《Cursed & Blessed》


 The Outcast & The Sea

    The wind howled through the rigging, a relentless force that threatened to rip the ship apart. Rain battered the deck in heavy sheets, drowning out the shouts of the crew as they fought to keep the vessel steady. Waves, black and churning, rose like the jaws of some ancient beast, dragging the ship into the abyss before hurling it skyward again.


    Somewhere below deck, in the dim glow of a swaying lantern, a young man sat with his back to the wooden wall, fingers curled tight around the edge of his tattered cloak. He had not spoken much since boarding, nor had he given his name freely. The others had called him "the branded one," muttered of bad omens, but none had dared question why he was on this forsaken voyage. Until now.


    "You¡¯re too quiet," the woman across from him said. She was small, hooded, her features shadowed by flickering light. "Quiet men always have stories. And from the way you watch that door, I''d wager yours is a good one."


    He exhaled, tilting his head back against the wall. "It''s not a good story," he murmured, voice rough from days of silence. "Just an unfortunate one."


    The mercenary sitting to his left chuckled, a sound as dry as old parchment. "Unfortunate enough to land you here? No man gets on this ship willingly."


    The young man did not answer immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes, listening to the groaning wood, the distant crash of waves. He had tried to forget, but the past clung to him like a stain, refusing to be washed away.


    The kingdom of Kamoran. The streets of its holy city, Veymar, gleaming with banners of faith. The sound of bells ringing in judgment, calling the faithful to witness his end.


    His hands clenched.


    "You want a story?" His voice was barely above the whisper of the sea. "Fine. I was meant to die five nights ago."


    And then, the past dragged him back.


    The bells had tolled at dusk, ringing through the gilded spires of Veymar with solemn finality. The city streets had emptied, save for the crowds gathering in the Grand Square, their torches flickering like fireflies against the encroaching night. He had been dragged from the dungeons, wrists shackled, his skin raw where the irons had bitten into his flesh. The scent of incense and damp stone clung to him, and above the jeers and murmurs of the gathered faithful, the high priest¡¯s voice had rung clear and cold.


    "Mathias Renwyck, you stand condemned of heresy, witchcraft, and consorting with the unholy. Your soul is forfeit, your magic an abomination. By the decree of the Holy Tribunal, you are to be hung, cleansed, that your taint may be purged from this world."


    The crowd had roared in approval.


    He had wanted to speak¡ªto curse them, to deny them the satisfaction of his fear¡ªbut he had remained silent, his breath shallow, his mind racing. The noose of fate had tightened, and there had been no escape.


    The executioner had grasped the lever, his gloved fingers curling around the timber, ready to pull and end his fate in a snap. He wore a mask, face devoid of features, his eyes hidden. The mark on Mathias'' wrist¡ªthe brand he was marked with in the dungeons for having summoned a flicker of unnatural flame¡ªit burned. ¡°I¡¯m cursed¡± Mathias thought.A whisper, soft as a sigh, had brushed against his thoughts.


    "It doesn''t have to be a curse."


    It had not been his own voice.


    "Do you wish to live?" The voice asked Mathias again. The voice pierced his mind like a needle. Not painful, but just noticeable enough to draw his attention to the crowd. There was nothing odd to see, the same ''people'' who had roared in approval, a few onlookers clearly unwilling to watch the event unfold. Torches, pitchforks, a sea of faces and cloaks. And yet, amidst all of them, a single figure, stared right at him. Through him.


    The priest continued. "May your sins be forgiven in the afterlife, wherever that may be. For you. Thief. Mage. The saint will guide you through." He hissed the words. His voice judging, tinged with malice.


    The surrounding torchlight caused shadows to cover half of the cloaked figure¡¯s face. Though he could see their eyes, silver eyes. Like pinpoints of starlight in the endless void of the night sky. The eyes glowed, a golden light, and he heard the voice once more.


    "It''s a simple question." Mathias didn''t understand, there was nothing simple about it, was there? Of course he wanted to live, but not here, this was a curse, he had been condemned. There was no life to live here, not for him. He had nothing left to lose, he was scared, angry, lost. This life had been his hell.


    "Yes." He finally spoke up, not sure if his voice would be heard.


