“Run! Th-th-the Bear!”
A cave bear is a terrible thing, when provoked. Especially if the ones doing the provoking are three young children. Two of them, the ones that had snuck into its lair, had already started running. A roar reverberated through the trees, powerful enough to disturb the foliage surrounding the cave, and echoing through their bones.
The children picked up the pace, each one trying to outrun the other and dodge the wrath of the bear. The dirt kicked up from their feet seemed to hang, for just a moment, in midair. Their breaths lagged, catching in their throat like they were choking on a rag. Their hearing became muffled, sound became irrelevant as their panicked eyes twitched over every obstacle and potential path on the ground. Run. One step after the other. This plan lasted until ten steps in, when the bear started to give chase. Split. Dodge. They became rabbits, hearts pumping, legs feeling like sparks were shooting through them. Fear reared up and could not be quelled. A vague sense of finality drew upon them. And then, just as quickly, departed.
Their heavy breaths echoed off of the trees around them as they slowed to catch their breath, realising they were alone. After a while, they turned around. Just the two.The last one, Laz, had the misfortune of being swatted by the furious bear as it had left the cave, in chase of the other two miscreants. A cursory inspection when the bear returned had revealed the unmoving body, and the blood pooling around it, in some sort of macabre and bizzare do not trespass notice. Losing interest, the bear stalked back to its cave, teeth still bared in a yellowed, toothy snarl. Lazarus felt his consciousness flicker like the moons reflection in turbulent waters, until unknowingly, he lost all thought. Blood continued to pool around him, congealing quickly in the rapidly cooling air. He fell into the shadows of his mind, losing all sense of self, and drifting indeterminably far from the shore of consciousness that he had come from.
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The pervasive darkness receded like a cloud of smoke along with his flickering dreams of a time long gone. A spark of brightness in the dark, his consciousness awoke from its deep slumber. Who was he? Where was he? Thoughts swirled in his head like paper in a breeze, loosely collecting, before slipping through his grasping hands. An icy air tickled his body, curling around him and settling, heavy, on his puckered skin.
“You’re awake?” a voice sounded beside him. A slight tone of incredulity was laced within the gentle noise. A woman sat next to him, holding a bundle of red stained bandages in her coarse hands. Drip. Droplets of blood fell from the cloth into a bowl on her lap, each one opening wide as they dispersed into fragments throughout the water.
His head hurt. A lot. Opening his eyes, he found himself in a stone walled room, faded curtains draped across sturdy windows. The ceiling held a scene of neglect and disrepair, grey with cobwebs and dust. The voice belonged to his mother, who, despite being only in her early thirties, had the appearance of a fifty year old woman. Faint lines etched themselves on her face, and only a few brown lines streaked their way through her mostly grey hair, falling away at the shoulders to reveal a coarse wollen tunic. Odd. What happened to the gowns? Or the jewelery?
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"We were so worried about you! After your accident, we invited the doctor to look at you, but he said your trauma was so severe that nothing could be done for you. We've been nursing you ever since." Drip. Wipe. Drip. When he had been found, the entire back of his head had been caved in, skull fragments lodged in his brain and almost drowning on the copious amount of blood that hadn't stopped pooling around his head. It had taken almost an entire day to kill the cave bear, and, afterwards, his body had become cold and stiff from the frost that had gathered over him. The nights here were bitter, more often than not burying those who attempted to travel through the endless fog, icy frost and dangerous creatures that plagued the nighttime roads.
It had taken three doctors five months and almost the entirety of his families wealth to bring Laz back to consciousness.
"What happened?" He struggled to speak. A long list of questions filled his mind, weighing on him as he saw the state of his surroundings. It wasn't just the ceiling that held cobwebs and cracks- the walls, once adorned with trophies and patrolled by armoured guards, had become desolate. an empty loneliness encompassed the hallways, bereft of the warmth of torches, or the bustle of people.
"Well son..." His mother started speaking, and didn't stop until late that night. With each breath, she stroked his face, her rough callouses scratching his skin. Their family had- until recently- been a prestigious one, holding influence not just within their district but also in neighbouring territories. With many soldiers, guards and merchants, they were considered fairly competent Lords and Ladies, bringing peace and prosperity to Generals Grave.
However, with great power comes great responsibility. When Lazarus had been attacked, their family had spared no effort to save him, at the great displeasure of their vassals. Money and time had gone down the drain with no end in sight, leaving maintenance of the city and its people as a secondary issue. A mass exodus of displeased farmers, labourers and infantrymen occurred not soon after, leaving the once bustling streets forlorn and untrod. As walls were left unmanned, the city had become closer and closer to being overrun by beast waves from the forests nearby, causing the neighbouring districts to attempt to seize power. The family had sold a lot of their posessions to keep those that remained satisfied, resorting to even clearing out the small treasury they had accrued before these events. Utterly destitute, they could only do their best to live on, and had lost control of a lot of their previous territories. "...and so, here we are, with you, Bella and I. But, now that you're awake, I believe this is a sign that good fortune is coming." His mother was superstitious to a large degree, praying to Gods that Laz had never believed in. Something in him just rejected the idea.
Taking a deep breath, he asked one final, important question. "What happened to my mana core?"