In the following two days, Arteus and Ava found themselves in a relentless dance with death. The Arctic wasteland had become a battleground, and the prophecy's influence had summoned forth a legion of monstrosities to test their mettle. And while Arteus certainly needed the practice to hone his magecraft and witchcraft, you couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor guy. It was like throwing a novice into the lion's den and telling him to swipe right on the first date.
But through it all, he had pushed on, driven by a fiery determination that seemed to burn brighter than the sun itself—until it didn't. As they crested a hill, the wind howling around them like a pack of banshees, Arteus stumbled, his eyes glazed with exhaustion. His hand, usually a beacon of chaotic power, hung limply at his side, his magic all but spent. The weight of his axe seemed to have tripled, each step forward a monumental struggle against the relentless tide of fatigue that threatened to swallow him whole.
The sight of Qliax in the distance was like a mirage, a shimmering jewel in a sea of ice. The boon's allure was a stark contrast to the horrors they had faced, offering a glimpse of civilization amidst the relentless frost. Arteus leaned heavily on his axe, his eyes squinting against the wind. His breaths came in ragged gasps, the very act of drawing breath a battle against the cold. The weight of his fur cloak seemed to have doubled, each step up the hill an eternity.
"I thought you said we'd be there by nightfall," Ava said, her voice tinged with exhaustion. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks flushed from the biting cold, yet she walked with a stoic determination that belied her weariness.
Arteus could only offer a weary chuckle. "Well, I did say that," he admitted, "But I didn't expect to run into a frost spider and a pack of arctic wolves. That kind of slowed us down."
"C'mon," Arteus rasped, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of the storm. His eyes were fixed on the distant speck of civilization, a beacon of hope amidst the endless sea of white. His legs quivered with the effort of taking one more step, one more breath in this frozen hell. "We're almost there."
The journey to Qliax was... eventful, to say the least and now as the pair stumbled upon Qliax, the exhaustion of the ordeal seemed to settle into their bones like a cold fog. The boon was a welcome sight, a bastion of warmth and life amidst the relentless Arctic tundra that stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Arteus and Ava, both bruised and weary, trudged through the snow, their eyes fixed on the distant lights that promised shelter from the storm.
They were ready for this part of their journey to come to an end, for the comfort of a warm fire and the gentle embrace of sleep. The boon of Qliax grew larger with each step, the lights of the settlement piercing the gathering darkness like the eyes of a welcoming beast. Their legs felt as if they had been hollowed out and filled with lead, yet they pushed onward, the promise of rest and refuge urging them forward.
But as they drew nearer, the sight that greeted them was as confounding as the chaos of the prophecy itself. The once-thriving boon of Qliax was deserted, its buildings shrouded in a stillness that seemed to swallow all sound. The warm, welcoming lights that had promised respite now flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows that danced in the wind. There were no inhabitants in sight, no signs of life to be found. Only the mournful howl of the wind through the abandoned streets whispered of the ghosts of those who once called this place home.
"This isn't what I expected," Arteus mumbled to Ava, his voice a hoarse echo of his earlier strength. "Where is everyone?"
Ava nodded solemnly, her eyes scanning the desolate boon. She gestured to the buildings around them, some with clawed marks that raked the wood like a giant's fingernails, others with windows shattered and doors hanging on broken hinges. "No clue," she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the mournful sigh of the wind. "But look."
Arteus followed her gaze to the abandoned restaurant, its once warm embrace now a frigid tomb. Through the shattered glass, they could see the remnants of meals long abandoned, the food now a frosty display of the winter's relentless embrace. The chairs were overturned, the tables scattered, and the walls adorned with a tapestry of frost. The scene was a grim reminder of the chaos that had possibly engulfed Qliax, swallowing its inhabitants without leaving a trace.
They exchanged worried looks, their breaths misting in the cold air. The silence was a heavy shroud that cloaked the boon in a mystery they were not prepared to unravel. Yet, with each step closer to the heart of the village, the true extent of the tragedy became starkly clear. The emptiness of the streets grew more profound, the echoes of their footsteps a mournful symphony in a town that should have been bustling with life.
As they reached the center of Qliax, a grim picture unfolded. The town square was a battleground of overturned stalls and scattered goods, the frost-covered remnants of a panic-stricken exodus. Arteus's eyes searched the area, his heart sinking with every step. The sight was a testament to the chaos the prophecy had wrought, turning a place of refuge into a scene of desolation.
It appears that the insidious tendrils of the prophecy had reached further than anyone could have imagined, touching every corner of Avaricia, weaving a tapestry of fear and suspicion that stretched from the icy fingertips of the Arctic to the warm embrace of the southern lands. The very air seemed to crackle with the whispers of doubt and despair, as if the very fabric of the world had been stitched with the dark threads of fate. The prophecy had seeped into the hearts and minds of all, shaping their thoughts, their actions, and their destinies in ways they could not comprehend.
The silence was so complete, it was almost as if the boon had been swallowed by the very earth itself, leaving only a frozen tableau of a life once lived. Ava, ever the one to lighten the mood, even in the darkest of moments, cracked a poor taste joke. "Well, I don't think we're going to get a warm welcome and a pat on the back for making it here," she quipped, her teeth chattering as she rubbed her hands together to ward off the cold.
But Arteus was lost in his thoughts, his gaze distant and his eyes haunted by the shadows of doubt. He had come so far, faced so much, and for what? To find yet another bastion of hope crushed beneath the icy heel of the prophecy's wrath? His mind was a whirlwind of questions, each one sharper and more painful than the last. "Yeah," was all he could manage in reply to Ava's attempt at levity. His voice was a mere echo of itself, a soft acknowledgment of the harsh reality that had become their lives.
Qliax, was a ghost town.
-To Be Continued-