    The priest cocked his head in reaction. "What did you say? Any last words before you meet the saint?"


    Mathias looked up at the priest, smiling. "Fuck you, and your saint." He turned his gaze back onto the crowd, the figure was gone.


    The torches flickered, twisting and writhing, taking on a shape that was not wholly flame. The noose loosened around his neck, as the trapdoor disappeared beneath his feet. The gallows had exploded above, embers scattering like falling stars, and in the confusion, he had run.


    Through alleys choked with filth, past the golden statues of their saints, dodging patrols of city guards. Following another figure. He had not known where he was running¡ªonly that he had to get out, to flee the holy city before they could bind him again.


    In the end, it had been the docks that had saved him. A ship bound for Equinar, taking on cargo and passengers desperate enough to pay. He had given them the last coin he had stolen before his arrest, hidden away in a stash and had boarded without a name, without a past.


    And now, he was here.


    A storm-tossed ship, surrounded by exiles and mercenaries, with no future beyond the next wave.


    The mercenary beside him let out a slow breath. "Damn." He leaned back against the hull, crossing his arms. "Holy bastards never did like people with a bit of magic."


    The woman in the hood remained silent, studying him with keen, thoughtful eyes. When she finally spoke, her words were quiet. "And what of the voice?"


    Mathias stiffened.


    She had caught the detail most would have ignored.


    "You said something spoke to you," she continued. "Was it your own magic, or something else?"


    A shiver crept down his spine.


    "Do you wish to live?"


    It had not been his voice.


    But before he could answer, the ship lurched violently, and the warning bell clanged from above.


    "Storm¡¯s worsened!" a voice from the deck bellowed. "And¡ªGods! There¡¯s something in the water!"


    The ship shuddered, a deep, unnatural groan echoing from the hull, and for the first time since escaping Uthremius, Mathias felt something colder than fear.


    The woman stood, her gaze lifting toward the ceiling.


    "Something¡¯s found us," she whispered.


    Lightning split the sky, its jagged veins illuminating the churning ocean in brief, blinding flashes. The deck tilted sharply, sending loose barrels and ropes tumbling, while the ship¡¯s timbers groaned like the ribs of a dying beast.


    Mathias staggered as the floor beneath him lurched, catching himself against the wall. Above them, the warning bell continued to toll, its frantic ringing swallowed by the howling wind.


    "This storm¡ª" The mercenary beside him braced himself, eyes narrowing. "It wasn¡¯t supposed to be this bad. We weren¡¯t even near the damn coast yet."


    The woman in the hood did not move. She was listening¡ªlistening to something beyond the storm, her head slightly tilted as though catching whispers in the howling wind.


    Mathias¡¯ skin prickled.


    And then he felt it.


    A pulse¡ªdeep, throbbing, like a heartbeat buried beneath the waves. It rumbled through his chest, made his teeth ache, sent a wave of nausea curling in his stomach. The storm was not just wind and water.


    Something was wrong.


    And the sea knew it.


    Thunder cracked, deafening and close. The ship jerked sideways as if something beneath them had struck it¡ªa force so massive, so deliberate, that the entire vessel lurched out of alignment with the waves, its hull screaming in protest.


    Shouts rang out from the deck above.


    Mathias locked eyes with the woman. "What the hell is happening?"


    She did not answer. Not immediately. Her hands were clenched, her breath sharp and steady as she whispered¡ªnot a prayer, but a reckoning.


    "This isn¡¯t natural."


    Another pulse rumbled through the ship, like a second heartbeat hammering against reality itself. This time, the water responded. The ocean around them, previously chaotic in its rage, began to bend, ripple, and move in patterns that did not match the wind.


    Mathias stumbled toward the stairs, gripping the wooden railing as he hauled himself up onto the deck.


    And then¡ªhe saw it.


    Beyond the heaving waves, half-shrouded in sheets of rain, something stirred beneath the surface.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Not just waves.


    Not just the sea.


    A shadow, deep as the abyss, moving with slow, deliberate purpose.


    A shape so large it should not have been real.


    Crew members shouted, their voices ragged with terror. The ship¡¯s captain stood at the helm, knuckles white against the wheel, his face pale beneath the rain.


    "By the Gods," someone choked. "What is that?"


