"Your kind hunted me, Nelius, for they feared my ability to create life without a man''s touch," she had said. "Let me remind you of what your fragile minds have cast aside: my form is beyond mortal comprehension.


    "You drove my first born in oblivion and squandered my unborn in the womb. For that, I curse you. You feared what you could not control and sought to destroy that which was never yours to destroy. For that I curse you. You feared my kind will wreck havoc on yours—so mark my words, Nelius: when I return, I will be the Havoc you fear."


    —–


    “The gods will not forgive this,” Rosa had warned Ibarius, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. “And neither will I.”


    Ibarius had straightened, spreading his arms like that of an eagle. “Then let the Gods strike me down,” he had declared, his voice booming over the clearing. ““But… alas! The Gods never punish the worthy. So, Rosa, step aside. You have no power here.”


    Chief Nelius Tuscan''s eyes remained glazed from the smoke of the Hole Fire and from his bloody mind obsessively drifting back to the grim memories of his past.


    The anointment… his anointment… had happened over the rotting body of his brother.


    He was alive… Kalius was alive. But far from being functional.


    Kalius had kept blabbering something in a language that no one understood. Something malicious. His entire being had turned malicious. The pus from his wounds and rotting skin had scorched anyone who had dared to touch him, infecting them with the same sickness that was eating him alive. The priest had to use a stick to remove the Zarvan from his head to complete the ritual and release him from Chiefdom. The tribe had never seen such a disrespectful anointment. But no one dared to voice their concerns. The curse—they thought—was already in motion.


    What they didn''t know was that it was only the beginning.


    Chief Nelius Tuscan forced the memories to the back of his mind and moved closer to Rosa. Slowly, methodically, he untied his Thalrek and handed it to his wife. "Hold this," he said, his voice alien even to him.


    Rosa stared at him, her tear-filled eyes pleading for answers—for clarity, the hope in her draining by the moment. She looked beautiful in the rising sun light. A wave of sadness washed over him. He would never get to see her lovely face again.


    This wasn''t the time to let his heart falter. His responsibilities here, in Tuscanvalle, weren''t complete. He removed his Zarvan and placed it over the Thalrek Rosa was holding. He shifted his attention towards Ibarius. His lips curved into the caring smile, reserved only for his family.


    Ibarius cast him a triumphant one, his eyes drawn to the Zarvan a thousand times in a second. Chief Nelius Tuscan could see Ibarius visibly inflating with pride and excitement. Ibarius took one more step forward and reached to claim the Zarvan, to claim sole ownership of the people around them as if they were mere beasts to him.


    Chief Nelius Tuscan grabbed his hand with a cold smile, his steely grip cutting off his blood supply.


    "You were right, brother!" He clapped Ibarius''s shoulder affectionately, steering him around to the center of the clearing. "The Gods only answer the worthy. But are you?"


    Ibarius''s perception was clouded enough by his fleeting victory and the appreciative gesture from his brother that it took a moment more for him to realise that his brother was challenging him. The muscles on his face grew rigid. He shrugged off his brother''s arm in defiance. "You''re siding with that low life?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Ah… I see! You''re under that siren''s spell, aren''t you?"


    The crowd gasped again.


    "Ibarius!" Rosa stepped forward.


    Chief Nelius Tuscan gestured for her to stop. "Careful, Ibarius. You''re talking about The Woman of the Tribe." He reminded, for that''s how Tuscanians call the wife of their chief and the title called for respect and honour.


    "She''s still a woman." Ibarius smirked.


    "That''s enough, Ibarius!" Nelius roared over the cackling fire. "You will kneel before the tribe and apologize. To Rosa. To the priest. To the Gods. And to the people for disrupting the ritual."


    Ibarius''s eyes narrowed. "You dare to challenge me, Nelius? For a woman?"This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "For justice. For tradition. For the future of our people," Chief Nelius Tuscan replied. "And of course, for the woman who surrendered her very being for my legacy."


    Ibarius straightened his back and squared his shoulders. "And if I don''t?"


    "I might have to reconsider your position as my successor."


    Ibarius''s eyes grew wide, his lips curving into an insulting smile. "You can''t do that in the middle of the ritual."


    "Middle of the ritual? The anointment hasn''t started yet." With a swift motion, Chief Nelius Tuscan pulled Ibarius''s hand to his side, twisting it behind his back, and shoved him to his knees. The crowd watched in shock as the man who was meant to be the next leader of Tuscanvalle was brought down by his own brother. Ibarius''s knees hit the hard ground with a thud, his pride bruised as much as his dignity. The crowd, initially shocked into silence, began to murmur. Chief Nelius Tuscan stepped away from his struggling brother, his gaze unwavering. "That''s for insulting my wife." He announced.


