"Hey old man! What are you doing?"
Perplexed by a figure lying at the riverbed's edge, he wondered if this was yet another desperate old soul trying to end its miserable life.
Sena didn't hear anything at first.
The sheer relief of having crossed the river at last settled over her.
A hard-won comfort earned after a long yearning.
"Are you ok?"
His brows furrowed, one arching higher than the other as he addressed the unmoving form.
Perplexed by the presence of a resting, gentlemanly silhouette seemingly lying by the edge of the riverbed, just before it reached the grassland.
He stood just a few feet away from the figure, careful to keep himself within the safety of the grassy bank of the river.
Sensing the presence more clearly now, he noticed it seemed to be holding something close to its chest.
"Huh?"
Sena's gaze slowly shifted from the river to the cloaked figure standing over her.
As she looked up, blinding shafts of light pierced the sky, turning the air into a painful, golden haze.
Her eyes were open, but nothing around her registered; only the fact that she had made it to the other side.
And then… she felt it.
A stick nudging her leg.
Not again.
Her face puckered in irritation.
He prodded again, using his staff to poke what he still thought was an unconscious old man, aiming carefully at the legs to stir him awake.
"Hey old man, you can't be here, you know that, right?" he called out, concern tinged with growing annoyance.
These parts were no place for such desperate acts.
"Please stop that, I'm awake... ugh, just give me a moment."
Sena's voice was groggy, her head pounding.
She struggled to push herself up from the slick stones beneath her.
Planting her palms flat against the gritty earth, she felt the rough bite of small stones and packed dirt. A grunt escaped her lips as she forced her body upward.
Heavier than usual.
Unwilling.
Her knees scraped against the stones as she tucked them beneath herself, pulling her feet toward her center of gravity.
She wobbled, pausing on all fours, head bowed, drawing staggered, shaky breaths. The sun beat relentlessly down the back of her neck.
The grassy riverbank was just a blur in her peripheral vision; except for the solid shadow standing nearby.
Her joints creaked in protest.
Her muscles were stiff, aching from the strange ordeal.
As she began to rise, swaying unsteadily, her hand instinctively reached out, grasping for the staff.
His grip on the staff remained firm, both hands steadying it. His shoulder blades and back muscles contracted slightly as he held the staff close, supporting it so the figure's grip wouldn't slip.
Sena, now upright though unsteady, blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the figure before her. Her vision cleared slowly… and then she halted.
He, in turn, perceived the bedraggled man-shaped silhouette he had just pulled back from the river's edge.
The dangers of these parts were no small thing.
But as his perception sharpened, something odd caught his attention.
The figure appeared to be cradling a smaller form… a child?
A baby?
The silhouette sparked a surge of irritation.
"Now I don't know what you were thinking," he began, voice rising with frustration.
"Trying to commit suicide here... but why would you kill yourself with your baby!" His teeth clenched. The words exploded from him.
Sena flinched at the sudden accusation, recoiling instinctively from the yelling man towering above her.
"Uhm... excuse me... but..."
She cleared her throat and said flatly, "I'm not an old man."
Still confused.
And she was most certainly not pregnant, thank you very much, to be accused of trying to kill herself with a baby.
"Wha—"
He cut off mid-sentence, stunned by the voice that reached him.
A woman's voice.
"I— I'm not trying to kill myself either..." she sighed.
"I just needed to get across."
Then, as if that explained everything, she smiled—wide, from ear to ear.
Looking straight into the eyes in front of her.
But something was off.
His eyes weren't locking on hers. The man's glare seemed to miss her entirely, angled somewhere off behind her shoulder.
Frowning, she slowly, deliberately raised a hand and waved it in front of his face.
Testing.
He flicked her hand away with a sharp motion—then caught it mid-air, fingers closing reflexively around hers.
Soft. Slender fingers. Small palms.
He jerked back as if burned, pushing her hand away, realization dawning.
With an exasperated sigh, he dragged both hands down his face. "Oh. Alright. You're a woman."