    Mathias felt his blood run cold.


    Because the shadow was rising.


    And as the lightning flashed again, he caught a glimpse of something impossibly ancient¡ªa form so vast it could not be comprehended in a single look. A glistening expanse of scaled flesh, stretching for what seemed like miles beneath the storm-lit water.


    A single glowing eye, the color of drowned gold, rolled open beneath the waves, its pupil too large, too knowing.


    And then came the sound¡ªa deep, resonant groan, not of rage or hunger, but of pain.


    Mathias gasped.


    "It¡¯s not supposed to be here."


    The woman¡¯s voice was beside him now, though he had not heard her move. She, too, was staring at the beast, her hood thrown back, soaked strands of dark hair clinging to her face.


    She was afraid.


    And then, the leviathan screamed.


    It was a noise unlike anything Mathias had ever heard¡ªa deep, reverberating wail, something not meant for mortal ears. The sound split through his mind like a blade, his vision flashing white-hot with pain.


    The sea convulsed.


    And the world tilted as the leviathan¡¯s anguish reached into the heart of the storm.


    The waves rose, towering walls of water crashing toward them from all sides. Wind and rain screamed through the ship¡¯s tattered sails, tearing them apart as the vessel spun wildly, caught in the monstrous pull of the leviathan¡¯s turmoil.


    Then¡ªimpact.


    A wave struck the hull with impossible force, splitting the deck as though it were paper. The mast snapped like brittle bone, crashing down into the sea. The ship¡¯s frame buckled, splitting apart¡ªboards shattered, men screamed, bodies were flung into the water.


    Mathias felt himself being lifted, the world turning into a blur of rain, wind, and darkness.


    And as he was pulled beneath the waves, his last thought was not of death.


    It was of the leviathan¡¯s eye, gazing at him, knowing him.


    And the whisper of something far older than the storm, reaching into his mind.


    "Veythar''kaan dosh irel''anakh."


    And then¡ªnothing.


    Darkness closed around Mathias like a vast and endless tide. The weight of the sea crushed him, filled his lungs, wrapped him in a shroud of drowning silence. He tumbled through the abyss, the storm above a distant memory, swallowed by the cold embrace of the deep.


    But then¡ªlight.


    A flicker, faint and wavering, pulsed before him.


    No, not light¡ªflames.


    The scent of incense filled his nose, the press of bodies in a crowded alley, the murmur of whispered deals. The storm was gone. The ship was gone.


    He was somewhere else.


    Somewhere he knew.


    The Holy City of Veymar, Five Nights Before the Voyage


    The marketplace was alive with noise. Merchants peddled their wares under brightly colored awnings, the scents of spice and roasted meat thick in the air. Holy banners fluttered from marble archways, golden embroidery glinting in the setting sun.


    Mathias moved through the crowd like a shadow, hood drawn low over his face, bare feet padding lightly against the cobbled street.


    He had done this a hundred times.


    A quick hand. A flick of the wrist. A purse lighter, a thief richer.


    His stomach growled.


    That roast duck hanging in the baker¡¯s window called to him like a lover¡¯s whisper. He had spent days scraping together enough stolen coin for passage out of the city¡ªhe deserved something before leaving this damned place behind. Who knows what was in that parcel, but it had to be valuable. ¡°Should¡¯ve kept your eyes on your things.¡± He thought.


    His fingers twitched as he neared the stall. The merchant was arguing with a customer, his back turned.


    Now.


    Mathias reached forward, fast and precise, his fingertips grazing the wrapped parcel¡ª


    And then, a spark.


    A wrongness.


    It happened before he even realized what he¡¯d done.


    A pulse of heat spread from his palm, golden embers crackling to life in the air. The spell surged unbidden, an arcane whisper he had never spoken aloud, a language he should not have known¡ª


    The wooden stall ignited in an instant.


    The flames burst upward, hungry and wild, swallowing the awning in a rush of heat. The merchant screamed, stumbling back as crates of spices caught the blaze, filling the air with acrid smoke.


    Mathias staggered away, his breath caught in his throat.


    No. No, no, no.


    This wasn''t supposed to happen.


    Magic was forbidden.


    Magic was a crime.


    Footsteps thundered against the stone. Gasps rose from the crowd.


