Following an old, faded path, the ground paved by crude cobbling, Julia felt the stones dig into his boots as he idly pondered the troubles a cart would have passing through such a difficult location. Although, hardly a soul would choose a road so rural, which only really stood to count as a footpath, like this one anyway.

It was desolate, barren, and almost disheartening in that regard; yet the subtle disconnection from any traces of society, other than crumbling brier-bordered stone walls and the fading path, created a strangely harmonious atmosphere. Plain, but peaceful. 

The path was tucked in behind a gathering of wide but not so tall hills, and was connected to a forest with low-hanging canopies. A little pond rested beneath the ridge that the road sat upon. As such, foliage was abundant, which was a rare sight; it was pleasant to Julia, who had lived most of his life in the Fraylands—the large land mass between two warring nations, in which the flames of war often devastated any such fauna.

Even the grass, which often resembled straw, seemed to look a little more green.

The destination was a commercial town, which Julia heard about from hearsay and questioning some of the folks he came across for directions. It was the next big step in his journey, and he had business there; mostly general tasks that included selling some items of value, assessing his next point of interest, finding a place to stay for the night, and searching; searching as he had done for the whole ten years prior.

Among the valuables on his person, he possessed a map with an unknown background. Julia's guess was as good as anyone's for who the cartographer actually was, and its credibility was a complete mystery.

Actually putting it to use was a risk in itself, but it was the greatest guide he had access to, with the only other option being to ask every local he came across as to where he was. Doing that was nothing but tiresome.

Julia had seen success following it before—although, on the other hand, it was wrong an equally large part of the time. His assumption was that the map was an old and outdated one. This theory was further reinforced by the written language, being Christeyeran, but quite hard to decipher at times and resembling what appeared to be an older form of the language.

For such a piece, he was tempted to sell it many times. A linguist would pay a hefty sum for ancient writing so comprehensive—but it was ultimately too useful to do so. This map was the one responsible for pointing this path out to him. 

Earlier, when Julia was consulting the locals of a village on directions to Cherepakha, not a single one of them had even spoken of the existence of such a road, instead directing him around the mountains on a rather long, convoluted trip to eventually reach the town. The map on the other hand showed this convenient little path that was a lot easier.

He had attempted to show the locals this path on the map, naturally questioning its credibility, and in response the majority of them feigned ignorance, expressing they had never seen this route, and adamantly insisting not to go there despite their supposed ignorance. 

Julia possessed a special talent. How it is possible was by means to not yet be divulged, but he was a brilliant judge of character. If someone was being deceitful, then almost instantly, with an absolute success rate, he could tell; though that they may be understandably hard to believe.

He could tell that they were not honest in their words. A few of them were genuinely truthful, but most of them appeared to be lying; they knew of the 'secret' path. For some reason, they hesitated to speak about it.

Julia came to a conclusion: it was a tourist trap, or a scam, if you may. They all recommended that long, perilous path after all. It was by mountains and the trip was needlessly arduous for anyone passing through, and was no doubt strenuous for travellers. Making it in a single day seemed nigh-impossible. That is why the travellers would need to find places to stay, food to eat, water to drink, etcetera… And who would provide that? The locals! 

It was in their interest that people would have to go that way, so naturally they'd attempt to hide such an easy route to pass by those dastardly mountains. That way they can sell more produce and resources for the journey.

Those without dishonesty in their heart must have been fed lies; told not to tell travellers of the path, or simply weren't informed of it. It made sense when Julia considered that the most dishonest among them tended to be the oldest.

Julia took to the path quickly after realising as such. Although it was difficult because of an ailment, he watched the map closely to match it with his surroundings, and adjusted to errors from the map's unreliability when he could, and now he was halfway there to Cherepakha. In another hour or so, he would be on the other side of the mountains.

The journey had been lonesome so far. Because of the barren nature of this path, Julia wasn't expecting to come across anyone and hadn't. The chances of meeting someone were not so thin that it was an utterly unforeseen occurrence, but he did not think anything of the interactions to be had; it would be a short greeting of two passersby and nothing more. 

If bandits were waiting in such a desolate place, he would find it such a hilariously queer endeavour that he would be able to fork over any possessions without qualms. Meeting someone out here is less likely than not, and what are the chances they have anything worth taking? It would be a strange location to pick and prey upon indeed.

Julia's idle musing and lost chuckle was soon interrupted, however, as he found a strange sight coming up. There was a person ahead of him, not too far, sitting perfectly still on one of the walls lining the path.

