It's Ames 19th, 1714, in a forest we see Arthur Zagorski running, covered in dirt and grime. His face is covered with anxiety and worry, he's been running for miles away from whatever it is chasing him. Arthur finally comes to a stop after days of unrest as he comes across a cabin in the woods. Arthur bolted for the front door, fumbling his way to it. He knocked on the front door in the dead of night.
A dragon opened the front door, he seemed to be in his later hundreds. He stood tall, taller than Arthur, at least a head or more. Their eyes locked. Arthur's eye were fragile at this moment, he needed no words as the dragon let him in the cabin.
Arthur held his arms together in an anxious state, his eyes darted across the room. He was frantic and exhausted, as he could tell from his ragged breath.
The dragon put a blanket over him and sat him down in a chair, “My name's Logandi Sôl.” He said before crouching over, lighting the fireplace. “Yours?”
Arthur looked up, “A-arthur. Arthur Zagorski.” He stuttered.
The dragon looked over, “I used to know a man named Zagorski.” He stood up, “I haven't seen you in the town near here, where you from?”
Arthur held the blanket closer to him, “7th district, Torné.”
The dragon's eye widened, “That's some odd few thousand miles from here. You know where you are?” Arthur shook his head in response. “You're in Yeldur. One of the Xumuishian states.”
“I been runnin’ fer days straight without stopping. Since the 14th.” Not only physically, but mentally, he was lost.
“You spanned nearly nine-thousand miles in five days?” His voice raised a tiny bit, “You're sure?” Arthur shook his head yes. The dragon went out of the room for a moment and returned with a glass of water, “Here. Parch your thirst, kid.”
“T-thanks.” Arthur chugged it. Arthur was in a hellish state, his face was empty in his cheeks, he hadn't eaten in days it seemed.
“Why're you so far from home, kid? And, not to mention, so ill looking.” Logandi decided to start cooking what should've been tomorrow’s breakfast.
Arthur didn't know how to respond, he looked up at him and pondered in his mind, wondering on how to tell the story. “I'm n-not really sure how to start.” Arthur looking back, his eyes began to look like he was in shock.
Logandi snapped his fingers, “You here?” Getting closer to his face, “Stay with me, kid.”
He was caught off guard by his wake-up call, “Sorry.” His head was more angled down, he didn't want to make eye contact as his eyes drifted yards away from his actual vision. “I uh... I'll start from the beginning.”
It was the 14th of Ames, early in the morning hours before the sun came up. The Zagorski manor, situated in a lone plot of Torné, stood creaking and left alone as usual. Arthur was awakened to loud voices downstairs, though they were inaudible. He got up with a sword in its sheath and his usual small pieces of armor making his way to the grand staircase, he saw his great-grandmother talking with what seemed to be a young woman in her twenties. The woman had curly, blonde hair adorned with cherry blossoms, as if they were attached or growing from it. She wore a long straw hat that appeared to belong to farmers. Her robes were gray-toned with pink highlights, surprisingly matching. She carried a spear over her arm on a strap, an intricate design with the handle seemingly formed around the spearhead as if it grew there.
He felt he shouldn't be seen by pure instinct, so he backed behind a wall on the staircase.
“Oh Zaia! It's been a while, ma'am!” She said loudly, standing in the doorway, “Last time I saw you was… a few years ago? Before Arthur was born?”
The older woman said with scourge in her voice, “Don't even say his name.” Zaia was visibly angry. “What, are you here to finish off the job? You couldn't manipulate his father any longer, so now you're looking to torment us?”
“Listen, I'm just here to tie up loose ends from my last job.” She shrugged, “And you two happen to be those loose ends.”
She rested her lips for a moment with a look of realization before picking them up to talk again, “I… I see.”
“Listen, Zaia.” She put her hand on her shoulder, with a grip tighter than the jaw of a big cat, “We both know this wa’ bound to happen eventually.”
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Zaia was a strong six centuries old, but she was still a Zagorski, and she was going to cause as much trouble as she possibly could “I… I'll go wake Arthur.”
Arthur started to walk back on the stairs, sticking his back to the wall, inching his way up.
The woman, though, caught Zaia in the hook of her spear, “That can wait. Can't just leave me yet!” She smiled, “I'd love to catch up over some drink.” Words with no meaning. All lies. As she spoke, it was as if her breath itself was a fallacy that melted her teeth, seeping through the cracks that only got bigger.
Zaia was caught in a hellish web, not being able to be set free and could only comply. A requiem was already being splayed upon her ears as she heard the melody of her voice. She knew Arthur was still on the staircase, he wasn't caught. To some degree there was hope, fragile and faint, but it was there.
