“And I’m supposed to save this world from something that could do all of this?” The thought spiraled in his mind, clawing at his confidence, gnawing at his courage. Henry gulped, feeling the cold grip of doubt settle over him. For the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was truly up to the task.
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Taking a deep breath, he looked around at the gathered villagers. Their faces, illuminated by flickering torchlight, showed exhaustion, fear, and a desperate sliver of hope. His words felt heavy as he forced them out, trying to soften the blow. “I—I don’t know how to explain it, but… the city, it’s… gone.”
A stunned silence filled the cavern. Then, a woman’s voice trembled through the quiet. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
Henry swallowed. “I mean… there’s just a giant pit where it used to be. No buildings, no roads, nothing. It’s as if the ground just… swallowed it whole.”
A few chuckles broke the tension, uneasy and incredulous. “A pit?” an elderly man scoffed, shaking his head. “That city’s been standing since my great-grandfather’s day. What kind of fool tale is this?”
Another man, his face darkened with suspicion, crossed his arms. “Are you trying to frighten us? How do we know what you’re saying is true?”
Henry clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to snap. He took a slow breath, scanning the crowd. “I’m telling the truth. I can take you there. I’ll show you.”
A ripple of uncertainty spread through the villagers, but one by one, they exchanged glances and nodded. Together, they ascended, the air heavy with anticipation as they wound their way up from the safety of the cavern. The torchlight flickered against the walls, casting long shadows as they neared the surface.
When they finally emerged, the early morning air was colder than they remembered, filled with an eerie stillness. The villagers gathered around Henry, who pointed to the vast emptiness stretching before them. Their eyes widened as they took in the impossible sight.
A gasp rippled through the crowd as their faces paled, disbelief turning swiftly to horror.
The innkeeper staggered back, pressing a hand to her mouth. “My inn… my business… everything I built—years of work, just vanished?”
A man in the back muttered, “Dark magic… it has to be dark magic.”
Luka, his face red with frustration, clenched his fists. “And my toys! My figures, my carving tools—they’re all gone! What am I supposed to do now?”
Beside him, the innkeeper’s daughter clutched her mother’s hand, her face crumpling. “I want to go home,” she whimpered. “I don’t like it here in the dark.”
"It'll be okay, Tabitha." She whispered to her daughter.
Another villager’s voice rang out, thick with fear. “What kind of force could just erase an entire city? We’re cursed… doomed…”
The murmurs grew louder, spiraling into fearful theories and whispered prayers.
Just then, Elara popped up out of nowhere, gliding into the center of the group with a wide grin. “Oh, what a fascinating turn of events!” she announced, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “A whole city—poof! Gone, like a fairy’s midnight snack!”
The innkeeper turned to her, face twisted with fury. “Is this a joke to you? We’ve lost everything!”
Elara tilted her head, her smile unfaltering. “Lost? Or perhaps just… misplaced?” She leaned down to the innkeeper’s daughter, her tone conspiratorial. “What if a giant earthworm took it underground to keep as a shiny hat?”
The little girl’s eyes widened, and she gasped, hiding her face in her mother’s skirts. Henry shot Elara a glare, frustrated at her antics. Couldn’t she see this wasn’t the time?
The muttering grew more frantic. Someone whispered, “Cursed lands… no one’s safe.”
Henry raised his voice over the rising panic, steadying himself as much as he could. “Listen! I know this is terrifying. Whatever happened to the city—it’s real, and it’s dangerous. I don’t have all the answers, but I promise, I’ll do whatever I can to keep us safe.”
The villagers looked at him, some with softened expressions, their fear beginning to mix with a glimmer of hope. Others remained tense, their faces hardened and uncertain. Henry swallowed, willing himself to appear confident even as doubts crept in. Whatever came next, he’d face it—for them, and for himself.
Luka groaned, throwing up his hands. “This is ridiculous! I just want my toys back, and you’re talking about worms with hats?”
Elara twirled a strand of her hair, looking delighted. “Well, I’m just saying… dirt has secrets. Perhaps it’s time to start asking it some questions. Dirt can be very chatty if you listen closely.” She gave a wink, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Henry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Elara… You're not helping.”
“Oh, but I am!” she insisted, grinning up at him. “See, now everyone’s focused on possibilities instead of problems. Possibilities are much more fun.”
The villagers murmured, exchanging uneasy glances, their confusion shifting from Henry to Elara and back again. Henry could almost feel their hope slipping away, replaced by an undercurrent of fear and doubt.
He took a slow, steadying breath, forcing his pulse to quiet, though his mind still raced.
“Look, I know this is… impossible to understand,” he said, each word weighted with the uncertainty of someone who could barely grasp it himself. “But I’ll find a way to make this right. I promise.” His eyes flicked to Elara, who was watching him with her usual, unwavering grin. Shadows danced in her eyes, her lips curved in a smile too wide, as if she knew secrets he could never touch.
