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    <b><i>"Your kind shall bring about your own destruction…" She had said. "…Just as you did mine. Your young shall burn, as did mine!"</i></b>


    —–—


    Chief Nelius Tuscan cleared his throat to get rid of the suffocating feelings of regret accumulating in his chest for the umpteenth time. The dim glow of the lanterns and the fiery brightness of the torches carried by his folks cast creepy shadows over his cruel face. He caressed his bushy mustache to hide the despondent tears from pouring out, but mostly to stroke his ego. Because firstly, men don''t cry. Secondly, a true man never dwells on the past even if he had wronged; all that matters is his ability to move forward and face the consequences with bravity.


    That''s a woman''s nature, he thought - crying over spilt milk, regretting things that went wrong, being stagnant, unhelpful and hopeless, for those are all they are - hopeless!


    He glanced around the herd of people flocking silently in a long queue through the mountainous terrain. Twenty eight able- bodied men with titanous build of muscles carried large unsculpted pieces of a giant boulders to the makeshift clearing.


    Chief Nelius Tuscan cleared his throat again so when he spoke to his men, his voice doesn''t waver. His men looked up to him; he needed to stay strong for them if not for himself. "Okay, that''s far enough. We should start building the tomb as earlier as possible." He said, stepping into the clearing, accessing the ground for the appropriate spot to start laying the foundation.


    It had been only a month since they established their village of new Tuscanvalle along the banks of the gigantic, almost mythical Lavalthon Lake.


    Chief Nelius Tuscan''s eyes moistened at the thought of their old homeland.


    Oh, how prosperous their lineage had been! The world spoke of them as if they were Gods. People from the prestigious Elysian Empire, the opulent Yadora Empire and the colossal Devatonka Dynasty preferred to give and take brides with Tuscanians just so they could have a drop of the Tuscanian blood mingle with theirs. Because the Tuscanian offsprings have always been brawny, potent and unassailable. But after… the witch hunt…


    —–


    As with every human ever born on Earth, the Tuscanian Chief was a flawed person. He had led his people with atmost care and responsibility but sometimes, things go wrong. Together, they would do certain foolish things like throwing feasts that lasted days, or hunting the most dangerous beasts just for sport, or even occasionally, they would go into the forbidden lands. But never had they ever encountered something as dire as the witch hunt.


    The witch hunt was the most foolish thing the Tuscansians have ever done.


    The witch hunt!


    It destroyed their life of fame and pride; marked the end of Tuscanian adulation.


    —–


    The memory gnawed at him as he stood in the clearing. "Chief," a voice interrupted his grim thoughts. It was the priest of their civilization, an old man with a hunched back. "The sun is about to rise. It''s time for the Sacred Bath and the farewell fire."The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Chief Nelius Tuscan looked at the eastern sky, where the first light of dawn was beginning to break through the darkness. He nodded at the priest''s words, knowing that the next steps in their ritual were crucial for their long journey ahead. He turned to his men and gave them another nod, signaling for them to follow the priest''s instructions.


    The priest led the procession to the edge of the lake, where several giant log boats were tied to the tree trunks along the banks of the Lavalthon lake. They had used these logboats to bring the stones and blocks for the tomb from the other side of the lake, where their tribe has set camp.


    The sacred bath marked the first step in the ritual. Tuscanians always built a Traveler’s Tomb before departing their homeland or venturing into the unknown. It was a tribute, an honor bestowed upon those who left the safety of Tuscanian territory for noble causes.


    —–


    Three days after they had settled near the Lavalthon lake, Chief Nelius Tuscan had confided in his wife, Rosa: "I''m travelling again. To find a way to lift the curse. To find a way to save my people."


    Rosa’s sorrowful eyes had searched his face. “But my lord, look at them,” she had pleaded, gesturing toward the children—thin, pale shadows of their former robust selves. "The children can barely walk. Their mothers are too weak to feed them. We need to rest, not more travels."


    His jaw tightened at her words. He glanced toward the children playing beneath the massive tree marking the edge of their new territory. Their gaunt frames and sunken eyes were a stark contrast to the brawny, potent offsprings the Tuscanians had once been known for. Rosa was right—they were no longer what they had been.