Huh… What is he doing? Julia slowed down, staring at the figure with some doubt growing on his expression. He wasn't too particular about overthinking an interaction now, especially as he had only been thinking about it a mere moment ago, but the behaviour had him questioning this. Someone was simply hanging out here for no reason?

He continued down the path. This person had their back to him, so they hadn't noticed Julia, who was gradually getting closer. All the while, a better view of the man was being presented. In fact, it was more than the man that was soon made apparent.

Julia frowned, now a lot more wary than before. He shouted from a distance, "Hey! You there, on the wall! Are you okay?!" His breathing hitched at the same time. This man, seated on the wall, mostly remaining still; he wore an old leather coat and his hair was an ashen grey. His face turned, it was impossible to discern his features further but…

"Do you need help? Can you respond?" Julia toned his voice down as he got closer, but still hesitated to directly approach. He looked around in the meantime but struggled to find any other signs of life. Around the man, there were many streaks, and even a few puddles of crimson-red blood, and his clothes—the coat, his trousers, shoes—were soaked in mud and blood.

God damn it… Should I just leave? It's not my problem, I don't have to stay…! Julia bit his lip and continued searching around, ensuring the area was safe. It was strange to find a scene like this one and who knew what could cause it… Actually, Julia had an idea, but he really did not want it to be true. That was when the man lifted his hand.

Julia paused, frozen in astonishment. Oh, what an awful, gruesome sight. The man had a glove covering his hand, but the shape was twisted and bent, unusually so; but he did not stop there, no; he pulled at the fingertips and slowly tore away the glove; literally so, pulling skin and causing further bleeding. Little pieces of bone stabbed through the remaining flesh and exposed muscle or tendons, blue and purple veins even, stuck out in the open air.

His knuckles, particularly, were destroyed beyond belief. Julia recoiled slightly before noticing something, the man's gaze was directed somewhere and it hadn't moved the entire time. Directly beneath and in front of him was obscured by the ridge, so Julia could not see what the man was looking at.

Keeping an eye on the man, who was as motionless as ever, Julia slowly walked over and looked down.

Piled on top of each other, strewn across the ground, were lifeless humps of flesh. Their mangled forms barely retained enough of their original shape to be recognised; the bodies were bruised and battered, with chunks of flesh torn off and muscle shredded to reveal gruesome insides. They weren't human, but that was as far as relief went.

Wearing the shattered remains of steel armour, beneath that were not the bodies of humans, but they were humanoid. They had two legs and two arms, though unusually long, and their skin took on a slightly different hue; not the typical cream, olive, or even the darker shades of skin, but rather pale greens and an aquamarine blue; but the distinctions didn't stop there. There were scaly patches covering the surface of their skin, coarse and rough like stone, with blood flowing through the cracks.

One of these creatures stretched limp over another, facing upwards with its head falling back. Its mouth was unnaturally long and dug back into its cheeks to reveal sharp, uneven rows of teeth. Pinprick eyes were now dilated, hollow and staring into nothing as if meeting with death itself. They were something in between human and animal.

"Aberrants…?" Julia muttered, his voice breaking in horrified disbelief. Too many questions came to mind; but he was hesitant to ask any of them, knowing there was only one person there who could respond.

The armour resembled what a human mercenary would wear. However, as if the material was something flimsy like paper, and not hard metal, the vestiges of the plating painted a story of utter devastation, as if something vile and ruthless had ravaged them. Julia wasn't sure if there was anything in this world that was more savage than an aberrant.

His gaze traced back to the man. A sword rested on his hip, sheathed and seemingly unused in some time; his buttoned shirt wasn't unsullied from the carnage, soaked in blood and other viscera; and the gloves he wore—those weren't ordinary gloves, Julia realised. They were reinforced with scales.

Those are… from aberrants. His gloves are reinforced with aberrant scales! Julia exclaimed. An average person didn't carry such a thing around. The ordinary civilian didn't come across an aberrant in their lifetime, and would hope to never come across one, lest that be the end of them. You can never underestimate the terror of meeting one.

Julia was an unfortunate case of someone who had encountered these creatures before. It was because of them that he had suffered greatly, and continued to suffer from an injury that granted him a life-long ailment; but perhaps, the mental scars were worse; and so was the burden he was forced to carry.

Julia felt his head ache, and as he attempted to calm his mind, to reduce the stress somewhat, the man spoke, "Is it that interesting?" Flinching slightly, hearing these words made him snap out of the trance. The man's voice could only be described as bitter, cold, and cynical. It held a gravelly tone that grated against the ear.

There was no hint of compassion or remorse. Not that Julia was expecting there to be, but in the advent of such brutality, even when targeted towards aberrants, this cold question that almost seemed to mock his dazed reaction was spine-chilling.