    A steel-clad knight pushed through the masses, his eyes burning with righteous fury.


    "In the name of the Holy Tribunal," the knight¡¯s voice rang like a hammer against steel, "you are marked."


    Mathias turned¡ªand ran.


    His heart slammed against his ribs as he weaved through the panicked crowd. Behind him, the knight gave chase, his steel armor glinting in the firelight.


    The alleys twisted in on themselves, narrow streets choking him in stone and shadow. He had to lose him. Had to find a way¡ª


    A dead end.


    He whirled, hands raised in useless defense. The knight slowed, stepping forward with deliberate intent, his longsword gleaming with sanctified steel.


    "By order of the Church of Veymar," the knight declared, "you will be judged for practicing forbidden magic."


    The sword lifted.


    Mathias'' breath hitched¡ª


    And the world shifted.


    The Gallows, Dusk of the Third Day


    The rope bit into his skin.


    Mathias¡¯ hands were bound before him, his knees pressing against rough wooden planks. The platform was high, the noose tight, the assembled crowd a sea of silent faces beneath the morning sun.


    The High Inquisitor stood before him, draped in robes of deep crimson, his face hidden beneath the white-gold mask of judgment.


    "You are an affront to the Holy Law," the Inquisitor intoned. "You have been blessed by the wrong god. You wield a gift that is a curse. And thus, you shall be cleansed."


    Mathias clenched his teeth, his jaw locked in defiance, though his hands trembled against the bindings. He had known it would end this way.


    He had known it since the moment he had survived the fire.


    The executioner pulled the lever.


    The floor fell away beneath him.


    The noose snapped¡ª


    And so did reality.


    A pulse¡ªdeep, resounding, wrong.


    The rope severed, not by blade nor wind, but by something unseen.


    Mathias hit the ground hard, gasping as the air was knocked from his lungs. The weight of death had been upon him¡ªthen suddenly gone. The crowd erupted into chaos.


    "What¡ª?" the executioner stumbled back.


    The Inquisitor¡¯s masked face turned sharply toward the heavens. He saw it too.


    A flicker of something invisible, a resonance that hummed against the fabric of the world.


    A voice in Mathias¡¯ skull, distant and fragmented.


    "Run."


    Mathias did not hesitate.


    He bolted from beneath the gallows, shoving through the riotous crowd. Shouts and orders rang out behind him, the clang of armored boots striking stone.


    He had no plan. No destination.


    Just run.


    Through the twisting streets, through the filth and smoke and stifling incense. The docks¡ªhe had to get to the docks.


    His breath came ragged, his legs burning as he vaulted over crates, barrels, the detritus of the slums. A shadow darted beside him, someone else running, keeping pace.


    A rough hand yanked him into a side alley.


    "Keep quiet," a low voice muttered.


    Mathias¡¯ wild eyes snapped toward his captor¡ªa man, broad-shouldered and grizzled, his face half-hidden beneath the hood of a weathered cloak. He smelled of salt and old leather.


    A sailor. A smuggler.


    "Yer running from the Order, aren¡¯t ya?" the man muttered, peering toward the alley¡¯s opening.


    Mathias tried to catch his breath. "You don¡¯t¡ªunderstand¡ª"


    "Don¡¯t need to," the man cut him off. "You wanna live, boy?"


    Mathias nodded, desperate.


    The man jerked his head toward the docks. "Then come with me. I know a ship leaving tonight."


    Mathias swallowed hard.


    He glanced back toward the Holy City, toward the looming spires of its grand cathedral, toward the gallows where he should have died.


    Then he turned¡ªand ran toward the sea.


    The Present¡ªThe Depths


    Pain snapped him back.


    The darkness twisted, the memory of the past unraveling like sand in the tide. Mathias felt himself sinking, the weight of the ocean pulling him further down.


    His lungs burned. His thoughts blurred.


    Above, beyond the veil of storm and waves, the leviathan¡¯s eye watched.


    Waiting.


    And then, the voice returned.


    "Wake."


    A surge of golden light erupted through the abyss.


    And Mathias breathed.

 Chapter 2: The Drowned & The Damned

    Cold.


    It struck him like a thousand knives, gnawing through flesh and bone, devouring warmth with an insatiable hunger.


