On a serene morning in the latter part of the day, within the Umbryan capital, Lâu and his faithful servant Cam stood by the fish ponds—a routine Lâu had inherited from the body's true owner and had chosen to continue. He found solace in warming the water for the fish, an act that brought him a semblance of tranquility—a peace with himself and the one he used to be.
Ten years had passed since Patriarch Linh, now living as Lâu, had bent the knee to Arianna, surrendering his title along with the ancestral tree to her. He sometimes wished he could say that moving from the lofty heights he once occupied to the mundane existence of an advisor—or an elder, as she called it—had been difficult. But Lâu would be lying to himself if he claimed so. His role as a leader hadn't changed much; despite surrendering the title, he continued to guide his people as their steward.
Arianna held the symbols of monarchy but never acted as a monarch. In the ten years that followed, she ventured on mysterious errands, returning only occasionally to wander the streets like a curious tourist. The only notable change for the Umbryan poulation was the absence of new children, yet for Lâu and most elves in the capital, life remained largely the same. It wasn't a bad outcome, Lâu felt—he was alive, surrounded by his people in his capital, where he could have easily been exiled or executed, as he might have done in her place.
Lâu was content with this.
He scattered feed across the shimmering surface of the pond, while Cam—the loyal servant and confidant of the body's previous owner, now his—watched over him. “They're fascinating, don't you think, Cam?” Lâu mused, breaking the silence.
"What is, Lord?” Cam asked.
“How these creatures depend so much on our care, yet are wholly unaware of the complexities of our existence.”
Unaware that if, one day, Lâu felt this no longer brought him peace, they would perish—either from cold or hunger. But he kept those thoughts to himself.
Cam looked up, considering Lâu’s words. “They seem content, Lord, not knowing the burdens we carry. Do you not think they are better off like they are?”
Lâu pondered the question, his eyes still fixed on the peaceful water. “There’s a simplicity in their existence that is enviable. They are spared the weight of knowledge and consequence. But without such knowledge, can one truly understand or appreciate tranquility?”
“That’s a hard thought, Lord. If peace is only valuable against the backdrop of chaos, isn’t that a kind of burden too?” Cam asked, genuinely curious.
“Yes, it is a burden,” Lâu agreed, nodding slowly. “Yet, it is this burden that enriches our experience. There's a human saying that ignorance is bliss, but I believe knowing the darkness gives light its meaning. We strive, we suffer, but we also cherish because we understand the alternative.”
Cam mulled over Lâu’s words, but before either could add more, their exchange was abruptly interrupted as the sky darkened ominously.
Cam's gaze shifted skyward. “Lord, Lord! What is that?” Cam’s voice trembled with alarm.
At the sight Cam pointed to, Lâu's heart skipped a beat. Hovering in the sky, blocking the sun, was a gigantic eyeball—red, eldritch, if not demonic—staring unblinkingly down at them. The sight was terrifyingly familiar to Lâu. It reminded him of someone he'd learned to fear.
Over time, living as Lâu, he'd convinced himself she was harmless as long as he didn’t provoke her wrath. But right now, seeing that iris move, unblinkingly fixing upon him, fear he believed to have forgotten returned..
“Arianna,” Lâu winced, his voice barely a whisper. Few would recognize the name, but most noctil elves knew her by another. It was under that name he had bent the knee, surrendering the capital without its people realizing her villainy, even hailing her as a hero.
Lost in chaotic thought, his gaze fixed on the red-irised eyeball, Lâu heard Cam’s voice calling him back.
“Lord, Lord!” Cam called, shaking his shoulder and pointing upward. “Lord, on you!”
Trying to follow Cam’s gesture, Lâu first noticed what hovered above Cam’s head. Then, as he looked above himself and saw nothing, he turned to the nearby pond. Using the darkened water as a mirror, he saw it—a spectral sword, glowing ominously above his head, just like the one above Cam.
“Lord Lâu, this is...”
“I don't know, Cam,” Lâu replied, his voice steady but tense. “But I know for a fact this is nothing good.”