Elara leaned close, her voice barely a whisper, like leaves brushing against bone. “Promises are little cages, Henry,” she murmured, her tone sing-song but cold, as if she found strange delight in the thought. “Careful you don’t trap yourself inside one.” She chuckled softly, the sound low and unsettling, like wind howling through hollow places.
The innkeeper, though, was anything but amused. Her gaze was like a blunt, unpolished stone, hardened by grief and layered in skepticism. Her shoulders sagged with a weariness born of too many promises left broken. “You better mean that, boy,” she murmured, her voice rough but edged with a quiet, unspoken plea. “Because if we don’t get out of this place soon, we’ll have nothing left to believe in.”
Henry nodded, feeling a surge of conviction settle over him. The weight of her trust—or maybe just her desperation—was heavy, pressing against his chest like armor he hadn’t asked for but suddenly couldn’t live without. He squared his shoulders, forcing strength into his voice. “I won’t let you down.”
They set out, leaving the remains of the inn and its silent witnesses behind, slipping through the forest exit as the underbrush whispered underfoot. The air was thick, tinged with the scent of damp earth. The trees closed in, their branches like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky, twisted and warped from whatever dark magic hung over the land. Henry kept his gaze fixed ahead, letting the silence of the forest settle around him like a cloak. The path to Warren’s Run was long, winding through the skeleton of a world that felt as if it were holding its breath.
Elara drifted beside him, her movements strange and dreamlike, as if gliding on strings only she could see. A low, haunting melody hummed from her lips, bending the air with an ancient chill. “Ah, ashes, ashes,” she whispered, her voice threading through the silence. “They whisper secrets, don’t they, Henry? Dead things have long memories.” She tilted her head, watching him from the corner of her eye, studying him as if he were another curiosity in her strange collection.
Before he could respond, a flicker of movement caught his eye—Tabithatrailing behind them. Her face was pale, eyes wide with a simmering dread. “Tabitha!” he called, but she only quickened her pace, breaking into a run toward the smoldering remains of her home.
Henry followed, his steps sending up puffs of gray dust that clung to his boots. As he reached the clearing, his chest tightened, a knot of dread forming in his stomach. Beneath his feet, the ground wasn’t soil or stone, but ash—thick, smothering, clinging like a reminder of what had been lost. A heavy realization settled over him, cold as the shadows surrounding them: this place wasn’t just a ruin; it was a graveyard. And the ash wasn't just from destroyed buildings.
“Oh, isn’t it lovely?” Elara’s voice cut through the silence, soft but sharp, as she knelt to scoop up a handful of ash. She let it spill between her fingers like fine sand. “Ashes speak in riddles, if you listen closely. A breath here, a scream there… a thousand voices all woven together like a cloak. Can you hear them, Henry?” Her eyes sparkled with dark, unsettling joy as she tilted her head, waiting as if he might answer.
Ahead, Tabitha had fallen to her knees, her small form swallowed by the immensity of the wasteland. Her shoulders shook, silent sobs racking her frame, her grief so raw it seemed to seep into the ground itself. Henry approached slowly, his pulse hammering, almost afraid to intrude on such a vulnerable moment.
Then he saw it—a doll, half-buried in the ash. It was frayed and blackened, its little button eyes barely hanging on by threads, yet somehow, it had survived. Gently, he brushed the ash away, lifting it with a reverence usually reserved for delicate things, like hope.
He knelt beside her, holding the doll out in silence. “Here, Tabitha,” he whispered, his voice rough but gentle. “She made it. Just like we will.”
Tabitha looked up at him, her tear-streaked face filled with a kind of wonder as she took the doll, clutching it close to her chest. The sight struck him—a small spark of innocence and resilience in a world that had almost forgotten both. For a brief moment, something flickered inside him, something he’d thought long buried in the ash: a sense of purpose. And then, Elara let out a gasp, her eyes going wide as saucers as she flew forward and snatched the doll from the girl.
She clasped the doll to her chest, twirling in a slow, swaying circle. “Oh, but look at her, Henry! She’s a little survivor, isn’t she? Like a charred phoenix—no, no, better! A shadow sparrow with its feathers all smudged from the stars.” She held the doll up, studying it with a mock-serious expression, as if it might suddenly reveal the secrets of the universe.
Her gaze flicked to Henry, one brow arching mischievously. “Do you know what happens to dolls that survive fires, Henry? They remember everything. Every little stitch, every flame-kiss—oh, they never forget. She’ll whisper to you in the dark, this one.” She leaned in close, a manic glint in her eye, her voice lowering to a dramatic, eerie hush. “Better listen, Henry. Dolls can be very persuasive.” Elara shot Tabitha a grin, wiggling her fingers as if casting a playful spell.
Then, she tossed her hair back and let out a delighted cackle, releasing the doll back into Tabitha’s arms with an exaggerated bow. “Oh, do take care of her, won’t you? Little ash-soaked royalty deserves a proper court!” She straightened, giving Henry a sidelong look, her voice dropping back to a whisper. “After all, one day, she might remember you, too.”