Is morning, the sun barely grazing the surface of the beach with its orange warmth. And he stands there to greet it.
Hidden beneath his black cloak, the Phantom.
He watches the sun appear on the horizon, cutting through the heavy clouds of storms deep inside the endless sea. If anyone saw him there, they may think he is a ghostly visage of a lost soul.
And they wouldn't be too far off.
In time, his contemplation ends, so he turns around and leaves the beach, his long cloak dragging a little bit, the perfect size to hide his feet that don't touch the ground.
As he enters the town and wanders through its streets he watches the people wake up and get out of their homes, they put out stalls to sell goods, or begin filling their wagons and carts with essentials and their most lucrative export, fish.
The whole place had this peculiar smell of salt and fish. It wasn't unpleasant to him, but as he moved from the old homes and reached the newest parts of town the natural smell got replaced by the artificial one coming from perfumes that the wealthiest wore like a badge distinguishing them from everyone else.
How revolting.
It would begin here, he decided.
But he didn't want to rush, maybe this place could be spared, at least for now. Even if his arrival was inevitable, he had a rule imposed on himself. One soul.
He would spare this town if one soul convinced him that it was worth saving.
He knew for sure there was no way he would find such a pure soul among the wretched merchants, their greed long having taken over their humanity. So he ventured back where he came from, but this time went even deeper.
To where the light almost didn't touch, there you could always find the purest of hearts or the purest of beings. Be it good or reprehensible, one was its true self when clad beneath the embrace of darkness.
He understood this well.
So like a fly, he was drawn by the smell of rotten fish and filth of all kinds, where the houses were little more than crumbling shacks or where the smell of body fluids mixed with tears and alcohol was the strongest.
There he found what he was searching for.
Inside one of the alleys, rested an old woman, she laid there like a corpse, but still breathing, weak, but enduring. He approached her and she barely raised her eyes from the nothing she was staring at before.
When he laid there in front of her, a few feet away, she swore this must have been the day it all ends, when all pain is taken away and she is freed, freed from the torment of this life.
"Are you...Dod's children?" she whispered, showing what few teeth she had left on her wrinkled and sunken face. Her voice was weak, old, and feeble.
"That depends" he replied, giving her a warming smile "Do you want to stay alive?"
"Just look at me...what would be the point? take me if you will, to the Hallverdt, to be judged" she stretched her hand forward as if hoping that touching the mysterious figure would end it all.
Out of the Phantom's black cloak comes out a hand, answering her call, the metallic gauntlet feels cold to touch, impossibly so, but what she feels is not air leaving her lungs or consciousness fading away. It is the sickness, the weakness, that suddenly goes away.
"W-What?" she mumbles as she sits on the floor.
"Tell me about it," he says, seemingly kneeling in front of her, like a kid waiting for grandma's tale of the night.
"Tell you what?" she tries to take away her hand but he holds it firmly, so she stares at him more deeply, and sees that hidden inside that black hood lays an elegant, strikingly beautiful face of a man, a few of his bronze strands of hair hang freely in front of it.
"Your life, who were you?" he answers, laying his other hand on top of hers.
"I-I..." she stutters, confused and a little concerned, but that smile, it was so welcoming, so honest, so pure.
She was a Skald, and so was her mother, and her grandmother. When young, and beautiful, she sang and told poetry to anyone that would listen, anyone that would pay.
And how did people pay for her sweet voice and interesting tales, she earned more than the prettiest of prostitutes and was as respected as the strongest of men and most courageous of warriors.
Men would often seek her out at late hours of the night for, private songs, no matter if they were barely old enough to hold a sword or ripe enough to call themselves grandfathers.
And some she would pleasure with her gifted tongue while others, would be left wanting. She felt like a princess, like a nymph of myth.
Even after time passed and her more adventurous self gave away instead for the reserved and matured mind of a woman, she was still loved. And she loved back too, especially one man, the young boy she had once met, she knew he had always gone to every one of her plays.
Careful enough to leave a rose after each night, winning in time her heart. The two married and had a few children, the man sure was strong, for all four of them were boys.
And she was delighted, euphoric with the life she had. The boy had become a man, a warrior, and even if she worried about his life due to his profession, she was proud and prayed every night to the old gods that he would be safe from harm.
"Loved ones show us how human we are, they serve like a mirror through which you see your soul," the Phantom says, and he looks away from her for a brief moment, lost in thought "I'm yet to find such a person, but I fear my soul is one that none would dear reflect, no mirror would want that"
The old woman smiled and had a brief, contained laugh "Don't be ridiculous hun, you are as beautiful as the Elvemann of legend. Any woman would be lucky to, reflect you" she says as she puts a hand on the nearby wall of the alley and helps herself to her feet "Could you let my hand go, dear?"
"I'm afraid I can't" he replies raising as he does "If I were to do so, you would die"
The words don't have as much of an impact on her as she thought or feels they should, maybe because in her mind she was already a ghost, she must be, to feel so relieved and be greeted by what she can only describe as an angel from the tales of the invading priests of Light.
"I see" was all she said, but after thinking a bit, she had a request to make. If this was the day she dies, there was something she wanted to do "Would you mind taking me to the graveyard?"