Julia did not respond to his taunt. His breathing was becoming ragged, his head felt awfully hot, and sweat trickled down his back. Do not misunderstand, it was not the gruesome display before him that caused this severe distress; he was no stranger to this kind of mess, nor to this type of man. There was something deeper, threatening his sense of self. There was something he desperately needed to confirm; so he turned and laid eyes upon the man's visage.

The man stared back. His eyes were like a dark abyss, a void encompassing all they set themselves upon. His harrowing figure was nothing short of nightmarish, and his presence was enough to make Julia hold his breath, scared his next inhale would be his last. 

Julia already wanted to turn and run. This was something far too difficult to face; he needed to leave before it became too much, before he broke. Falling into an excessive breathing fit, his eyes strained on the man before him, and that is when it happened. He suddenly froze. 

A paradigm of shapes and colours converged before him, sending a cold chill down his spine before a rush of burning heat. As the memories flooded in, the surroundings vanished, plunging into a raging torrent of fire and flame. 

Agonising screams of death filled Julia's ears as a deafening orchestra of bloody savagery; but they were not from the man, Julia, or anyone else in this forest. Far from it. They were the screams of the deceased, the damned, and the innocent.

The dormant pain of his scarred skin from all those years ago, what he kept buried under layers of cloth and hidden from sunlight rushed back at once. The events of that day had lingered in the back of his mind, suppressed but never gone. The sensation of blood trickling down his face… how long ago was it now, the day he lost his sight?

Ten years ago, Julia lost his sight. His whole world turned black. He was alone and afraid, isolated in the dark; and the sounds of bloody slaughter that surrounded him brought no respite. It felt like a horrendous nightmare. 

Those he knew, cared for, and loved were dying one by one; they dropped like flies. Julia knew his turn would be next. And as footsteps approached him, he could not gauge the distance because he lacked the sight to do so. Regardless, he knew they were coming, and that made it all the more frightening.

A thud silenced the footsteps. As dust hit his skirt from the impact, Julia couldn't help but flinch apprehensively. He was defenceless and at the mercy of fate. However, the thing that met him was a hand. Despite losing his vision, he could somehow tell when it hovered out before him.

"Take my hand, it's safe now," a strong, gentle voice relayed.

The warmth of his hand was something Julia never forgot. Like a singular flame in a world full of darkness, he could see him clearly. Not to say he regained his sight at that moment; as blood dripped down from the upper half of his face, even at the age of seven years old, Julia knew he would never see again. What he could sense from the man was something the human eye could not discern.

It started with an indescribable shape. A figure, vaguely human, but more; it was his soul. Julia sensed it for the first time, and this was how he perceived the world from then on. Gradually, he was able to discern more, to make out an image from the darkness that surrounded him, and seeing others like how he once did became possible.

But it was not the same. And in this chance meeting, in the present day, Julia was given a grim reminder of the price he had to pay in exchange. An overbearing responsibility, and an awful sight only he could see:

Ghoulish apparitions crawled up his arms, latching onto his waist and chest, their faces bearing putrid depictions of all things unholy. They whispered terrible demands of a detestable nature; unthinkable ideas they howled in his head, these echoes of dreadful duty.

The injured man was the same person who had saved him back then. His name was Oskar, and these ghasts wanted him dead; the identity of the spirits lingering in Julia's body were none other than the dead villagers who lost their lives that day. They were those that the man had failed to save, and Julia had left behind.

"They want me to kill him… That's why they gave me this gift—this blasphemous power…" Julia muttered, reminding himself what exactly the cost of his survival and his borrowed vision was. When he first discovered this terrible truth, he didn't dare try to meet Oskar. What would they force him to do? Would he be able to resist their harrowing temptation?

But they must know! It was not his fault, it was nobody's fault! The villagers want vengeance, and that is why I must make them understand—make them understand that his true nature holds a virtuous and innocent man that did everything in his power to protect the people, even if it only amounted to a single life! Julia exclaimed inwardly, as if convincing himself. Oskar was able to prevent at least one death and that was something to be celebrated, for there could have been no survivors; there could have been even more deaths. It made no sense to condemn him!

Regardless, the vengeful souls of the dead had attached themselves to Julia, and they would use his flesh as a catalyst for their hatred if he were to lose his sense of self and sink into them. He would become a mindless vessel hellbent on killing that man, the one person he wanted to repay the most.

However, Julia did not hold his neighbours in contempt. They were dangerous and frightening, but they too were lost; he knew that they could be pacified, that they were not to be feared, and how they too were not to be blamed. It was a hopeless situation where everyone involved was a victim of the circumstances.