    How wholesome they were mere months ago!


    The Tuscanian pride!


    Nelius turned back to her, his tone softening only slightly. "This time, it is not the women or children who will travel, but men. You will stay here, Rosa. Lead the women, care for the children. The land is fertile, the lake full of fish. This will be your sanctuary."


    "But my lord," she had whispered, her voice laced with fear. "The beasts here are unlike any we’ve known. Even our strongest men fell to them during the journey. What can a bunch of women do against such creatures?"


    His attention shifted to their mothers, cooking the roots and vegetables they had found in the wild and the meat of the panther that had unknowingly entered their territory to quench its thirst from the lake. Carnivores don''t normally taste as good as those bush rabbits but the men didn''t want to waste their hunt either. Until they got the hang of the land and the various lives it housed, they must have to live off whatever they got their hands on.


    Besides, the animals and other predators must learn that the land was taken, that it was no longer theirs. But that would take a while - for beasts to get used to their existence, to let them be and move to the deepest parts of the woods. Until then, the women and children might need protection from the wild.


    “Yes,” he had admitted finally. “You’re right. They are but skeletons of their former selves.” He paused, his gaze hardening. “Very well. Then I’ll take twenty-eight of the strongest men. The rest will stay here to farm, fish, and protect the women and children. This land is fertile, and the lake will sustain you.”


    “But my lord…” Rosa had begun, only for his sharp glare to silence her.


    “Send for the priest,” Nelius had commanded. “We must prepare for the farewell ritual. This will be the grandest Traveler’s Tomb in Tuscanian history, for this is the noblest cause we have ever undertaken.” His voice had roared above the laughters of the children and crackles of the burning fire wood.


    —–


    Chief Nelius Tuscan reemerged from the water, gasping for air. One more dip, and the sacred bath would be complete. Yet his thoughts remained elsewhere.


    The witches…


    Fire had been the only thing that worked against them.


    Hanging, slashing, drowning—all had failed to kill the witches. They healed too quickly, their wounds mending at an unnatural speed. Humans were able to hurt but not kill them. As if they had consumed an elixir. They must have been in pain the entire time, Nelius believed, for they had screamed and cursed and threatened to end the human race. Or perhaps their suffering was a ruse, a trick to manipulate the humans.


    But fire…


    That finally did it.


    Back then, they had burned those witches. Although fire had trapped them, it had failed to destroy their bodies, doing little damage to their skin and flesh, at first. Tuscanians had watched in horror and fascination as the flames danced around them, seemingly alive. The witches'' screams of pain and curses of rage had grown louder, each day and every night, taunting the Tuscanians. It took almost a year. Every day, the Tuscanian Chief had ordered more and more wood to be added to the pyre, the flames never to die out. His obsession with their destruction had consumed the village''s resources, but the firewood kept coming - from the distant lands of the Elysian Empire, the Yadoran Kingdom, and the Devatonka Dynasty. They had sent it not only to fuel the pyre but to fuel their own greed.


    The Elysians sent fragrant woods that burned slow and smoked the skies, the Yadorans sent the dense oak that crackled and roared, and the Devatonkans sent the ancient, resinous logs that bellowed fiercely when ignited.


    Tuscanvalle was merely a spot chosen for the execution of those witches. The Elysians had brought the idea forth, the Yadorans had provided the strategy, their military minds calculating the most effective way to eliminate the perceived threat. The Devatonkans had offered the might, their warriors eager to prove themselves against the supposedly invincible sorceresses. But it was Tuscanvalle that suffered the consequences of their collective folly.


    Even now, as the ritual started ceremoniously, Nelius wondered—had the witches truly suffered, or had they only pretended?


    He emerged from the water a final time, his body trembling. The sun now kissed the horizon. “Light the farewell fire,” he ordered.


    Before him, the logs crackled to life. The priest started to recite the ritual incantations.


    Would this journey lift the curse? Or were they doomed to repeat their mistakes?