    Mathias woke, and he was drowning.


    The depths of the Ceruvian Ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, dark and suffocating. The weight of the sea crushed his chest, the pressure mounting, his heartbeat a frantic drum.


    Where¡ª?


    Fragments of memory splintered through his mind¡ªthe storm, the leviathan, the ship splitting apart like rotten wood beneath a titan¡¯s wrath.


    The wreck.


    The wreck¡ª


    The others. There was no sign of them, the woman, the mercenary. Gone.


    Through the murk, movement¡ªa silhouette thrashing violently against the pull of the tide.


    Mathias kicked his legs, forcing his body to move, the cold turning his limbs to iron. His lungs screamed. He reached¡ª


    A hand, pale and desperate, seized his wrist.


    The exile. Another ¡®passenger¡¯ on the ship. Rumours were mentioned about him too during the voyage. He¡¯d kept to himself.


    A man, younger than Mathias had first thought, barely more than a year or two older than himself. Dark hair tangled in the currents, his sun-bronzed skin pallid beneath the deep. His eyes were wide with panic, bubbles of air escaping from his mouth as he struggled.


    Beyond him, another shape, still and drifting.


    Mathias¡¯ heart lurched.


    The scholar. Another passenger on the ship, one he had seen only once before, she spent most of her time in some kind of private quarters.


    Her body hung weightless in the abyss, dark hair spiraling around her face like strands of seaweed. Unconscious. Dying.


    Mathias didn¡¯t think.


    He moved.


    A sharp pull, dragging the exile toward him, forcing the man¡¯s flailing movements into stillness. The weight of the water fought against him, slowing every motion to a crawl. His chest burned. He swam.


    Kicking forward, Mathias reached the scholar, grabbing the collar of her soaked tunic.


    Up. Up. Up.


    They burst through the surface, air slamming into their lungs like a fist. Mathias gasped, choking, his arms wrapped tightly around the scholar¡¯s limp form. The exile surfaced beside him, coughing violently, his body trembling from the cold.


    The ocean was a churning maw, the remnants of the ship scattered in every direction. Broken beams, shattered planks, cargo barrels bobbing in the furious tide.


    Mathias scanned the wreckage with burning eyes, seeking¡ª


    There.


    A half-splintered piece of the hull, floating.


    Mathias pushed himself toward it, the scholar dragging against his weight, his limbs raw with exhaustion. He was going to sink. He was going to die¡ª


    The exile reached first, clinging onto the edge.


    "Here!" he rasped, extending his arm.


    Mathias gritted his teeth, the saltwater stinging his eyes.


    He threw the scholar toward him. The exile caught her, struggling to haul her onto the broken wood. Mathias followed, gripping the slick surface, heaving himself onto the wreckage with the last strength in his body.


    They collapsed, gasping, alive.


    For a moment, nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing and the relentless crashing of waves.


    Then¡ª


    The scholar coughed.


    Mathias turned sharply, rolling onto his side as the woman choked up seawater, her body trembling violently.


    "She¡¯s breathing," the exile muttered.


    Mathias nodded, pressing his forehead against the damp wood, his body aching from the effort. His fingers trembled.


    They were alive.


    But for how long?


    <hr>


    The Black Coast, Nesrath¡¯s Edge


    The tide dragged them to land.


    At some point, the currents had begun to shift, pulling them eastward, toward jagged cliffs of blackened stone. The wreckage scraped across the surf, crashing against the ashen sands of the shore.


    Mathias stirred first, the world spinning as he rolled off the wooden plank and collapsed into the sand. The exile groaned beside him, muttering curses between ragged breaths. The scholar remained motionless, her body shivering under the waning moonlight.


    Mathias forced himself upright, his legs shaking as he pushed onto his knees.


    The shore stretched into an endless, lifeless expanse. No trees, no vegetation, only dunes of fine, gray and black sand rolling toward the horizon. To the west, jagged cliffs rose like the broken teeth of some ancient beast, dark stone glistening with the remnants of the passing moons. The sun would slowly greet them


    Beyond that¡ªsilence.


    The continent of Nesrath was deathly quiet. The storm had waned.


    It was too quiet.


    The exile sat up, rubbing at his face.


