The quietude of the amassed assembly was suddenly pierced by the tender articulation of Arteus, his voice as faint as a zephyr in the stillness of the barn. It was a stark counterpoint to the maelstrom of emotion that churned within his very being. "Hey," he murmured, his words a poignant reminder of the solemn occasion that had convened them all.
"I find myself in a world bereft of that which I cherished most," he spoke with a tremulous voice that bore the weight of his sorrow. The gravity of his loss suffused the very air, casting a pall over the sanctuary that the barn had become. His eyes searched the faces of those gathered, reflecting the tumult of anger and despair that resided in his soul.
"The beacon of hope, the very essence of my existence," he continued, "has been cruelly wrenched from me today." His gaze grew softer, as though the mere invocation of his mother's memory brought with it a torrent of pain that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Do I hold each and every one of you culpable for the adversities that have besieged us?" His tone grew accusatory. "You are all cognizant of the scorn and ostracism we have suffered, yet you stand before me, the very instruments of our torment."
"Throughout this interminable day, I have risked the very essence of my being, my very existence, for the sake of those who reviled us." He spoke with a resentment that was as potent as the injustices that had been levied against him.
"But why, you might inquire?" He paused, allowing the question to hang in the air, pregnant with anticipation. "The answer lies within the confines of my mother's eternal disapproval, a specter that would have haunted me had I failed to protect her persecutors."
With a voice that quivered with a blend of anger and sorrow, he spoke her name, "Hannah." It was a mere utterance, yet it bore the weight of her suffering.
"I lay the blame for her pain and the hardships she endured upon each of you," he accused, his voice a soft thunderclap. "Yet, it is the gods themselves that I hold in greater contempt than any of you." His anger grew, a tempest brewing within him, threatening to unleash its fury.
The air grew dense with tension as he spoke of divine malfeasance, the mere mention of such blasphemy causing the hearts of the gathering to quicken and their breaths to hitch. Yet, none dared to interrupt, for they had witnessed the depth of his anguish and the fierce intensity of his conviction.
"Yet, she bore you no ill will," Arteus said, his voice a testament to his mother's boundless compassion. "In her eyes, you were all a promise of a new dawn, a chance for rebirth in the village of Barley."
The revelation of Hannah's unyielding hope in the face of adversity rendered them mute, their spirits weighed down by the enormity of her sacrifice.
"But I," he announced, his tone altering, "I feel differently." The words fell from his lips with the gravity of fate. "For as much as I am compelled to despise each one of you, I shall not. Instead, my wrath shall be directed at the deity she reviled above all others."
"All-sky," he spat with venom that seemed almost tangible, "has meted out a fate most odious, and it shall not go unpunished." The silence was absolute, the weight of his words a palpable presence that seemed to compress the very air.
"I wield a power," Arteus declared, his confidence verging on the otherworldly, "the same power that has allowed me to withstand this day of woe, and it is with this power that I shall seek retribution."
"I shall embark on a quest to purge Avaricia of the last vestiges of divine interference," his words a whirlwind of determination that sent a chill down their spines.
"I shall depart at first light," he spoke with a solemnity that allowed for no debate, "and if there are those among you who wish to join me, you are welcome."
"Your presence would serve as both a stark reminder of the stakes at hand and as potential bulwarks against the perils that await." His smile was a ghastly spectacle, a chilling expression that spoke of the madness born of grief.
"Or do not," he added with an air of indifference, his back turned to the assembly. "It is of no consequence to me, for I am propelled by a force that transcends the fear of mortal judgment."
With that, he disappeared into the night, his footsteps echoing in the vacant space, leaving behind an eerie silence that seemed to cling to the very fabric of their beings.
"Martin," he called out, his voice cutting through the quiet like a scythe.
"Y-Yes," Martin's voice trembled, fear evident even from afar.
"Tell me," Arteus demanded, "do you know the whereabouts of your comrade, Tobias?"
"Y-Yes, Sovereign." Martin stuttered, his eyes wide with terror.
"Excellent," Arteus responded with a finality that sent a shiver down their collective spines. "That is where my journey commences."
And with that, he was swallowed by the night, his shadow dissipating into the inky abyss. The barn remained motionless, the silence a living entity that consumed the space where anger and passion had so recently reigned supreme.
"That lad," Millie whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "What is he going to do?"
"Arteus," Lilly murmured, her eyes reflecting the chaos of concern and disbelief. "What has become of him?"
---
Elsewhere, in the shadowy recesses of the Under-realm, where the whispers of fate cavorted among the shadows, an enigmatic figure took form. The very air grew taut with anticipation as the disembodied voice resonated through the vast emptiness.
"Speak, mortal," it intoned, a command that reverberated through the very fabric of existence.
The narrative shifted, revealing the fate of the Avarician continent, a tableau of chaos and destruction, the threads of fate woven by unseen hands. The essence of the world itself seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the unfolding of the tapestry.
-To Be Continued-