Golden light slipped through the lush forest's crown of leaves. The autumn wind swept fallen leaves and swirled them over the land in a beautiful display, leaving a carpet on the ground, only to pick them up again in an endless dance. A hidden stream flowed downhill, passing near a cleared area deep in these woods. Chatter rose from the man-made open space, human voices crossing the forest, for her to hear, to wait, to stalk, for the inevitable moment brewing under their murderous steps. In the clearing, two figures talked.
“Bryan, where are your brother and sister?” inquired a mature man, prodding the land, addressing his eldest son.
“Gathering firewood,” replied Bryan.
“Good, we all have responsibilities.”
“What else could they do here, father?”
“It was an opportunity, and we took it.”
The young adult glanced around. Her forest remained silent. “I can see the opportunities popping all over...”
“We knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”
“By we, you mean you, right?” questioned Bryan.
“Just wait and see. We’ll build something here.” The father gazed at the house they built last summer. “In two years, we built a home. Ours. And this land... you’ll see.”
Bryan remained skeptical.
Father and son toiled in the fields until dusk, preparing them for this season’s rotation.
"Light a torch. It’s time to burn the fields," commanded the father.
Bryan ignited a torch and brought it to dried foliage, starting a fire that soon spread through their fields, forming a towering pyre. The flames rose high, fading into a crimson background. An unnerving calm befell the forest.
Father and son stared into the fire. One saw his dreams slowly burn away while the other yearned for past farmer glories. However, both ignored her forest’s eyes watching their patch of land, observing their every offense. The burning organic matter’s chemical trace signaled her duty to begin.
"Marian, you can't catch me!" yelled a boy as he ran through the forest.
“Joseph, not so fast! I’m the one carrying the firewood,” his sister shouted back.
"Drop it, let's play a little more!"
"We've played enough. I'm tired and it's getting dark."
The siblings caught the scent of smoke from the farm.
"Ah! They're burning it! I told them to wait for me..." Joseph cried and rushed off.
"Joseph, wait! Watch your step!"
Her younger brother disappeared into the foliage. With the sun fading, the sister chased after him when a shout reached her, coming just steps ahead.
“Marian!” Her younger brother’s yell made her sprint to him, tightening her hold of the firewood in her arms.
“I told you to be careful!”
She saw him sitting on the ground, but the shock on his face went unnoticed.
"Joseph, did you..." Marian's words trailed off as she caught sight of a figure several steps away from her brother.
The silhouette blended into the surrounding foliage, but two glowing eyes revealed its presence. Vines snaked out from the creature, inching forward silently, unseen by the untrained eye. Towering both siblings, with a haunting face and light blue eyes, the being fixed its gaze on them.
Marian stumbled back, horror drawn on her face, and the firewood tumbled from her grip. Nature’s eye locked on Joseph. He had cut himself tripping on a tree root and used a healing paste, made from flowers his mother taught him about, on his wound.
The imposing being remained still, not uttering a word or moving a limb. A hiss from behind shattered the creature’s silent gaze. Marian and Joseph knew of these otherworldly beings but had never met one in the flesh. They only knew them through illustrations and whispers among farmers who told stories devoid of merriment—her kind’s legends and myths.
Marian cautiously approached her brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. The sylvan creature remained still, her unwavering sight bordering on disinterest. Was she truly there? Or was it a mere carcass, an empty reflection of existence, voiceless nature?
Marian realized it was time for them to return home. "Let's go back... Joseph."
"Y-yes," stammered her younger brother.
"Everyone is waiting for us. Come now..."
At those words, a piercing scream ripped through the forest, echoing in the trees' solitude, reverberating in the absence of conscious thought until it reached human ears.
"The kids!" yelled their father, before dashing into the forest, closely followed by their older brother.
From their modest farmhouse, a desperate figure stepped out. Their mother was cooking when she heard several high-pitched screams cross their burning fields. Her blood pressure shot up, her thoughts ceased, and her vision blurred for a moment. The middle-aged woman’s serious demeanor vanished in anguish after she recognized those screams, along with the pain, fear, and desperation they carried within.
*
A handful of days had passed since X’s masterful escape from Saint Jaulea. He tasted freedom, lost to demented beings but regained by will and cunning alone. And his stars aligning, of course. From that celebrated day until his present situation, he encountered nothing but trees, hunger, and thirst. He slept on dried grass, chaotic thoughts circling him like ravens waiting to pluck out the little life left in him, but instead, landing on his shoulders, whispering curses he could not utter toward the demon-gods.
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It wasn’t all hate, he professed them mockery and disdain too.
His scattered thoughts kept his mind working while he made sure to shade himself from the star lighting this world, which his heat intolerance transformed from a mild autumn sun into a heat-stroke-inducing fiery ball of death. A lack of food and water exacerbated his precarious conditions. Tired of spitting out near-swears, words that came close to swearing’s theoretical limits—he got creative at testing the bounds imposed by the demon-gods—he pulled himself together, he and all his tattered self.
He foraged the strange flora for edible plants along his path, similar yet different from those on earth. He devoured them in one bite, hoping not to succumb to poison. Then he discovered a treasure: narrow streams flowing deep in the forest, and drank his fill.
With improved health, X observed the wildlife, making mental notes. He saw birds and small beasts, while some of them looked familiar, others appeared bizarre and unappealing. Without being an expert nature scholar, he tried to piece together a story of what his sights told him—anything that could make sense, and thus, perhaps, the story that brought him here.
Every now and then, it appeared, like a whisper in the shadows, found under heavy rocks and from his weaknesses, whether awake or asleep.
[Missing your cushy slavery?]
"You wish."
[You got what you wanted, look at all this freedom.]
"Are you jealous?"
