A month had passed since I had arrived here, and already I had encountered strange anomalies and dealt with strange minds... The previous Phader had mentioned such things in his journals—that I glanced in speculation. Experiencing these contentions, I know there is some truth to these encounters. I wondered if the journals I sent to the Archphader would place me through a similar fate...With that in mind, I persist in the present. The morning passed as I and Cresalin met with the family again to investigate for any disturbances. Thankfully, no issues were found; their daughter Isabella now looks healthier than previously... We gathered around the table as we drank the delightfully hot bitter drink, discussing stories of embarrassment and laughing at the absurdity. What made this experience more appealing—was the delightful smell of freshly baked bread spiced with herbs and other sense burners. My stomach turns from such an aroma.

Within those blissful moments, I made a grave mistake that made our moods sourer than they ought to have been. That curiosity had itched my mouth to question the other family on the other side of the field... Felga, Dereks’s wife. She pondered whether it should be answered.

She elaborated: “Sometime during harvest, we had noticed the two hiding in their shed as their son played with our daughter... I thought it was strange that the two would go off and reject their duties... So, I walked over and tried to offer them some help with their harvest,” She shivered with a cold stare, “Beyond the door, I saw the two praying to the demon Hettalies.”

My fingers twitched; already, I knew where this was going.

Felga continued: “Then, I saw the husband with a slit throat, blood rushing down his neck as his wife was holding the blade in her hand.”

“How terrible...” Cresalin gasped.

“The ritual of true freedom...” I commented, rubbing my chin nervously, “Taking their own lives so Hettalies will lead them to true freedom. To—to start again in a new form.”

“Why would they do such a thing!?” Felga asked furiously, “They were good people...”

I glanced at the black liquid within my wooden mug, “Sometimes. Those who want peace will find a disease they never knew existed. Perhaps their wishful thinking led them into a state of torment. They must have grown tired and worried about their future. Did they mention anything about regret?”

“None of the sort,” Derek answered.

I asked a second question: “What of their son? I’m sure he must have said something curious.”

“I don’t recall...” Felga answered.

“Now, for my final question... Why is the son still in her company?”

“He doesn’t want to leave her...” Isabella answered.

“We had tried to take him away,” Derek said with a nervous tug of his tunic, “No matter how hard we tried. He finds a way to return home in his mother's arms.”

“We did receive the word of the unfortunate circumstances,” Cresalin added to the conversation, “But our interference could bring a terrible burden to the chapel. The crops are vital for our survival in the winter. If we tore them away, we could fall behind on our supply...”

“This is most unfortunate...” I replied.

They became followers of Hettalies, paying the price for a new beginning. The mother and her son remain on the field, tending to their crops and supplying the chapel as winter draws near. I can’t imagine how hard the labor must be with fewer hands to help in their situation... An idea appears in my mind, and a willingness to help those in need removes the thought of a counter. As the day progresses, Cresalin returns to the chapel, tending to the needs of her people as I remain in the fields to meet with the mother and son.

Holding the scythe in her two hands, she cuts the wheat from the stem with a single stroke. The son uses a smaller one, holding the grain firmly with his left hand while the other cuts.

“Greetings...” I introduced myself.

“Is there something we can do for you, Phader?” She asks, placing the tool by her side, “We will have everything ready by the end of the month.”

I smile sincerely, “I am not here to rush your labor; I am here to give you an extra hand.” “What for? Do you not have other problems to deal with...?”

“There are many, but—I can use some of my spare time to help with your situation.”

“I don’t have time to teach you the tricks...”

I wave my hand, gesturing reassured, “There is no need for me to learn. I’ve experienced many forms of labor; this will be no different.”

I walk towards the shed with a dusty scythe taken from the rack. The mother’s face turns stern momentarily, then eases her thoughts when she watches me maneuver through the harvest... Eventually, the mother and son catch up with their side until they finish one of the rows.

“I must admit...” The mother said, breathless, “You know your way around tools. How does a farmer become a Phader?”

“I was no farmer...” I replied, “I had tended to the fields a few times but never stayed long enough to own the property.”

“You were a ‘labor mixer?’ finding job after job until something sticks with you.”

I gave a slight laugh, for there was truth. “No, the Archphader demanded of me to gather experience working with the people I swore to guide.”