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Sunlight spilled across the open-air market in the heart of the elven capital, catching the gleam of glass bottles perched on Mina’s stall. The young, one hundred fifty-seven-year-old elf tucked a raven-black strand behind her long ear and offered a soft, knowing smile to each passerby. Her slender fingers moved with practiced care, adjusting the unique products she displayed. While proud of the uniqueness of her wares, Mina knew that novelty alone wouldn't sell them. She gave the passersby quite a performance—a slight tilt of her head, the graceful set of her shoulders—these subtle gestures proved as enticing as the fragrances themselves, if not more so, drawing onlookers to linger a moment longer. This had been the rhythm of her morning, until now, when her wares lay ignored, forgotten even by herself.
Her gaze—like everyone else’s—was riveted skyward. It started with a faint dimming, like a cloud crossing the sun, then plunged the capital into sudden obscurity. As if the cloud had been replaced by something far larger and denser, an immense shape materialized—a massive, lidless eye, its iris blood-red and filled with unfathomable malevolence.
A hush rippled through the plaza. Merchants paused mid-barter, and passersby clutched their robes closer, as if chilled by an unseen wind. Mina heard only her own breathing and the frantic thump of her heart, a fear blooming within her like one she hadn't felt in a decade. She found herself stepping back, nearly knocking over her perfume display, as she managed to tear her eyes from that floating horror.
Massive enough to cast a shifting shadow across the entire capital, the monstrous pupil trained on the city as though it sought something—or someone—among them.
Suddenly, in the same heartbeat that the giant eye appeared, a spectral sword flickered into existence just above everyone’s head.
Through a nearby bottle’s reflection, Mina saw she was no exception. She spun around, finding with strange relief that no one was spared. Every elf around her, every man and woman throughout the square, had the same faintly glowing weapon suspended in the air overhead.
It didn't take long for a collective gasp of recognition to tear from the crowd. They couldn’t help but recognize the spectral sword as the one hovering above the Binding Queen, the chain maiden, the hero who had saved the capital from the vicious white serpent a decade ago.
For a moment, despite the colossal, bloodshot eyeball overhead—whose gaze Mina couldn’t help but notice had shifted—she sensed a collective relief. If the Binding Queen’s blade was here, surely help was near. Surely they would be protected. Or so she and her fellow noctil elves thought.
As Mina watched, the eyeball’s gaze shifted again. Instead of surveying the city as a whole, it now seemed to peer at them in particular, bringing down an odd, cold silence, thinner than the hush before. It was as if the entire city held its breath. But Mina, like everyone around her, rapidly realized it wasn’t the city that went silent but themselves—their eyes, their ears, their whole beings were locked onto the unblinking gaze whose focus was upon them.
And then, in that corner—where a group of elves stood transfixed, heads tilted up, mouths slightly open in silent horror—the glowing swords above them descended as one. There was no clang of steel, no splash of blood. These swords were like phantoms slicing through mist. Yet every single elf beneath those blades collapsed at once, faces vacant, limbs folding.
For a heartbeat, none of the unaffected crowd comprehended what they had just witnessed. Then, as realization set in, it was as if a dam burst—screams rose. High-pitched, terrified cries echoed among the wooden buildings and drifted through the curving streets.
“...dead…dead!”
“Run!” someone shrieked. “They’re dead! They’re all—dead!”
Just like that, Mina, along with over three hundred noctil elves, collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Their last moments were marked by the vision of a simple notification:
[Warning]
You've been cursed!
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Panic clutched at Arty’s chest. His own voice joined the chorus of fear echoing through the streets. Instinct roared at him: flee. He needed no further prompting. He turned and ran, his smithing tools and pouches clattering to the ground behind him. Others did the same, weaving in every direction. Some tried frantically to bat away the swords hovering over their heads, their hands slicing through the spectral forms to no effect. High above, the giant eye loomed, its iris shifting, locking onto other pockets of the city in a slow, methodical sweep.
Each time the gaze fell on another cluster of elves, screams followed. The spectral swords plummeted, slicing away life with eerie, silent ease. Though no blood was spilled, each victim’s body hit the earth as surely as if they had been cut down by real steel.
