Chapter 74: The Nectar’s Deception
More days, possibly weeks, passed in the idyllic village, and Abel had become closely intertwined with the village’s daily life. Every morning felt the same, yet filled with a warmth that kept him from questioning too much. The villagers greeted him with smiles, and the village head had grown fond of him, assigning him to various tasks—small jobs that helped keep the village thriving. Abel found himself drawn to this peaceful life, losing track of time in this place that seemed free of worries or hardships.
The village head was especially impressed by Abel’s work ethic and spirit, gradually involving him in more intimate tasks: Protecting the village's precious garden or being with the elder more often than others.
As the sun bathed the village in its golden light, the village elder beckoned Abel to follow him. They walked through narrow stone pathways, past vibrant homes where villagers sang in joy. The village felt alive, buzzing with energy. Abel couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging, despite the strange, distant nagging sensation in the back of his mind—something important that he couldn’t quite remember.
They arrived at a secluded garden behind the elder’s home, a place Abel had never seen before, different from the village's garden that Gerald seemed to adore. The air here was different, thicker with an almost palpable energy. At the center of the garden stood a plant. Not just any plant, but a mesmerizing, ethereal vine wrapped around a stone pillar. Its leaves shimmered with colors Abel had no name for, and flowers bloomed from it, their petals pulsing faintly, almost in sync with his own heartbeat. The sheer beauty of the plant struck him hard; tears welled in his eyes as he gazed at it, overcome with emotion. How could anything be so perfect?
The village head stood beside him, his voice reverent. “This is the source of the nectar, Abel. The Holy Nectar. It has blessed our village for generations, and with it, we stay eternally happy, content. But to keep it thriving, to keep its gifts… it requires sacrifice.”
Abel didn’t flinch. The plant was too beautiful, too otherworldly for him to question. In his mind, the sacrifices made sense—a necessary offering to the divine to ensure the village’s joy. He nodded, his heart swelling with an almost unnatural devotion. “What must I do?” he asked, his voice soft, almost eager to serve.
The village head placed a hand on Abel’s shoulder, smiling in approval. “There will be a ritual in a few days. I would be honored if you assisted. Together, we will bring more nectar, more joy, to the village.”
Abel felt a rush of pride. He would help. He would do anything to make sure the nectar continued to flow.
…
The day of the ritual had arrived, and the village buzzed with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of the plant that was at the heart of everything. Abel followed the village head to the garden, where the plant seemed to pulse with life, its vibrant colors shifting in hypnotic patterns beneath the dim evening light. Villagers had gathered around, their eyes fixated on Abel and the elder, watching in a reverent silence as if something divine was about to happen.
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The elder approached Abel with a dark smile and revealed a worn leather bag. Without hesitation, he opened it to reveal its grisly contents—severed heads, lifeless eyes staring back at Abel. The bloodied remains of whatever sacrifices they had made for this ritual stared blankly into the distance. Strangely, Abel felt no horror or disgust. Where he might have once recoiled in revulsion, now there was only emptiness.
The elder's voice was low, almost reverent as he said, "These offerings will strengthen the plant. The nectar will flow freely."
Abel nodded, his expression blank but inside, something felt... off. His mind was clouded, the village’s intoxicating energy clinging to his thoughts. Still under the spell of the village’s nectar, his sense of self seemed distant, muffled by the all-consuming illusion. Yet, through the haze, an idea formed, a flicker of memory of his past. He cleared his throat, feeling the weight of the villagers' eyes on him.
"I... I know of a ritual too," Abel began, his voice uncertain but genuine. "One that brings good luck. It’s something I learned from a friend... If we do our rituals simultaneously we might have a better harvest and ritual."
The elder’s eyes gleamed with interest, his lips curling into a sly grin. “Luck? That would be most welcome,” he mused, his voice laced with anticipation. “Perform your ritual, Abel. Let’s see what fortune it brings."
Abel asked for additional materials to complete the luck ritual. The elder's grin never faltered as he gestured for one of the villagers to retrieve additional bodies—magical creatures that Abel requested.
In no time at all, the butcher returned with the twisted remains of these creatures, their essence still clinging to their lifeless forms. Abel hesitated for just a second before accepting them and preparing to perform the ritual. He arranged the bodies in a circular pattern around the plant, his mind spinning with both the task at hand and the strange pull he felt from the stars. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
As Abel went through the motions of the ritual, he felt a change in the air. The plant’s colors intensified, shifting from vibrant greens and yellows to deeper, darker hues. It pulsed in time with his movements, almost as if it were alive, responding to his ritual. The air around them thickened, growing even sweeter, intoxicating. The villagers watched with bated breath, their eyes fixed on the ritual unfolding before them.
Then, something happened.
For a fleeting moment, the world around Abel wavered, and the illusion cracked. The stars above, which had always seemed like distant, static points of light, flickered with a strange, almost real energy. Abel’s connection to them surged through him, sharper than ever before, almost overwhelming. His chest tightened as he realized something was very wrong. The plant wasn’t a divine gift as the village had claimed. No, it was a curse—a dark, twisted presence that had ensnared them all. The joy, the nectar, the tranquility of the village—it was all an elaborate trap. They were prisoners here, trapped in a facade that had consumed their lives and minds.
His heart raced, but he forced himself to remain calm. He couldn't reveal what he'd just discovered—not yet. Abel masked his horror, plastering a disappointed expression on his face as he finished the ritual. “It didn’t work,” he said softly, his voice deliberately flat and disheartened.
The elder’s eyes darkened, but he offered Abel a reassuring pat on the shoulder as they were still able to harvest a bit of nectar. “No matter, my boy. Not all rituals are meant to succeed on the first attempt. One day, we will find the key, and the nectar will bring us even greater fortune.”
Abel nodded numbly, his thoughts racing as he tried to process the enormity of what he had seen. Behind the elder’s warm smile, Abel saw the truth—a sinister undertone that had been hidden beneath the illusion. He had to escape. He had to warn the others, but not yet. He couldn’t let on that he knew. There was too much at stake, and the village’s grip on him was still strong.
As the elder and the villagers began to disperse, Abel remained by the plant, his gaze turning upward once more to the stars. They flickered again, but this time their message was clear.
Get out.
Abel stood there for a few more moments, the weight of his discovery pressing down on him. He had to find a way to break free from the village’s hold, but the path ahead was murky. One thing was certain—if he didn’t act soon, the village, the nectar, and the curse it held would consume him entirely.