"¿Mamá?" Rigel's voice, tender and quivering with bewilderment, echoed from the shadows. The young girl, shielded from the grim reality just beyond her sight, took slow, trembling steps toward the ruins of the walls that had protected her little world from wind and rain for years.
"Miguel!" Tabitha's command sliced through the thick air, sharp and urgent. Miguel, his face ashen, wiped the grime from his mouth and staggered to meet Rigel, intercepting her with a tight embrace. His arms tightened around her, a bulwark against the stark truth lurking mere steps away, his voice a whisper meant only for her ears, "Let's not go up there, Rigel."
"¿What's wrong with mamá?" Rigel's query broke, a thread of panic weaving through her trembling words. Her gaze flitted past Miguel and fixed on Tabitha. "Tell me!" Her plea surged with raw desperation.
Tabitha, her knees pressed against the cold, unforgiving rubble, inhaled sharply, a tremor running through her breath as she faced Rigel. Her voice, a delicate murmur, carried both warmth and a trace of unshed tears. "She'll be fine," she assured, the words barely concealing the lump in her throat. Catching Miguel's furrowed brow, Tabitha fixed him with a gaze that quelled any objections before they could form.
Miguel's face remained shadowed by doubt, yet he dutifully averted his eyes. No soul dared question the words of Diurnix's chosen prophet, even when veiled in apparent deception. A feeling of guilt towards Rigel washed over Tabitha, deepening sharply as she surveyed the devastated landscape. The eyes of the survivors—filled with a mix of prayer and despair—locked onto her, seeking solace and security from the once powerful druidess. The weight of her burden and guilt intensified with each desperate look. Even the dead, scattered indiscriminately across the ground, seemed to stare into Tabitha's soul with silent reproach, their lifeless eyes accusing her of failing to shield them from fate's cruel hand.
"Maestra Tabitha, my child... he is not breathing..." a voice, frail and broken, drifted up from the chaos. Tabitha's gaze swept to the source, settling on a young mother cradling her baby, the child's form eerily still and distorted in her arms. Her eyes, imploring and wide with desperation, refused to acknowledge the grim finality of her child's fate.
Tabitha, enveloped by a sudden chill of helplessness, wrapped her arms around herself, her posture curving with the weight of her feebleness. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." she murmured, her voice a quiet cascade of regret, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Mom, are you alright?" Daniel's soft, anxious voice tugged at Tabitha's heart, pulling her from the claws of despair. His innocent eyes, fixed on her, filled her fractured soul with a fleeting warmth. "My little Leaf," she whispered, a tender smile briefly lifting the corners of her mouth, ignited by maternal pride and love.
With reluctance, she shifted her gaze from his small face, framed by his not-yet-grown horns—a light that could brighten the darkest night for her—to Miguel, a young man unseasoned but resolute, whom she respected and trusted deeply. Unconsciously, her facial expression, despite all her temporary weakness, reflected endless power over the realm of ordinary people. The eyes of Miguel, who accidentally caught her gaze, reflected awe and humility when Tabitha, straining her weakened throat, spoke, her voice sliced through the air with the sharpness of a command rather than a suggestion. " Miguel, take Rigel and Daniel to the stables, get my deer, and head to the nearest city, quickly," she instructed firmly.
"But..." Miguel's voice barely whispered into the thickening air before Tabitha's tone hardened. "Now!" Her voice brooked no dissent, iron-clad and resolute. Rigel, her young face streaked with tears and dirt, recoiled. "¡No! No!" she protested vehemently, her voice breaking as she struggled against Miguel's grasp. "¡I want to see Mamá!" Daniel, standing close by, added his quiet, tremulous voice to the mix. "And papa, where is he?"
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Tabitha's heart clenched at their pleas. Softening her tone, she shifted her posture to one of feigned assurance. "Rigel, sweetheart, your mother is... You'll see her soon, I promise. And Daniel," she paused, gathering the strength to fortify her lie, "your father will be alright. We need to be brave like him."
She met Miguel's anxious eyes, her gaze imparting a silent plea for his support. "And the others," she continued, more to herself than to the others, "I will protect them. I must."