Arty’s heart hammered in his chest. His legs burned from running, but his mind insisted he keep going. Chaos raged around him—he saw husbands shielding their wives in alleyways, vendors abandoning entire stalls of precious goods, friends pulling at each other so neither would be left behind. Everywhere, spectral swords glowed overhead—every elf marked.
He dashed through the winding streets, nearly tripping over a tangle of bodies. Stifling a sob, he spotted an open door—a shop into which many elves had run to seek refuge, hoping the eye in the sky wouldn’t see them. It seemed a good idea. Arty lunged toward it, but just as he neared, a group of elves slammed the door shut from the inside. Their panicked eyes met his for the briefest second through a grimy window. Fear strangled his chest at their betrayal. He pounded once on the door, but it was clear they had no intention of letting him in. With a soft, stricken sound, he tore himself away.
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Running, he glanced UP. The giant eye’s pupil glided—a black center in a sea of red—searching, scanning. Looking for me? he couldn’t help but dread, his breath growing more frantic. Despite the intensifying feeling of doom, he sprinted onward. A sign bearing a spool of thread and needles swayed above the next doorway—a textile shop. Seeing the windows closed but the door ajar, hope surged within him. He slipped inside before his courage could fail.
Inside, it was dark and still, empty. Racks of colorful cloth loomed like silent sentinels. Arty pushed the door shut, suppressing a whimper at the sudden echo of his own heartbeat in his ears. He braced himself against the wood, breathing raggedly, dreading the spectral blade to descend at any moment. The screams outside bled through the walls, muffled yet inescapable. Closing his eyes, he pressed his hands to his ears.
Seconds stretched into minutes. The screams outside waxed and waned, a chaotic chorus of horror that felt as though it would never end. His own breathing slowed, but his terror did not abate. Sitting there in his pathetic little corner, he realized with brutal clarity how helpless he was.
He wanted to believe that a hero—someone like the Binding Queen—would save them. But the faint glow emitted by the sword hanging overhead killed such hope. He wanted to believe that his Patriarch would put an end to this horror, but the screams he tried hard to ignore made him wonder: Where was he? What was he doing while his people were dying left and right? How could he be saved? Where could salvation come from?
He’d yet to find an answer to that question when a sharp, cold prickle ran down his spine. Something felt… wrong. He forced himself to lower his trembling hands from his ears, allowing the outside cacophony to flood his senses once more. His gaze fell to his own palms. An instant of disbelief stretched into dawning horror. Embedded into the skin of his left palm, staring back at him, was a miniature eye—miniature compared to the monstrous one in the sky, but normal-sized compared to an elven eye. Its glaring red iris—a perfect copy of the monstrous one haunting the skies—shifted, following his gaze as his hand trembled.
Arty could feel the crushing sense of being seen—his entire soul laid bare and silent before this pitiless gaze.
[Warning]
You’ve been cursed!
After that notification, he felt… nothing. In an absolute sense, darkness tugged at his vision. His knees gave out. The last thought that passed through his mind before he collapsed, still staring at that dreadful eye on his palm, was the same dreadful truth that had consumed every corner of the city: There would be no escape from the gaze of the giant eyeball.
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Vinh, the capital’s most celebrated weaver, clutched a spool of golden and black threads as he stood frozen in his workshop's basement. His hands trembled, the spool slipping from his fingers. Unbeknownst to him, the giant eye’s iris had shifted its gaze, staring down at Vinh's workshop. The one thousand two hundred forty-four-year-old noctil elf's breath hitched as the spectral sword hovering above him descended. He saw the notification flash before his vision:
[Warning]
You’ve been cursed!
His body crumpled to the floor, lifeless, colorful threads unraveling around him.
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Áivy, a mother, shielded her child—the youngest of the Umbryan family—in her arms. Tears streamed down her face as she begged the heavens for mercy. There was no mercy. The spectral sword hung motionless above her, as if mocking her desperation. Then, in one silent motion, it plunged through her. Her last vision was the damning message:
[Warning]
You’ve been cursed!
Her body fell, her child still clutched tightly in her arms.
