The air in the underground shelter is thick with a strange mixture of fear and quiet hope. The walls, made of cold stone, offer no comfort beyond their sturdy structure. It's a safe place, but it's not where we belong. We're meant to be above ground.
It's been two days since the tide began, and the sounds of battle are muffled by the thick earth above us. The occasional rumble of distant roars or the thud of something heavy hitting the ground is all we can hear. The worst seems to have passed, or so the elders say. The beasts have been relatively easy to fend off this year, thanks to the efforts of the fighters above. Every time a wave subsides, another group of injured fighters comes trickling down into the shelter.
I sit near the back, keeping to myself as usual. I've never been one to engage much in idle chatter. Emily had warned me earlier to stay close to the elders, to listen and learn. But I can't help but feel restless, like I'm wasting away in this underground pit, hidden from the world above. The others don't seem to mind as much. Some of the younger children play quietly in the corners, while the older ones huddle together in whispers, anxious to hear news from above.
The elder is busy with the wounded, healing them with his hands, his touch so gentle it's almost soothing to watch. There are a lot of injured, more than I expected, and they keep coming. Some have deep gashes across their faces, others with arms or legs mangled beyond recognition. The elder doesn't look tired, though. He moves with the same calm precision as he always does, his energy unshaken. His healing abilities are beyond anything I've ever seen. He doesn't speak much, just quietly murmurs incantations under his breath as he works his magic.
There's a sense of relief in the shelter now that most of the wounded have been tended to. The tension in the air has lessened. No one's talking about the beasts outside. We all know the tide is almost over, that it will finish soon, but there's always that lingering dread—the knowledge that a new wave could come crashing down at any moment. The fact that the beast tide has gone so smoothly is almost unsettling. There's always a chance something unexpected will happen, and I can't shake that feeling.
I glance around at the faces of the villagers, each one marked with fear, exhaustion, and quiet resilience. Many of them are still shaken by the violence of the battle above, their faces pale and drawn, but there's also a kind of determination in their eyes. They may be underground, but they know their people are out there, fighting for them.
Every now and then, someone will walk in, supported by a friend or relative, their injuries fresh and raw. The elder moves quickly, tending to them as best as he can, never stopping for a break. There's no time to waste. I catch his eye once, and he gives me a slight nod, acknowledging that I'm not the only one struggling with the weight of waiting. But there's no choice. All we can do is endure.
I wonder how the others are holding up—those still above ground, braving the tide. Mother is out there, father too.I can't help but worry, but I know worrying won't change anything.
The door creaks open again, and I watch as more injured fighters are brought in. A few of them look familiar, some of the older villagers who've been around since I was a child. I wonder if any of them are beyond healing. The thought crosses my mind, but I quickly push it away. We've had our losses in past tides, but we can't afford to think about that now.
As the shelter fills with more injured, I can sense the urgency building again. We may be safe for now, but the wait is never easy. It never really ends, even when the beast tide is over. There's always the aftermath. The wounds that can't be healed, the memories of battle that linger in the air, heavy and thick like the dust that settles after a storm.
I lean against the wall, letting my eyes drift closed for a moment. The shelter is quieter now, save for the soft murmur of the elder's voice as he works. We're safe for now.
The cold, damp air of the underground shelter greeted me as I slowly woke up, the soft rustling of straw beneath me the only sound in the otherwise still room. It was still early, the faint light of morning just beginning to seep through the cracks in the stone above. The villagers around me were still asleep, their bodies curled in makeshift beds made of straw and leaves. It was quiet, the type of silence that comes after a long, exhausting night, and it felt different today—somehow lighter.
I stretched, my body sore from sleeping on the hard ground. As I shifted to sit up, I noticed my mother sitting by the corner, speaking with one of the villager. Her face was tired but calm, and there was an unmistakable relief in her posture. I felt an instinctive pull to go over to them, curious about what they were saying, so I slowly made my way toward them, careful not to wake the others.
When my mother saw me approaching, she gave me a small, weary smile. "You're awake?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with warmth. "I was wondering when you'd hear the news."
"What news?" I asked, still groggy from sleep, unsure of what she was talking about.
She paused, a smile spreading across her face as she gave me a look of quiet relief. "The beast tide is over," she said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "It ended in the middle of the night. The last of the beasts were driven off just after the moon began to dip. The Baron and elders cleared them out quickly, and it's all finished now."
I stood there for a moment, processing her words. The beast tide was over? After two days of fear and uncertainty, it was finally done? The words didn't seem real at first, but as I looked around at the villagers slowly beginning to stir, I realized it was true. The battle had ended, and we had made it through.
"Is Father...?" I asked, before my thoughts could catch up with my mouth.
"He's fine," my mother said with a tired chuckle, as if my question was obvious. "He's out there now, clearing the bodies of the beasts with some of the others. They'll need to dispose of them quickly. But he's alive and well, just like we are."
Around me, the shelter slowly began to come alive as the other villagers woke. Some were rubbing their eyes, while others were already sitting up, eager to hear the news. The air felt different now—lighter, as if the weight of the past few days had finally been lifted. The children were the first to start asking questions, their curious faces peering around, while the adults began to talk in hushed voices about what came next.
I looked back at my mother, feeling the knot in my chest loosen. "It's really over?" I asked again, just to be sure.
She smiled and nodded. "It's over. The tide's done, and now we now have to rebuild the village.