The air was thick with the smell of burned wood and something more sickly—something wrong. Ashes danced in the air, like restless ghosts, floating through the ruins of what had once been a bustling city. Blackened ruins of buildings jutted out of the ground like jagged teeth, and the earth beneath the mercenaries' boots crunched with every step, grim reminders of devastation.
Calros, commander of the Blackthorn Company, gestured for his men to fan out. He watched the ruin with dark eyes, his light hand resting on the pommel of his sword. It was the stillness rather than the destruction that unnerved him. There were no buzzing flies, no circling carrion birds overhead. Even the normal level of sounds of the natural world—hearing the chirping crickets or rustling wind through the trees—was not present.
And then there were the bodies.
Lying as if asleep, untouched by fire or blade, the humans were completely naked, and each of them was pristine in form without a single taint of black or scratch and scar, yet their faces donned grotesque masks of pain. Not only that, the animals also wore pained expressions, and even the surrounding plant life got twisted in an unnatural way in the direction to exit the town, as if they tried to unroot themselves and run from this place. Twisted expressions of terror and agony marred every feature, frozen in silent screams. The mercenaries muttered prayers under their breath as they passed the eerie corpses.
They keep moving and find out other weird things. The more they moving to the center of town, the more they found younger body instead of the older ones. Even though the buildings have become ruins, it seems the charred trace stops a few inches before any human, animal, or plant. And finally, even though the plant seems as if it wants to escape the town, both the humans and animals seem to be moving to the center of town.
"Captain," Serik, the company's scout, whispered, kneeling beside what looked to have been a child clutching a doll. His face was pale beneath the grime. "This… this isn't natural."
Carlos didn't say a word for a moment. His gut told him the same. He'd seen massacres, plagues, and magical disasters in his thirty years of service, but nothing like this. The city hadn't just simply been destroyed.
"Keep your eyes open," he ordered, his tone low and level. "We don't know what caused this, and I don't intend for us to join them."
The mercenaries moved cautiously, ash muffling their footsteps. They passed what had once been a marketplace, stalls now reduced to charred frames. A fountain in the town square still trickled water, its statue of a goddess blackened but whole. It's the strange dissonance that gets you: destruction and untouched detail, setting on edge every nerve.
They were here to confirm the reports of a city being wiped out in one night. No survivors, no witnesses—the Empire demanded answers, and the Blackthorn Company had been hired to find them.
Carlos squatted beside a fallen beam, staring at scorch marks on the stone beneath. They weren't from any fire he'd ever seen. The edges of the marks pulsed—just faintly—as if they were still alive, and his gloved fingers tingled when they brushed too close.
"Magic," he snarled, standing. He turned to call for his mage but stiffened as he saw something—something out there, on the horizon. A faint wail, barely audible over the heavy stillness. It wasn't the wind. It was… a child's cry.
"Form up!" he yelled, drawing his sword. The mercenaries huddled in around him, armed and ready.
Growing louder with each step, the sound took them to what once must have been a grand mansion. The roof had given in, and the stained-glass windows lay in shards on the ground. Here, inside, the cry became distinct—thin, weak, but alive.
Over the rubble he stepped, flanked by his men, where in what looked like a bedroom something that was entirely different, a corpse looked really different than all the ones they found. It's bathed with blood, the body disfigured into something that can no longer be recognized, and it's also completely tainted by black. On the corner of this room, a small packet lay silently; inside of it, a baby, no older than a few weeks, lay swathed in soot-stained wrappings.
The captain sheathed his sword and knelt. The child's face was pale, his lips blue, but his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Carlos hesitated, then reached gently and scooped the boy into his arms. The infant stirred, letting out another weak wail.
"Captain," said Serik, his voice tight. "This… this doesn't make sense. How could he survive this?"
"I don't know," Carlos admitted. "But he's coming with us."
The mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances but didn't protest. Knowing their captain, it's only a waste of time trying to change his mind, so they just silently follow his order.
They continue investigating further, finding more and more weird and unnatural things. Finally, at dusk, they decide they have gathered enough and decide to leave the town. A few meters outside of the town, a group of knights was already waiting for them.
A tall officer with a stern face rode at the front. He raised a hand in greeting, though his expression remained cold.
"Captain Calros," he said, his voice clipped. "You've completed your investigation?"
"Yes," Calros replied. He gestured to the ruined city behind him. "As you can see, the reports were accurate. No survivors. No obvious cause for the destruction..." Carlos explaining everything they found, starting from the weird condition of the corpse and everything else.
"We also found this." He held up the baby, his tone dark. "The only living soul in that entire cursed place."
The officer's eyes narrowed. He dismounted, approaching to examine the child. For a moment, something like unease flickered across his face.
"You'll hand him over, of course," the officer said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The Empire will determine what to do with him."
Carlos's grip on the child tightened instinctively. "With respect, Commander, he's not a threat. He's just a baby."
"A baby found in the epicenter of an unnatural disaster," the officer countered. "That makes him a potential anomaly, and thus the Empire's concern."
The mercenaries bristled, hands inching toward their weapons. Carlos raised a hand to stop them. He knew they were no match for an imperial legion.
Reluctantly, he extended the infant. The officer took him, cradling the child with surprising care.
"You've done your duty, Captain," the officer said. "The Empire thanks you for your service. Return to your camp and await further orders."
Carlos nodded stiffly, watching as the soldiers turned and disappeared into the haze. The boy's faint cries echoed in his ears long after they were gone.
As the Blackthorn Company retreated into the night, the feeling in Calros's stomach was unmistakable—that they had stumbled upon something a great deal larger and a great deal darker than they had been hired to face.
***
The imperial officer looking at the retreating figure of the mercenary group while processing the information he got. He then looked at the child in his arms, "For what was once a powerful and noble lineage, their end looked too pitiful."
He then gave the baby to his subordinate and gave him his order: "Send him to an orphanage on Rubsleum; that place is more suited for this child to grow up in than the empire."
"Yes, sir!" The knight saluted him and then coated his body with light before vanishing from his place. The officer lifts his head, looking at the sky that is now filled with stars, and he smiles a little.
"Now let's see from three the death, the world, and the tower whose the one who picks the right choice, or maybe the right choice is something entirely different. It must be a sight to see what fate awaits the ignorant and the sinful one."