As the hours danced into the evening, the colors of the sky gradually began to deepen and fade. The sun gracefully surrendered to the horizon, leaving behind a radiant afterglow that gradually receded into twilight. The sky, once aflame in gold, transitioned through a palette of lavender hues before settling into a deep, midnight blue.
From his window, Osric observed the night, his eyes drawn to the luminous moons that adorned the sky. Once, four celestial bodies had graced the heavens.
Sylvera. Cobaltis. Blóðtungl. Fróðleif
But now, only a pair remained.
The larger of the pair, fondly known by the villagers as 'Snowmoon,' shimmered with an ethereal, silvery luminescence. Its surface was adorned with deep, shadow-draped craters and rugged, imposing mountain ranges.
Its smaller companion christened 'Bloodmoon', was a striking contrast. Its surface radiated a rich, captivating ruby hue, and it blazed with a fervent, fiery intensity.
Osric reclined in bed, allowing the enchanting, silvery moonlight to lull him into a peaceful, dream-filled slumber.
As he drifted into the realm of dreams, the mystical dance of Snowmoon and Bloodmoon cast their bewitching glow upon the village.
***
KNOCK KNOCK.
The persistent tattoo of knuckles against his front door shattered the quiet stillness of the morning, yanking Osric from the clutches of his peaceful slumber. An unwelcome omen, Osric thought, his weary eyes flickering open as the fading embers of a peculiar dream slipped through his fingers.
KNOCK KNOCK.
"Trouble," he muttered to the emptiness of his room.
"OPEN UP!"
Although a part of him yearned to dismiss the commotion, he knew evasion was futile. The other party had been devising their schemes for some time, long before the original Osric's demise. Their strings had been silently tightening around him, and they chose this moment to spring their trap, confident. With his knowledge lacking, Osric was sure that any further attempts to avoid the confrontation would only ensnare him deeper.
Heaving a resigned sigh, he roused himself from his simple bed, his muscles protesting the sudden movement. A barefoot journey across the cold stone floor brought him to his sparse wardrobe, from which he drew forth a modest ensemble of faded wool and worn leather.
He was met with a gaggle of villagers huddled together, their faces painted with mélange of apprehension and curiosity. The murmuring whispers of the crowd rippled through the air.
"That's Elder Markus; I wonder what he is doing here?" murmured the intrigued bystanders, their voices just audible over the clamor.
At the center of the commotion stood Finn, his battered condition markedly worse than before. His face was a grotesque canvas of angry bruises and crimson cuts, a black eye causing the tender skin around his face to turn a deep, unsettling shade of purple. A swollen and bruised lip made it difficult for him to speak without wincing in pain.
Observing the spectacle, Osric's thoughts swam through the murky waters of doubt."They've really exaggerated the injuries. What kind of compensation are they seeking from a person with no family or income?" he questioned silently, his gaze never straying from the distressed boy.
"Look who finally decided to show up. Kid, you've got some nerve," came the grating voice of a figure next to Finn. The man's presence cast an ominous shadow across the cobblestone, his sneer hidden beneath a thick, grizzled beard.
He had a thin frame, his body wiry and almost gaunt beneath his clothes. His face was sharp with a grizzled beard, a prominent nose, and high cheekbones. A soft linen shirt hung loosely off his frame, the generous billowing sleeves gathered at the wrist with delicate buttons, while the low square neckline offered a glimpse of his pallid collarbone. A doublet bore the village emblem prominently, with the Rank 3 boldly stitched on his side.
“I usually don't involve myself in children’s petty skirmishes.” he began, his voice shaking in anger, “However, the brutal state you have beaten my son in is not acceptable. I am not standing here as an elder but as an enraged father. I demand an answer.”
"I have heard tales of you speaking ill of my late wife. A transgression you ought to have avoided,” His words were laced with bitterness, and his Rank 3 aura, a visible manifestation of his power, radiated a tangible, oppressive force that made the air around them grow thick and heavy.
The once vibrant chatter that had filled the square vanished, leaving behind a void of eerie, ominous silence. Tension pervaded the air, so thick it felt as if one could cleave it with an axe.
"That kid has guts. He’s really in it for now," a hushed voice remarked, awe tinting their words as their gaze remained fixed on Osric.
“I know about the fights you two have been involved in. But today, that stops. I demand an explanation, boy!" Markus's command roared through the silence, his penetrating gaze boring into Osric's. Even in the face of his restrained fury, a firm veneer of stoic self-control was evident.
“I could deny the baseless accusation, but it’s my word against his. A Rank 3 elder versus a nobody. It's better to launch an offensive instead,” Osric decided, mentally sketching out his next move.
Matching Markus's unflinching gaze, he locked eyes with the village elder, his face betraying a hint of fear.
"I- I don't regret it,"Osric managed to articulate, the words trembling on his tongue. "I-I...he used to torment me... a-all the time. H-hit me, and spit on me. I-I tried to be brave and bear it, but then he... he went too far. H-he insulted my parents…He insulted them, called them cowards while they sacrificed their lives for this village." His voice shivered with emotion, fear seeping into his words, yet there was a tenacity in his demeanor. "How could I just stand by and let this buffoon belittle their noble sacrifice?"
