The wind howled across the desolate plains, sweeping dust and ash into the air, a bitter reminder of the world's decay. Ruins of once-great cities loomed on the horizon, their skeletal remains barely discernible through the murk. The land was scarred, torn apart by battles long forgotten, with nothing left but broken stone and twisted metal.
Ban walked alone.
His cloak billowed behind him, torn and tattered, stained with the grime of a thousand journeys. His boots crunched against the brittle earth, each step heavy with the weight of countless miles. The landscape around him was silent, save for the wind's mournful cry, yet Ban's presence seemed to stir the very air, as if the land itself recognized the return of an old and unwelcome friend.
He paused atop a ridge, his eyes—ancient, weary, and cold—scanning the horizon. Nothing but emptiness stretched before him, a wasteland where life had once thrived under the gods' cruel gaze. Now, only remnants remained, a testament to their neglect. Ban's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, the leather grip familiar and comforting.
"Just a little further," he muttered, though the words were for no one but himself. His voice was low, gravelly, as if speaking was an afterthought—a habit he had long since abandoned in favor of silence.
The path ahead led to a place that Ban had not seen in lifetimes. It was not a homecoming he looked forward to. The gods had taken that from him, along with everything else. But this place—this cursed village—held something he needed, something that might bring him one step closer to his goal.
The sky darkened as Ban descended the ridge, clouds gathering like vultures over a fresh corpse. As he approached the outskirts of the village, he could see the remnants of wooden huts, their roofs collapsed, walls crumbling. The place was a ghost town, a graveyard of memories.
Ban's hand brushed against a crumbling fence as he passed, the wood disintegrating under his touch. He paused, staring at the ruins of what had once been a home. He could almost hear the echoes of laughter, the distant hum of life that had once filled these streets. But those days were long gone, and all that remained were shadows.
He made his way to the center of the village, where a single building still stood, though it leaned precariously to one side. It had been an inn once, a gathering place for travelers and locals alike. Now, it was a hollow shell, the door hanging from its hinges, the windows shattered.
Ban pushed the door open, the creak of rusted hinges the only sound that greeted him. The inside was as desolate as the world outside—dust covered the floor, cobwebs draped across the beams like funeral shrouds. He stepped inside, his boots leaving tracks in the thick layer of grime.
At the far end of the room, a fire flickered weakly in the hearth, its light casting long shadows against the walls. Ban's eyes narrowed. The fire was no accident.
"You're not welcome here, Wanderer."
The voice came from the corner of the room, where a figure sat in the darkness, cloaked and hooded. Ban didn't respond immediately. He simply stood there, studying the figure, his grip tightening on his sword.
"After all these years, you dare to return?" The figure stood up slowly, revealing a man—old, frail, but with eyes burning with a mix of rage and sorrow. "You have the nerve to come back after everything you've done?"
Ban tilted his head, a wry smile curling on his lips. "Well, I do like to make an entrance. Besides, you called me, remember?"
The elder's eyes narrowed, his hands clenching into fists. "I had no choice. Trouble follows you wherever you go, Ban. We lost everything because of you. The gods destroyed this place—our home—because of what you did."
Ban shrugged, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Funny, I remember them doing most of the destroying. But sure, let's blame me. I've got broad shoulders."
"You can joke all you want," the elder spat, his voice trembling with barely contained anger. "But the blood of this village is on your hands. The gods brought their wrath upon us because of your actions. You're a curse, Ban."
Ban leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Look, I'm not here for a stroll down memory lane. You called, I came. What do you need?"
The elder's face twisted in frustration, but he finally relented, his voice low and bitter. "I called you here for a reason. There's something you need to know."
Ban raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Oh? Do tell."
"The Sorcerer Kingdom," the elder said, his voice shaking slightly. "It's been destroyed."
Ban's eyes widened, but his grin didn't falter. "Destroyed? That's… unexpected. How'd that happen?"
"An entity," the elder continued, his gaze distant as if reliving the horror. "A force unlike anything we've seen before. It's like a black mist, a fog that sweeps across the land, attacking anything living. But the strangest thing… those it touches, they don't just die. They go into a trance, as if their very minds have been taken over."
Ban whistled low, shaking his head. "A fog that mind-controls people? Now that's something you don't see every day. And you saw this yourself?"
"I was there," the elder replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I witnessed it with my own eyes. It tore through the Sorcerer Kingdom like it was nothing. Only a few of us escaped, and even then… we're not the same."
Ban's eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his mind. "So why are you telling me this, old man? You think I'm the cleanup crew?"
The elder looked at Ban with a mix of desperation and resignation. "Because there's no one else. The gods have abandoned us, and no mortal could stand against what's out there. You're the only one who might be able to do something about this, Ban. I've called you because… I had no other choice."
Ban chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You really know how to sweet-talk a guy. Alright, fine. Where's this spooky mist headed?"
The elder hesitated, then sighed deeply. "East. It moved east, leaving nothing but death in its wake. If you go after it, you'll be walking into a nightmare, Ban."
Ban's expression turned hard, but there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Sounds like a party. I've been living in a nightmare for centuries."
The elder's gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of pity in his eyes. "I called you because you need to understand the scale of what's happening. The gods may have abandoned this world, but what's coming… it could be worse. If you still seek revenge, know that this may be the only way to reach them—but it might also be your end."
Ban shrugged again, pushing off the doorframe. "Wouldn't be the first time I've danced with death. Could be fun."
The elder watched him go, a mix of anger and sorrow in his heart. "Ban," the elder called out one last time as the Wanderer reached the door. "Whatever happens… remember, this world still holds those who suffer because of your choices. Don't forget that."
Ban paused, the weight of the elder's words heavy in the air. Without turning back, he replied with a smirk, "Forget? Not my style."
And with that, he stepped out into the night, the door creaking shut behind him. The wind howled once more, carrying the scent of ash and decay. Ban continued down the path, his mind fixed on the east, where a new threat awaited.