"So long as you don't let me wait anymore for the rest of your story," he said stepping aside, meaning for her to guide.
"I wouldn't dream of it, it's funny that of all stories I've ever told, the last one I tell will be my own," she says walking forward, exiting the alley to enter the almost deserted street.
"Everyone want's to hear of the message, never the messenger"
"Well, I..."
Lived a calm life. Years passed and her husband stayed alive, even after facing the savage beasts of Grunland and participating in a few raids against the neighbors to their borders, he was as healthy as one could be.
And soon her boys grew into men, ready to follow inside their father's footsteps. While she worried, even more, she knew that everything would be alright in the end. So she sang and told tales from dawn to dusk.
But soon, every tale has its problem, the moment when the peace is interrupted, and for hers, it came in the form of a declaration of war.
twenty-five years ago, Lowin declared war on the petty kingdoms of the West. His army of fanatics and the enslaved mage, nicknamed Baneavmenn by the warriors at the borders, threatened to consume it all, so the petty kingdoms united under one king, the banner of the white-winged and two-headed horse Bevingethest, to fight together against Lowin the Ambitious.
So her husband and sons marched to war, and she prayed more than ever before and she was requested tales and songs more than ever before, tales of victorious battles by concerned mothers like her, and bountiful rewards of prestige and spoils to the men left behind.
But no tale, no legend of heroes can compare to the brutality of the real world. In only three years of fight, Lowin had conquered it almost all, all but the town by the shore.
Protected by heavy forests at the sides, an endless sea at the other, and large, empty fields that one could use to see any incoming force from miles away, they raised palisades and resisted.
For weeks, even months. Everyone did. Giving up would have meant their identity being taken away, their God's forbidden, and sages executed.
Until Lowin, himself came to town and said only a few words.
"Surrender. Or face my righteous wrath"
A warrior from behind the palisades answered by shooting an arrow at the man. Her son.
The arrow missed, but the damage was done. From behind the man appeared a monster, his body hidden beneath the brown cloak and on his hands a staff of wood and bronze.
A fiery inferno was unleashed on all the town as the skies darkened and from above rained hellfire, setting everything, and everyone ablaze. She was spared the flames only by the brave sacrifice of the eldest listeners of her, the ones that had gone to her plays since the very beginning, men and women that understood all was lost and that wanted to try and save at least something, someone.
The day after, she raised from the ashes and crumbling buildings along with a few survivors, the soldiers of the man taking them all into a line in front of him. He sat on his chair with eyes as penetrating as a crossbow bolt on the chest.
He put a macabre display in front of them all, the boy that shoot the arrow chained on a steel pole, burned by the devil, and after screaming for a moment, when life seemed to finally escape, Lowin waved his hand and light fell from the heavens, healing the wounds and extinguishing the fire.
So it could all begin again.
"It worked," the old woman says with a trembling voice as she wipes away a tear with her free hand.
They now stand in front of a small pile of stones, a few letters written on each.
"I don't know which one is theirs, they burnt all the bodies into ash and dropped them all in here...the ones that were left did this for all the ones whose name's we remembered" she gently rested her hand on the pile "this all I have left of them"
"I'm so sorry for your loss," the Phantom said, squeezing the hand of the old woman tightly, who replied by smiling at him.
"They are gone, and nothing will ever change that...the spectacle, the King, put in front of us wasn't only for his amusement, he had emissaries from every noble of our infant kingdom watching, so when they all returned to their lords and told them of what they had seen, the nobles rebelled and surrendered...the war was lost" her voice has a furious undertone to it "Every life lost, for naught"
Now tears escaped the condiment from her eyes profusely, sorrow and rage intertwined into one emotion.
"Is that where your story ends?"
"It is. After that, the King ordered the reconstruction of the town by migrant people from other parts of the land, they gladly forgot about the Gods, about what had happened here, about the tales and legends, they forgot about it all because they were afraid" she spits to her side "And all I ever knew was to be a Skald, but with the priests in power, there was no way for me to ever get a home again, so I became a beggar"
"How unforgivable" he whispered, earning the attention of the old woman "To turn their backs on their Gods due to fear, there is no greater disgrace"
"You, didn't seem confused when I spoke about my gods, perhaps, are you too a Listener?" she wiped away her tears furiously, standing up in her frail legs, turning towards him. In her voice, hope.
"I know them all, from the tales of Machtig to the legends of old. I too am a skald in some way" his words fill the old woman with joy and disbelief.
"But that is impossible, you are so young and... can you show me?"
"Of course I can," he says sitting in front of her, making her immediately drop to her knees again, an excited smile on her face "Any request?"
"Tell me about Sommermor and Vinterjeger"
The Phantom smiled a little bit more than before. And what followed was heaven.
His voice, beyond melodious, so sweet, soft, yet clear and simply perfect, was almost magical. Now there was no doubt in her mind if he wasn't one of Dod's children he was an Elvemann, a gift by the Gods to ease the pain and suffering in her heart after all these years.
As soon as he finished a tale, she asked for another, and then more. They sat there for so long, as with each verse she could see herself standing in the streets, with a crowd of the townsfolk she had grown up with.
