From living memory, Jack had never known such an abundant year. All the harvests were overflowing, the animals had given birth to healthy litters, the taxes were paid without a problem, and he had managed to make a substantial enough profit to expand his house. Everything was for the best, in the best of all possible worlds. His wife was pregnant and he already had two children aged five and seven respectively. They had all been sleeping in a rather cramped room for years. Even though she had never complained about the situation, he always felt tense when he discussed the future with her, or when they stole a moment to make love when the children were outside.
"Whoa, it's embarrassing. You're going to take a nasty fall if you don't stop smiling so ridiculously," said Harry, a teasing smile on his lips.
"Sorry about that," said Jack, scratching his head awkwardly as he straightened his horse. "While we're at it, spill the beans. What's making you so happy, buddy?"
"You wouldn't understand," said Jack, pausing as if searching for his words, then continuing. "Since I married Martha, this is the first time my plans have gone as expected. I still can't believe it, so I'm savoring every moment."
"Aside from the family stuff and the heart stuff, I see what you mean to some extent," replied Harry, half-serious, half-mocking. "Since we're on the subject of confessions, are you ever going to settle down? You're the wealthiest and most eligible bachelor for a hundred leagues around."
"That's nothing to laugh about," said Jack, as Harry choked with a thunderous laugh.
"I've told you before, my angel face won't clip its wings in the bonds of matrimony. Anyway, I'm a man of the people," said Harry, feigning seriousness.
"I don't doubt that," retorted Jack. "Just try not to end up in a forced marriage. Even your skills won't save you."
"Don't worry, my friend. Runescarvers aren't exactly common around here. In this backwater, it's a get-out-of-jail-free card, as long as I don't mess with the higher-ups."
"If you say so, if you say so," replied Jack as they began to pick up speed.
"A godforsaken hole, indeed," thought Harry as he galloped. A backwater province where social mobility was frozen in time. Although he was from these parts, he didn't grow up there, unlike his father, who spent the beginning and end of his life there. Previously, he lived in the capital, studied there, and was even an apprentice to a renowned runescarver. Even though he wasn't noble, his standard of living was quite excellent. He had a clear path ahead of him, culminating in marrying his lifelong love, Lisbeth. But that was without counting on greedy nobles who frowned upon second-class citizens becoming wealthy. Thus, his father's business, herbalism and its flagship product, Ether Powder, was dismantled, nationalized in the name of the perpetuation of the state and religion—pure nonsense. Persecuted and penniless, he and his father had to flee for their lives. A few years later, his father died of grief and bitterness. He, despite his unfinished apprenticeship, had become a key figure in the region. This was both his salvation and his punishment. Magical skills were not common. In remote areas, they were often the prerogative of noble or extremely wealthy families. Thus, despite his success and abilities, he was never able to regain what he had lost; instead, he made a lot of enemies. Returning to the capital, Lisbeth's smile seemed, year after year, an unattainable dream.
While the two men were lost in their respective thoughts, their horses suddenly reared and began to neigh frantically. Indeed, a violent wind had risen without warning, carrying a smell of ozone and burning. Sensing the danger, the animals in the vicinity began to flee without hesitation.
"Whoa, easy now!" said Jack, trying to calm his horse by stroking its neck. Harry, who had managed to control his horse, was speechless at the situation before him. Worried by his silence, Jack was about to ask him what was wrong when the words died in his throat, all but one.
"Holy shit."
Without wasting time, the two men turned back as fast as they could.
