanges jutting from the front and back. Zora always said it was a barbaric piece, but Zeke had ever favored it. He just didn’t know why, when he looked at it, he felt a note of familiarity that stretched back further than he could hope to comprehend.

  Perhaps he’d wielded something like it in another life.

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  Briefly, he imagined swinging a much larger version of that cane, felling mighty beasts. In that dream, he was tall and proud, with all the muscles of his youth. Now, he was just a frail man, old before his time and driven mad by the visions he couldn’t seem to dismiss.

  “Where is Zora?” he muttered.

  “Out,” his brother said patiently as Zeke was helped down the stairs. It was a precarious thing, descending those steps. But he managed it with only a single fall, and even that was into his brother’s arms. It was a small victory. “She had to visit the solicitor, then the bank. She told you this morning, don’t you remember?”

  Vaguely, Zeke did, but he couldn’t recall if he’d seen her the night before or that very morning. It was impossible to tell, with his condition.

  And with those dastardly demons about, their tongues wagging as if they could taste Zeke’s sorrow.

  He ignored them. Instead, he focused on the building’s décor. It was a much smaller manor than he’d once lived within. Doubtless, his condition had caused much financial hardship, and they’d been forced to relocate to a poorer part of town. Gone were the fancy furnishings, the majestic paintings, and the pristine walls. Instead, they had been replaced by chipped paint and heavy curtains.

  Zeke hated that his infirmity had thrust them into such a position. His masculine pride screamed at him that he should have been a better provider, that Zora deserved better. That she needed more. But he knew he couldn’t be the source. Once, he’d been counted among the richest men in the city – in the entire world, perhaps. Those days were long gone, though.

  His adventuring profits had long since dried up. His family money was mostly gone. Now, they only had the pittance Zora earned via her own titles. He was a leech. The world would have been better without him.

  That thought had crossed his mind many times before. More than he cared to admit, in fact. He’d even come close to going through with it on dozens of occasions over the years. His reasoning was simple – without him as a burden, Zora could live the life she deserved. She could marry a real man instead of an invalid. She could be happy.

  That was only part of his logic, though. There was also his self-hatred to consider. It was incredibly difficult, going from a life as a strong and powerful warrior – a hero – to the husk of manhood he had become. He hated every waking minute.

  The only reason he’d never gone through with taking his own life was because he sensed that was precisely what the demons wanted. He knew they weren’t real. They were mere figments of his imagination. Manifestations of his darkest thoughts made to seem real by his addled mind.

  Yet, he was convinced that if they had been real, they would have reveled in the thought of his suicide. They would have celebrated. They would have fed on his misery even more than they already did.

  So, it was with some degree of spite that he held on. That he refused to give in. That minor defiance was enough to buoy him, at least a little. It never lasted long, and it certainly wasn’t enough to keep his head completely above water. But it helped ease his pain, which was all he could really hope for at this point.

  Those thoughts flitted through his unfocused mind as his brother ushered him outside. It was raining. It always seemed to be these days. He couldn’t even enjoy the garden anymore.

  His brother opened an umbrella and escorted him to a waiting carriage. It was a ratty thing. Barely held together and pulled by a nag that looked just as old as Zeke felt. But it was all they could afford these days.

  After that, they visited Zeke’s favorite bakery. The girl there was nice. Her large, caring eyes reminded him of someone, but Zeke couldn’t place it. She looked like someone he thought he should remember. Someone who’d been a big part of his life, but he couldn’t remember anyone with raven black hair and pale skin – though he very much wished he could. That might have been a comfort.

  The pastry was sweet and flakey, though Zeke quickly discovered that he couldn’t keep it down. So it was with food. As tasty as it often was, it quickly returned and spewed from his mouth. Fortunately, his brother was prepared. Always there. Always diligent. Zeke didn’t know what he would have done without him and Zora.

  Once, vomiting all over himself might have embarrassed Zeke. It still did, though he’d grown so accustomed to it that it barely moved the needle in terms of his normal state of mind. He was always a breath away from humiliation, and he knew that wouldn’t change. Not anytime soon.

  Not unless he took that final step.

  He even knew where Zora kept her sheers. One quick swipe across the paper-thin skin of his neck, and he’d bleed out before his brother could respond. Then, they’d be free. Then, he would no longer need to worry about the half-life he’d been forced to lead.

  Along the way back to the manor – cottage, really – Zeke saw dozens more demons. They all looked identical, though he felt certain that he could differentiate between them. Some sixth sense told him which ones were familiar and which were newcomers.

  It was all in his mind, though.

  The demons. His instincts. Sometimes, he wondered if anything about his life were real. However, even at his lowest points, he never could have imagined such a pitiful life. No – that part was real. He knew that down to his brittle bones.

  Eventually, Zeke was returned to his room where he’d been tucked tightly into his bed. His brother even left the window open slightly. The pitterpat of the rain was comforting.

  But what was that?

  Laughter? The rain had died to nothing, so he heard it, clear as a bell. A woman’s laughter. It sounded suspiciously like Zora’s voice. Had she returned? Would she be by his side soon? Zeke hated that he looked forward to it. He wanted to be stronger than that. He didn’t want to need her so very much.

  The laughter soon died out, followed by a sentence he would never forget.

  “I wish the old bastard would just die,” Zora said. “He keeps clinging to life. I don’t even know how.”

  “Patience, my love. He will succumb soon,” the voice of his brother comforted her. Zeke could imagine the man’s hand around her slim shoulders. “The alchemist said so.”

  “That old fool has been saying as much for more than a decade,” Zora spat, her voice carrying more venom than at any time in Zeke’s memory. “And yet he still lives. We must keep up this ridiculous charade. I swear it, he is…”

  Her voice thinned out, replaced by a sudden torrent of rain. Yet Zeke had heard enough. However, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d actually heard anything at all. His mind played frequent tricks on him. And Zora had ever been kind to him. She loved him. So did his brother. They both took care of him when they had no other reason to.

  He was a burden.

  He was nothing.

  But when Zeke looked up, he saw the silver-masked demon, and something about its posture told him that it was smiling. That cemented his mind. That firmed his resolve. He needed to discover the truth, and there was only one way to do so.

  With that in mind, Zeke arduously dragged his bedding aside and shoved himself upright. His whole body shook with the effort, but in that moment, he didn’t care. He wouldn’t let his infirmity stop him. He would discover the truth, or he would die in the attempt.