    "Where the fuck are we?" he muttered.


    Mathias swallowed, tasting blood. Taking in the coastline. The darkened rocks and boulders, the black sand, all covered in ash.


    "Welcome," he rasped, his voice hoarse, ¡°to the Cursed Lands.¡±


    The exile let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his soaked hair. "Great. Fantastic. Because the sea wasn¡¯t already trying to kill us.¡±


    Mathias ignored him, shifting toward the scholar, checking her pulse. Steady. Weak, but steady.


    She would live. For now.


    The silence between them stretched, thick as the mist rolling in from the tide. The exile sat hunched over, arms resting on his knees, his breath still ragged from their near-drowning. Mathias leaned back on his hands, staring up at the storm-laden sky, the aftershocks of exhaustion weighing heavy on his limbs. The scholar¡ªhe still didn¡¯t know her name¡ªlay unmoving beside them, her breathing slow but steady.


    Mathias exhaled through his nose, rubbing the salt from his face.


    ¡°So,¡± he muttered, voice raw. ¡°I don¡¯t think I caught your name.¡±


    The exile let out a sharp exhale, something between a scoff and a tired laugh. He glanced sideways, dark eyes still glinting with the last remnants of fight-or-flight.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t give it,¡± he said, cracking his knuckles absently. ¡°Didn¡¯t see the point. Not like names matter much when you¡¯re fish food.¡±


    Mathias arched a brow. ¡°We¡¯re not fish food.¡±


    ¡°Give it time.¡±


    Mathias snorted. Despite the ache in his ribs and the cold biting into his skin, there was something oddly grounding about the exchange.


    The exile sighed, finally shifting his weight. ¡°Vael,¡± he said after a pause. ¡°Name¡¯s Vael.¡±


    Mathias nodded. ¡°Mathias.¡±


    Vael tilted his head. ¡°What¡¯s your story, Mathias?¡±


    Mathias hesitated.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    How much did he want to say? Perhaps keeping his story to himself would be the smarter choice. He¡¯d already spilled too much to the others.


    Vael didn¡¯t press, but his eyes carried a sharpness beneath the exhaustion. Not unfriendly, but not naive either. He had the look of someone who had been through too much to accept vague half-truths.


    Mathias exhaled, dropping his gaze to the sand. ¡°I was supposed to be dead,¡± he admitted.


    Vael blinked. ¡°Right. Well. That¡¯s vague as hell.¡±


    Mathias huffed. ¡°I mean it literally. I was on the gallows not long before I stepped onto that ship.¡±


    Vael gave a low whistle. ¡°That so? What¡¯d you do?¡±


    Mathias hesitated, then smirked dryly. ¡°Would you believe me if I said nothing?¡±


    Vael¡¯s brow arched. ¡°No. But I¡¯ll humor you.¡±


    Mathias sighed. ¡°I stole something.¡±


    Vael snorted. ¡°Hah! So you are a criminal.¡±


    Mathias shot him a flat look. ¡°Says the exile.¡±


    ¡°Fair,¡± Vael conceded with a lazy shrug. ¡°Go on.¡±


    Mathias ran a hand through his damp hair. ¡°It was an accident,¡± he admitted. ¡°I was trying to lift a few coins, maybe some rations, roasted duck to be exact¡ªwhatever I could carry.¡± His voice darkened. ¡°Didn¡¯t realize the man I picked was carrying something else. Something¡­ arcane.¡±


    Vael frowned slightly.


    Mathias clenched his jaw. ¡°I triggered something. A reaction. I don¡¯t know what I did, but magic flared up around me. And then¡ª¡± He inhaled sharply. ¡°And then the Templars saw.¡±


    Vael¡¯s expression tightened.


    ¡°Holy warriors don¡¯t take kindly to magic outside their control,¡± Mathias muttered. ¡°Next thing I knew, I was in chains, waiting to die.¡±


    Vael tapped a finger against his knee. ¡°But you didn¡¯t.¡±


    Mathias shook his head. ¡°No. Something¡ªsomeone¡ªintervened. The rope snapped before I could hang. Magic again.¡± His hands curled into fists. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it was my own, or if something else was at work.¡±


    Vael studied him, then exhaled. ¡°That¡¯s rough. And lucky.¡±


    Mathias let out a bitter chuckle. ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it.¡±


    Vael was quiet for a moment. Then, to Mathias¡¯ surprise, he lay back on the sand, staring up at the swirling storm clouds high above.


