"Run!"
"Over here!!!"
"Help me!!!"
"My son! Where is my son?!"
"Waaaahhhhhh…"
"Earthquake!"
"I can't breath! I can't breath!"
"Heeelllpp!!!"
From their mountain post overlooking the valley, the guards froze, their faces turning to pale masks of horror as the valley was torn apart before their eyes.
"Inform the capital!" the captain finally roared, shattering the stunned silence.
His hand trembled as he scribbled a message:
"Aurea Reach. Massive Earthquake. Fields swallowed. Hundreds dead. Send reinforcements."
He signed and sealed it, then penned another to the nearest lord southeast of the valley.
With the messages dispatched by the fastest riders, he turned to his remaining twelve men.
Gathering his strength, he barked clear orders: maintain order, evacuate survivors to safety, inspect the rubble, and patrol against looting.
The soldiers sprang into action, splitting into groups of four, each knowing their grim task.
From the raw wound of the earth, where the screams had been abruptly choked into silence, something sickening 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.
But this was no mere seeping fluid.
As it rose, it began to draw itself together, coalescing into a humanoid form, though one twisted by its grotesque birth.
Its body looked like coagulated blood and earth, a shifting canvas of cracked, iron-red stone. Beneath its crusted surface, slick blackened sinew pulsed and dried into scabbed plates.
Veins of dried crimson ran like fractures across its elongated, uneven limbs, one perhaps longer than the other.
Its hands were thin, ending in tapering mineral shards, like claws of dark hematite.
Despite the apparent weight of its form, its movement was unnaturally fluid, almost like a blood clot sliding through water—a wrong, unsettling gait.
Its ribcage was visible, a skeletal cage beneath translucent layers of crusted matter.
Where a face should be, there were no true eyes, or rather, too many, embedded beneath the shifting skin like trapped souls pressing from within, sometimes opening just enough to suggest a horrific awareness.
When it spoke, its mouth stretched too far, the voice a haunting chorus of many, layered and out of sync: a mother's weeping, a child's scream, an old man's whisper, all stacked into one dreadful sound.
Its pitch wavered wildly, from low droning to shrill cracks, occasionally speaking in fragmented, final whispers:
"Noooo!"
"Take cover!!!"
"Help me!!!"
"I'm right here!"
"Papa…!"
"It hurts!"
"I'm bleeding! Somebody help!"
"Heeelllpp!!!"
When it breathed, it was a gurgle, like air pushing through lungs that no longer existed.
While the foot soldiers were busy with the commands given to them, an unknown force had began to slither away from its place of conception.
The grotesque spawn of calamity, moved southward, as if pulled by an unseen beacon.
Its unnatural form glided through the dense, towering trees of the forest, a silent horror carving its path.
Behind it, the earth bled.
Flowers, vibrant moments before, wilted, withered, and crumbled to dust.
The very iron in the soil seemed to writhe, rising to the surface as if recoiling from its touch.
Animals, sensing its dreadful presence, didn't just flee; they scattered in a blind, primal terror, their instinct overridden by a chilling recognition.
Even the wind itself seemed to quiet, holding its breath in its wake.
And from its ceaseless, morbid progression, the Hemogoblin left a trail of dead land, a stark, black scar against the living forest.
From the disturbed earth, like gruesome markers of its passage, corpse fingers began to sprout, reaching skyward, pointing the way along its ongoing, dreadful path.
Its passage was marked by a thin, glistening trail of blackened blood, a perpetual, sickening bleed from its very soul, staining the forest floor wherever it had been.
A chorus of terror echoed within the forest where the Hemogoblin slithered through. The final wails of the calamity's victims were hauntingly resounding and repeating on top of the other.
Each cry was a desperate, overlapping plea.
"My hands! I can't hold on!"
"The children! Someone help the children!"
"We're trapped!"
"Don't leave me!"
"This can't be happening!"
"Mama...!"
An unbearable symphony of horror, staining the air itself with their agony, writhes through the forest, just outside of Aurea Reach.
With no sense of direction, Sena gazed ahead at unfamiliar trees. Though not as overwhelmingly towering as those in Silvershroud, this was still a new and alien landscape.
Noticing no other paths than the one the blind man had taken, she thought this might be an easier way towards the capital.
Despite their awkward encounter, she wasn't entirely opposed to meeting him again, if only to clarify a few things.
