Hain sighed and stared up at the twilight sky in red and orange shades as the gates slammed shut behind him at the Western border.

His steps were as light as feather despite everything that happened in the course of a few hours. He wasn’t sad, not the least, but somewhat hopeful, nonetheless.

Lárhus wasn’t the only way to become a wise man, that was what Gwydion told him. Before the headmaster ran this place, people from all races set off to Isaldor to learn the Teachings of the Past and Present.

Surely, he’d one day return to Boldizsár. Not as a mere human but as a druid who’d serve the Council like Gwydion did. Just the thought of this made his heart flutter.

Yet, Hain did not know that he would indeed return to the Land of the Deities in the future, but not to bring peace or serve the Council of Deities. His destiny would bring nothing but great calamity upon this divine landscape that stretched far beyond the wilted pastures ahead.

The route he took led through a meadow as vivid as life itself with vibrant flowers, buzzing bees, and whatnot.

Yet the more he walked, the clearer it became that something happened to the blades of evergreen grass. With each passing second, the grass wilted and turned yellow, as if it was sucked out of its essence by a great force.

The gates of Boldizsár were nothing more than a tiny dot in the distance as he crossed the threshold between Salwodor and the Land of the Death, Forsburth. Even the rising sun stopped ascending and got stuck in the horizon.

The rays of the sun gave way to hills of powdery snow wherever he rested his eyes. He plodded through the icy veils that reached his ankles and shivered. Every fibre of his being stirred awake from the cold.

A cornfield that spanned over an area twice the size of Mazheven, which was one of the smallest villages in Aderbaal, soon replaced the wilted pastures. Before he knew it, the cornfields surrounded him on either side and obscured the view ahead.

He stopped and wrinkled his nose. A foul smell reached his nostrils and made his stomach churn. What was that stink? It was identical to the one in the abandoned restroom, but more pungent and in-your-face.

As he looked around and tried to figure out where the smell came from, a scream no louder than a whisper came through somewhere far into the cornfield to his right. He frowned. A wailing of some kind?

Determined to find out what was going on, he took the first of several steps into the cornfield when he heard something behind him and turned around. But there was nothing behind him.

Still, he knew that wasn’t the case. In the shadows, far from his sight of vision, something wicked watched and followed his every move. He noticed it first when he crossed the bridge back at Lárhus. But whenever he turned around to catch a glimpse of it, the whisking would fade away.

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He sprinted.

Without looking back, he sprinted with all his might. Soon enough, the whisking returned and followed right on his heels. What was it? The thing that was so keen on trailing him? He stopped dead and spun around.

Ravens! His eyes grew wide as the cawing birds flew at him without any intention of slowing down. He stumbled backwards and fell on his buttocks, covering his head from the looming attack. Nothing happened, though. Even the cawing stopped.

With his heart in his mouth, he looked around the cornfield and crawled further and further away. His racing heart was about to gallop out of his chest! When he finally realised the ravens were gone for good, he drew a deep breath and rested his back on the wet soil.

The beat of his frantic heart slowed down only to pick up again. Not because the ravens came back, but because the foul smell worsened. The wrinkles between his brows deepened as he turned his head to the left, in the direction of the pungent smell taking over.

Two hollow sockets stared at him.

With a gasp, he jolted up and tripped on his own foot. It was a human child. Its eyes were gone and its mouth was wide open in a silent cry.

Something or someone had cut its stomach open and bowled out its gut. Its arms were stretched out in a desperate plea for help, and its rotting flesh was at least a few weeks old.

What in the whole Fayr was this? Then he recalled something Gwydion told him on their way to Salwodor. The druid said that the Western border led to Forsburth and that it was the Land of the Death.

Those brave enough to wander too close to it were sure to succumb to the evil forces at play there! Did this child fall victim to the undead lurking around or something more wicked?

He looked over his shoulder. There they were again, the ravens. But they didn’t charge at him. They circled the cadaver and cast their ominous shadows over it, settling on top of the skull and dug their beaks into the decaying flesh without letting their eyes off him, as though they wanted him to witness the gruesome spectacle.

Stumbling back on his feet, Hain raced through the cornfields and went wherever his feet took him. For a good minute, he thought he was back in safety and stopped. As he ran his darting eyes through the towering cornfields, something much scarier than the cawing pierced through and drowned out the beat of his frantic heart.

Footsteps. Behind him.

His eyes widened as he peeked over his shoulder. This creature was neither a human nor a raven, but, at the same time, it was both of those things!

It had a beak full of sharp teeth, the face of a bird, and the body of a grown man covered in black feathers. Massive wings replaced what was supposed to be shoulder blades on its crooked spine.

Hain backed away. The grin on its face never let up and only grew wider as it drew closer, as if it knew of the fear coursing through his trembling body and relished in the thought.

“W- what do you want from me? Why are you—”

“You,” it said, taking its sweet time, “must follow me.”

“W- what?”

“He’s waiting for you.”

“He…? I- I don’t know—”

“Think again. Don’t you know who gave you that necklace?”

Hain stared down. As if it had ears of its own, the necklace came alive and illuminated the darkness from underneath his shirt. The one who gave him the necklace?

“Johen, The Last of His Name.”

“Johen?” he repeated and briefly looked away. Why did that name sound so familiar? Where had he heard that name from? But no matter how hard he tried to clear his thoughts and remember, he couldn’t. His mind was a blank canvas, a jumbled mess of incoherent thoughts that all fought to take over his mind.

“Why…” he said, mustering up the courage to speak up, “why does that person want to see me?”

“You’ll know if you come with us…”