    ¡°We¡¯re a cursed bunch, aren¡¯t we?¡± Vael murmured.


    Mathias glanced at him. ¡°What?¡±


    Vael shrugged. ¡°Think about it. A thief who accidentally dabbled in magic, a scholar who washed up in the worst place in the world, and me¡ªwell. Let¡¯s just say I didn¡¯t exactly leave my last home on good terms.¡±


    Mathias considered him. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    Vael smirked. ¡°You¡¯ll have to buy me a drink before I start spilling my tragic backstory.¡±


    Mathias huffed a quiet laugh. ¡°If this is indeed the coast I think it is¡­ Then we¡¯re on Nesrath. I doubt we¡¯ll find a tavern anytime soon.¡±


    ¡°Then I guess you¡¯ll have to wait.¡±


    A strange sense of camaraderie settled between them, fragile but real. They had nothing in common except misfortune, but in a place like this, perhaps that was enough.


    The wind howled over the sand, carrying with it the scent of something wrong and the faintest sound of movement. Something distant, yet close enough to linger.


    Rot. Decay.


    The exile stiffened beside him. He smelled it too.


    Mathias turned his head¡ªAnd froze. Beyond the dunes, barely visible against the darkened landscape, a shape moved.


    Not an animal. Not a person. Something else.


    The exile cursed. ¡°What''s that stench?¡±


    Mathias'' fingers curled into the sand, his breath caught in his throat. They had survived the storm.


    But now¡ªNow the real nightmare began.


    Mathias tensed. Vael sat up sharply. Their reprieve was over.


    The silence of Nesrath had shifted.


    Something was coming.


    The air had changed.


    It was subtle¡ªso subtle that at first, Mathias thought he imagined it. The wind, which had been whispering softly through the dunes, hesitated. As if the land itself was holding its breath.


    Vael was already pushing himself up, his posture shifting from exhaustion to readiness. His hand hovered near the knife strapped to his belt¡ªa small, unimpressive blade, but a weapon nonetheless. Mathias followed suit, his limbs still aching, still waterlogged, but now thrumming with adrenaline.


    Behind them, the scholar¡ªwho had remained quiet until now¡ªfinally stirred, groaning softly. Mathias cast a quick glance at her. She was alive. For now.


    Then he heard it.


    A crack. Not loud, not forceful¡ªjust the soft, splintering sound of something fragile breaking underfoot.


    Too close.


    Vael heard it too. His gaze flickered towards the dunes ahead, where the sand rose in uneven ridges, casting jagged shadows in the dim morning light. The storm had passed, leaving the sky a sickly mix of gray and amber, the sun struggling to break through the haze.


    Mathias reached for something¡ªanything¡ªto defend himself with. His fingers brushed against a driftwood plank, barely longer than his forearm, and he snatched it up like a lifeline. Not much, but better than nothing.


    The silence stretched.


    Then a low, rasping breath¡ªinhuman and wrong¡ªshuddered through the dunes.


    Mathias'' stomach turned to ice. ¡°I thought it passed us,¡± he whispered.


    They were not alone.


    A figure emerged from the dunes, moving in that slow, dreadful way that things only move when they should not still be standing.


    Mathias'' grip tightened on the plank. He didn¡¯t know what this was.


    He had heard stories though. Rumours, about Equinar¡ªthe ship''s original destination¡ªand ''things'' turning up on its shores, most likely originating in Nesrath. Equinar was Nesrath''s sibling continent. Roughly a hundred miles north across the ocean. First contact was made around three-hundred years ago, when the continents were discovered by an explorer, and at the time, supposedly ''one''. The nation of Equinar was founded not long after, a kingdom, under rule of the half-elven king Lu''thragon Vessirat.