A beat.
"I— I'm blind. So I just... I just see your... figure?"
Eyes wide in shock, her eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
"My figure?" she repeated, her voice rising.
She could not believe the sheer audacity of this pervert.
"Mister blind old man, keep your senses off my figure!" she exclaimed, half-spitting the words with a sharp edge of disgust.
Flustered now, she crouched slightly, arms crossing protectively over her chest as if to shield herself. "Pervert!" she murmured.
"No! I… that's not what I meant!"
He sounded genuinely upset now, voice taut with frustration at the misunderstanding.
"Never mind! Glad you're alive! Goodbye!"
And with that, he raised his staff abruptly, waving it toward her in an awkward, jerking motion as he turned sharply and began stomping away from the river's edge.
Sena blinked, stunned by the sudden dismissal.
She straightened up, still flustered, and began hastily brushing at her front and back; smacking dust off her clothes in hurried, agitated swipes, as if shaking off the whole embarrassing encounter.
Good grief! I can't believe this woman. Not even a thank you!
The thought churned irritably through his mind as he marched away, brow furrowed deep with lingering irritation.
And yet…
The image remained.
That silhouette.
Fragile and strange: a feeble figure clutching something smaller... the unmistakable outline of a child.
What in the world was that?
His face twisted with deeper confusion.
A flicker of doubt crept in. Perhaps his heightened senses were beginning to fail him.
He shook his head hard, as if to dispel the thought, and continued walking toward the direction of his house, not too far from the river now.
His steps were heavy, each footfall through the forest path leading from the river feels like a monumental effort.
He wasn't just physically tired from his walk; a deeper exhaustion radiated from him from all the tension coiled in his shoulder and the tightness of his jaw.
His breath was slightly staggered, not entirely from exertion, but punctuated by being accused as a pervert.
He let out involuntary short sighs, remnants of the awkward air he's just escaped.
He ruffled his hair, almost askew, strands falling across his forehead. He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous habit exacerbated by his flustered state.
His clothes were fine just a while ago, but now seems rumpled… wrong.
He tugged consciously at his collar, and smoothed some of the crease in his shirt. A futile attempt to regain composure that feels utterly shattered.
Recalling the awkward scenario that just transpired, he couldn't believe he forgot to mention to the strange woman to move away from the river before it devours her soul.
His job as the roadkeeper.
Uttering under his breath, fragmented phrases escaping him like steam: "I should have just…" he clicked his tongue, "Tsk!"
He halts abruptly, his body stiffening mid-stride.
A subtle tension creeps into his shoulders, replacing the previous fluster with a flicker of…something else.
Concern?
Curiosity?
He pivots slowly, his head cocked slightly as if trying to catch a scent or the faintest sound.
His ears strain, his brow furrowing as he listens for the telltale rustle of leaves or the soft crunch of footsteps that would betray her presence.
There's a brief, almost imperceptible pause, a moment where the silence seems to weigh on him.
A slight frown creases his forehead; a faint unease that she isn't following.
It's a fleeting expression, quickly masked as he straightens, his jaw setting with a renewed determination.
He turns back towards his house, his pace now a little quicker, a touch more purposeful.
The initial awkwardness is still there, but now it's laced with a subtle undercurrent of… something more. A question, perhaps, hanging in the air he left behind.
Where is she?
He wondered…
Where is she going? I should have just asked…
Meanwhile, after confirming she was still alive — and had managed to cross — Sena now processed the strange encounter with the blind man.
The need to move forward returned.
The earlier relief of her feat began to settle over her again. She glanced around at the path ahead. No longer needing a walking stick, she considered following the tracks he had left, but hesitated.
Wary thoughts flickered in her mind.
Just because he had walked out on her didn't mean he was someone she should seek out. But she needed directions — to know how to reach the capital of Azarette.
Curiosity tugged at her… those fallen royal statues across the river remained an unsolved riddle.
