Chapter 10
The Revelation
As the amulet flared with a blindingly bright, almost pure green light, the sky and the ruins around them were suddenly illuminated. The runes on the stone slabs began to pulse, matching the brightness with an intensity that almost hurt to look at. Freya held tighter to Alron, her eyes squinting against the unexpected brilliance, a mix of fear and wonder on her face. Alron let out a scream of pain as the arm holding the amulet was struck with a sudden, excruciating sensation. The amulet seemed to burn his flesh, its glow intensifying to the point of near-blinding brilliance.
He clutched at Freya, his free hand reaching out to grasp her tightly, his grip almost desperate as the pain coursed through his arm. Alron let go of the amulet, his hand opening involuntarily as a reflex to alleviate the intense pain. The amulet dropped to the ground with a clatter, its glow beginning to dim as its contact with his flesh was broken. As the green light subsided, the intensity of the illumination slowly ebbed, leaving them in a state of semi-darkness again, the runes on the slabs returning to their previous dim glow. He clutched his injured hand, his fingers trembling as he tried to examine it in the dim light. The aftermath of the amulet's intense glow left a blinding afterimage, clouding his vision and making it difficult to see. He closed his eyes for a moment, wincing in pain as the bright green glow danced behind his eyelids. "I can't see," Alron mumbled, his voice a mix of irritation and helplessness. He tried opening his eyes again, his vision slowly readjusting to the dim surroundings. Freya, who was standing close by, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. As Alron examined his hand, a look of horror spread across his face. The flesh, once smooth and supple, now looked shriveled and old, as if it had aged years in a matter of seconds. His fingers, once strong and firm, now looked thin and fragile. The change in his hand was drastic and shocking, leaving Alron at a loss for words. "Fuck, shit, damn!" Alron cursed, repeating the expletives as he tried to comprehend the sudden change in his hand. Freya mirrored his panic, her own body trembling with the shock of the discovery. "What is happening? Alron, your hand!" Her eyes widened in horror as she looked at the aged and withered limb. Alron clutched his aged hand, his voice urgent as he spoke. "We need to go to the priest," he said firmly, determination in his voice. "We have to tell him what we've learned. He will figure out what to do." Freya nodded in agreement, her own panic subsiding a bit at the prospect of seeking help from the priest. "Let's go," she said simply, her voice a mixture of fear and newfound resolve.
With a sense of urgency, Alron and Freya began making their way out of the ruined temple, moving as quickly as possible in the dim light. The path, even though previously familiar, now took on a more ominous tone, the shadows dancing around them adding to the sense of urgency. They navigated through the once darkened corridors, Alron's aged hand still clenching in pain, but their focus was now set on reaching the village and the priests there. As they walked, Alron noted a gradual change in his hand. The pain that had initially spiked with the amulet's flare, slowly began to subside, replaced by a strange sensation of strength returning. He flexed his fingers one by one, the withered limbs regaining some of their lost strength and composure, yet the visible signs of age were still apparent, the flesh appearing older than it should be. Despite the circumstances, Freya's grip remained tight, her hand clutching at Alron's, pulling him forward as they made their way towards the village. Her attention was solely focused on getting them both to safety and reaching the priests urgently.
"Faster," she said, her voice a mixture of concern and urgency. "We need to hurry." As Alron walked through the familiar landscape, the ruins and the trees that bordered them suddenly seemed older, more aged, than he remembered. The stones that once looked relatively ancient now showed signs of more wear and decay, looking as if they had withstood many more years of wind and rain. He felt a deep sense of unease, the knowledge of the amulet's power weighing heavily on his mind.
They continued on, the sense of urgency propelling them forward, but Alron couldn't shake off the growing feeling of dread. The trees that once stood tall and strong now seemed withered and frail, their leaves tinged with a hint of autumn. Freya's grip on his arm was the only constant, an anchor keeping him grounded in the surreal environment.
