The village square was filled with the soft hum of voices, a rhythmic chant weaving through the air like a ghostly hymn. Candles lined the stone path leading to the center, their golden flames flickering against the dimming sky. The scent of incense curled through the breeze, clinging to clothes, hair, and skin. It was meant to bring peace, to cleanse the village of unseen burdens.
But the air was thick with something heavier than grief.
Shanane walked toward the gathering, her steps measured and steady, though every part of her screamed at her to turn back.
The moment she stepped into the square, the change was instant.
The voices that had once risen in unison faltered, dipping into hushed murmurs. Heads turned. Some faces stiffened. Others quickly looked away, pretending not to see her at all.
Then came the whispers.
Soft at first, like rustling leaves in the wind.
__Villager 1: "She came?"
__Villager 2: "Why is she here?"
__Villager 3: "She has no shame."
The black young woman kept walking, her chin slightly lifted, her face blank. But every word lodged itself inside her like a shard of glass.
A group of women near the well leaned close to one another, their voices low but sharp.
__Woman 1: "I knew she would return, but to show herself here?"
__Woman 2: "She's her grandmother's blood. It lingers in her."
__Woman 3: "The gods will see her presence as an insult."
A man near the edge of the gathering scoffed, his arms crossed.
__Man 1: "She shouldn't be here."
__Old Man: "The sins of the past do not fade so easily."
Shanane's grip on her shawl tightened.
She had expected this. The judgment. The fear disguised as reverence. The belief that her grandmother's death was not an end, but a stain, one that Shanane now carried, whether she wanted to or not.
She had heard them whisper these things before, as a child.
But now, it was different.
Now, there was no one standing beside her to shield her from it.
The air around her felt suffocating. Every pair of eyes that lingered on her made her skin prickle with something between anger and despair.
She was unwelcome here.
She was "polluting" their sacred prayer just by standing among them.
A sudden, sharp tug at her heart made her hesitate. For one foolish, desperate moment, she thought about leaving. Thought about turning away, disappearing into the mist before the weight of their stares crushed her completely.
But then she remembered.
Her grandmother was gone. And these people, these same people had let her die alone.
She straightened her shoulders, forcing her hands to loosen. She would not disappear.
Let them whisper. Let them avert their gazes as if she carried something unclean. She had every right to be here.
Her feet carried her toward the back of the square, where she found an empty space near the edge of the gathering. The murmurs did not stop, but they no longer mattered.
At the front, the elder leading the prayer stepped forward, raising his hands toward the sky. His voice was deep and commanding, filled with practiced devotion.
__Elder: "We call upon the gods to purify our home, to cleanse the land of shadows and unrest. May the departed find peace. May we walk forward unburdened."
The villagers murmured their agreement, their voices rising in unison. Some closed their eyes, their lips moving silently in prayer. Others bowed their heads, hands clasped tightly as if holding onto something unseen. Shanane did neither. She stared ahead, unmoving, the words washing over her like waves against stone.
They could pray. They could burn incense and speak of peace. But she knew the truth. This wasn't about her grandmother finding rest. This was about making sure she and everything she had been was erased.
A sickness curled in Shanane's stomach, a mixture of sorrow and something darker: Anger.
She closed her eyes, not in prayer, but in an effort to contain the storm brewing inside her.
They wanted her grandmother forgotten. But she would not let them forget.
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∆☆ ATHERAMOND ☆∆
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Egohan stood near the edge of the gathering, his green eyes scanning the solemn faces of the villagers. He had no personal attachment to the prayer, nor did he believe that rituals could wash away fear. But he understood why Harlin had insisted on it.
The people needed to feel in control.
They needed to believe that their gods were listening, that purification would erase the unease lingering over the village since the old woman's death.
He remained silent as the prayers carried on, the villagers' voices a rising murmur beneath the smoke of burning incense. He had been taught respect for others' beliefs, even those he did not share. And so, he waited.
Harlin, the head of the village approached the huntsman quietly, standing beside him with the familiar weight of leadership pressing on his shoulders. His graying hair and tired eyes gave him the look of a man who had spent too long carrying the burdens of others.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then, the head of the village exhaled, rubbing his temple.
__Harlin: "I take it you still found nothing."
__Egohan: "Nothing that makes sense." the huntsman said, his gaze remained fixed ahead.
The head of the village glanced at him.
__Harlin: "But something?"
Egohan was quiet for a moment before he shook his head.
__Egohan: "Nothing concrete. No tracks. No blood. No signs of a struggle. The cavern was empty when we arrived, aside from those marks on the walls."
Harlin exhaled through his nose, his arms crossing over his chest.
Egohan's mind flickered back to the cavern, to the strange sensation that had crawled over him as he stood beneath those markings. To the voice that had whispered from nowhere, telling him to leave. But he wouldn't entertain illusions.
__Egohan: "There's an explanation. We just don't know it yet."
__Harlin: "Even if you're right, the people won't see it that way. Fear lingers, Egohan. It has long fingers and sharp claws. If we don't settle it soon, it will turn on her."
The head of the village let out a quiet sigh, his gaze drifting over the gathered villagers. The prayers carried on, the rhythmic chanting blending with the soft crackle of candle flames. It should have felt.
He turned his gaze back to the gathering. Egohan followed his gaze and saw an unfamiliar face.
She stood alone near the back of the gathering, her posture straight despite the storm of whispers around her. The villagers gave her space, not out of respect, but as if she carried something they didn't want to catch.