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Áivy's son, barely eleven years old, didn’t get the chance to mourn his mother. At the same moment the sword descended upon her, the spectral sword hovered above his small frame descended swiftly. The child’s cries were silenced, replaced by a final notification that flashed even in his confused vision:
[Warning]
You’ve been cursed!
His tiny body slumped beside his mother’s, together for a final time.
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Caelir, a retired blacksmith, stood defiantly in the square, gripping his old hammer. “Come on, then!” he shouted at the unfeeling gaze of the giant eye. The sword above him gleamed faintly before it descended. The hammer slipped from his grip as his vision blurred, replaced by the notification:
[Warning]
You’ve been cursed!
His frame collapsed, the fire of defiance extinguished.
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Ithalien, a young and promising Memory Keeper, frantically conjured her magics, her voice cracking with desperation. The magic circle she summoned fizzled into useless sparks as the sword above her head shimmered. She unleashed a lightning bolt, which streaked through the space between her and the giant eye. But before she could witness the futility of her attempt—for that’s what it was—the lightning simply streaked through the giant eyeball as though it were made of illusion. Her final sight was her lightning bolt vanishing into the sky and the inevitable warning:
[Warning]
You’ve been cursed!
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Understanding there was nothing he—or anyone—could do against the curse-casting monstrosity, Lâu led as many people as he could gather with the intent of leaving the domain. While he didn’t possess the skills or abilities that enabled the conjuration of this monstrosity, his affinity points invested in the Spiritual Affinity—particularly in curse-related aspects—offered him insight. He knew this curse relied on the domain to manifest.
He had enough time to ponder the purpose of this attack and arrived at a grim conclusion. She wasn’t here in the Umbryan domain. She was likely out there, pursuing the ultimate goal she had declared herself to be the one she’s after—defeating Cleon, the One and Only. And they, the Umbryan family, Lâu’s people, were the ones paying the price for it.
Lâu had bent his knee to her, lived this life at her whim. But this—this he could not allow. It was his people for whom he, despite his pride, surrendered his ancestral sigil. He wanted his people to survive, and now she intended to slaughter them in such a cowardly way, while most of them still hoped for their very killer to save them. There was no way he could allow that.
But what could he do?
Now at the border of the Umbryan domain, Lâu unleashed an attack at the sigil that once belonged to him. The despair-inducing hum of his assault echoed alongside the attacks of the many others he had gathered in their attempt to break free. But no matter how many attacks they hurled, the prison did not budge. That’s when realization struck him. Or to be exact he was forced to acknowledge it.
She had said it herself during one of her rare visits to the capital to play Đá Vây with him. While connected to the ancestral tree of the Umbryan people, she couldn’t utilize its most basic functions. One of the only abilities she had access to was manifesting the Ancestral Tree as either a barrier or a prison.
She had left the Ancestral Tree here as a prison because she expected them all to attempt an escape. She had predicted this, so it made sense that she would leave a prison strong enough that no one could break free. Lâu had come to bitterly understand just how meticulous she was. She wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving behind a prison with weak confines that they could easily break through.
Sure, leaving such a powerful prison here suggested that she was out there with an inferior version of the Obsidial Tree—far from optimal, considering she was most likely facing a monarch with full access to his sigil. But that hinted at a far more terrible reality. If she was willing to make that concession, then she must have gained something substantial in return—something that would ultimately come at the cost of all their lives, he realized.
Having brought as many people as he could to the border and having exhausted all means to break this prison, that dread he felt solidified into a massive and painful lump in his chest. He understood that this was reality, but as bitter as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to stop trying. Out of MP, he resorted to clawing at the prison, his hatred for the ethereal tree surging like never before. He attacked the sigil as many others did, even after their magic ran dry, until suddenly—there was calm.
No more screams of despair or pain. No more sounds of relentless, futile attacks. No more hum of response from the Obsidial Tree. Just stillness, as the sound of bodies collapsing around him filled the void.
Dread and surprise washed over him as he realized he hadn’t yet collapsed like the others. His sword still hovered above his head. He turned to face the gaze of the giant eye that now rested upon him.
