Prologue
“In the midst of boundless fatigue, I had once laid claim to dominion over Affliction, the very catalyst for instability and upheaval. Yet in this transcendent weariness, it is the minuscule beings that grow within me that enrage me. With their ceaseless consumption, they erode the foundation of this existence. They, they consume me... They appropriate my being and manipulate it for their own insignificance. How did you attain such command? How did you form, when all you know is to devour?” - The whispers of a man gone mad, carved in stone.
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Havina sat on the small, rickety stool in her room. Carefully, she continued to stitch the worn sole of her boots. Dim, muted light filtered through the small grime-smeared window of her room, casting an almost ghostly glow across the weathered wooden floorboards. Outside, the sky was a vast expanse of swirling hues, shifting and blending in a perpetual hypnotic dance. Each morning, these colors painted a surreal tapestry that never failed to captivate her, their beauty far outweighing that of her daily life.
As she worked the old leather, Havina listened to the familiar and comforting sounds of the village beginning to stir. The distant clatter of tools echoed like a rhythmic heartbeat, accompanied by the low murmur of voices as workers made their way to the depths beneath the rock. Each morning, the colors in the sky seemed to whisper promises of adventures untold, urging her to break free from her routine.
As Havina looked through her shutters, her mind wandered. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be free of the village's confines, to explore past the horizon and discover what lay hidden beyond the outer ridges. Other villages and larger towns were far and few between, most completely encased with rock and stone. It was not easy to leave Kiven. Maybe, if she saved enough, she could purchase transport to Verstav for her and her father.
However, fear held her back. The unknown was both alluring and terrifying. What if she left and found nothing but even more disappointment? What if the beauty she imagined was just an illusion, a cruel mirage to lure her away from the safety of the known? The thought of venturing into a world where her dreams could be shattered paralyzed her. The possibility of finding nothing, or worse, finding her fears realized, kept her firmly rooted in place.
She gripped her boots tightly, her fingers pressing into the worn leather. With a sigh, she lowered her gaze and focused on finishing the final stitch. For now, responsibilities and duties kept her tethered to this place. There were those she loved, and their needs anchored her firmly to the village. Her friends kept her going, and her aging father who needed to be taken care of, even if he would never admit it. Her bond with her father was fragile and precious, a constant reminder of why she stayed, even when the skies whispered of freedom. The comfort of the familiar, even if it was mundane, was a strong chain to break.
Havina set her boots aside and stood up from the stool, her sleepwear still clinging to her from the night's rest. She stretched, steeling herself for another day. Perhaps one day she would find the courage to follow the sky's beckoning and seek out the world that lay beyond her village. But today, she would remain grounded, her dreams of exploration lingering like the fading colors of dawn.
She dressed quickly, slipping into her worn but well-kept attire, suitable for her work at the tavern. If there was one thing she believed in, it was being prepared. Just before Havina could step out the front door, a voice sounded from the table behind her.
“It’s been a year, you know,” her father said, his voice heavy with unspoken sorrow. Havina’s gaze dropped to her feet, the words feeling like a weight pressing down on her.
A tear traced a path down her cheek, falling silently onto her boot. “Not today, please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I just... I can’t do this today.”
But it was too late; the dam of her emotions had begun to crack. Her father’s voice, soft and filled with pain, reached out to her. “Oh, Havina, I miss her too. I thought... maybe we’d find her, or...”
“She’s gone, Father,” Havina interrupted, her voice hardening as she struggled to maintain control. “She’s gone. I’ll see you tonight. If you need anything, send someone.”
With that, she pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped outside. She wiped the tears away and took a deep breath as she was enveloped by the familiar, damp scent of the village. The small community was bustling with morning activity. Warm air carried the clamor of metal and the hum of daily life. Miners and laborers were already hard at work, their movements purposeful. The streets were lined with weathered buildings, standing as silent witnesses to the passage of time. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys, a promise of warmth and sustenance that contrasted sharply with the chill in her heart.
To Havina’s left she could see the entrance to the caves, it was a gaping maw in the side of a ridge that loomed protectively over the village. The miners moved with practiced efficiency, their faces set in determined expressions and their uniforms already dusted with a fine layer of dirt. As she made her way down the familiar path towards her destination, her gaze fell on one of the waiting carts. These carts were constructed from sturdy wood and reinforced with steel bands; they featured a single band of white Ohr woven around the metal. This band provided the means for suspending the carts above the monorails, allowing them to glide effortlessly through the air into the the mines. One simply had to push, propelling the carts along the monorail that was fastened to the stone ground. She approached the cart slowly, the quiet hum of its suspended state drawing her closer. She had often been tempted to try to tip one over, just to see if it would fall, but she never had the heart to touch them. Especially not now, not after her conversation with her father.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Havina, are you alright miss?” A friendly voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see an older man, bald with a long gray beard and a warm smile.
“Uh, yes, Sorry. I was just...” Havina began, but he cut her off with a reassuring grin.