    Several outposts and towns were built on its Northern and Western shores, three-hundred years ago now. And before that, nobody truly knows. There are no clear records of what happened to the two continents, only that Nesrath, had become... unstable, corrupted in some way. Some say the gods had fought a battle here, two eons ago. Splitting the continent apart. Others say something had found its way from past the boundaries of our realm and made Nesrath its home. Forcing the King to call forth powerful magic to split the lands apart. Other tales were told of a sorceress, eons past, who had tried to accomplish an unthinkable task, to kill a god. Whether she had succeeded or not. The consequences were dire. The north remained Equinar, while the southern landmass was named "Nesser''s Wrath" or Nesrath. For two-hundred years the corruption had spread across the lands of Nesrath. Slowly consuming it. Storms would cover its skies like an amber blanket.


    Ships were waylaid by those same storms surrounding the continent. Only to be washed ashore, never to return. Ships had to keep a northern route across the ocean, a wide berth to avoid the "Cursed Lands", for if you sailed too close to the south... Well...


    Meanwhile, for those two hundred years, the inhabitants of Equinar had continued to prosper, roads had been built, connections between their growing towns and cities. Trade was bustling between Equinar and other nations across the Ceruvian Ocean. And yet, in the past fifty years, ''things'' would wash ashore its southern coastline. Dead things. Townsfolk were asked to move north. While soldiers and scholars were sent south by Queen Lea''vin Vessirat. To investigate this "affliction". A wall was built, outposts, camps. To make sure the affliction wouldn''t spread onto their land. Scholars, alchemists and soldiers were sent to Nesrath to investigate the origins of these creatures. As of now, no one had found a clue, no one had returned with any significant findings. And the search for a cure continued. A mystery, unsolved.


    "The Red Madness."


    The affliction that turned men into things¡ªhollowed, mindless, crumbling mockeries of the living.


    The history passed through Mathias'' mind in the blink of an eye. The various tales and stories. The king, the queen, the sorceress. Magic. All on repeat, all different, while the ship had sailed for the past week.


    "Damned stories," he thought.


    The figure that stumbled into view had once been a man, but no longer. His flesh was cracked and brittle, veins replaced by jagged lines of deep crimson, pulsing dimly beneath his skin like dying embers. His eyes¡ªif they could still be called that¡ªwere glossy, unfocused, staring into nothing.


    But worst of all was the way his body splintered as he moved¡ªlike stone under strain, as if his limbs had been reforged in something brittle, something wrong.


    Mathias'' breath caught in his throat.


    ¡°We¡¯re dead.¡±


    Vael muttered a curse.


    The scholar let out a strangled gasp. ¡°Do you think it heard us?¡±


    Then the thing lurched forward.


    <hr>


    A Desperate Fight


    It moved faster than it should have.


    One moment, it was dragging its ruined limbs through the sand¡ªthe next, it was lunging.


    Mathias barely had time to raise the plank before the creature was on him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let it touch you!¡± The scholar¡¯s voice came out a strained shout.


    It hit like a crumbling avalanche¡ªnot heavy, but strong in a way that defied its brittle appearance. Mathias staggered back, feet sliding against the damp sand, his arms burning with the effort of keeping the thing at bay.


    The plank splintered on impact.


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    Vael moved first. His knife flashed¡ªquick, practiced¡ªand in the span of a heartbeat, the blade found the creature¡¯s ribs.


    It did nothing.


    The thing jerked, unfazed, and its head snapped toward Vael with an unnatural crack.


    Mathias reacted on instinct.


    He didn¡¯t know if it was his own power or something else, but the moment he felt the spark in his chest¡ªthat rush of something old and restless, something he had spent days trying to ignore¡ªhe reached for it.


    Entropy.


    The magic answered.


    A pulse of violet light crackled between Mathias¡¯ fingers, weak, unrefined, but real. He shoved his hand forward, pressing it against the creature¡¯s chest, and let the energy leak out.


    It wasn¡¯t much. But it was enough.


    The thing jerked violently¡ªas if something unseen had dug hooks into its flesh¡ªand for the first time, it hesitated.


    Mathias didn¡¯t waste the opportunity.


    ¡°Vael, move!¡±


    Vael dropped low, yanking his knife free as he rolled away.


    Mathias forced more energy outward.


    The creature convulsed. Its body shuddered, twisted¡ªand then, like cracked pottery giving way beneath too much strain, it collapsed inward. Its form shattered into a heap of brittle, bloodstained shards.


    Mathias fell to his knees.