She stood near the back of the gathering, her posture straight, her expression unreadable. She met no one's eyes. But even from a distance, Egohan could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides. The whispers around her were faint, but they reached him all the same.
__Villager 1: "She shouldn't have come."
__Villager 2: "Does she think this will change anything?"
__Villager 3: "She's her grandmother's blood. It lingers in her."
The murmurs wove through the air, mingling with the sacred words of the prayer. A contradiction: praying for peace while clinging to fear.
The head of the village exhaled, his voice quieter now.
__Harlin:_"She shouldn't have to stand alone."
The blonde's man was silent for a moment. Then, he nodded.
__Egohan: "No. She shouldn't."
The older man adjusted his posture, straightening his shoulders before stepping forward.
__Harlin: "Come with me."
Egohan followed without question, their movements unhurried as they walked toward Shanane.
She noticed them before they reached her. Her dark eyes flickered toward them, wary but composed. She did not shrink beneath the weight of the stares around her, nor did she step forward to meet them. She only waited.
They stopped a few feet from her. The head of the village talk, his voice steady but not unkind.
__Harlin: "Shanane."
She lifted her chin slightly, her voice just as even.
__Shanane: "Headman Harlin."
Harlin studied her for a moment before motioning to huntsman.
__Harlin: "This is Egohan, the leader of the huntsmen. I charged him with investigating your grandmother's death."
For the first time, She turned her full attention to Egohan.
Her gaze was searching, sharp in a way that reminded him of someone who had spent too long being lied to.
The green-eyed man inclined his head slightly, his voice measured.
__Egohan: "I offer my condolences."
__Shanane: "You were the one who found her."
It was not a question but a statement.
__Egohan: "I was."
A pause. The weight of everything that had led them here stretched between them.
__Shanane: "Then I need to know everything." She took a slow breath.
__Egohan: "I'll tell you what I can."
The head of the village glanced between them before motioning toward the outskirts of the square.
__Harlin: "Somewhere less public."
As the three of them moved, the whispers didn't stop. If anything, they grew louder, emboldened by the fact that Shanane was walking with Harlin and Egohan. The villagers watched with veiled expressions, some with pity, others with suspicion.
__Villager 4: "She's already trying to twist the story in her favor."
__Villager 5: "Does she think talking to them will change what's already been decided?"
__Villager 6: "Her grandmother is dead. That should have been the end of it."
Shanane's stomach churned, but she kept walking. If she let herself focus on them, on their ignorance, on their certainty that they were right, she would break. And she refused to do that here.
She wouldn't let them see her falter.
Egohan, walking beside her, remained unreadable. His presence alone was enough to keep the crowd from getting too bold. He was respected, and perhaps even feared in his own way, not because of superstition, but because he was competent, a man the village needed.
And Harlin was the head of the village, nobody would dare to act boldly in his presence.
A gust of wind blew through the square, making the candle flames flicker. The scent of incense thickened in the air, mingling with the sharp chill of the oncoming night. The villagers returned to their prayer, their voices rising again, as if they needed to drown out the presence of the three people walking away from them.
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∆☆ ATHERAMOND ☆∆
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The further they walked from the square, the quieter it became. The weight of the villagers' murmurs lingered behind them, fading into the rhythmic hum of prayer. The scent of incense still clung to the air, but here, away from the flickering candlelight and judgmental stares, the atmosphere was different. Shanane could finally breathe.
Harlin led them toward a stone bench beneath the old oak tree at the edge of the square. It was far enough that the villagers wouldn't hear them, but close enough that their presence remained known. A careful balance, one Harlin likely chose deliberately.
__Harlin: "Here will do."
He gestured for them to sit, but Shanane remained standing.
Egohan, however, was perfectly at ease. He took a seat on the bench, resting his forearms on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together. His movements were calm, deliberate, composed in a way that made Shanane's own emotions feel all the more raw.
She took a slow breath, forcing herself to speak.
__Shanane: "Tell me what you found."
The huntsman looked up at her, studying her with those sharp green eyes. There was no hesitation when he answered.
__Egohan: "So far, nothing."
__Shanane: "Nothing?"
Egohan remained steady.
__Egohan: "No tracks. No blood. No signs of a struggle. The cavern was empty when we arrived. Aside from the markings on the walls, there was nothing to indicate what happened to her."
The braided hair woman shook her head, taking a step forward.
__Shanane: "That doesn't make sense. She didn't just die there for no reason."
Egohan met her frustration without hesitation.
__Egohan: "I agree."
__Shanane: "Then why are you speaking like the case is closed?" She faltered slightly.
The huntsman exhaled slowly, standing to meet her at eye level.
__Egohan: "Because I don't deal in theories, I deal in facts. And the facts I have right now tell me very little. But that doesn't mean I've stopped looking."
Shanane's breath caught. The head of the village watched them both carefully before speaking.
__Harlin: "Egohan doesn't abandon a case halfway through, Shanane. If there's more to be found, he'll find it."
__Shanane: "And how do you plan to do that?"
__Egohan: "By eliminating possibilities until I find the truth." he held her gaze.
His tone was steady, measured, but firm. He wasn't trying to calm her grief or patronize her. He was stating a fact.
She swallowed.
__Shanane: "Then what now?"
The huntsman considered her for a moment before answering.
__Egohan: "I'll need to search at your grandmother's house to see if I can find a hit, anything."
She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Then, she straightened.
__Shanane: "Fine."
__Egohan: "Then let's find out what really happened." he gave a small nod.