----------------
There were days when the sky bled. It always began the same way: a dull rumble, like a colossal heartbeat, resonating in the bowels of the world. Creatures, whether predators or prey, stopped dead, as if an invisible hand was compressing their instincts. The trees themselves, those mute giants, seemed to hold their breath, frozen under the threat of an imminent scourge. Then, everything changed. The sky tore open like a fragile canvas, revealing a gaping maw made of flames and shadows. Scarlet lightning streaked across the black clouds, illuminating indistinct silhouettes. The ancients called this phenomenon the Tears of the Sky, a magical storm that ravaged everything in its path. Each raindrop falling from the sky seemed animated by its own will. They were not drops of water: they were spheres of incandescent liquid, burning at thousands of degrees, which transformed the earth into a smoking hell. Where they touched, the landscapes twisted, the ground melted into craters, and even the most robust creatures screamed silently before being consumed. Yet, at the heart of this chaos, there was a sinister beauty. Each impact illuminated the darkness with a multicolored glow, as if the world were a gigantic broken stained-glass window. The acidic mists that rose danced in hypnotic arabesques, and the ashes fell in shimmering flakes, creating a picture both sublime and deadly. In this regular apocalypse, there was no refuge. Natural shelters were swept away, weak protection spells melted like butter in the sun. Only the luckiest or most ingenious survived, buried deep in the bowels of the earth or protected by relics or high-level spells.
That day, the village of Jack and Harry was in the path of the Tears. The inhabitants knew it. They had heard the first beat, felt the atmospheric pressure change, seen the birds flee en masse. In a lugubrious silence, they had barricaded their homes, murmuring prayers to gods they were not even sure they still believed in. When the first tear fell, it reduced the central square to a sea of black glass. The second took away an entire silo, leaving a smoking crater where months of provisions once stood. The inhabitants ran, screaming, throwing themselves into hastily dug cellars. Among them, a child—too young to understand, but old enough to feel the fear—stopped for a moment, captivated by a tear suspended in the air. It shone with a golden glow, seeming to hesitate before melting down on him. A scream tore through the air as an old man threw himself on the child, throwing him into a half-collapsed alcove. The tear struck the man, and the child watched, horrified, as the body disintegrated into a rain of luminous ashes.
When the storm finally stopped, silence returned, but it was not the same. It was heavy, imbued with the memories of destruction. Where a prosperous village had shortly stood, there remained only a field of smoking craters and charred bones, interspersed with luminescent crystals. Among all the villagers, only the child and a few others emerged as survivors, some seriously injured. The child clutched a piece of charred cloth he had torn from the old man, staring at the ruins with an expression that only a broken spirit could display.
------------
When they arrived at the village, Harry couldn't hold back Jack, who rushed like a madman towards the smoking ruins of his house. He fumed, sputtered, swore, clutching the ashes of everything he held dear with nameless despair. Harry didn't know how long he had remained standing in the same position. But when he came out of his shock, it was already night. Jack's howls had become weaker. The few survivors had erected a makeshift tent, in which they had gathered in silence. Naturally, he joined them inside and took it upon himself to stand guard. Around midnight, Jack, too tired, had fallen into a deep sleep, joining the other villagers who had fallen asleep in the meantime. Harry still had a small bag of ether powder on him; he distributed it to the wounded, relieving their pain for a few hours.
----------------
"Hmm," complained Jack, opening a half-asleep eye. "What is it, kid?" he asked, seeing who was shaking him.
"I don't see your friend anywhere this morning, nor the multicolored stars that were here yesterday."
"You mean the Tears of the Sky. Harry must be checking the surroundings," he replied. He had barely finished his sentence when an alarmed villager burst into the tent.
"Jack! Harry has disappeared with the horses and all the crystals. We're screwed, screwed!"
"That's impossible. He couldn't have done that!" cried Jack in panic.
Two hours later, he and the other survivors had left the village in a hurry, to save what little they had left. The Tears of the Sky, as deadly as they were, were rare and precious magical artifacts, especially in a remote area like theirs. As such, they rightfully belonged to the local lord. Jack strongly doubted that the latter would take the disappearance of the crystals well, despite the tragedy. They were just simple villagers who would care about their well-being in the face of power.
-----------------
Miles away. Sorry, friends, I could no longer resign myself to this life. "I hope one day you will forgive me" Harry said to himself, as he felt suffocated by a ball of anxiety, guilt and above all excitement at the thought of seeing Lisbeth again very soon.