'It was my fault.'
In a vision, Zabriel trudged through the thick snow that blanketed the forest, his boots sinking with each laborious step. The wind howled around him, driving the snow into fierce swirls that obstructed his view. Nonetheless, he could clearly see the vivid memory playing out before his eyes—an ethereal, almost ghostly scene from his past materializing amidst the storm.
A younger version of himself, just a child, was sprinting through an identical snow-laden forest but with a frantic desperation. Behind him, a surging tide of shadows streaked with reaching hands chased relentlessly. The child's face was etched with terror and pain; his clothes were torn, revealing wounds that seeped with blood despite the glowing green light encircling his fingers—a futile attempt at healing magic.
As the boy chanted and the light from his hands brightened, the wounds closed temporarily only to be torn open anew each time he stumbled or the shadows crept too close. With each faltering step, the shadows edged closer, their hands seeming to brush the hem of his cloak, instilling a palpable fear deeper than the chill of the storm.
Throughout the ordeal, the older Zabriel, a silent spectator to his past, couldn't help but reflect bitterly. 'What is darkness, if not the relentless reminder of our failures?' he thought. 'An unyielding force, born from every mistake, every misstep I've ever made...' The blizzard around seemed almost to echo his shame, swirling chaotically like the torrent of his past errors.
Finally, the child stumbled, unable to sustain the chase and the continuous healing. He dropped to his knees, the soft thud muffled by the snow. His hands stopped glowing, and he looked up as the shadows converged over him. Tears mixed with blood on his cheeks, acceptance shadowing his youthful features. This time, there was no struggle as the darkness enveloped him fully.
Both the child version of Zabriel and himself whispered through the storm, their voices merging melancholically, "I'm a failure."
(2 months later)
In the vast and ornate chamber of the young princess in the Kingdom of Kalhalla, a scene of desperate urgency unfolded beneath crystalline chandeliers. The chamber echoed with a palpable tension as dozens of adventurers, hunters, vagabonds, and various guild members gathered around. In the center, suspended mid-air, the kingdom's young princess, Amarisa, hung limp. Her skin was pale as moonlight, her long, platinum hair streamed around her like ethereal silver threads, but it was her eyes, wide open yet pitch black, that drew murmurs of fear and concern from the crowd.
The regal figures of Queen Sylaria and King Thorian remained composed amidst the chaos. Queen Sylaria, her long emerald gown shimmering against her pale skin with teal colored tattoos of a phoenix on her neck, her hair a cascade of vibrant blue locks, spoke with a voice both commanding and laden with maternal fear, "Every night, just as the moon reaches its zenith, our Amarisa falls into this cursed state. No healer, shaman, or mage has been able to free her from these phantom clutches."
King Thorian had short light brown hair, and golden eyes, and had a golden short beard, and he replied, "Dammit! There has to be someone. No word about that one Healer who was under King Arshan in Kenshire?"
"Rumors are that he's dead. No one saw him in 2 months after that kingdom got destroyed, including the king himself. It's wild, they were under Zepharion's watch, but still ended up with their sanctuary divided in destruction though Zepharion is about Perfect Order."
As each participant tried, in vain, to use their magic to heal Amarisa, the little princess suddenly screamed—a sound so powerful and haunting that it sent most of the room's occupants smashing through walls. Yet, in the midst of this supernatural tempest, the royal couple stood unscathed, a testament to their unstated powers or deeper connection to the curse at play.
"Shit!" One mercenary stated.
Another one commented, "Even when I try to use soothing magic, it's like something's pulling at me.."
An adventurer standing with his guild said, "This is beyond us…"
At that moment, Advisor Orthen, a lean man with pallid skin and sharp green eyes, dressed in a twilight-colored tunic, burst into the room. He knelt swiftly at the Queen's feet, announcing, "Your majesties! They are here!"
Relief flickered in Queen Sylaria's steely eyes as she responded, "If anyone can save our daughter, it's them. Send for them at once. Those mercenaries who actually killed a cult member last month. What was thought impossible, they achieved. Please gather them. Her condition has gotten worse over the weeks."
"Yes, my Queen!" Orthen replied, rising to dispatch the royal command.
Meanwhile, far from the turmoil of the palace, the tranquil flow of the River Serith meandered through lush landscapes. Upon its calm waters floated a large boat, a common ferry mingling locals, fishermen, and guild members. Among these everyday faces were the members of a notorious mercenary group known as "Conquest."
Kailan, of the group, stood out starkly—a humanoid wolf with thick red fur and an impressive physique, shirtless to reveal battle scars, his only garb being black pants. A massive sword, wrapped in shadows, rested on his back, promising untold destruction. Beside him was Tazmel, an older yet formidable figure with a white, braided beard and braided black hair that contrasted starkly with his dark yellow eyes. A hammer adorned with runes hung at his hip, hinting at mystical smithing skills.