The villagers were inherently kind but their spirits were warped and contorted by the prelude of death, fear, and hatred. Surely, it was possible to convince them that their anger was misplaced; but now, Julia wasn't too sure. The face he bore witness to after so long had changed. It was something at the level of the soul, and bore no resemblance to that lone memory of him upon which Julia had clung onto and retained his sanity by.

Change was anticipated. It had been ten years—who remained the same after an entire decade? But this was beyond that. The once virtuous soul now resembled a dark chasm, empty and wailing from an unimaginable pain and hunger. Hatred, disgust, and… fear were the strongest emotions he sensed from him.

Julia was able to look at the soul directly. He saw everything, and knew that whatever happened in the time they were apart must have been terrible. Oskar yearned for a vengeance similar to that of the lost souls clinging to Julia's shoulders. His presence had grown peculiar, far from the common man, and even strayed from the path of humanity. What manner of hell had he been dragged through?

As Julia's sight finally became normal, with the villager spirits no longer flaring up as they were, the haze disappeared and he realised the gravity of the situation. "Oskar? Oskar… That was him, that was Oskar! He's gone? He's gone, he's gone; ahh, god damn it! For fuck's sake!"

Oskar was no longer there. Who knew how long he had stood there, on the verge of breaking down, but by that time, the man had already left and was no longer in sight. But perhaps that was for the best; in his fragmented state of mind, Julia knew not what he would do.

Promptly taking a deep breath, Julia gave himself a moment to gather his thoughts and assess all that had just occurred. He was erratic and agitated, so it took him a little while before he could think on a more rational level. However, as he came to a more sensible state of mind, a realisation finally set in as his heart rate rapidly increased once again.

Will I really lose him again so suddenly as I have found him? Julia gripped his head in a fit of unfound frustration and anxiety he had long since not felt. The villagers and the other nearby spirits seemed equally as jostled, goading him to chase after the man with haste; he then realised not all was lost.

It was so simple, it was laughable! This was not at all comparable to the last decade, and would hardly be a setback unless he allowed it to be as such. Oskar could not have made it far, thus as the spirits commanded, Julia would make haste and chase.

"I'm not…! chasing him…! for you!" Julia yelled through ragged breaths, swatting away the incessantly howling dead clinging to his arm. It was not for their purpose that he pursued Oskar.

They hissed and writhed at his rejection of them, but it was necessary that he was firm in his denial; it was important to assert himself as their master. Julia was not alive through their borrowed time. They lived (and died) by him. And more than anything, it was a conscious reminder for himself.

He had suspicions that Oskar's destination was also Cherepakha. No visible tracks had been left behind to prove this, but the double-edged sword granted him more than a single benefit.

Spirits were not meant to interact with creatures of flesh and blood, which included the villagers; but Julia was an exception. A boundary separated the realms of life and death, but by some unprecedented phenomenon, he resided somewhere in between; therefore, he was able to commune with those on the other side.

It was difficult to explain, but the so-called 'afterlife' actually occupies the same space as the material world does. They were separate, however, and couldn't interact; so man and spirit could stand next to each other and never know.

Julia's flesh and blood belonged to the material world, except for his eyes, which peered into the spirit world. As such, he could interact with its denizens. This was a boon at times, but it meant that he was cursed to never fully realise the existence where his body was; he was instead presented with a mirrored version from the other side.

Julia found that the presence of a living creature was sickeningly attractive to those who no longer wielded warm flesh. Many spirits would linger around the remnants of a person's presence, and there were so many spirits that clung to where Oskar had been to the point it was abnormal. This was the bread trail for him to follow.

After chasing those vestiges of his aura for some time, Julia was forced to come to a halt after it became noticeably harder to distinguish his tracks. The density of spiritual presences grew substantially. Normally, there wouldn't be so much unless he were to enter a glorified domain such as a temple. However, these unsanctified lands which made the forest had not struck him as any kind of holy place, and the pressure he felt was completely different in comparison to anything prior.

"F-Foul… What in the world is this feeling?" Julia grimaced as his spine tingled. Malintent and ominous implications ran rampant, causing every hair on his body to raise in alert. He then remembered what the locals had told him.

The words and warnings they spoke, their hesitancy and apprehension in even mentioning the existence of this trail, their fear, reverence, and awe; and then there was the sheer number of aberrants Oskar had slaughtered, which Julia had been too preoccupied to question. Were there deeper reasons behind the tucking away and burial of this location after all?