[Have you lost your remaining marbles?]
Maybe he never had them to begin with.
For several days or weeks, X encountered no one. Time and direction blurred to his starved mind, every turn showing the same familiar sights. However, his isolation provided a blessing: the ability to rest as much as he wanted. Then he realized the extent of the demon-gods' curses—no matter how much he rested, nothing would help him in any situation, let alone a dangerous one. A simple yet effective solution, as the demon-gods knew many would lose their minds without any sense of progression.
He had to be extra cautious, which caused him to use more energy—a vicious cycle his current body couldn’t withstand. He had been discarded into this situation by crazed beings in their appetite for balance and a semblance of late morality. A terrible simulation of divinity, he concluded.
He entertained these thoughts when strident noises reached his hidden, long, and pointy ears. Men and women’s screams, laments, moans, conquering shouts, and conquered cries mixed together in a cacophony of grand scale. He immediately recognized the symphony being played and ran as fast as his dilapidated condition allowed. A road came into view, with footprints and carriage tracks in the mud, along with signs of violence.
Five carriages positioned haphazardly on the road made up the attacked caravan. Dead bodies of armored guards and armed bandits littered the area as the elf approached. He found humans, as well as various beings from other races, of all ages, lying among the dead and wounded, their body parts scattered along the road. A few women and girls, as well as their monstrous counterparts, lay half-naked while others had their clothes completely torn off. The ones that fought back didn’t move, their lifeless eyes wide open, watching the clear skies.
These bandits took captives.
Blood dripped from the carriages as he strolled among them. Mournful cries from mutilated bodies escaped their bloodied lips. X walked past crawling sentient creatures that asked for help. He turned around and saw no one else.
"Oh, they want me to help," the redheaded elf chuckled. "They're out of luck. I can hardly help myself."
[Not that you’d help them... in any condition.]
Walking between the dead, the vision appeared again.
"What do you take me for?"
[One of the bandits if you had the chance.]
“You know me real well...”
Tearing cries interrupted his delusional dissertation.
“No! My hand!”
“Clara! Claraaaaa!”
And didn’t stop.
"Why? Oh my Gods, why!"
"Please, someone!"
Sorrowful cries that pierced flesh and bone.
"Papa! Mama! Wake up! They took Laria!"
The forest couldn’t contain the chants of the broken and threatened to spill their desperate pleas to the Gods, along the prayers of those wishing for swift deliverance. X would’ve help with their last prayer, but not any longer—those same Gods saw to it.
"Oh, they think they're so clever," he commented on the demon-gods as he climbed into a damaged carriage.
[Maybe they were right... if you’re still alive, it means someone fucked up somewhere.]
X ransacked their belongings, grabbing anything he deemed useful and stuffing it into a bag he found. He initially intended to fill it to the brim but quickly realized that the weight would be too much for him to carry. Instead, he only took what he absolutely needed, constantly looking over his shoulder, wary of nearby bandits, incoming guards, and of the sorry peasants, not completely chopped up, regaining their bearings.
[Stealing from the death? Back to business, I see.]
“Don’t you ever shut up?”
The redheaded elf hopped off the bloodied carriage and walked away.
[You didn't stay to butcher and maim? What a surprise!]
The mirage walked besides him.
“Contrary to what you believe, I never obsessed myself with killing. Unlike the others.”
[Hah. Let’s say I believe you. You still did it.]
“It’s like an acquired taste.”
[Excuses.]
X made his way back into the forest, where he collapsed beside a stream to catch his breath. He had strained himself running beneath searing and unrelenting solar rays, and his overcooked head did a number on his thoughts, bringing wonders to mind. Unwanted wonders. From his looted bag, he retrieved a piece of bread laced with blood, a common spice wherever he went.
“Finally! Real food!” exclaimed X, then proceeded to chew down big bites of bread, drink copious amounts of fresh water, fill a flask he took from the caravan, and continue his aimless journey.
The redheaded elf witnessed with glee this world’s star’s final moments on the firmament and, as with all nights preceding this one, he gathered dried leaves under a brazenly tall tree and laid to rest. A rock under his bed of leaves hammered his back, but too tired to fix it, he turned sideways. His gaze fell on the bushes ahead. This night continued like any other until he spotted a pair of green eyes staring back at him. He peered down into an endless abyss.
A restless soul came out from those bushes, flailing his remaining arm at the redheaded elf.
“Ahh! Help! Please help me!” The young man’s distraught spirit had left and would never return. He crashed over X like a madman, yelling, sobbing, and looking back every chance he got. “She’s going to kill us all!”
“Get off! You son of a—!”
A mountain had fallen over the elf, unmovable; he was barely able to breathe while the crazed vagabond had his full weight on him. Blood drops fell on his face as the man panted, attempting to recover his lost sanity. Exhausted, he dropped besides the redheaded elf. Tears streamed down the pale apparition’s face, his only hand covered his eyes while his body trembled. Through layers of mud and blood, the elf observed a young man, probably in his early twenties, frightened to his core.
Silence gnawed at them.
X had accepted his unbecoming frailness, but everything seemed like an uphill battle. Defenseless, he had to be cautious of each step, word, or strange creature, especially with tensions among the races running high. X kept his long ears concealed since his escape, and though he had considered cutting them off, he lacked the necessary tools, let alone the strength.
“It all happened too fast,” the young man sobbed, “I couldn’t do anything! I couldn't save anyone but myself! She... that thing... Why?!” Between cries, the young man asked the stranger before him. “Why us? We were supposed to be starting over... Simple farmers working our land, a new opportunity, even if I hated moving into the middle of nowhere, we were... were...” His voice cracked, fading in and out at random intervals. “She... No! That monster came out of nowhere...”