Lordan sat in the dim light of the underground barn, arms folded tightly across his chest. The giant barn built beneath the house was the village head was as a result of an agreement made between Windrest village and the dwarves. The inhabitants of Windrest would always sell their farm produce to the dwarves and in exchange the dwarves would accommodate them in the mountains during the period of the cosmic storm; if only this cosmic storm did not start at the wrong time they would have been safely secured in the mountains before it began.
The sound of Arina's soft sobbing echoed faintly through the sparsely filled barn, grating on his nerves. Her grief for her father-their so-called beloved Elder Serbin-was just another reminder of how pathetic these villagers were. There was no doubt that he was dead; the unspoken rule 'Stay inside during the cosmic storm" wasn't a joke.
He didn't really care if Serbin was dead, it's not like they were blood brothers. Lordan was the son of the former village elder, but some thirty-five years back his father had gone towards the kingdom capital; when he returned he came with a five year old Serbin. He had looked like a scarecrow, the little boy would steal food and hide them in his pockets prepared to be thrown out at anytime, he only trusted the former elder who had brought him. It took a long while for him to acclimatize with the rest of the village.
The boys had been close and Lordan who was a year younger was happy to have a brother to play with. The villagers had also been very kind and welcoming of Serbin who had suffered greatly. When Serbin had dropped his distrust and defensive behavior he had acclimatized with Windrest 'too much' to Lordan's discomfort. Serbin was smart, creative and dependable; all the young boys in the little village seems to like, respect and follow this city smart boy.
What broke the camel's back was when his father, on his death bed from being gored by a demonic boar declared that Serbin would be the next village head; making him the youngest village head-even the whole village was satisfied with that choice! Lordan's hatred for Serbin had reached a new height at that point. He wasn't really surprised, though it pained him. His father seems to love the boy from the moment he brought him, and the boy loved the man that had saved him from starving to death. Serbin took the former elder as his father. He knew that his father wished he was just as smart and capable as Serbin. He really hated Serbin and felt no sadness at his passing.
His father's pride in Serbin reached new heights at the coming of Arina's mother… damn it! That was when his envy for Serbin turned to hatred.
He shifted uncomfortably on the floor, the cold stone beneath him unyielding. Four years ago, he had left this village. He had walked away from this foolish, boring existence, determined to make something more of himself. He had planned to carve out a name for himself in the Kingdom of Everlong, but the world outside was crueler than he had imagined.
Lordan's hand twitched at the memory, his jaw tightening. He hadn't even entered the kingdom's capital properly before having an encounter with a common servant of a Manifest Lord. The humiliation that he had suffered had broken something in him.
His brother's pity when he returned to the village had stung more than anything. He hated that pity, he also hated hearing Serbin say, "... father loves you the most." What right did he have to call him father?!
The villagers' kindness also, thinking they could help him heal, only deepened his bitterness. They were all fools. They thought their sheltered, peaceful lives mattered, but in the real world, kindness meant nothing.
They were weak, trapped in a false sense of security. Lordan knew better now. Out there, they were nothing-no one cared about their village, and no one cared about them. He didn't belong here. He deserved more than this quiet, suffocating existence. These people didn't know the world. They didn't understand how brutal it could be.
Finally, the storm began to die down, and the air outside grew quieter; it had just been half a day since the storm started. Lordan stood, his legs stiff from sitting for so long. It was time to see what was left of the village.
Lordan climbed the barn's chiseled stone stairs, as moved toward the iron trapdoor. Just in case the house had collapsed, he hoped that it has not buried them in the barn. He pushed it open, and smiled in relief at the door creaking as it swung wide, and stepped out into the wreckage.
The village was a mess. Cottages had collapsed, trees were uprooted, and debris was scattered everywhere-few houses were standing. The storm had left nothing untouched. But what struck him wasn't the damage-it was the people.
They emerged slowly, stepping out of their broken homes with wide eyes, some crying, others too shocked to react. A group gathered in the village center, staring down at the body of Serbin, their leader. He must have been on the way back to the house when he lightning struck him. Arina screamed as she ran and knelt beside her father's corpse, her face pale and grief-stricken.
It disgusted Lordan. The way they mourned, the way they clung to their broken sense of unity-it was pathetic. Six people were dead and more were missing, and all they could do was cry and gather like sheep. They didn't understand. No one was going to save them. His breathed deeply, it was a smell of freedom. It was his time to shine.
He watched as Gris, one of the hunters, spoke in hushed tones that one of the villagers seemed to have died from loss of blood, it was as if his blood was sucked from his body. Lordan looked over to see the pale and dried corpse that had been covered with a clothe, two clear puncture marks were clearly seen on the neck. From the way the corpse was, the woman spine must have been broken making her incapable of movement while her blood was being drained.
He felt his hairs stand, he looked towards the dark forest worried that whatever had done that was still nearby. He wondered if all these were normal, after all they had never passed the storm in the open before. Gris suggested that the everyone would have to find somewhere safe to stay.
This was Lordan moment. He had to make them understand, had to make them see that he was a better and more practical leader than Serbin. They needed him to lead, whether they liked it or not.
"We have to leave," Lordan announced, stepping forward. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the whispers and cries. Everyone turned to him, their faces filled with confusion.