Osric's impassioned speech reverberated through the silent crowd, drawing nods of understanding from the onlookers. The seed of empathy took root.
"Poor kid, no wonder he dared to beat Finn that badly," someone murmured, their voice suffused with genuine empathy.
Osric allowed his identity to work in his favor. His plan of eliciting sympathy from the crowd was proving to be a success. Almost every soul in the crowd had felt the sting of losing a loved one to the beast waves, making them more susceptible to the tendrils of his sorrow. In a neutral situation, public sentiment often leaned towards the underdog, and he was banking on this shared vulnerability.
While he remained ignorant of the underlying situation's root cause and the intentions behind it, adopting a passive approach wouldn't be effective.
Markus, as if visibly moved by Osric's impassioned plea, dropped to his knees in a heartbeat, his solemnity perceptible as he bowed deeply to Osric.
"I offer my deepest apology for the disrespectful words my son uttered. For the disgraceful act of denigrating the brave heroes of our village, I will ensure Finn receives the harshest punishment possible," he vowed, his voice underpinned with an undeniable earnestness.
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"Clever. He’s quick on his feet," Osric thought, eyeing the elder's display of humility.
By bowing himself before a junior and demonstrating genuine sincerity, Markus had effectively neutralized the momentum Osric had gathered. Simultaneously, he insured himself against any future critique of his conduct if the incident was subject to public scrutiny.
A perceived abuse of authority would not bode well in the court of public opinion. Any display of heavy-handed authority would risk a significant shift in public sentiment, potentially undermining Markus’s standing. He chose to bend to the public sentiment rather than fight it.
Osric's stakes were relatively low, whereas Markus, as a village elder, had his reputation on the line. This was Osric's only advantage: if the villagers perceived Markus to be overstepping his authority or acting unjustly, it could be leveraged by rival elders in political power plays.
Rising to his feet, Markus’s face morphed from one of apology to a firm resolution.
"My son may be foolish, but I will still support him as a father. I have to stand by him. I cannot dismiss the peril my son has been put in, the severe extent to which you have injured him. He is my only child, born from my one and only beloved wife, and I cannot simply let this matter pass,” he asserted.
Markus repeatedly emphasized his paternal role, strategically distancing himself from his authoritative position as an elder. This crafty maneuvering did not escape Osric’s notice.
Osric fell silent, his face a riveting tableau of guilt intermingling with defiance as he hung on every word of Markus’s fervent monologue.
Exhaling a sigh, Markus’s tone softened. "Osric, my concern is not for the anger within me but the principles I uphold. I cannot, and will never, turn a blind eye when it comes to my family. I will always serve justice for my family. I am aware of the hardships you’ve faced, too. So how should we address this issue peacefully?” His words resonated with sincerity and empathy as he locked eyes with Osric.
The crowd fell into hushed whispers as they observed the drama unfurl before their eyes.
In a deliberate motion, Elder Markus closed the distance between himself and Osric, his hand reaching out to rest on the younger man's shoulder in a gesture of consolation.
"I genuinely did not wish for circumstances to escalate to this level, and for my prior hostility, I offer my apologies. However, I cannot stand idle," he confessed, his expression fraught with reluctance.
With a swift sidelong glance at his battered son, a hint of hardness crept into his features before melting away, his attention returning to Osric.
“Here comes the climax of the play,” Osric readied himself mentally, seeing through Markus’s calculated performance.
"Consider this," Markus broached, "What if we allow the matter to be settled between you and Finn alone? You both are at fault, and it would be best if you two sorted out your own grievances. Let the outcome of the Tournament of Awakening decide who wins this dispute. You will both try to do your best in the tournament; whoever has the highest ranking wins this petty fight. Does that sound fair?"
A gleam of cocky self-assurance danced in Finn's eyes as he chimed in, his voice brimming with bravado, "That sounds just perfect. I’ll beat him with my own two hands!"
"Silence," Markus rebuked, "You have lost your right to voice your opinion. You have brought shame upon me and the villagers who jeopardize their lives for your safety. Rest assured, You will still be severely punished when we go home." Turning back to Osric, he questioned, "What do you think, Osric?"
Osric's eyes burned with fierce determination, his face showing his willingness to fight. "Now the time has come to reveal your endgame. What was this whole elaborate setup for? What is your ultimate goal?"
As though he heard Osric's unspoken thoughts, Markus carefully articulated, "To make this fair to the grudges between you and him, we need substantial stakes."
"If you win, Finn will give you 5,000 essence stones."
He let his words hang in the air, allowing the weight of his proposal to fully permeate the gathering.
The crowd erupted in a chorus of gasps and mutterings, stunned by the audacity of Markus's offer.
“What kind of wager is this? With such a wealth of essence stones, the lad will be set for life!”
"Such a staggering amount wagered on just the Awakening Tournament? Unbelievable!"