She saw their smiling faces, laughed with them at the most hilarious and whimsical of stories with joyous abandon.
The face of her husband, the smile of her children. Each tale was like a vision of the past, and she cried, the pain in her chest one of happiness, the remainder of what once was filling her with a sensation of warmth she had lacked for decades.
As the man in front of her sang, she rested her head on his chest, and he embraced her lovingly, covering her frail and weakened body under the black cloak of his. He was wearing full plate armor.
In time, the stories ended and all that was left was the cry of the old woman, who remained there for long minutes until it was all out.
She stood up with his help.
"Thank you, for this" she whispered "I'm ready"
"It's been my pleasure. Would you like to do it here? next to what's left of your family?"
"No...I would like to do it in the marketplace, I'm already dead anyway right?"
"Why do you wish to die there and not here? Next to them?"
"Because I don't know if they are there, to begin with, their ashes could have been blown by the wind, or simply thrown away by the priests while they told us they kept them in here. But all my happy memories are in the marketplace, there I began my life as a Skald, there I met so many people, meet my husband, took my kids...If I can choose where I want to die, it must be there"
The Phantom nodded, and they left the graveyard, passing by a couple entering it, one hidden beneath a blue cloak, and the other, a woman with black hair tied on a bun and black eyes. The Phantom was careful enough to stand in the right place, so the old woman wouldn't see the staff the other cloaked man was carrying.
They reached the marketplace, it had been hours since they had met and it was now closer to the middle of the day, it was busy, noisy, and filled with life.
As a parting gift, the Phantom offered to buy her food and wine. She happily accepted, eating and drinking her fill as she did all those years ago. But finally, after another hour, time had come.
They stood in front of one another, in the middle of the large marketplace, surrounded by the busy people going about their day.
"I never hoped for such a great departure from this world" she whispers "but I'm glad my faith has been rewarded"
"Are you ready then? To let go"
"Yes" the old woman closes her eyes, and sees the faces of her husband and sons, she is prepared to see them once again. But the grip on her hand doesn't weaken, instead, it tightens.
"But before I release you, there is one more thing I have left to offer you"
She opens her eyes and sees the tender smile of the man in front of her, it had been like that ever since she first saw him "What?"
"An opportunity to take revenge against those that have wronged you. To punish those that have taken everything from you"
"H-How?" she asks, stepping away from him.
"By giving you power, like none other. But like all things, there is a price to be paid, something is given and something is taken" he then raises his free hand, showing his finger in front of her "One thing, only one, for another. But in doing so, you would never see your loved ones again"
"One thing? And I can take revenge?" she draws closer "Can I kill the King?" she whispers, her heart beating faster than ever before.
"It will be within your reach, but-"
"I do!" she desperately holds on to him "Take it all, all away! whatever you want, but give me a chance to kill that son of a bitch! I want to rip his heart out and burn his daughter in front of him how he burned MINE!"
The old woman is breathing hard, but her angry expression changes to one of surprise, when she sees that the smile the man had ever since they began talking, was now gone for the first time.
And in its place, a certain disdain and even, disgust, that she could feel very deep within her.
"Very well," he said.
Suddenly, she felt how her soul was forced out from her body, and with it, thousands of memories, all of the joy, the faces of her husband, sons, everyone she ever held dear vanished.
She realized too late, that she had traded her happiness for power. And with it, anything and everything that ever brought her happiness, leaving behind instead a hollow husk, and everything that made her feel pain, anger, sadness.
The smoking carcass of the old woman falls to the ground dead, black eyes stare into the abyss while the people all around turn and see the spectacle that it's about to unfold.
Floating in front of the Phantom there is now only a ghost, a spirit, the woman who she once was, made out of translucid smoke, with her long now black hair floating as if she found herself beneath the sea.
Her eyes were red orbs of light that looked to the sky, her mind quickly eroding away, creating a new self that threatened to take over at any moment.
And once that was gone, she looked down at the man that had done this, who once again smiled.
"Sing"
He ordered, and she obeyed.
Her song was a powerful, heartfelt wailing of lament, that after a few seconds finished with a chilling wailing, cry, scream of agony, as she felt every second of pain and suffering all in one second.
And with it, anyone still in the market and with the weakest of wills had their souls pushed out of their bodies, leaving behind smoking carcasses like hers, and their now corrupted souls floating on the air like she, their eyes red.
"Don't let even one of them escape" the Phantom ordered as he too became ethereal, flying up to the large tower nearby, with a guard furiously beating its bell.
Her mournful song continued as the ghost dispersed all around, sucking the life out of anyone they touched for too long, and with her song, more souls were ripped apart and made into new ghosts.
Bloody tears fall from her eyes, as the last light of her life is extinguished, a burning memory of the family she lost.
The lifeless body of the guard fell from the tower, splattering the ground with blood as it loudly crashed.
The phantom lay just on top of the tower, looking all around how chaos steadily took over the town, and he felt something. Someone, looking at him.
"I wonder if you can be my mirror" he whispers as he turns around and looks at the three far away figures flying above the trees "Archmage"