"Look around you," he said, gesturing to the destruction. "There's nothing left for us here. We've lost our elder" he sneered in his mind "and we've lost more than just homes. There are strange things are out there, waiting. The storm usually lasts for two months but it will definitely last longer this time since it came much earlier"
"The only chance we have is to head east," Lordan continued. "Some of the young men can go around to find the horses and mules that are still alive and haven't run far. We will take them and head for the Sabertooth Mountains. Though we haven't been able to sell anything to the dwarves this year, it's understandable. The mountain is our best option. It's safe there, and the storm won't reach us."
The crowd shifted uneasily, some nodding in agreement, others looking uncertain.
One of the respected men in Windrest, Bervil a farmer raised his objections.
"Won't it be better to stay here. We can hide in the barn. It was supposed to be harvest time starting next week, storm or no storm we can't leave our hard earned effort here." The old man said stubbornly.
"What if the storm starts before we get to the mountain? It's will be a three-day journey with a cart drawing our load, and even if we leave our load it would take at least two days without rest to get everyone to Sabertooth Mountain. What about the young and aged? How do you plan to move everyone?" someone from the crowd added.
"But what about the elderly and the sick?" another person asked. "We can't carry everyone."
Lordan felt a flash of annoyance. These people were so attached to their dead weight. He thought he could rally them up and be their salvation just like Serbin at this time, he just did not expect them to be so unreasonable. If he couldn't take everyone, he would take just those that sensible and useful and leave the rest. His life is more important than these foolish people.
"We can't save everyone," he said sighing and trying to sound sad. "As elders of the village you would have to think of the future of your young ones. Let the young men and women come with me, when we get to the mountain I would speak with the dwarves and come back with help to take the aged."
The aged began to hesitate as they looked towards their sons and daughters. Foolish people, Lordan thought.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then all the young men and women began to object vehemently.
"Leave my father? Never!"
"You can go alone. We will stay behind "
"Aye"
Lordan lost his patience as others joined in agreement.
"You ignorant twit. We need to take those who can fight and survive. The weak will only slow us down. Don't you understand? Your life is more important"
Everyone kept quiet, too horrified and disgusted by his suggestion.
He felt anger. This people didn't know the truth of the world. He was just trying to help them, they would die. He was going to leave here with two of his friends who he knew would support him-and Arina of course, he was the only one she had and she would be begging to follow him.
Arina stood abruptly, her face red with anger. "We're not leaving anyone behind!" she shouted, her voice trembling with fury. "How can you even suggest that?"
Lordan turned to her, his eyes narrowing with surprise. "Your father is dead, Arina. We need to survive. The Cosmic Storm and whatever beast is out there won't care about your feelings"
"We're not leaving anyone," Arina repeated, her voice firmer now. "If you want to abandon us, go ahead. We'll stay"
"You fool girl" Lordan glared at her, the anger rising in his chest. He had expected her to be broken after her father's death but it seems that the little girl had matured. She wants to stay with the villagers. They were all fools, clinging to their so-called unity. He would find a way to make them listen. He always did.
-------
Arina stood over her father's body, her chest tight with grief. Serbin had been her rock, her guide through life. And now, he was gone. She knelt beside him, touching his cold hand, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.
Around her, the villagers wept quietly. Six lives had been lost to the storm, and their grief filled the air like a wet blanket. Even in her sorrow, Arina couldn't stop thinking about Anandriel.
Where was he? His body hadn't been found among the dead. That gave her hope, a small flicker of light in this darkness. But what if he was unconscious and helpless somewhere? What if he was hurt, or worse?
Her eyes drifted toward the forest, its dark shadows stretching toward the village like creeping fingers. For a moment, she felt a strange sensation, like something was watching her from the trees. A shiver ran down her spine, but she quickly shook it off.
Now wasn't the time for fear.
She stood, her legs shaking, and began walking toward the edge of the village. They had searched everywhere but no one had checked the edges of the dark forest out of fear; she needed to find Anandriel. She needed to know what had happened to him.
But as she moved through the wreckage, as saw one of their horses lying dead, something had torn its neck. Strangely, no part of its flesh was missing. It was just that all the blood had been sucked from its body just like one of the person who died. She shivered, wrapping her hands around herself while walking towards the forest edge. Maybe she wouldn't be able to reach the edge, this place feels so haunted unlike the normal cheerful Windrest.
Suddenly something caught her attention. A building, gleaming and magnificent; around 12 feet tall stood where there had been nothing before. Its stone walls were smooth and pristine, untouched by the chaos of the storm. Arina blinked, unsure if she was imagining it.
She approached slowly, her breath catching in her throat. The structure was beautiful, with intricate carvings that seems to tell different stories. One common thing with all of them was that it displayed an individual action and a corresponding effect.
One image shows a monk giving helping a ragged looking man, and another showed the man killing the monk. Another image showed the same man helping a beautiful maiden and a corresponding image showed her stabbing him as he looked on with eyes filled with shock at the betrayal. The carvings went on and on all over the body of the building. Above the entrance, a name was carved into the stone in a bold and beautiful calligraphic stroke, The Balance Bazaar.
Without hesitation, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.