On the other side of the boat, Raiya sat isolated. Her scarlet red hair flowed long and freely, save for a single braid that traced her jawline. She wore a pure white dress that danced in the gentle breeze, and a white blindfold covered her eyes, suggesting blindness or a deeper, unseen vision.
As the boat continued its steady course along the river, the stage was set for what would be an inevitable and dramatic confrontation, casting these peculiar figures into the heart of Kalhalla's direst hour.
As the boat meandered gently down the serene River Serith, the navigator, a sprightly old man with a weathered face and twinkling eyes, began enthusiastically detailing the surrounding landscape. "Folks, to your left is the enchanted Forest of Whisphers, a mystical area where the trees are believed to whisper secrets of ancient times if you listen closely on a full moon night. And right here beneath us flows the mighty River Serith, stretching over 300 miles and nurtured by the mystical SilverFalls located in the highlands of Kalhalla!"
The passengers listened intently, their eyes roaming over the lush greenery bordering the river banks. The peaceful ambiance, however, shifted as a group of passengers began murmuring about the more sinister tales tied to Kalhalla.
"I heard the Queen's daughter is cursed, trapped in nightmares no magic can touch," one guild adventurer whispered to another.
"Yeah, and rumors have it that the Cult of Fabel might be behind this. Dark magic and cursed dreams? Sounds like their handiwork."
The conversation caught the attention of the Conquest mercenaries. The curious passengers turned to them, bombarding questions about their famed encounter with a Cult of Fabel member.
Amused by the attention, Tazmel stood up, his eyes glinting with mirth. He brandished his rune-etched hammer theatrically and began a comically exaggerated re-enactment of the supposed battle. "And there I was, face-to-face with the fearsome cultist!" Tazmel boomed, swinging his hammer and adding his own sound effects. "Clang! Crash! That poor cult member didn't stand a chance!"
Leaning against a barrel, Kailan smirked at the spectacle. In his mind, he ruminated, 'Funny how myths are born. We didn't actually kill that bastard. Just found him dead, torn apart by some unknown force. But hey, if the tale fits and brings in the coin, I'm not complaining.'
On the other side of the boat, Raiya, with her unfazed demeanor and blindfolded eyes, interrupted the navigator. "While the river may look peaceful, there's a darker flow beneath us. These parts are influenced by the Cult of Fabel more than people realize. Each kingdom here once thrived under the aegis of their own deity. Now, silence. Not a whisper from the gods in two months. It's as if... the deities themselves have been slain."
Tazmel chuckled and said to Raiya, "Ah come one, Raiya! If you keep being gloomy like that, you'll never find a husband."
"..Fuck love. Can't love anyone in a world like this."
Her words, chilling and full of foreboding, stirred unease among the listeners. The boat became a floating cauldron of whispered theories and fearful glances.
Some said:
"There's no way the cult killed the deities. Do you know how much power they have to have?"
"Right. Maybe the deities are testing our patience! To see how truly faithful we are!"
But some agreed with Raiya:
"That's right," a fisherman chimed in. "No blessings, no ceremonies. It's like the heavens themselves have closed off."
A trader added, "If what she says is true, then we are all in far greater danger than we realized."
Kailan thought, 'Heh. That leaves me to think..who was the bastard that actually killed a cult member that has the power to potentially kill a deity itself? He's gonna be some madman. Whoever it was, I gotta meet em'.'
It was then that Orthen, as a dove, elegantly landed on the deck before morphing back into his human form.
Some said:
"Is that—?!"
"Orthen! The royal advisor.."
"What's he doing here?"
Orthen bowed slightly to Conquest, saying, "Greetings, Conquest. But I apologize for the instant integration. Shall I make a request? Requested by the royal family itself—?"
His words were quickly overshadowed by the sudden approach of another boat. This new vessel was rough, menacing, and filled with at least twenty pirates, their intentions clear as they brandished enchanted and mundane weapons.
"Nobody move or you die! Hand over your valuables and jump into the river!" their leader barked, as they began to board.
As the pirates swarmed onto the boat, Orthen sighed dramatically, brushing off his robes. "Pain. I did not plan on fighting today. Everyone else, stand back. Protect those who can't fight. As a royal advisor, I will not allow any lives to be lost on this vessel, besides the ones who wish to take what's ours."
Kailan cocked his head towards Tazmel, a devious snarl and growl spreading across his face. "Yo, Taz."
"Kailan?" Tazmel grinned.
"Create the battlefield."