“It’s alright,” the man said. He had a twinkle in his eye, and a smile that almost made her feel like everything was going to be okay. “I’ll see you later tonight, have a cider ready for me, will you?”
“Of course,” Havina smiled as the man started to walk away, whistling cheerfully as he pulled the cart along with him towards the depths.
As the man and the Ohr cart moved away, Havina’s thoughts drifted back to her sister, Learuh. Ohr was a source of wonder to most, but it was a painful reminder to Havina of the day Learuh disappeared near the southern ridge. While searching for Learuh that night, one of the search parties discovered a cavern of what they now knew was Ohr. That had been a year ago now. The discovery of Ohr with its potent strength had overshadowed the day for most, but for Havina it would always be the day her world changed irrevocably. The thoughts of Learuh's terrified face haunted her, knowing that her sister had died alone somewhere in the dark. The body had never been found, they had always assumed some animal had gotten to her, or that she fell down some shaft they couldn’t find. The village was completely enclosed by the rigid walls of rock that towered around them. The walls stretched for miles, creating maze-like patterns that were treacherous to explore. The caves underneath them however, they went on for what seemed like an eternity.
The image of carts quietly gliding to the depths was a constant reminder to most how easy their lives had become. Down the main thoroughfare, the market square was already bustling with life. Stalls filled with goods—ranging from freshly baked bread to simple tools and clothing—beckoned villagers who bartered and chatted. The voices mingled with the rhythmic clang of hammers at a nearby forge. As she walked, Havina watched as sparks flew, flying from bright orange metals as they were struck repeatedly. Forging was the heart of this village, the primary reason many chose to live here. The forge’s numerous chimneys belched thick, black smoke as engineers labored, refining metals and producing the tools, cart parts, and machinery essential for maintaining the mines’ operations.
Ohr Engineers had quickly become highly sought after. Every day, Havina came across new constructions and innovative uses that amazed her with their creativity. There was even talk of building a structure that could reach ten stories high. Havina couldn’t imagine why they would ever need something so tall, but the idea itself was astounding. They had recently found a way to magnify the glow of Ohr, infusing lamps to cast a soft, blue-tinged light that gave the entire village a slightly otherworldly feel, all the while sending chills down Havina’s spine. The properties of Ohr had proven to be a double-edged sword, offering remarkable construction capabilities, but also presenting risks that remained poorly understood. Many who eagerly embraced Ohr’s unusual qualities tended to overlook the earlier trials and mishaps endured by those who first experimented with these innovations. The conveniences and advancements they enjoyed had come at a cost.
Havina made it to the tavern—her tavern. She didn’t own it, no, but it was hers. The scent of stale ale and roasted meat always welcomed her like an old friend. Each worn wooden table held stories of the village’s past, and each creaky floorboard echoed the laughter and sorrow of its patrons. With all its imperfections, it was her sanctuary, a small haven amid the daily grind. Her eyes swept over the village she knew so well. The familiar sights and sounds enveloped her, a routine that she had grown accustomed to. Walking through the open doors, she greeted the early patrons with a warm smile and began her duties. The colors of the sky outside whispered to her as she worked, their song a call to the world beyond the ridge, waiting to be discovered. The loveliness of the dawn, fleeting yet eternal, lingered in her mind as she served drinks and listened to the miners' tales—stories and triumphs, full of fallacy, a quiet promise that real adventures were yet to be discovered.
. . .
Even at night, the sky was illuminated by dim lights swirling in mesmerizing, intricate patterns. These lights, glowing with a fervent brilliance, seemed to reaffirm their eternal presence in her life, dancing with an enigmatic splendor. They almost looked like they should be loud. To the contrary, this night was far too quiet, especially considering the circumstances. Solemn and tall, a man she had often seen returning from the mines covered in dust, had strong hands tightly wrapped around her neck. She had served him countless times as he drank alone in the corner, never partaking in stories or games of chance. His presence was a shadow that darkened a room. His eyes, cold, yet intense, had always seemed to bore into her soul. The silent tension between him and anyone who glanced in his direction had never not been palpable. Each interaction left her feeling uneasy, her skin prickling, and her stomach left feeling sick. She knew why now. "I don’t understand," she gasped through choked sobs, "What did I do?" Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up at the vibrant hues of orange, green, and red in the sky, blending into multiple radiant halos. The colors reflected on her tear-streaked face, seeming to beckon her home, yet also whispering that her suffering was insufficient, that it wasn’t enough. Each hue, a memoir of the beauty and pain intertwined in her life, mocked her helplessness. The lights began to go dark. She didn’t want to think that this was it, she still had to go on adventure. The end of her story was nevertheless here, she wanted to know why. Why this was her fate, why she deserved to die, why he was killing her. In her final moments, the most bewildering sight, and the last thing she thought she would see. The last thing she did see, were Eeromoar’s tears. His sorrowful eyes filled with a dread she couldn’t comprehend, as he begged her to be afraid.