At the sight of that unfeeling eye, Lâu sighed, defeated. His gaze drifted to Cam’s lifeless body nearby. The despair he felt in this moment dwarfed even the pain of surrendering his sigil or dying at Arianna’s hands. But this… this he could not accept.
There was no fairness in this. At least none he could find.
He wanted to vent his feelings, to shout his anguish to the heavens. But something about the emotionless gaze of the giant eyeball told him it wasn’t worth it. His words would go nowhere.
Lâu sighed again, whispering his final words, “Whatever you did all of this for, I hope it was at least worth it.”
With those words, Lâu, formerly Linh, Patriarch of the Umbryan family, Monarch of the Noctils elves drew his last breath and collapsed as the cursed notification flashed before him:
[Warning] You’ve been cursed!
***
All across the capital, lives ended in eerie synchronicity—by dozens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands—the number fluctuating up and down as if part of a macabre dance. The giant eye in the sky moved its iris rapidly, the pupil zooming in and out, struggling to keep pace with the chaotic scene below. For twenty-four minutes and twelve seconds, this hell persisted, the eye claiming everyone its gaze settled upon. Then, as the iris and pupil dilated to the point where the eye became entirely red, it issued a final notification to the remaining elves of the capital.
In that moment, all the elves of the capital collapsed, bringing an end to the Umbryan elven family.
With the capital now completely silent, the eye in the sky underwent a grotesque transformation. It blinked—slow, deliberate, and final. Then, the eye began to distort. The iris stretched grotesquely, and the pupil collapsed inward as if devouring itself. Flesh-like textures rippled across the sclera as the eye warped. It was no longer an eye. It became a mouth.
Jagged teeth erupted from the void, each tooth towering like an unholy spire, crooked and stained with some unknowable decay. The maw stretched wider and wider until the capital sky itself seemed swallowed by its presence. Within the gaping chasm, a darkness churned—a bottomless, devouring void.
Then the chains came.
They didn’t fall from the mouth—they manifested, tearing through the air with a sound like screaming iron. Black as pitch, the chains snaked downward, slithering like mechanical serpents with cruel intent.
The chains spread across the capital, weaving through narrow alleys, sprawling across grand plazas, and delving into shadowed basements. They reached into every corner of the Umbryan domain, crossing the land like veins feeding a great beast.
Wherever they went, they sought the newly dead.
In the streets of the capital, where countless elven bodies lay lifeless, the chains wrapped around them with unerring precision. In darkened basements, where the freshly fallen had been hidden from view, they ripped apart walls and shattered doors to claim their prey. The capital itself groaned under the onslaught—wooden walls splintered, rooftops caved, and castles crumbled as the chains rampaged through the city in search of corpses.
Upon reaching a corpse, the chains lifted the dead—all limp, their lifeless forms offering no resistance. They dangled in the air like grotesque offerings, swaying gently as the chains dragged them higher. The streets, once filled with life and bustling with activity, were now eerily silent, populated only by the limp bodies of the fallen elves being drawn toward the gaping maw in the heavens.
The mouth widened as the first of the dead reached it, its jagged teeth grinding together in anticipation. One by one, the bodies were swallowed, disappearing into the abyss. The relentless harvest continued with no one left to witness it—except for one man standing in the midst of the ruin that was now the Umbryan capital. Playing with his cane, he smiled, a nostalgic glint in his eyes.
"Well, well, well, if this isn't a sight," he murmured, his voice carrying a dark amusement. “I’m sure you would have loved seeing this. What an unfortunate thing that you can’t, or that this isn’t dedicated to you. Perhaps I should have her and her—No, I shouldn’t do that. I promised I wouldn’t interfere. She seems to believe my words mean something. How about, for fairness's sake, I prove her right.”
With those words, he abandoned his vessel—a noctil elf who’d already been executed by the eyeball in the sky. The moment he left the vessel, the body—or, more accurately, the corpse—collapsed from the rooftop where it had stood. But before the corpse met the ground, the chains claimed their prize, dragging it into the abyss along with the rest.