-A Short While Ago-
Amidst the swirling snows that cloaked the desolate landscape, the figure of a young girl, Lilly, emerged from the gloom, her breaths ragged and uneven as she struggled forth with a determination fueled by the fiery embers of hope that yet smoldered within her breast.
"C'mon Gracie," she urged her younger sibling, her voice a beacon in the abyss, "I am most certain this is where I spied him, as the shadows of the moon danced upon the earth last eve."
Their elder, Millie, bore witness to their progress, her countenance etched with lines of care and the wisdom of ages that had seen the rise and fall of empires. Her words were a solemn echo of doubt. "This is a path fraught with peril," she warned, the weight of her words hanging heavy upon the icy air.
But Lilly's spirit was not so easily dampened. "When the world has descended into chaos and the very gods themselves seem to have abandoned us, what choice have we but to seek refuge in the embrace of fate?"
Her eyes, akin to gleaming sapphires in the starkness of the frozen wasteland, fell upon a solitary silhouette standing sentinel by the edge of a cliff. The figure of a man, tall and foreboding, his gaze fixed upon the yawning chasm that once bore witness to the life and laughter of the village they had known.
"Hey, Arteus," she called out to him, her voice a clarion in the silence.
The figure stirred, the name a silent incantation that seemed to resonate through the very air. He turned, his eyes piercing the veil of the tempest that raged in his soul, meeting hers with a softness that belied the turmoil within.
"So you have come," he murmured, the words a mere whisper upon the frosty breeze.
"Of course!" she exclaimed, her youthful exuberance unbridled.
"After the tumult we have endured," Millie interjected, her tone a blend of sarcasm and affection, "our chances of survival are bolstered by your presence rather than diminished by your absence."
The youngest of their party, Gracie, giggled at the old woman's feigned gruffness, her laughter a melody that pierced the oppressive silence with a reminder of life's tenacity.
"Tsk," Millie chastised, though her eyes gleamed with mirth, "If this truly is the twilight of existence, then we shall fare better together than apart."
Arteus regarded them, his expression unchanged, as if carved from the very stone of the cliff itself. "Indeed," he said, his voice a solemn note, "but it appears, perhaps, that it is not merely your lives you shall be entrusting to me."
The survivors of Barley emerged from the shroud of white that had hidden them, their faces a tapestry of hope and fear. The two men who had once been divided, Castrol Pennant and Martin Wyatt, now marched in unison, their destinies intertwined by the cruel whims of fate.
The boy's eyes grew wide with wonder, a spark of purpose alighting within his soul. "If I am to become a slayer of gods," he whispered, "then I shall need as much work as this responsibility will command."
-The Present-
In the present, as the frost of morning kissed the earth with a tender embrace, Arteus walked alongside the very men who had doubted him just a day prior. Castrol, the village's esteemed leader, spoke with a tone that bore the gravity of his position. "Before we proceed," he began, his voice a soft rumble, "I wish to express my gratitude for your valor in protecting my kin."
The words, a balm upon the raw wounds of the past, brought a smile to Arteus's lips. "I am but a mere instrument of fate," he said, "and your trust is appreciated."
But Castrol was not one to be swayed by fleeting emotions. "Though we may tread the same path to the fabled city of Sovereign," he intoned, "and though I place the lives of all who dwell here in your steadfast care," he paused, his gaze unwavering, "that does not mean I can overlook your curse."
The air grew thick with tension, the unspoken truth a noose that tightened around the neck of their burgeoning alliance.
"Your lineage is known to all," Castrol continued, "and though I would wish it were not so, my faith is a double-edged sword that cuts through the veil of doubt and fear."
"Heh..." Arteus chuckled mirthlessly, "you speak with a clarity that pierces the fog of deceit."
Castrol offered a smile, though it bore the flavor of a truce rather than genuine warmth. "In exchange for your protection," he offered, "we shall provide you with sustenance from our dwindling stores."
Lilly's eyes narrowed at the exchange, the contrivance of the situation not lost upon her astute gaze.
"Do these terms suit you, child of the damned?" Castrol inquired, the words a challenge wrapped in velvet.
Arteus's eyes, as cold and unyielding as the winter that surrounded them, met his. "I care not for your terms," he said, his tone a blend of indifference and quiet defiance, "but I will accept your aid for the sake of the journey ahead."
"And you, Martin?" Arteus turned to the man whose disdain for him was as palpable as the chill in the air.
"Tch," Martin snorted, his tongue flicking out to lash the air with his contempt, "all the way to Sovereign you...unclean creature."
The venom in his voice was unmistakable, and yet Arteus met it with a knowing smile. "Ah, you wear your feelings upon your sleeve," he said, "but fear not, for I shall not shrink from your disdain."
With a gesture that spoke of his acceptance of their tenuous accord, Arteus addressed the gathering. "You are all welcome to journey alongside me," he said, "but I claim no responsibility for your mortal coils."
His eyes, now a tempest of resolve, searched their faces, ensnaring them in the promise he bore. "Stay vigilant," he warned, "for the shadows hold secrets that we can scarce imagine."
"To Sovereign we go," he concluded, his voice a clarion call that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the world.
Thus spake Arteus, as our solemn congregation drew nigh unto the precipitous edge of the cliff, whereupon the tragic demise of Barley lay, a haunting spectacle of desolate ruin. Far beyond, like a mirage shrouded in the murky veil of the horizon, the once-mighty city of Sovereign revealed herself, but perhaps, only, as a mere shadow of her former grandeur.
-To Be Continued-