There was only darkness. It lacked an origin or end. All sensation had left me; all I knew for certain was the presence of the void. My thoughts had long become a distant echo in my head. I felt alone, small. I didn't even know where I was anymore—what or who I was anymore.
I am not sure how long I lived this way. But eventually I felt something strange; something that wasn't there before. It began as a slight tugging at the edge of my consciousness. A feeling that made me want to turn and see what lay beyond whatever it was pulling me toward. And with each tug I grew. I regained some fraction of existence.
A name.
A family.
A home.
An ambition.
A life.
A death?
I woke up to nothing—a graveyard where life used to be. Something had swallowed everything. It had come like a thief, quiet, unforgiving and now Hearthglen was a shadow of what it once was. Whatever had happened, it had sucked the color out of the village. The very air turned against us, thick and vile.
I stood in what used to be the street, alone, with a thick fog surrounding me. The sky overhead? empty, void of blue or clouds. It cast the world in a uniform gray.
It was supposed to be summer. Instead, everything around me was dead and decaying. The cold—it wasn't natural. It was a beast, its claws sinking deep into my skin, freezing my insides and making my mind foggy.
I-I need to find ma and pa…
My chest, frozen for Omnis knows how long, suddenly filled with air. It was foul, but it was air, and it kicked me into action. My foot, previously a block of ice, moved. I pushed through the fog that wanted to swallow me whole. I stumbled forward, the cold mist clinging to my skin like a second flesh. The shapes around me began to take form—houses untouched but stripped of their warmth, markets and stores that once had people haggling now empty. Then, the true horror of my surroundings emerged from the fog.
Ignis save us.
Bodies.
They lay scattered across the cobblestones like discarded dolls, their lifeless eyes wide open, mouths twisted in a rictus snarl of silent terror. I recognized them, each face a memory of better times. There was old Matthias, the baker, his apron still tied around his waist, dusted with flour as if he had been caught in the midst of his morning routine.
A few steps further, and I saw young Eli, the carpenter's apprentice. His hands were still rough with calluses, his body sprawled unnaturally as if he'd fallen while running away from whatever had claimed our village.
There was Lorel, the weaver's daughter I had fancied, her vibrant red hair now dulled and stained by the dirt in which she lay. Her hands, once so deft at the loom, were still, forever stilled. A sob clawed at my throat but found no voice; there was no sound left in me to mourn her.
I passed by the blacksmith's forge, where once the rhythmic ring of hammer on anvil served as Hearthglen's heartbeat - it was now a suffocating silence.
With every familiar face I passed, a piece of me wilted. But I couldn't stop moving. My legs carried me forward with a will of their own because somewhere inside me, a foolish sliver of hope insisted this couldn't be real. This had to be some cruel dream conjured by a sick mind—a nightmare that I would soon wake from.
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My home loomed ahead, its familiar outline a specter through the fog. It was a sturdy two story structure of stone and wood that had weathered many a storm but seemed to sag under the weight of this silent catastrophe. The windows that once glowed with warmth and light were dark, the curtains that danced in the breeze hung motionless and gray. The door open.
I approached with trepidation—caught between a desperate need to flee and an overwhelming urge to uncover what had befallen those I loved most. Stepping over the threshold, the first thing that assaulted me was the smell—a thick, cloying stench of rot and decay. It made my stomach churn, and I almost gagged.
With my shirt pulled up to cover my nose and mouth, I pressed on. To my left, the sitting room greeted me with its eerie stillness. Furniture stood untouched, coated in a thin layer of dust. The fireplace, usually the heart of our home with its crackling flames and warmth, lay cold and filled with ashes.
Every detail was etched into my mind: the worn rug that had cushioned my infant steps; the clock on the mantelpiece that ticked away our lives; even the slight crack in one of the stone tiles that I had always avoided stepping on.
I moved toward the kitchen with hesitant steps, each footfall seeming to echo too loudly in the quiet house. Hope flared briefly in my chest at the thought of finding my mother there, busy as ever. But as I rounded the corner, that hope extinguished like a snuffed candle—the kitchen was empty, save for two things that caught my attention. A shawl—my mother's—draped over a chair. It was a plain, woolen piece, faded from its original green to a soft, earthy hue, with small, careful patches that spoke to its constant use. I picked it up and quickly wrapped it around my neck in the way she often did, seeking a small comfort against the chill, though I found no trace of her scent.
I then turned my gaze upon one of my father's hunting knives on the table. With no belt to secure it properly, I slid its sheath onto the waistband of my pants, ensuring it hung securely by my side. It was an awkward fit, but it would have to do.
That's when I heard it—a creak from upstairs that seemed to pierce through the thick silence like a scream. My heart stopped for a fraction of a second before thundering on with renewed vigor. Every instinct screamed at me to flee, but I couldn't—not without knowing.
Straight ahead, the staircase led to the bedrooms upstairs. I made my way up as quietly as I could, making sure to not make any noise. But with each step, the sound of my own breathing seemed to grow louder in my ears until it was all I could hear—until another creak broke through.
I reached the top of the stairs and turned down the hall towards the master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, the gray light from outside illuminating it's interior from one of the windows.
