They called it the Plague of the Undying.
Rumors reached us long before I ever saw its effects myself, speaking of an illness that stole lives and left nothing but hollow, crimson-eyed shells in its wake. My life until then had been one of the quiet communion of the library, books of great antiquity my friends. Silence preached to me, as I read of ancient ills, of myth and legend bound in brittle, dusty pages. But no story could have prepared me for this.
When word came that the Council wanted scholars to trace the roots of the plague, a strange excitement stirred within me. It was a chance to use what I'd learned, to make a difference—though, to be honest, I doubted they'd pick me. I was a simple bookish, uncoordinated girl of eighteen, who was much more at home with paper than with people. Yet here I was, in walled York, with the Council's seal in my pocket.
"Miss Evelyn Farraday, I presume? Lord Hallen's voice jolted me back to reality. He stared at me over heavy brows, his face a map of exhaustion. "You don't look… how I'd imagined."
My cheeks flushed. 'I mean, er—I mean, to be of service, my lord, after all. I dropped my eyes and, with my fingers curled around my satchel. "I've, um, studied old diseases and remedies. So… maybe…"
We'll take all the help we can, he said, mellowing. "Come with me."
He showed me the city, his voice the echo of a threat. "This plague… it doesn't just kill. It twists. It drains the very humanity from people."
We drove up in front of a steel door and stood there, frozen. The man was tied to a wall back inside, his body lean, unnatural. His eyes burned red, with something fierce and vacant. My heart raced and I resisted the temptation to run, struggling to murmur, taking notes.
Hallen nodded grimly, locking the door behind us. "These aren't just infected. They're… changed. 'And if we don't find a cure soon, York will be gone'.
"What you see here may disturb you. Many of our physicians have found it… difficult."
I went to the door and looked through a small window. A man lay chained to the wall, his thin body twisted, his skin stretched tight, as ancient parchment over bone. His eyes burned with an angry, red glow, following my every movement. I froze, I didn't know, holding on to my notebook, almost like it would protect me.
"How long… h-how long has he been like this? I asked in a barely audible whisper.
Lord Hallen's gaze was dark, his voice weighted. "Seven days since the first symptoms appeared. We found him feverish, wandering near the outskirts. Then the fever worsened; he wouldn't eat, wouldn't speak. We thought he had passed, but as we carried him to the church for burial… He hesitated, his voice tinged with disbelief. "He rose again, ravenous."
His tone grew quieter, strained. "He… attacked those nearest to him. We barely restrained him—several of our guards gave their lives to bind him here.
My throat went dry. "A-and his victims?"
"They rose as he did, infected, transformed. 'We lost most of the parishioners inside the church that night, just to put it out.
I took a step back and touched the door all at once. It was not merely an illness; it was a something that robbed not only life but death, leaving only an empty, deformed simulacrum of man.
I settled down within a minute, but my hand trembled. "If I… if I could take a closer look, my lord, I-I might be able to… to make some observations. Maybe try a few remedies?"
Lord Hallen nodded solemnly. "As you wish, Scholar. But take caution. This… curse does not discriminate."
The door opened and I cautiously walked in, the thick air descending. The stink of rot hung heavy, making my stomach heave, but I pressed on, holding my breath. I wasn't used to this—confronting a thing so directly. But I swallowed the fear, inching forward.
'Sir,' I said, my voice a whisper in the gloom. "Can… can you tell me your name?"
The man's eyes snapped up, empty yet furious. He opened his mouth, but only a guttural snarled sound came out. My heart raced and I could barely write it.
'Flashing appearances of awareness or perhaps forgetting,' I muttered, shaking pen in hand. "And aggression…"
The man sprang, with a sudden jerk, the chains clanking, his bony fingers reaching for me. I reeled backward, and let out a small, involuntary gasp as Lord Hallen broke the door open and pulled me out of the cell.
"That's enough," he said firmly, his face grave. "You've seen all you need."
That's when I realized how terrible this curse was. It wasn't just an illness. It was the thing that took the soul out of a person, leaving behind a hungry, empty shell.
Over the following days, I visited the Citadel as more prisoners—infected—were brought in. Every time, I became more afraid, more helpless, and at the same time less enlightened. The city's future hung in the balance, but I could feel time slipping through my fingers.