And besides, she wanted to clear one particular confusion:
Why would he think I'm carrying a baby if he can't see? That's just odd… she muttered to herself.
She shrugged off her cloak and knapsack, setting them down. Methodically, she double-checked her belongings. Everything remained intact.
Part of her wanted to camp here for the night… but the blind man's cryptic warning still echoed faintly in her thoughts.
Maybe it's not safe here. It'd be nice to find somewhere else to rest for the night. Somewhere not within the woods.
A loud growl from her stomach interrupted the thought. Hunger struck her hard — and suddenly she felt it fully: she was starving.
She dug through her pack and unwrapped the smoked fish she had prepared days earlier. Her water tumbler, almost empty now, reminded her of another need.
Oddly, she found herself thirstier than hungry.
She took a long sip, then let the wind wash across her face. The heavy, stifling air she had escaped now felt like a gentle angel's kiss on her cheeks.
A sigh escaped her lips — soft, slow.
A release.
A quiet relief.
Lost in the swaying of the trees, the flutter of leaves caught in the wind…
The scent of sweet grass and earth filled her senses.
She knew now… she was truly out of Silvershroud Forest.
With that quiet thought, Sena rose to her feet and stepped forward once more.
— — —
From a distant northwest part of Azarette, is Aurea Reach. A place with a pulsating engine of agriculture, where every sunrise ignites a fresh wave of tireless activity.
A vast, vibrant canvass of interlocking fields, a kaleidoscope of greens and golds stretching, bustling tapestry of toil and thriving abundance, sprawling agricultural valley where life's rhythm is in sync with the seasons.
The central hub of Aurea Reach is less a town and more of a densely populated agricultural village. Most structures are sturdy practical mix of timber and bricks, wattle-and-daub farmhouses, thatched woods and wooden shingles stained by rain and sun.
Life here is a ceaseless hum of purposeful labor.
The farmers, both men and women. Are formidable figures with broad shoulders, hands calloused, and faces deeply etched by sun and wind.
Harvest season has started and in full swing.
This bustling town is more alive than ever where townsfolk have meticulously gathered tending to endless rows of vegetation.
The air resonates with the earthy symphony of rural life.
Until…
The vibrant hum of Aurea Reach died in an instant…
The earth didn't just rumble; it ripped open with a gut-wrenching lurch, a monstrous crack tearing through the foothills.
A colossal, jagged wall of land heaved upward, a wave of soil and rock hundreds of feet high, blotting out the sun.
It didn't pause… but toppled forward, crashing down onto the thriving valley below.
In that terrifying, ravening avalanche, the very breath was torn from the world.
Ripe fields of gold and green vanished in a sickening gulp of earth.
Not merely covered but devoured.
The lowing herds, their warm bodies, were crushed into unrecognizably flat mass. Their last bewildered cries choked by tons of shifting soil.
The diligent farmers, who moments before had felt the sun on their backs and the honest dirt in their hands, were snapped into oblivion.
Their lives extinguished with the brutal finality of a flicked switch.
Their screams, sharp and raw, tore through the dust-choked air.
A piercing, desperate chorus of terror that clung to the remaining hills, only to be abruptly, impossibly swallowed by the terrifying… deafening quiet that followed.
Where vibrant life had pulsed just moments before, now only a colossal, fresh scar marred the land.
A desolate, gaping wound.
A monument to utter, swift devastation…
From the raw wound of the earth, where the screams had been abruptly choked into silence, something new and horrifying began to stir.
Not from the soil itself, but from within it.
From the mingled dust and pulverized rock, from the unseen depths where blood had seeped and life had been brutally extinguished, a viscous substance began to coalesce.
It wasn't water, but a thing of sickening density.
A glob of murky, dark brownish-black, like congealed shadow made liquid.
It oozed, slow and deliberate, from the shattered earth.
A Hemogoblin born of death and decay.
It pulsed faintly, a morbid imitation of life, as if the earthquake's violence had birthed something utterly unnatural…
A physical manifestation of the devastation and loss…