He soon came across more carcasses of similarly damned aberrants. They were beaten to a pulp just like those before them, indicating this was Oskar's work.

But what was with their presence in this location? To find so many in such a place; one that seemed to be of no great importance, yet was deep in Christeyeran territory and such a long distance from their home country of Lyre; it was strange and utterly unexplainable, and Julia couldn't wrap his head around it. It made no sense.

Julia then caught movement in the corner of his eye. Turning his attention towards the ground, he realised that some of the corpses had started to move and twitch.

In the harsh and unforgiving Fraylands, he had seen plenty of dead men. This twitching often happened after death, in their death throes, and it gave Julia many frights. However, corpses lacked souls and thus had no colour to them.

Typically, Julia struggled to see corpses. When looking at the pile before, which Oskar had made, he needed to get so close to confirm what they were for that exact reason. These corpses were no different—they held no colour, nor did they harbour souls. However, something else did appear.

Julia stumbled back as he watched ghoulish apparitions slowly creep out from their rotting points of rest, with abhorrent and contorted faces which mocked the human expression. Compared to the villagers, they were of an entirely different nature; and it was made evident that he had not met true horror until this point.

While the villagers were twisted and misguided by postmortem resentment, Julia could not find the slightest hint of virtue in their harrowing souls. If hell really existed, he was certain they would have inhabited its deepest, most dreadful corners and caverns. They continued to seep out, hungrily searching for flesh like a voracious sea of vultures.

They soon latched onto the dead aberrants and clung to them, standing them up like puppets as if bringing their battered corpses back to life. Julia wanted to run but his legs wouldn't move. In the midst of fight or flight, his body couldn't figure out what to do and simply froze. He had experienced all manners of hell, but no mortal threat could compare to the advent of such pure, unbridled terror. His sense of sight only made it worse, granting him an unfiltered look into their true nature.

Death awaited him if he did not move. Understanding that, Julia finally resolved himself and came to a decision as he pulled his knife out from his coat with shaky hands. He pressed the sharp edge of the knife against his palm and swiped down in a swift motion. It was only through a rush brought about by an intense pain could he snap out of his dazed state and run away.

Whatever those things were, Julia certainly didn't want to think about it further. The only thing left on his mind was escaping. He would leave, get out of there alive, and find Oskar in Cherepakha. Oskar was incredibly strong, the masses of dead aberrants told him that, and so he believed that Oskar would have no issues getting out of here.

In order to meet him there, in Cherepakha, it was imperative that he didn't die here. It was imperative that he did not die after coming so close to his goal.

His escape was frantic and hurried. But inevitably, Julia's efforts did not come to much when those things were pursuing him. Nothing this dreadful had crossed his path so far; of course, he was not prepared to handle it.

Julia's eyes strained and his breathing became quicker than that of a panting dog; he gazed at his surroundings, helplessly pressed against the tree trunk he had collapsed on. The animated corpses towered above him. So close up, their stature was infinitely more terrifying and so much more of their deformed bodies were visible.

Flaps of detached skin and rotting meat hung loosely from their frames, accompanied by this putrid smell; a scent he could not compare to any other, for he had never been forced to bear something so vile. Furthermore, there were lumps of meaty flesh by their blackened feet, melted into one disgusting pile, which followed behind them as a trail of filth.

A cesspool of rancid liquid collected beneath them and only added to that awful concoction of smells. The rapid decay of their bodies was a testament to how deeply corrosive the mere presence of those spirits were to living matter.

Their faces were already contorted by the possession alone, but in their delight over Julia's visible terror, their mouths twisted and curled even further into what could only be called a detestable mockery of a smile as saliva hung from their monstrous jaws.

Were they to have hunted in full seriousness rather than choosing to play with their food, they could have caught him much sooner. From the very beginning, he never had a chance of survival. 

For the first time in so long, Julia couldn't prevent tears from running down his cheeks. But this was not out of fear for his life. The day the villagers died, and he lost his mother, so too had 'Julia' died with them. He was no different than the villagers—a lost soul, wandering through limbo for eternity.

However, these tears, which poured down his face, surely represented the lost vestiges of that child from a decade prior. By rekindling my purpose, perhaps I would be reborn…? Julia long envisioned being granted a new life free from all of this pain and suffering.

But alas, death and rebirth is not possible; it is mere imaginative fantasy and anyone that dares speak such laughable ideas in all seriousness either intends to deceive, or is not of a rational state of mind.

If he intended to deceive, then the recipient of such deceit could only be himself. However, it was much more likely that he fell in the latter. How long must he have been mad? It was a pipe dream after all. A childish hope. There is no such thing as redemption.