Looking up, the sky indicated it was probably an hour or two before high noon.
She marched forward, now noticing that the flowers around and within these parts seemed neither toxic nor poisonous.
Bluebell shrubs, multicolored blooms of columbine, supple purple bergamot, vibrant and fragrant marigolds, and enchanting Dutchman's Breeches formed a blanket of whites and pinks.
Clean, aromatic air filled her lungs.
A small smile lingered on her lips as she surveyed this new part of Azarette.
It wasn't long before she noticed something just up ahead, something that made her eyes, once dulled by fatigue, sparkle with sudden excitement: the sight of a cobblestone road stretching before her.
Looking left and then right, Sena noticed both ends of the road were nothing but an endless winding stretch, disappearing as far as her eyes could see.
But a scent lingered in the air, her heightened senses at work: the unmistakable smell of baked bread.
She wasn't hungry, having just had a small picnic by the river not long ago, but the aroma drew her in.
She followed the road to her left, peering through sparse trees for any sign of a house, cabin, or settlement nearby.
She wondered what type of people she would encounter. She almost skipped, imagining the taste of freshly baked bread, her hand brushing lightly on rows of sweet alyssum that grew by the roadside.
By high noon, she spotted a house not too far ahead, resembling a bed and breakfast or perhaps an inn. She stopped in her tracks and inhaled the lingering scent of freshly baked bread.
Stopping herself from running, she composed herself.
Nestled by the winding road, the house looked like a solitary sentinel. Its form sturdy and unadorned.
It's built predominantly of dark, weathered timber planks, giving it a somewhat bleak but enduring quality, perfectly suited to its isolated roadside location.
A thick stone foundation anchors it firmly to the earth, hinting at its longevity. A stout, brick chimney rises proudly from the roof, a visible sign of the warmth within.
Noticing a pale trail of smoke rising from the chimney, Sena knew this was likely the source.
She took a deep breath and shook her hands and legs as if to gather courage.
"I don't care if I look like a beggar. I would beg for a piece of that bread." Determined, she walked up to the door and knocked.
An almost familiar face opened it, looking just above her head, completely missing her shocked eyes.
He cleared his throat, still a bit awkward but somehow relieved to see that the strange woman had indeed followed him.
Baking a batch of sourdough bread had been the right call to lure her.
Mockingly, he spoke with a grin, "Can I help you?"
Remembering their earlier awkward encounter, Sena blushed, looking away to hide her face. She felt even more flustered recalling that he was blind.
She couldn't grasp why she was feeling this way, but she cleared her throat and managed, "I... I'm here to beg for, uhm... a loaf of bread?"
"Hah! Come on in. Make yourself at home."
Shaking off the lingering unease between them, he welcomed her. "And don't worry, I'm usually kind to beggars," he added, teasing her slightly.
"Heh... heh…" Sena let out a nervous laugh as she dragged herself in, utterly embarrassed by what she had just said.
Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.
I'm here for a loaf of bread, and a load of questions.
We need to get to the capital. Be nice. Be nice! she reminded herself as she entered the blind man's home.
Inside, she noticed the spacious living room, tinged with an inviting aura and warmth.
It was furnished with solid, unadorned wooden couches, upholstered in practical, hard-wearing fabrics like coarse linen in muted tones of green or brown.
A large, robust wooden coffee table stood centrally, its surface perhaps textured by years of use.
Her eyes glimmered at the room's focal point: a grand, wide brick fireplace. Its hearth offered familiar comfort, a place where people could feel the radiating warmth and hear the crackle of burning logs.
A huge banner adorned the wall of the fireplace just above its mantel.
She chose to sit on the couch nearest the door, thinking she could easily bolt upright and away if anything felt off or went wrong.
He moved closer, offering a cup of warm drink.
"Here, have some coffee. This should ease your stomach," he said, before settling on the couch adjacent to her.
"This is nice. Thank you!" she smiled happily at the blind man.
Like a kid on Christmas morning, Sena accepted the cup with both hands and savored the scent of warm coffee.
Oh! Wow! Coffee… Mmm… That smells gooood…
Her thoughts of joy and excitement were written all over her face.
Now all it needs is a bit of milk and a slice of bread, and I would be in a heavenly escape! she thought to herself.
"Idris… My name is Idris Noorgareth. I– I never got your name," he inquired, interested to put a name to the strange woman he had just so openly welcomed into his home.
