Novels by Saint Nathaniel

Morning light spilled through the hut's single window, painting golden stripes across the dirt floor. Catriona sat by the cold hearth, watching dust motes dance in the sunbeams. The child—her child—still slept curled on the pallet, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm she'd once thought impossible for him. Daelen entered quietly, his arms full of firewood. The silver had completely faded from his eyes now, leaving them the familiar storm-gray she remembered from their first meeting. He set the wood down with exaggerated care, glancing at the sleeping form. "Still out?" he whispered. Catriona nodded. Three days since the cycle broke, and the boy had barely stirred except to eat the simple stews Daelen prepared or drink from the water skin she held to his lips. His sleep was deep, dreamless—the first true rest after centuries of hunger. She ran a thumb over the white staff lying across her lap. The carvings had changed again, the runes smoothing into something softe

The world returned in pieces. First came the ache—a deep, throbbing pain that started in Catriona's bones and radiated outward. Then the smells—woodsmoke and damp earth and something sweet like dried herbs. Finally, the light—golden and flickering against her closed eyelids. She opened her eyes to a rough wooden ceiling. The fire crackled nearby in a stone hearth, its warmth reaching across the small hut to where she lay on a straw-stuffed pallet. The white staff rested against the wall, its glow dimmed to a faint pulse like a sleeping heartbeat. And in her arms— The child. Not the monstrous not-boy. Not the screaming shadow. Just a boy, perhaps five years old, with dark hair sticking to his damp forehead and long lashes brushing round cheeks. His chest rose and fell steadily, one small hand clutching Catriona's tunic even in sleep. Catriona's breath caught. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen something so... peaceful. The silver thread was gone. She felt its

Catriona opened her eyes to darkness. Not the empty dark of night, but the thick, suffocating dark of deep earth. She lay on cold stone, her body aching as if she'd fallen from a great height. The staff—now white as bone—lay beside her, its faint glow showing rough walls pressing close on all sides. She sat up slowly. Her hands shook. The last thing she remembered was the white fire burning through her, the not-boy's voice whispering as he disappeared. Now she was... where? A soft sound made her turn. The silver thread floated in the air behind her, twisting gently like a snake swimming through water. It pulsed with a light that didn't chase away the dark, but made it somehow softer. Less hungry. "Elara?" Catriona reached for it. The thread darted away, then curled back, beckoning. She grabbed the staff and stood, her legs unsteady. The thread led her through narrow tunnels that twisted and turned. The walls here were different—not bone or stone, but something smooth and

The world dissolved into screaming whiteness. Catriona's bones vibrated with the force of the explosion, her skin prickling as if a thousand needles pierced her all at once. The knife and staff fused together in her hands, the wood swallowing the blade like a hungry mouth. Green and silver light pulsed through the chamber in nauseating waves. The not-boy's shrieks rose above the chaos, his form stretching and warping as the silver threads wrapped tighter around him. "NO! NOT LIKE THIS!" His voice shifted through dozens of tones—child, woman, monster—before settling into something ancient and terrible. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" The ground heaved. Cracks raced up the walls as the cradles shattered one by one, their tiny skeletal occupants crumbling to dust mid-air. The altar split down the center, revealing a yawning void beneath. Elara staggered forward, her skeletal hands grasping at Catriona's arm. "The threads...they need an anchor!" Her hollow eyes darted to the fu

The floating knife trembled in the air, its stained edge glinting in the eerie green light. Catriona's breath caught in her throat as the blade slowly turned to point at her chest. The small skeletal creatures paused their advance, their hollow eye sockets fixed on the hovering weapon. A drop of sweat rolled down Catriona's temple as she stood frozen. The staff in her left hand burned hotter, its carvings pulsing with that same relentless command: **REMEMBER** The knife shot forward. Catriona barely had time to raise Daelen's dead sword as a shield. The blades met with a shriek of metal that sent sparks flying. The impact knocked her backward into the crumbling altar, pain lancing up her spine. The knife circled like a hungry hawk, preparing to strike again. The not-boy clapped its hands together, the sound echoing unnaturally through the chamber. "Oh, she remembers now! She remembers everything!" Its form blurred between child and shadow, its laughter like breaking glass.

The screaming wouldn't stop. Catriona pressed her hands against her ears, but the sound wasn't coming from outside. It vibrated inside her skull, rattling her teeth and bones. The prison walls shuddered, raining down black dust that stung her eyes. The water around the platform churned violently. Something huge moved beneath the surface, making the stones tremble under Catriona's feet. Elara's chains clanked as she struggled. **"TOO LATE,"** her voice boomed. **"HE'S WOKEN UP."** Daelen's sword lay cold and dark on the stones. Catriona grabbed it anyway, the metal freezing her fingers. Before she could think, part of the bone wall crumbled, revealing a narrow tunnel. She ran. The tunnel sloped upward, its walls oozing black liquid that smelled like rotting meat. Catriona gasped for air as she climbed, the darkness pressing in around her. Far above, a faint green glow pulsed like a heartbeat. Her fingers slipped on the wet stone. She fell forward, scraping her knees, but