With each step toward the door, my heart pounded a wild rhythm against my ribcage, threatening to burst out of my chest. Blood rushed in my ears, drowning out the silence of the house. My hand, slick with cold sweat, reached out and gently pushed the door further ajar.
There was blood. Everywhere. On the floor lay ma. She had the complexion of ash, with her once beautiful hair torn out in clumps, her vibrant eyes now dull and staring blankly at the ceiling.
But it was not her lifeless form that shocked me most. No, it was the creature hunched over her. Its back was turned to me as it quietly tore into her flesh. I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing at first—my mind refusing to process the horrific sight before me. A gasp caught in my throat.
The creature stilled.
Abruptly, its head swiveled around with an unnatural twist of its neck to look at me. It was bald, devoid of all hair. Twisted, strips of cloth hung off its grotesque form. Its skin was pallid and lined with black veins that pulsed under the dim light. Its abnormally long hands and legs ended in sharp claws that scraped against the wooden floorboards. The eyes were voids of darkness—no whites, just an abyss that seemed to consume all light. The mouth had been ripped open to accommodate rows of sharp, gleaming teeth that glistened with something wet and dark.
I froze in place, too terrified to move or even breathe. But then something glinted at its neck—a familiar pendant dangling from a thin chain.
It was the one ma had gifted pa on their wedding day—a small locket shaped like an hourglass symbolizing eternal love. It hung around this creature's neck like a cruel joke, its gleam mocking the sanctity of their bond.
My heart seemed to stop as I stared at the pendant, then back at the creature's face, which now seemed eerily familiar. A horrifying realization dawned on me, causing a cold shiver to run down my spine.
"P-Pa..." I croaked out, my voice barely a whisper.
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An otherworldly shriek tore through the room as the creature lunged at me. I screamed as I pulled on the door and slammed it shut just in time. The wood vibrated under my grip, and I held onto the cold metal doorknob, my knuckles whitening from the strain. My muscles screamed in protest, but I didn't dare loosen my grip. I could feel the creature's fury reverberating through the door.
The scratching and scraping echoed loudly in the silent house. The sounds were like a nightmarish symphony, each note grating on my nerves and stoking my fear.
My father, or at least what was left of him, was on the other side of that door. Every clawing sound served as a cruel reminder of the man he once was. I could still remember his hearty laugh, his comforting hugs. Now, all that remained was this monster.
Fear coiled around me like a serpent, and I wanted to run, but I had seen the creature, its body was lithe and agile. There was no escaping that.
The door creaked under the creature's relentless assault, my muscles were tiring, the barrier between us being chipped away. My mind raced with thoughts and plans - desperate ideas to get… my eyes landed on the hunting knife at my side. It was a weapon I had seen my father wield countless times; its handle worn smooth by years of use. I took a deep breath, wrapping my fingers around the handle. The familiar grip was oddly comforting.
"Here goes nothing," I muttered to myself.
In a swift motion, I let go of the door and jumped back, creating as much distance as I could between myself and the monster. At the same time, the door tore off its hinges, and the creature lunged forward, its claws outstretched and jaws wide open.
I plunged the knife forward just as the creature leaped at me. Its body slammed into mine, its momentum throwing me off balance. I stumbled backward; the air knocked out of me.
Its claws scraped against my left arm and chest, leaving searing trails of pain in their wake. Its jaws clamped onto my shoulder, sharp teeth sinking into flesh. I screamed my throat hoarse as pain exploded through me. My grip on the knife tightened, instinct urging me to fight back. I was wrath incarnate, screaming and stabbing it in the torso as many times as I could, even as it shredded me to ribbons.
I felt warm blood all over me, soaking into my shirt, but I ignored it. All that mattered was that the creature was hurting too - its shrieks were proof of that.
The pain was blinding, overwhelming. But amidst it all, there was a glimmer of grim satisfaction - Perhaps I couldn't make it out of this, but I'll have avenged ma and freed pa. Even as my vision blurred and black spots danced before my eyes, I clung onto that single shred of victory.
With a final roar of defiance, I stabbed the creature one last time, feeling it hit something vital. The abomination went slack. I was too tired to push it off me, so I just lay there with it sprawled over me. The knife was still in my hand, its blade slick with the creature's blood.
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I let out a mournful sob. It echoed through the hollow house. My heart ached for my parents, for Matthias, Eli, Lorel. Their faces flashed before my eyes and I wept for them, not only for their loss but also for the guilt that gnawed at me - why was I still here when they were not?
My lips moved in a silent prayer to Lumara, begging her to guide their souls safely into the afterlife. Time seemed to warp around me; minutes felt like hours as I lay there on the brink of consciousness.
Eventually I gathered enough strength to shove the creature off me. Its dead weight slid away with a thud, revealing my torn flesh underneath. The sight made my stomach churn but there was no time to be squeamish - I needed to staunch the bleeding.
I was about to use the shawl for just that, when I froze—three more abominations were watching me from the stairs. Their eerie eyes bore into mine with an insatiable hunger that made my blood run cold. Exhaustion gnawed at my edges as reality settled in; there was no escape.
Ignis save me...