On one of those evenings, weary from my rounds, I wandered the empty streets trying to clear my mind. Just outside a church, I noticed a figure—a young priest, dressed simply, standing alone. I almost turned away, unsure how to even speak, but he caught my eye and smiled a friendly, inviting smile.
"Evening," he said, his voice gentle. "Just taking a moment to breathe?"
I nodded, pushing a flyaway hair behind my ear. "Yes. I just… needed some air. I mean, there is so much to - I stuttered, suddenly self-aware.
He didn't seem to mind. His gaze was warm and understanding. One of the scholors, I suppose? He pointed to my sack, which strained with notes and hastily tied herbs. "Studying the illness?"
"Evelyn," I replied, glancing away shyly. "Yes. They… they sent me here to investigate, but I don't know if I'm getting anywhere. It feels like… like it's slipping away."
He nodded, a quiet sympathy in his eyes. "I'm Bertrand. We're all grateful for what you're doing, Evelyn. Few would take on a burden like this, and the people see it. Please, come in. 'Perhaps something hot will put your mind in order, if not completely.
I hesitated, but the promise of something warm attracted me. The church was dark inside, the smell of old wood and candle wax faintly palliative. Bertrand led me into a small room, poured tea into a chipped mug and passed it to me. I wrapped my hands around it, savoring the warmth.
"You're not from York, are you?" Bertrand asked gently.
I shook my head. "No. I'm from the capital. 'They, er, they shipped me over to ' I stammered. I didn't want to admit that I hadn't found anything useful, that my notes felt hollow. "I just thought I could help," I finished, softly.
Bertrand nodded, understanding in his eyes. "This affliction, it's beyond us all. I don't know what it is, but it feels like something unnatural, something evil, not only to the body but to the soul.
I looked at him, surprised. "You… you think it's some kind of curse?"
Bertrand's face darkened, a quiet resignation in his voice. 'I know pestilences, evils which devour men. Yet this seems unhealthy, as if it preys on something more profound.
I was quiet for just a moment, his words disturbing but in a weird way comforting. Perhaps he was on to something; perhaps I'd been getting it backward all along, trying to fit it into a normal illness. Maybe it was… something else.
"Have you… heard of the library under the church? Bertrand asked after a pause. 'The monks put it there hundreds of years ago, full of texts about secrets and ancient diseases, even spells.
My eyes widened. "I had no idea. Do… do you suppose that there is something up there concerning this plague?
Bertrand gave a small smile, nodding. "Perhaps. Would you like to see?"
Down a narrow staircase we went to the cool, humid air of the lower library. Bertrand led me down to a stone chamber packed with ancient, leather-bound books. "The monks recorded everything they encountered," he murmured. "Maybe you'll find something here that others have missed."
Tactfully, I touched one of the old books, its title long obscured, running my fingers across its crumbling pages. Bertrand remained close, a silent companion, while I flipped through pages, reconstructing fragments of lost knowledge.
"Take your time, Evelyn," he whispered, his tone gentle. "Sometimes the answers come only when we're still enough to see them.
I read through the texts that night, with Bertrand at my side, solid, silent. My heart sank as I read of sicknesses that rotted both mind and soul, as if every tale had led to this—a sickness beyond anything natural, a shadow that fed on life itself.
Early one morning, Bertrand leaned down, putting a tender hand on my shoulder, his expression solicitous. "Do you feel any closer?"
"Yes… closer," I replied softly. But the weight of what I'd read felt heavy. I didn't feel comforted. I felt… haunted.
He looked at me, with a longing in his eyes. "You're seeing things no one else has, Evelyn. Even the smallest insight can change everything."
As the sun came up over York, painting the sky orange and gold, my determination started to kick in. The old books breathed in the library's dark corners, and I heard their mute summons. Fear had gripped me long enough. I needed to act, even if it was in the smallest way possible.
For the next few days, Bertrand and I immersed ourselves in the library of the church. We studied manuscripts, papyri and reports of illnesses long past. As I read, an uncomfortable realization settled over me. This plague—the Plague of the Undying—bore eerie similarities to an ancient curse I had stumbled upon, one said to arise when mankind's despair and greed reached unbearable levels.
"The monks warned of a prophecy," I explained to Bertrand one evening, my voice barely above a whisper. "They believed this plague might descend when humanity forsakes hope, leading itself to ruin."