"Freya, something is seriously wrong," Alron said, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and concern. "Look around. The ruins, the trees... everything looks older." Freya, her face tearstained and her voice barely above a mumble, replied with a weak attempt at humor. "You mean besides your aged hand, you idiot?" she said, her tone half-teasing, half-frightened. "Let's just get to the village," Freya said firmly, her voice a mix of determination and urgency. "We can figure out what's going on afterwards. Right now, the priests are our priority." They kept moving, the ruins and trees around them still displaying signs of advanced age. The air seemed to crackle with the surreal energy of recent events, yet the sense of urgency outweighed the confusion. As they walked, leaving the ruins and the mysterious energy behind them, they entered the forest. The trees around them provided a canopy of leaves, creating a natural shelter as they quickened their pace. The forest, once a familiar landmark, now seemed somewhat altered, the trees appearing a bit older and the underbrush a bit denser. Freya's breathing was steady beside him, her grip still tightly holding onto Alron's arm. As they continued through the forest, they had to occasionally duck and weave around the more twisted and decrepit trees. The path that once seemed familiar and well-maintained was now a bit overgrown and difficult to navigate.
Alron glanced at Freya, noticing the hint of fear in her eyes, but she remained resolute, her grip on him tight and unwavering. "Move fast, idiot!" Freya hissed through gritted teeth, her voice filled with a mixture of concern, fear and irritation. "I hope nothing else has happened to your body." Alron, still somewhat dazed from the strange transformation of his hand, felt a pang of guilt at the situation. He increased his pace, stumbling slightly over the uneven path. The ground here was rougher, the path overgrown with weeds and thorny bushes. Alron could feel the uneven terrain beneath his feet, the occasional root or stone almost tripping him.
Freya stayed close, her hand still firmly grasping his arm. The surrounding trees, though twisted, seemed to stand guard over the winding path, their gnarled branches almost ominous in the diminishing daylight. After an eternity of walking, the first signs of civilization began to appear through the trees. The first few homes, nestled in the forest, came into view. Alron and Freya exchanged a glance, the sight of the village bringing a sense of relief to both of them. They quickened their pace, the journey through the forest slowly coming to an end. As they moved through the village, walking past the first few houses, an eerie feeling began to settle over Alron. The dwellings that once stood tall and proud, now looked abandoned and in a state of disrepair. The wood was peeling off its layers, windows were boarded up, and gardens overgrown with weeds. It was as if the village itself had aged years overnight.
"Freya, something's really off," Alron repeated, his voice laced with a mixture of shock and concern. "Look at Hilmund's house. It looks like it hasn't been lived in for ages.
He pointed to the dilapidated house, its exterior bearing signs of years of neglect. The windows were boarded up, the paint was peeling, and the garden was a riot of unkept weeds and overgrown grass. As they approached the main part of the village, the sounds of activity became more apparent. They began to walk slower, a sense of confusion in the air. "Seems like people are there," Freya ventured, her tone filled with more confusion than relief. Alron nodded, his gaze now fixed on the center of the village, where sounds of activity and life seemed to emanate. As they entered the center of the village, they were initially met with a sense of familiarity. However, as they looked around, trying to recognize the faces of people they knew, a growing sense of unease washed over them. None of the people around them were familiar. The faces, the attire, even the way they moved, everything looked vaguely different, slightly off. The villagers they saw were going about their daily chores, seemingly oblivious to the strange feeling that gripped Alron and Freya. Alron tried to recall familiar landmarks. The baker's shop where they'd often bought bread, the grocer's, the blacksmith... But even those seemed vaguely altered, as if they had been replaced or aged beyond recognition.
