Tommy Graves's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Tommy Graves had one night to find shelter, or the cold in Darklung would freeze him in his sleep. He was twelve, small and pale, with black hair hanging over his eyes. Men in gray suits had killed his family and dumped him in this world of purple crystals and dead trees. He wanted one thing now: a friend, and a place to call his own. But first he needed a roof, and the light was already dying. He hugged his black hoodie tight and walked. His breath came out in clouds. His tennis shoes soaked through in the frost. The cold bit his fingers until he curled them inside his sleeves. He had a small pocket knife, but a knife could not stop the freezing dark. Then he saw it. A treehouse grew inside a giant dead willow. Purple crystals glittered along its walls. Broken glass gaped in the windows, and moss hung from the crooked roof. It looked spooky. It also looked like walls, and walls meant warmth. Tommy climbed the twisting roots. He pushed the old door. It groaned open. Inside, something glowed. A small girl sat in the corner. Her skin shone bright yellow-white, like a lamp. Four red eyes blinked at him. Purple and blue braids fell past her shoulders, tied with tiny amethysts. Thin tentacles curled where her arms should be. She flinched back and pulled her knees close. Tommy froze. His hand went to his knife. His heart slammed. "Please don't hurt me," the girl whispered. Her voice shook. "I found it empty. I'll go." She started to rise. Her light trembled. She looked as scared as he felt. Tommy let go of the knife. His shoulders dropped. "No," he said. His own voice cracked. "You don't have to go." She stopped. Her four eyes searched his face. "I'm Tommy," he said. "I just need somewhere warm. I won't touch anything." "Lumina," she said softly. "Lumina Starwhisper." She sat back down, but she watched him. Tommy stepped inside and shut the door against the wind. He sat far from her, back to the wall. The floor was cold. He shivered hard. Lumina looked at him for a long moment. Then she scooted closer, just a little. Her glow spread warmth across the small room. It touched Tommy's frozen hands. He held them out toward her light without thinking. "You're cold," she said. "Yeah," he said. She moved nearer still, until her light wrapped around them both. The freezing dark stayed outside. For the first time since the men took his family, Tommy was not alone. He stopped shivering. His eyes grew heavy. Then, below the treehouse, something heavy scraped against the roots. Slow. Deliberate. Circling. Lumina's light snapped bright with fear. "That comes every night," she whispered. "That's why the last ones left."