7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUTPbqD11sXCHAPTER 4
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“WHERE ART THOU”
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The storm has swallowed the night whole.
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Rain hammers on the roof of Ana’s cottage, sheets of water slashing sideways across the garden. Inside, the fire crackles weakly, barely holding against the wind. Ana crouches near the hearth. Blake sits on the couch, fingers crossed, leaning forward, staring at the fire.
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Ana:
“Blake… I've noticed you’ve been pacing since sundown. Are you worried about Metro?"
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Blake:
“I just don’t know where he is. He left without a word. He always comes back… but this time something feels different.”
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Ana:
“He’s alive. I would feel it if he weren’t.”
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Blake:
“Alive doesn’t mean that he's safe.”
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Ana stares at the floor.
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Ana:
“Lilly came by earlier. She’s frightened for Rose.”
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Blake:
“She should be. Rose has been gone too long. And Metro… he’s the only one who ever finds her.”
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Ana:
“Lilly said she begged Rose not to go near the castle.”
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Blake:
“Yeah? I hope everyone is going to be ok...
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Blake puts his hands in his face.
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Blake:
“I still hear it, Ana. The shouting. The steel. The screams. I didn’t think any of us would make it out.”
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Ana:
“You survived. That counts for something.”
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Blake:
“ it doesn’t feel like it.”
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Blake looks like he's ready to confess something.
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Ana:
“You saw things no one your age should ever see.”
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(Beat)
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Ana looks out the cottage window. Rain beating on the glass.
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“The storm's getting worse. Surely their not out in these conditions.”
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Blake looks behind the couch at Ana sitting on the side of her bed, watching the downpour.
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Blake:
“You think Metro will show up tonight?”
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Ana:
“I don’t know. But I feel something wrong as well, something out of our control.”
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Blake stands up alarmed. Puts his hand on the couch and starts moving forward, towards the table.
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Blake:
“what is it?”
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Ana:(shakes head)
“…I don’t know yet.”
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Blake cracks his neck to the door.
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Blake:
“—did you hear that?”
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Ana looks at Blake's posture.
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Ana:
“what?”
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Blake sits at the table now, face darkened, looking at the table. When something outside groans through the storm again.
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A low, dragging sound. Then a horse’s labored snort. Blake’s head snaps up. He rises slowly at first… then freezes when a flash of lightning lights sky through the window. A lone white horse stands in the garden, soaked.
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And slumped over its neck—
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Paul.
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Bent forward.
Barely holding on.
Blood mixing with rain, dripping down the horse’s flank.
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Blake bolts for the door. He throws it open into the storm.
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Blake:
“PAUL!”
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The wind rips the name out of his throat. Paul’s fingers slip from the reins. He topples over sideways, hitting the garden mud with a sickening thud, face first, body limp. Ana burst out of the cottage behind Blake, her robes whipping in the wind.
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Ana:
“Paul—! Oh Lord, OH LORD!”
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She drops to her knees beside him, splatting mud as her hands search for his breath, for warmth, for anything.
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Paul tries to lift his head, but only manages a broken whisper.
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Paul:
“…Ana… I—”
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His voice is drowned in the rain.
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Ana presses her hand to his back—and feels the heat of blood pouring through his shirt.
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Her eyes widen.
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Ana:
“Blake, get him inside. Now!”
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(silent lightning flash)
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Blake slides his arms under Paul’s shoulders, gritting his teeth as Paul groans in pain.
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Blake:
“ Who did this to you…”
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Paul’s eyes flutter, unfocused.
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Paul (weak):
“…King’s Guard…”
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Ana’s breath catches.
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Soft thunder rumbles as the storm rages on. Blake drags Paul toward the cottage door, mud streaking behind them, the horse trembling in the rain.
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Ana's voice breaks.
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Ana:
“Stay with me Paul… stay with me…”
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Blake drags Paul’s limp, mud‑soaked body inside and heaves him onto the cottage couch. Rainwater pools beneath them, dripping from Paul’s clothes, mixing blood stains into the couches cushions.
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Ana doesn't hesitate.
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She tears through the cottage like a storm of her own — ripping open drawers, shoving jars aside, knocking over baskets. Her hands finally close in on a wooden box. She slams it onto the table, cracking it open, and digs through its contents with frantic force until her fingers find a small red vial. She rushes back to Paul, lifting his head with one hand, and forces the vial to his lips.
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Ama:
“Come on…Paul.
…come on—”
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She pours the liquid down his throat. Paul gags violently, coughing the red fluid back up in a spray across her arm.
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Ana snaps hard.
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Ama:
“Blake! Grab my container under the hearth!”
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Blake scrambles, nearly slipping on the wet floor. He yanks out a leather bag stuffed with herbs and powders. In his panic, he stumbles forward and drops it, the contents spill out near the couch.
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Ana snatches one of the powders with a single decisive motion. She looks down at Paul — his eyes half‑open, unfocused, breath shallow.
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Ana (soft, apologetic):
“I’m sorry about this…”
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She looks at Blake seriously alert.
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“Hold him down!
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She pours the powder directly onto the wound. Paul’s entire body arches off the couch and a raw, ferocious scream tears out of him. Blake cringes to keep him steady. The cottage walls shake with force.
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Ana:(shouting):
“Put the rag in his mouth!”
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Blake shoves a cloth between Paul’s teeth just as another wave of agony hits. Paul bites down hard, muffling his cries as the powder ignites against his sizzling skin—burning, popping, sealing itself into a harsh, raised scar.
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The smell of scorched flesh fills the room.
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Blake collapses to his knees, staring at Paul’s face — it twists in agony, then slacks into nothingness as his conscious slips away.
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Paul passes out from pain.
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Ana immediately cradles his head, brushing wet hair from his forehead, her breath trembling.
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Ana:
It's ok... It's going to be ok....
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Blake's on his hands and knees.
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Blake (voice cracking):
“Is he DEAD!”
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Ana shakes her head, eyes locked on Paul’s chest as it rises — barely — then falls again.
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Ama:
“No… he’s going to be fine.”
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A tiny, exhausted smile touches her lips as she holds him close.
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Ana and Blake exchange a long, worried look — the kind that says everything they're too afraid to speak aloud.
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The storm swallows any noise that remains there.
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Switch scene
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and then Add to home screen.