They had almost reached the temple when a random man suddenly stepped in front of them, blocking their path. His face was stern, his eyes studying them curiously. "Stop," the man said firmly, his voice resonating with a sense of authority. The man, dressed in a flowing silk robe adorned with a golden lace belt, cut an unusual figure. His face was plump and round, an unexpected sight compared to the typical look of a villager from the Spine. He looked at them, his eyes narrowing as he took in their appearance, his stance not hostile but definitely inquisitive. The man's tone was inquisitive, his eyes darting between Alron and Freya. "Who are you two?" he said, his gaze scrutinizing them, his voice carrying a hint of suspicion. "You don't look like you're from around here." Freya's voice was confused and unsure, her words laden with disbelief. "We live here," she echoed, her eyes locked on the man's face, searching for any sign of recognition. Alron gestured towards the hill, his good hand pointing to the farmhouses on the other side. "Up over that hill," he said, his voice tinged with a touch of uncertainty. "In those couple of farmhouses by the edge of the forest." The man's tone was getting more annoyed. "Are you bullshitting me?" he said, his voice rising a decibel. "There aren't any houses or farms in that area. It's outzoned." The man scrutinized them, his gaze falling on Alron's hand. His eyes widened in recognition. "You're a Lull," he said, a look of realization crossed his face. However, before he could finish his sentence, an extremely elderly priest emerged from the temple, cutting off the conversation.
The old priest was hunched over and held a cane to support himself, his every movement seemed labored but dignified. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, yet his eyes shone with a wisdom that comes only with age and experience. The man, who had been questioning Alron and Freya, immediately bowed his head in respect as the priest approached. The old priest's voice was soft yet firm, commanding immediate respect. "What's wrong here, Caius?" he asked, addressing the man who had been speaking to Alron and Freya. The old priest's gaze quickly shifted from the man to the Alron and freya. The moment his eyes fell on the latter pair, he froze, a momentary shock registering on his face, followed by a deep silence. The moment stretched, the old priest studying them intently, his aged features betraying a whirlwind of emotions. The elder priest's voice cut through the silence, a commanding tone that brooked no argument. "You two," he said, his eyes on Alron and Freya, "you two need to come with me now." The old priest dismissed the man with a gesture, his attention now fully on Alron and Freya. "I will take them from here," the priest said, his gaze never leaving the pair. He then turned and gestured for them to follow him, leading them towards the temple.
As Alron and Freya followed the old priest into the temple, they could tell that even it was not spared from the sense of age and history. The stone walls, while still standing strong, bore the marks of time, and the air seemed heavier with a weight of years. However, despite this, the temple still appeared to be well-maintained, the interior free of the decay and neglect that had marked the rest of the village. The room into which the old priest led them was instantly familiar to Alron. It was the same room in which he and Freya's aunt had discussed her uncle's health. The room was sparsely furnished, the only item of distinction, other than the priest himself, was a worn oak table situated in the center of the room and a single bed.
The old priest's eyes settled on the two, holding them in a piercing gaze. "You two," he said, his tone demanding. "Tell me your names." Alron spoke up first, his voice steady despite the confusion and unease that still coursed through him. "I'm Alron," he said quietly, meeting the gaze of the priest with a steady one of his own. Freya, her features betraying her unease, spoke up next. "Freya," she spoke, her hand resting on Alron's arm as if seeking reassurance. The priest's eyes widened at Alron and Freya's names, his expression betraying a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "But you two..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to process what he had heard. "You two... disappeared," he echoed. It was as if a stone had been dropped into a pool, the words causing ripples of shock and disbelief throughout the room. The priest's gaze flicked over them, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to discern if they were an illusion, a trick of the mind.
Freya's words cut through the silence, her voice a mix of confusion and frustration. "But uhhh…..We've only been gone for a few hours..." she repeated, her hand clutching Alron's arm, as if to hold onto something tangible in this sea of bewilderment. The priest's voice was soft yet filled with a deep sense of recognition. "Do you remember me?" he asked, his gaze locked onto Freya and Alron. "I am the priest that tended to your uncle," he continued, his eyes searching their faces for any flicker of recognition. The silence in the room was palpable, the priest's words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. Alron and Freya were mute, their minds struggling to grasp the enormity of what the priest had just said. "You two have been gone for centuries," he repeated, the phrase causing a shockwave through the room, rattling Alron and Freya's very foundations. Alron could feel a sense of vertigo gripping him, as if the ground had disappeared from under his feet. His heart pounded, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the impossibility in front of him. The shock was too much for Freya. Her legs buckled, and she sank to her knees, a look of despair on her face. Alron, instinctively reached out to support her, his own feelings mirroring hers.
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