"Now go! That's an order!" - Tabitha commanded. Rigel yielded, her resistance waning under the weight of Tabitha's promises. Miguel, seizing the moment, gently ushered the children away. "We should hurry," he coaxed, leading them toward the stable, his voice a reassuring murmur in the brisk night air. Turning back briefly, he added, "Maestra Tabitha, please, take care of María and father," his words, brief yet heavy, added another stone to her already crushing burden.
As they walked away, Rigel and Daniel sent lingering looks back, their faces a tapestry of confusion and hope, tinged with reluctant trust. Tabitha, her heart heaved by faulty promises, watched their silhouettes swallowed by the shadows that encroached from the edges of the devastated village, a silent apology for the truths she could not bear to tell formed on her lips.
Amid the ruins that had, mere moments ago, pulsed with the vibrant rhythms of life and laughter, Tabitha took a deep, sorrowful breath. Around her, the silent vigil of faces—etched with fear and pleading—focused intently on her, seeking solace in her presence. However, the facade of steadfastness melted away from her expression, replaced by unmasked anguish, as her eyes settled on the lifeless form of Raquel, lying twisted among the debris.
Laying amidst the debris, it contorted in an unnatural pose. The lively spirit that had once animated that form was nowhere to be seen; only the cold, unyielding fact of her absence remained. Tabitha's heart clenched as she crawled closer, her movements slow, almost reverent.
Kneeling beside Raquel, Tabitha tenderly closed the girl's eyes, smoothing away the surprise from her face to bestow a visage of serene peace. With a gentle touch, she straightened the young woman's hair, her own voice catching as a lump formed in her throat. "Forgive me... this is my fault," she whispered, her words trembling with suppressed sobs. Carefully, she clasped Raquel's hand, so delicate and small it seemed dwarfed by her own.
Her gaze then fell upon an object tightly clutched in Raquel's palm—the amulet, identical to the one that hung around Tabitha's own neck. This talisman, once a gift from a Celestial, now lay inert and lifeless as a common stone. Gently, Tabitha took the amulet from Raquel's stiff grasp. "Not only mine... this amulet too has no signs of Adin Diurnix's presence," she murmured in disappointment.
"Diurnix, how could you forsake us? How could you forsake her?" A deep, sorrowful sigh escaped her as she slid the amulet into her pocket.
Turning her gaze back to Raquel, Tabitha's eyes traced the lines of a face that held no trace of the laughter and warmth that had defined it in life. "Farewell, my child," Tabitha murmured, her voice thick with the weight of tears yet unshed. She lingered over Raquel's serene face for one infinite moment, then slowly raised her gaze to survey the devastation enveloping the village.
Perched on a rise, Tabitha's view encompassed the entire village, now a tragic tableau of chaos and loss. The whole village lay shattered: buildings that had withstood the test of generations were now reduced to mere rubble, their walls and roofs succumbed to the celestial onslaught from above.
Across the village, small clusters of villagers gathered—some attending to the wounded, while others wandered aimlessly among the ruins, dazed by the catastrophe. Amidst this turmoil, a somber group encircled a lifeless figure. It was Carlos, once a pillar of the community, now merely another casualty of the night's terror. A jagged, bloody scale, massive and menacing—a remnant of the four-winged beast that had torn through the sky—lay beside his body.
Tabitha's eyes lingered on the scene, her throat constricting with emotion. "I'm sorry, Miguel," she breathed out, her apology lost to the whistling wind. But the night afforded little room for mourning. Her attention was abruptly drawn to a new threat: a horde of grotesque creatures emerging from the darkness of night, their forms ghastly and twisted by the moonlight.
Among them, a figure brandished overhead a round object dimly lit by the moon glow. The ghastly trophy was a head, unmistakably druid, its features frozen in pain. Tabitha's heart sank into despair as she recognized the visage. "Baruch," she whispered, her voice breaking with agony, "Why..."
The creatures' roar shattered the night, a sound so filled with triumph and malice that it chilled the very air, followed by a loud stomp. Screams and the smell of death began to fill the air with even greater fury.