"Ah! Right!"
Sena exclaimed, suddenly putting the cup down and bolting upright from the couch. She extended her hand, gesturing for a handshake towards Idris.
He reached her hand in return.
"My name is Sena Yukari. And I will live my third life to the fullest no matter what!" she exclaimed with wide eyes, brows arched, and a grin plastered across her face.
Idris laughed at her weird introduction.
"I didn't know we were supposed to be saying our mottos after introducing our names," he said teasingly.
Sena blushed and let go of Idris's hand.
She then sank down onto the couch and crouched.
"Have some bread, I just finished baking them," Idris urged, seeking to ease the awkwardness Sena was displaying.
To his senses, it seemed like the silhouette of a feeble old man had just slouched down to hide the baby in its cradle more carefully by his stomach.
But he didn't say anything about it to her yet. He figured he would get to know this abomination of a soul before he uncovered who she really was.
"Ah! Right! I begged for this… Hehe!" She cleared her throat and reached for a slice.
"I can't believe how long I've gone wanting something different to eat."
She took a bite, chewed slowly, and swallowed, then continued, "I have been eating nothing but nuts, and dried or grilled fish, and tea since… "she stopped mid-sentence.
Since… when?
He leaned forward, his focus sharp as Sena spoke.
"Interesting. I'm a bit curious too, if you'll indulge me…"
He planted his elbows on his lap, fingers interlocking, his chin settling lightly against his clasped hands as he angled his head.
"What is it again, about living your 'Third Life'?" he asked with a faint smirk.
Sena tensed.
Idris wasn't looking directly at her, yet she felt as though he'd seen a side of her she didn't know.
Suddenly, his intimidating aura softened just enough to reveal the arresting beauty of his features.
His deep-set eyes, framed by long, thick lashes and now relaxed brows, held a serious, almost stoic calm, a stark contrast to their earlier furrowed intensity.
His silvery-grey eyes didn't shine or glimmer, yet their very stillness radiated a silent dominance that, despite his obvious blindness, was undeniable.
The way his dark hair fell just enough to cover his forehead, framing those unseeing eyes, gave off an unusual, cool detachment.
He was acutely aware of the impact of his chiseled jawline, the sharp line of his nose, and the subtle curve of his lips.
A 'Pretty Face' card he knew precisely when and how to play.
He hadn't been blind long.
He knew well how the ladies his age in Kaelshara reacted to his presence. He didn't needlessly engage with them, but he had certainly used that advantage more than a couple of times.
"Oh, uhm… That's nothing. Just something I tell myself when I'm alone," she offered with an awkward smile, clearly wanting to avoid the topic.
She was almost glad he couldn't see her face, or else he would instantly know how wary she felt.
"Uhm…" she started again, but Idris's next question interrupted her.
"Alright. What were you doing by the river?" he asked, intent on listening. He was curious, yet also harbored the urge to scold her if the situation warranted it.
Swallowing a bite of bread, she took a sip of coffee, then downed the last bit of bread in her hands.
She shook the crumbs from her fingers and poised herself.
The cloak on her head was making her feel a bit warm now, so she opted to remove just the hood. She felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as if she had been in this exact spot before.
She smoothed the plunging neckline of her raglan shirt and scratched behind her ears.
Her body wanted to reject these questions, but she knew she wouldn't be able to get anywhere unless she inquired about the things she needed to know from Idris.
"I really don't know," she began. "I just know, I had to cross it."
"Well, isn't that convenient?" Idris scoffed, sipping some coffee himself, eager to elicit more from her.
He leaned a little closer to his left, where Sena was sitting. He fixed the angle of his face, seemingly looking at her, and with a straight expression, he said, "I won't be able to help you unless you tell me the truth."
With a slight, almost convincing nod of his eyebrows, he continued, "Are you lost? Or are you in danger?"
He began to suspect someone had tried to abandon Sena by the river, convincing her to cross it, knowing her soul would be claimed in the process.
Sena jerked slightly.
Her wide eyes, a blend of shyness and anxiety, darted around the room, settling on anything but Idris. His gaze, somehow, caused a prickle of discomfort, his presence so potent it felt as if he could see straight into her.
With a slow, deliberate turn of his head and a subtle shift in his weight, the space around them seemed to shrink, drawing them closer.
This awareness made Sena terribly conscious.