She looks at me curiously, “Were you here for money? If so, I have none to give.”

“That also wasn’t my intention, I can assure you, and—if you allow it, I can return tomorrow and help with the next row.”

“Alright then...” She said regretfully.

#

Day after day, I tended to those crops, from early morning to the night’s stillness. Determined I am to finish the endless labor. My further absence from the cathedral was not vain, however—Cresalin, my colleague, attends to her people's needs with a mother’s embrace... During my time here, I also tried to communicate with the widow, only speaking plainly about her provenance—she remained silent as expected. The actions are a different point of discussion, like a bizarre riddle.

Her face becomes red, with dry tears staining her cheeks, during times of rest. Unblinking, she was staring at her son while clenching onto him. Relieving the burden of mental anguish... While I continued working, she would sneak into the shed and softly close the door behind her. Acting on my curious nature was strange, but I relented by sneaking over to the shed, gazing through the cracks.

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Isolated from the world, the widow nurtures a tiny sprout with a strange shade of color. They’re usually the same as the grass; conversely, this sprout is dark and crimson, like a drop of blood.

I would check the sprouts’ progress every night, noticing the obscure changes. A part of me knows the obscure flora contains a deep malice that could danger the widow, her son, and myself... Burdened by the question of discovery—I... I wanted to see it bloom for myself, but I am no fool when it comes to consequences, knowing it would be beneficial to prepare myself for danger. I am neither an expert in combat nor a strategist.

I had taken a dagger from my chest that was—rusted from the lack of care. Strange, I do not recall using it recently. In truth, I had never used it in defense. To my astonishment, the second collapse never came to the capital—in which I never had a reason to use it... A part of me Knew I should bring one of the knights with me in case these matters become more complicated. Their extent, on the other hand, will help bring Hettalies followers forth a rebellion to their cause, making these matters overwhelming—Thus plaguing me with a grim perspective of our future.

#

The pale sun hovers over my head, burdening my mind with a staggering perspective. The longing for time takes its toll on the working soul wanting to be freed of the repetition and onto more—personal matters... 'Time’ has always been my greatest teacher. Wasting your precious moments in youth will only burden the elder self into perpetual dread—left in the grave, rotting in regret...

Earlier, I made a short visit to the Gravis family for a loaf of herbal bread. The smell tempted my famished stomach as I wrapped it in a fine cloth.

I walked over to meet with the widow and her son. Knocking on their door, I wait patiently and smile genuinely at their presence. The mother opened the door as I asked: “May I come in?” To my surprise, she nodded in response, allowing me to enter.

The three of us gathered at the table with a bowl of broth. The smell was earthy, with traces of meat. Stirring my spoon, I noticed the sliced potato slices and bits of chicken. I take a few untainted sips, finding the dish pleasurable for the tongue. Eventually, we all combined the bread, finding the mixture suitable. Their sharp reactions were more noticeable than mine—surely, they enjoyed it more than I did.

The mother was silent for a while, but her eyes shifted back to the table and towards me. Her lips wanted to utter... With a deep breath, she eventually spoke: “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us in the past three weeks...”

I reframed himself from eating another piece from the loaf, as I replied: “I’m glad I could be of service.”

“I could never understand why you do this for everyone in the chapel... Are you a masochist?”

I slightly chuckled at the comment, “This is my purpose...” I wipe the crumbs from my lips, “Everyone needs a helping hand, especially under their conditions. Should I not offer a bit of service?”

“Showing kindness to others is a sign of weakness...” she replied, “A man like you should know of such things. Would it not be better to be free from the bindings that hold you?”

“The only one who binds I—is myself. If I were to allow myself to be free. I could perform evil acts upon the both of you.” Her brow rises as her hands steer towards her knife. “I can see your reaction...” I continued, “If you were to remove the filter of your decisions, a feeling of bliss will come present. The long-term will come with a great ordeal of pain... It will appear when you least expect it to.”

She eased her hand before she replied, “What about everyone else who does share the same idea of morality?

Nobody cares about you or me—or my husband,” She covers her lips to prevent further speaking.

“Everyone has their own stories,” I said, “And yes... People have done me wrong more times than I can count. In time, I was able to learn to forgive their ignorance.”

“Their—ignorance?” she questioned.

