A lone figure approached the modest gates of the small town, his footsteps crunching softly against the frost-covered path. The settlement wasn’t grand—its weathered wooden fences stood more as a token of security than a genuine defense against the wilds beyond. The figure’s approach caused the two guards stationed at the entrance to straighten, their easy posture giving way to a flicker of unease.
The young man had white hair, stark against the muted tones of winter. His stature was unremarkable, his height slight, and his features plain to the point of unsettling.
His face bore no scars, no distinguishing marks, nothing to anchor him in memory. It wasn’t his appearance that caught their attention, but the disquieting normalcy of it, so devoid of anything distinct that it felt unnatural.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, awkward and tense. The older of the two guards coughed into his hand, breaking the quiet.
“Evening,” he began, his voice tinged with suspicion. “Not often we get travelers in these parts, especially this late in the season.” He squinted at the figure. “What brings you here, stranger?”
The young man stopped just short of the gate, his pale eyes flickering toward the guards. His presence felt unhurried, yet deliberate.
“My name is Reed,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of detachment. “I heard from a traveler that there’s a night festival tonight. I thought I’d see it for myself.”
The younger guard, who had been quietly observing, tilted his head. “You’re alone?”
Reed nodded once. “Just me.”
The older guard glanced at his companion, then back at Reed. “You sure you’re in the right place? Not much here to see. Small town, smaller festival. Few lights, some music, maybe a bit of ale if you’re lucky.”
Reed’s expression didn’t change. “It’s enough.”
The older guard scratched his beard, still unsure. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t turn away someone looking for a little fun.” He gestured toward the gate. “The festival’s in the town center. People are getting ready for the Sinking tomorrow—big day for us. Performances, music, maybe even a little dancing if the mood’s right.”
He hesitated, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And if you’re the gambling type, the bar on the south end’s where folks are placing bets on tomorrow’s event. Not exactly official business, but—” He gave a conspiratorial wink. “—what the mayor doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
The younger guard shot his partner with a disapproving look. “Not everyone’s here to toss coins on the Sinking, you know.”
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“Just trying to help,” the older guard grumbled, then turned back to Reed. “You’re free to enter, kid. But keep your nose clean. No trouble, you hear?”
Reed inclined his head slightly, stepping through the gate without another word. His figure melted into the bustle of the townsfolk preparing for the festivities, leaving the guards standing in his wake.
“Odd one, that,” the younger guard muttered.
“Odd’s putting it lightly,” the older one replied with a shake of his head. “Didn’t blink once during the whole conversation. Give me the shivers.”
They stood there a moment longer, staring after the boy before resuming their post.
***
Reed found himself drawn to a small gathering at the edge of the square. A gray-bearded man sat cross-legged on a hay carpet, surrounded by a ring of wide-eyed children hanging onto his every word. The crackling of a nearby fire punctuated the elder’s deep, commanding voice as he spun his tale.
Reed took a seat on a weathered bench just outside the circle. Despite his slight frame, which could have easily allowed him to blend in among the children, he chose instead to remain apart. His posture was still, his pale eyes fixed on the storyteller. He betrayed no emotion, yet his focus was unyielding, drinking in every word.
“The marks,” the elder declared, his voice low and grave, “are a curse—a punishment sent by the gods to remind us of our frailty. Once a child is marked, it’s only a matter of time before the devil himself comes knocking, seeking to take what is most precious.”
The elder’s sharp gaze swept across the children, savoring their rapt expressions. Their awe and fear fed his performance, and he paused dramatically, letting his words linger in the cold night air.
A small hand shot up, trembling but eager.
“What does the devil do?” the child asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The old man leaned forward, his shadow looming over the group as the firelight danced behind him. A dark smile played at the corners of his lips, and he spoke with chilling finality.
“The devil doesn’t take what you think it will,” he said. “It has no need for gold or land. The devil seeks artifacts—relics and tools left behind by beings of untold power. Those who possess such treasures may find themselves bargaining with the devil. But for those without, the devil takes whatever it pleases.”
He let the weight of his words settle on the group, his voice dropping lower. “The devil doesn’t take lives. That is reserved for the Sinking. Some children lose their sight. Others lose their minds. What the devil chooses to take is unpredictable, but it always leaves its mark. And with that mark comes a curse—a binding contract we call the ‘Seed.’”
The children shivered collectively, their eyes wide with dread. Reed’s face remained unreadable, though his hand unconsciously tightened into a fist.
“The Sinking festival” the elder continued, his voice heavy with foreboding, “is not a simple ritual. It is a funeral for the cursed—the children who received their Seeds four years ago. When the time comes, the cursed must return to the place where they received their Seed and descend into the Deep. The Deep, where creatures beyond comprehension lurk in the shadows. Only a handful of souls have ever returned from it.”
“Why do they have to come back in order to sink?” another child piped up, her voice quivering.
The elder’s expression darkened. “Because if they don’t,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, “the earth itself will refuse them. The Sink will find them wherever they are, and it will crush them beneath its weight.”
The group fell into an uneasy silence, the crackling fire the only sound. Reed finally stood, his movements quiet and deliberate.