It has been five weeks since I learned from Elder John about talent and life expectancy, and now the time has come for our village to face the beast tide. The village has been making preparations for the tide for two weeks now. I'm not sure about all the details, but from what I've gathered and observed over these two weeks—and from past beast tides—the preparations are mostly the same.
They've been digging deep pit holes around the village walls, both inside and outside, and lining them with sharp wooden stakes coated in poison. The pits are covered with a layer of leaves, which helps to camouflage them from the beasts. Spikes, smeared with a deadly toxin, are embedded in the walls, ready to impale any creature trying to breach our defenses. Stones have been carefully placed above the village wall to push them onto the beasts below, and villagers have been stationed on the walls, armed with bows and arrows, prepared to rain down fire upon any beast that dares approach. The first few houses behind the walls have been remodeled with fortified entrances, designed to kill any beasts that manage to break through and enter. They'll have nowhere to hide if they make it that far.
In addition to these usual defenses, the villagers have set up nets made of strong, flexible vines around key areas of the village. These nets are woven tightly between the trees and Houses around the village When triggered by the weight of a beast crossing beneath them, the nets will drop down, entangling the creatures and holding them in place long enough for the villagers to launch attacks . This method is less lethal but helps slow down or trap any beasts that attempt to breach the outer perimeter.
Today, the village chief announced that we are to take shelter underground, in the central area of the village, where we usually enter during times of great danger. Not just me, but every person between the ages of 1 and 18 will take shelter there, while those between the ages of 19 and 21 will remain aboveground, guarding us alongside one elder and some of the disabled.
The underground facility has everything we need to stay for at least two weeks. There's enough food and water to last that long, and the children have a designated area with leaves to sleep on. There's also a separate space for them to relieve themselves, keeping it distinct from the sleeping and storage areas. It's been carefully organized, so we can stay there without concern if the beast tide drags on longer than expected.
The length of a beast tide can vary. Typically, it lasts anywhere from 3 days, 4 to 7 days, or, in rare cases, up to 2 weeks. I've never witnessed one lasting two weeks, despite being 9, soon to be 10. When I was younger, around 2 or 3 years old, I remember the tides lasting around a week or so—just long enough for me to understand the seriousness of it. Since then, most tides have been short, only lasting 3 days. I've asked my teachers and adopted parents why this is, and they've always said it's because of the Baron.
The moment he became a 4th order being, everything changed. The beast tides grew easier to withstand, and their duration shortened significantly. The tides that used to stretch on for days now seemed to end in just a fraction of that time. I was amazed by the power of a single person's advancement, and how such a transformation could impact the entire village. The Baron's strength wasn't just his own; it rippled through the lives of everyone here, changing the course of our survival. The thought that such power could shift the tides of fate itself was something I could barely grasp at the time. But now, seeing how far we've come, I can only wonder—what would have happened if the Baron hadn't risen to that level? Would we still be fighting beast tides that lasted weeks?
It's 10 o'clock in the morning, or at least that's what I've calculated by the position of my shadow. There are no clocks in the village, except perhaps in the Baron's house. But that's neither here nor there. I'm walking with my mother towards the center of the village. After about ten minutes of walking, we finally arrive. Along the way, I had to listen to Emily nagging me about how I had to be careful in the underground shelter and pay attention to the elders. The same old warnings, over and over again.
By the time I reached the entrance to the shelter, there were already a lot of people gathered, bustling with their own preparations. I climbed the stairs that led to the shelter, my footsteps echoing in the quiet air. As I walked in, I found my mother talking to some of the villagers. After exchanging a few words with them she left, leaving me to find a place to settle down for the next few days.
The hours in the underground shelter stretched endlessly, each minute blending into the next with no sense of time. After a quiet lunch of simple bread, dried meat, and water, we fell into the familiar rhythm of waiting. The children, restless with energy, played softly in the corners, their laughter faintly echoing off the stone walls. The rest of us simply sat, trying to keep ourselves busy with small tasks or conversations, though the constant tension made it hard to focus. Every so often, a new injured villager would be brought in, and the elder would move quickly to treat them, his hands moving with practiced ease as he murmured quiet incantations. Despite the calm, the weight of the unknown lingered in the air.
By the time dinner arrived, the atmosphere was noticeably quieter. The shelter seemed to grow dimmer as night approached, the flickering light from a few lanterns casting long shadows across the room. Dinner was no different from lunch—more bread, more water, and a few scraps of stew that had been prepared earlier. The villagers ate in near silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Outside, the sounds of battle had quieted, and the only noise that reached us was the occasional rumble or distant roar of the beasts, barely audible beneath the ground. I could feel the unease in the air, but there was little to say. We had done what we could. Now, we just had to wait.
As night fully settled, exhaustion crept into my bones. One by one, the villagers found their places on the ground—laying on the makeshift bedding of straw and leaves—and drifted off to sleep. The shelter grew quiet, save for the faint rustle of movement and the occasional whisper. I tried to close my eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. The quiet seemed oppressive, as if every sound was amplified, and the distant echoes of the beast tide made the air feel heavy. I shifted restlessly on my bedding, unable to shake the feeling that something was still off, that the worst wasn't quite over.
In the dead of night, I woke up suddenly, the pressure in my stomach pulling me from a fitful sleep. My body ached with fatigue, but the need to relieve myself was too urgent to ignore. I slipped quietly from my bedding, careful not to disturb the others, and made my way to the designated area at the back of the shelter. The darkness felt thicker here, the faint sounds of the outside world still barely reaching us through the stone. As I stood there, I couldn't help but wonder how much longer the beast tide would last. Though everything seemed to be winding down, I still felt a sense of unease, like something waited just beyond the horizon. The night seemed longer than usual, and I couldn't shake the feeling that our ordeal wasn't quite finished.