“Sometimes, people do not pay close attention to their actions. Like feral dogs, they must fight for survival... Sometimes—they strike the weak without knowing it. That fear of theirs turns to absolute ignorance, which is why I can forgive them.”

“Are you not angry from the pain they inflicted of the pain they caused you!?”

“I was... but how can one rise if they don’t know how to fall?” I lean over the table, “You have two choices to make when inflicted with such scars. You can use the pain as a form of strength—or allow it to evolve into a parasite feeding on your body... What will you choose?”

“They should all be damned, Phader!” The mother said ferociously. “They can all burn! No one will hurt us anymore...” She takes a moment to calm herself, “You should leave this place and never return...”

I did not speak further, worried I might dampen my social status towards a terrible state. I felt the bitter silence leaving the house behind me—but I did not return to the cathedral. Instead, I ventured to the forest’s edge and waited. Waiting for her to visit the curious flora in her shed, with her son held by her side, they walk inside that dark shed...

For a moment, I waited until the whaling veiled through that open door. The tone secretes agony... With the dagger firmly in my grasp, I lowered myself and crept towards the shed. Peering around, I see the two standing before the sprout—now taller than my previous inspection.

The whaling cries begin once more beneath the surface. The mother takes the boy’s hand and then slits his palm, then her own. Together, they drip the blood onto the foul stem, allowing the plant to drink.

“Rise again, my love...” she said, “Let us rejoice—let us become whole again.”

A large head of flesh and vine reveals itself—the flesh covering the skeletal structure, roots extending in every direction. Something appears within the flesh petals; it opens like a flower in bloom; the core is substituted with a torn human head.

“Darling!” The mother cried out. A part of her wanted to walk closer to the abomination, but a fragment wanted to keep distance, thus remaining a few feet away from her reanimated husband.

“Tel—la...” The head turns to the son, “Jar—o...”

The two were speechless... I, too, am staggered by the sight... Resurrecting the dead from their eternal slumber from the land of dreams is profound. None would consider the idea!

“My—loves...” The creature mutters in agony, “Why would—you torture me so? Why—Tella, did you not join—my death?”

She grovels on her knees, “I’m sorry, darling. I would have joined you... But I was surprised by our neighbors my—my mind was elsewhere!”

“I—forgive you...” The roots from his flesh begin pouring onto the surface like snakes. “When I tear your flesh, I shall sow the many seeds—into your carcass!” The vines grab hold of her limbs!

She struggles to escape their grasp; her efforts are in vain. Their son reaches for the roots, attempting to break his mother free!

I rush in with the dagger held high in my grasp and the blade directed at the head of this creature, plunging the edge inside the skull!

The creature cries with a disformed resonance: “The—Blood!” The monster yelled, “Give me blood!”

The vines swarm around the mother’s limbs, then sprouted thorns from the surface and dug deep into her body—soaking the essence from her flesh.

I pulled the dagger out and then drove back again! My efforts had no effect against him—as for his wife, her body was weakening as the skin became pale, and the eyes sank deeper into her skull. With haste, I take the boy away from the shed before he shares a similar fate, a fate the boy had already contracted. The vine had wrapped around him as his blood began to drain from his body. I fell on my back and crawled out from the shed, watching as the creature drained his son...

My options are limited to the death of this creature, but to kill such a thing is the point of discussion. An idea did emerge in my mind, leading me to the house, taking the oil-filled lantern, and returning once more to the shed.

The creature removes himself from the soil and then begins walking towards me. With the lantern in my grasp, I toss the object inside, closing the door soon after. I pressed my back against the door as I felt the monster's weight pushing from the other side.

The fire spreads from within. The smoke progresses through the door’s cracks and the smell of char sterns my nostrils. The howling blends with the orchestra of flames that consume everything within!

When his efforts subsided—I walked away from the door while the flames exhausted the structure... During this night, I tremble on my knees, gazing at the fire, wishing I could do more for the family and save everyone from that terrible fate. But no matter which direction I gazed; their fates would have led them to their deaths. Still—a terrible guilt corrupts my soul. All I can do now is pray: “S-sleeper who watches us from the great ring... Guide their souls into your land of dreams so they may find peace...” The smoke rises into the atmosphere, leaving a black trail slithering into the silver jaw, thus ascending into the void.