Bertrand furrowed his brow, processing my words. 'Maybe it's not sufficient to know the physics of the plague. We must also rekindle hope in the people's hearts. If they lose faith, the darkness only grows stronger."
His insight struck me with the weight of a revelation. If hope could be a weapon against despair, then how could we inspire a city so deeply gripped by fear?
I spent countless sleepless nights contemplating strategies. I knew we needed to reach out to the citizens, to remind them they were not alone. The idea of calling together the townsfolk made me nervous, but it seemed like a must. "We should invite them to the church," I finally suggested one morning, my voice trembling slightly. "We can share what we've learned. 'If they know the character of the plague, maybe they can tell us how to fight it.
Bertrand regarded me with concern, his brow furrowing. "But what if it causes more panic? What if they can't handle the truth?"
'Then we'll give them more than the truth,' I said, a flash of determination in my gut. 'We must be able to demonstrate to them that there is a way out. Together, we might resist the darkness."
After deliberation, he finally agreed. We prepared and prepared for the meeting, we spread the word on the narrow cobbled streets. "Come to the church!" we proclaimed. "Let us stand together against the Plague of the Undying!"
But that night, the meeting night, I stood in the door, the beat of my heart pounding with terror and with anticipation. Lanterns flickered in the darkness, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Villagers began to trickle in, one by one, the atmosphere thick with fear and lingering despair.
I beheld the sorrowful eyes of mothers, fathers, children, who carried the weight of sorrow. Some looked at me with wary optimism, others with cynicism. I breathed deeply, attempting to calm my galloping heart, as I stepped back, giving Bertrand the lead.
"Welcome," he said, his voice resonating through the silence. "These are hard times for us all. The Plague of the Undying has stolen so much from us, and left our hearts afraid, and broken. But together, we can confront this darkness."
He talked and I stood there with him, just nodding my head in agreement. I felt like a shadow, drawn to the background, while he inspired the crowd with a shared resolve. 'We have studied this pestilence, we know what it is. Not just an illness of the body but a ghost that submerses itself in our despair. But we have the power to fight it! We can reclaim our hope!"
I heard gasps of understanding ripple through the crowd. With every word, I felt a change in the air, a spark of connection between the people. But even as their spirits began to lift, the truth loomed over us all—our understanding was limited, and the threat of the Undying lingered like a dark cloud.
Throughout the meeting, Bertrand encouraged the villagers to talk about their loss and their survival. I listened to the weeping, but also to the laughter that filled the church. Each story, of loss or hope, added to the feeling of growing unity.
By the end of the meeting, something had changed in the atmosphere. The lanterns glowed fiercely, lighting the faces of people with a new sense of purpose. 'We have started to take back hope tonight,' Bertrand said, his voice powerful. "But we must continue this. We must be there for each other, we must find answers as a whole. ".
In the following days, our efforts began to yield results. Local residents mobilised, caring for the sick and looking after families left behind. They shared food, news and stories of survival, and in doing so forged connections that fear had held them back from making.
As for Bertrand, I delved deeper into the old books, seeking more answers. We formed a council with teachers, farmers and healers ᅳ voices from all sectors of the community speaking out against the plague. Yet the more each day passed, the more hope began to bloom, the more the fear of the Undying took root.
Rumors of sightings emerged from the woods, and my heart raced with fear as villagers disappeared into the night. The sides darkened, and I began to feel the heavy cloak of despair settle back on my shoulders, even as I clung to the torch of hope we had just lit.
One afternoon, while we were all in church, banging sounded on the doors. A gasping villager came running in, her face as white as a sheet. "They're coming!" she gasped. "The Undying! They're at the edge of the village!"
Terror swept the room, but Bertrand remained unmoved, holding out his hand. "We are prepared for this," he declared with authority. "We stand as one. We have discovered hope, and we will defend it!"
A surge of adrenaline coursed through me. "We must mobilize! Now everyone, take whatever you can get a hold of, swords, pitchforks, anything that we can use to defend ourselves. We'll gather in the town square!"
The villagers leapt into action, and I looked at Bertrand, panic rising in my stomach. "Is this it?" I whispered, uncertainty clouding my mind.
He met my gaze, his expression solemn. "We are not alone in this fight. We stand for each other. For our home."