“Well, that's if he wins,” a skeptic among the crowd shot back.
Osric's face flickered between shock and a carefully staged spark of greed. The terms were indeed enticing. However, the primary focus lay on the stake he had to put up. That would be the linchpin of the entire play.
“Now, to ensure fairness, we must propose an equally valuable bet from your end. What are you willing to risk?” Markus probed.
"I... I'm at a loss... wh-what do you suggest?" Osric stuttered, acutely aware that the crux of the entire ploy was about to be unveiled.
"I WANT HIS HOUSE!!” Finn interjected loudly from the background, pointing vehemently at Osric's house. “I want to revel in the sweet taste of his utter despair as he loses EVERYTHING to me!”
The crowd rippled with hushed whispers and incredulous gasps. Finn's audacious demand was an unexpected twist, throwing Osric's thought process into a whirlwind of speculation.
Finn's boisterous interjection had been met with a crushing wave of Markus' oppressive aura. Yet, even as he knelt subserviently before his father, the flames of rebellious defiance danced in his battered eyes. “I apologize, but I earnestly ask you to consider,” he spoke, struggling with his strained words.
Markus, after appearing to weigh the decision, eventually nodded.
"Very well. If Finn emerges victorious, your house will be his. However," he paused, his gaze meeting Osric's. "Even in the event of your defeat, I will personally gift you 5,000 essence stones from my own stockpile as an apology for everything that has transpired between you two. “I know my hot-headed son started it, so on principle, as his father, I will pay for it,"
The crowd was once again in an uproar, buzzing with excitement and disbelief.
"Can you believe that? Elder Markus is showing incredible generosity!" One villager murmured in awe to his neighbor.
"With that kind of payout, that boy will be rich no matter how this ends!" another chimed in, eyes shining with envy.
"He's practically won already. And that's a fair price for a house of that size."
Osric's mind raced as the details of the bet finally settled in his mind. "So, this was their ultimate objective all along. They want to seize my home. Under the pretense of a fair wager, they aim to claim everything I have. But why? There's nothing noteworthy about my house, I've made sure of it," Osric's gaze shifted to Finn, whose sadistic grin indicated his satisfaction at the terms. "Why are they so intent on acquiring my home?" Osric wondered, his eyes tracing the contours of Markus' calm demeanor. The elder was indeed crafty, his ulterior motives shrouded beneath layers of diplomacy and feigned magnanimity.
As the suspense in the air became nearly tangible, Osric understood that a decision needed to be made. The deal seemed too enticing to be true, but his knowledge was too limited to draw any firm conclusions. He could either accept or decline.
Finn was the first to break the tense silence. "I accept," he sneered, his smirk broadening as he pushed himself to his knees.
Markus shifted his focus back to Osric, the expectant question hanging in the air. "What will you do, Osric?"
Osric appeared overwhelmed, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as the weight of the decision pressed down on him. His eyes scanned the crowd before locking with Finn's.
Finn, seemingly inflated by the agreement and his father's authoritative intervention, smirked with unabashed arrogance. He mouthed out a silent but biting insult, "Son of a coward," hung in the air between them, an invisible blade intended to wound. Yet, the crowd was none the wiser, their attention glued on the unfolding spectacle and Osric's pending response.
It seemed he would have to bite into the trap.
“I...” The single syllable was stretched out as Osric collected himself, a deep breath steadying his resolve. His eyes flickered with a mix of defiance and determination as he declared, “I accept the bet.”
The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs, the shock and anticipation palpable. This was more exciting than any of them had anticipated – the stakes were sky-high, and the odds seemed stacked against Osric. Yet, he had accepted, bringing a whole new level of drama to the village's daily life.
Osric then turned his attention to Markus, the elder's gaze meeting his own. “Remember your promise, elder. Regardless of the outcome, I will be given 5,000 essence stones.”
A smile played on Markus's lips, his voice carrying a confident assurance. "Of course, I’m a man of my word," he replied. "In fact, I’ll add a clause in the bet to ensure the same."
Turning to the crowd, Markus made his vow public. "Do all of you bear witness to this bet? Let it be known that regardless of the outcome, Osric will be given 5,000 essence stones!” The statement hung in the air, an assurance that drew nods and whispers from the villagers.
"That kid is surely lucky. He's getting 5,000 essence stones no matter what."
“Win-win for him."
"Very well," Markus said with a solemn nod. "May the best man win. And remember, this is between you two, and the village will not interfere."
With the setting of the bet, Markus dismissed the crowd and turned to leave, but before departing, he locked eyes with Osric for a brief moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, without another word, he disappeared into the crowd, Finn trailing behind him, his battered face a mixture of pain and triumph.
The bet was set, the stage was ready, and the village was in suspense, all eyes on the actors of this drama. The crowd gradually dispersed, each person heading off to share the gossip with the rest of the village. Some praised Osric's luck, while others expressed disbelief at the sum at stake.
Alone in his thoughts, Osric returned to his house, the door closing behind him with a soft thud. The exhilarating energy of the crowd faded, replaced by the quiet and stillness of his abode.