Arthur didn’t know what was going on in the slightest, but he could tell from something holding him back that he couldn’t, no matter what, go down that staircase, let alone meet that woman face to face.
Zaia turned back around, “You harpy.” Her eyes once again narrowed.
“Don’t be like that, Zaia!” She laughed, “Maybe I’ll let you go some odd few hundred years from now if you behave. I mean, you and Arthur are the last of the family. I might be merciful, as the church teaches.” She shrugged.
“Unless you kill us before then.” Zaia turned around with a strict posture.
“Depends on if you can survive the prodding and poking from the nobles.” Her entire demeanor was nonchalant, “They want to look at our insides considering we’re quite different…”
Arthur listened closely, to the heart of Zaia, an inhuman ability of the Zagorski. Her heart was beating rapidly, faster than usual. He knew something was bound to happen.
“This house still holds great memories, Zaia.” The woman said, gliding her hand across the wall as she walked, taking in a gaze on the fine wood workings. “How about some tea? I can see whether or not I remember where the bags are.”
“We might as well.” She took a step back and turned towards the kitchen, letting her go ahead.
As she let her walk past, Zaia found an opening to struggle. The web was tearing. She was quiet with it, but casted a spell.
“Runeroto-Hyet.” She whispered.
“Oh Zaia,” Her voice grim, “You could’ve lived dear. Using that provocative magic from your father is troublesome.” She has yet to turn around to face her.
Before she knew it, Zaia’s arms were engulfed in cherry blossoms.
“You can’t blame a hag for trying, Omania.” The blossom engulfed her more, “When you first entered huh? I’m too easy to beat in my old age now.”
“I can’t,” Omania turned around facing her, “And you are a Zagorski, stubborn as the rest, comes from Simon doesn’t it?”
“It does.” Zaia laughed, “You know, it’s still tempting to fight. The blood really does run through my veins, huh?” She laughed even louder.
She pointed towards Zaia with her spear, “Surprised you can still walk with those in you, thought they would’ve crippled you by now.”
As she said that, Zaia’s legs collapsed.
“Spoke too soon, huh?” She tilted her head, prodding at her legs with the butt of her spear.
“Oh piss off.” She barely was able to get that out as she coughed blood from the roots digging into her stomach and lungs.
“Don't think you're in a position to speak.” She looked over at her, “I'll at least let you be comfortable in death.” She propped her up against the wall, but doing such, she purposely dug her fingers in wounds.
Arthur was engulfed in anxiety itself, subconsciously walking down the staircase. He made it down the staircase and met eyes with Zaia. Shock was setting in, but it was primitive emotions set in by the mind, it wasn’t genuine, turning the shock into a selfish emotion.
But Zaia was on the verge of death, and Omania finally killed her from the start. The blossoms on her skin started to form wood underneath them, causing roots to dig into the skin. The roots made their way to the center of the stomach. Before anything happened more, she yelled, “ARTHUR. RUN.” As the words rolled from her tongue, Zaia's body convulsed from the rapid growth of roots.
Blossom roots erupted from Zaia's pores, tearing through her flesh with ruthless abandon. Flowers bloomed from the wounds, their vibrant petals stained crimson with her blood. The sharp wood of the roots protruded from her skin like jagged knives, twisting and writhing with a life of their own.
With a sickening crunch, a gnarled tree burst forth from Zaia's body, its roots entwined with her bones and sinew. The branches stretched outward, tearing through her flesh and splintering her bones with each grotesque movement. The tree grew with unnatural speed, its twisted limbs piercing through Zaia's eyes and mouth, destroying her skull from within. Blood and gore splattered across the floor as Zaia's lifeless form was consumed by the monstrous growth. Omania’s trademark, a cherry blossom tree with the victim’s middle center of the skull displayed on branches like a mask.
“A shame your great-grandmother had to die like this, but it was a beautiful way to go.” She said, taking the face of Zaia off the branches, “Another trinket to my collection though, I’m not complaining.”
Blood trickled from the ceiling onto Arthur’s face, and drenched Omania in it. Chunks laid before Arthur and Omania as Arthur’s face went through emotions he’d never felt before sorrow, anger, some didn’t even have words in the English language to even describe it.
Yet the previous words strumming through Arthur’s mind, he ran, he ran faster than he ever had before. Bolting faster than Omania could even keep up with, Arthur put all of his mana into working his legs. In a thousandth of a second, he crossed the thirty feet in front of him to the door. Within half a mile of this, his speed depleted to less than eighty miles-per-hour.