    He circled around him, his gaze cold and detached.


    "You have disrespected our priest, insulted my wife, and tried to rip away Freesia''s right to be honoured as the future Woman of the Tribe. I''ve already come to regret my decision of choosing you as my successor. I doubt you could lead our people in the path of righteousness and justice. There isn''t much time for me to lecture you on fairness in Chiefdom—I must leave soon.


    "But, brother," Chief Nelius Tuscan said, "You have two choices. Apologize. Right your wrongs as a true leader should and get anointed as planned. Or walk away with nothing but the shame of this day hanging over your legacy, I''ll better find someone else to lead in my absence. You''re free to do as you please."


    Ibarius looked around, the people waiting for his answer. His pride was bruised, but his ambition was a ravenous beast, demanding to be fed. He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving his brother''s. With a jerk of his head, he bent over and whispered something to the ground, his voice too low for anyone to hear.


    The priest was tense, his eyes flicking from one brother to the other. Rosa held her breath, the Thalrek and Zarvan shaking slightly in her grasp. With a grumble of anger, Ibarius lifted his gaze to meet Chief Nelius Tuscan''s. "Fine," Ibarius spat, the word thick with venom. "I apologize."


    The crowd remained silent, waiting for the customary words to be spoken. The priest stepped forward, his hand hovering over the Hole Fire, ready to begin the anointment. Chief Nelius Tuscan nodded curtly. "To Rosa," he prompted. "To the priest. To the gods. To the people."


    Ibarius clenched his teeth, the words burning his throat as he forced them out. "I apologize to the priest, to The Woman of my Tribe, to the gods, and to the people of Tuscanvalle," he recited.


    Chief Nelius Tuscan offered his hand to help Ibarius stand. Ibarius took it, his eyes never leaving the ground as he hauled himself up, his pride in shambles.


    Chief Nelius Tuscan''s eyes searched the crowd, finally resting on Freesia''s figure shrinking away from the gathering. "Freesia!" He called out with the authority of a man who had been the Chief for over a decade. "Freesia, come forth and join your husband."


    Freesia emerged from the sea of bodies, her head still bowed, her eyes swollen from the tears she had been fighting to hold back. The priest nodded to her with a gentle smile, acknowledging her presence as if she were the most important person in the clearing.


    Ibarius glared at Freesia as she approached, her steps tentative and her gaze downcast until she stood beside her husband. She knew what was coming—his wrath was a familiar storm she had weathered before.


    The priest hesitated, his gaze nerveously flitting between the brothers. "Freesia," he said, "you must hold the Thalrek and the Zarvan for your husband."


    Freesia took the sacred items from Rosa and the priest began to chant, his voice echoing through the clearing.


    "Ibarius Tuscan," the priest intoned, his eyes closed in concentration, "you have been chosen by your brother, Chief Nelius Tuscan, to bear the burden of leadership. May the gods look upon you with favor and guide your hand in the protection and prosperity of Tuscanvalle." He drew an intricate pattern on Ibarius''s forehead with the sacred ash, the symbol of the Tuscanian Chiefdom.


    Murmurs of awe and uncertainty rippled through the gathering. They have completely forgotten to sound the drums or the horns of victory. This was not how it was meant to be. But here they were, watching the anointment of a Chief who had just been humiliated a moment ago.


    Ibarius''s face remained stoic throughout the process, his eyes never leaving the Holy Fire as if he were trying to burn a hole through it. He didn''t bother to look at Freesia, nor did he acknowledge the presence of his brother and sister-in-law. As the priest stepped back, Ibarius took the Thalrek and the Zarvan from his trembling wife. He wrapped the cloth around his waist and tied the sash, then crowned himself with the headdress without waiting for the priest’s instruction.


    The priest’s eyes flickered between the brothers, his mouth tightening in disapproval at Ibarius''s haste. But the moment the Zarvan touched Ibarius''s head, he acquired the authority and the priest knew better than to challenge the new Chief. With a deep breath, he continued the incantation, praying that the gods would indeed guide Ibarius’s hand.


    With that, the ceremony concluded. The crowd remained silent, the only sound the crackling of the Holy Fire. Chief Nelius Tuscan turned to his men, the same twenty-eight who he had chosen to accompany him on his journey. "We have much to do. Let us begin the construction of the Traveller''s Tomb," he said, gesturing for them to follow.


    The men started to work on the construction of the Tomb as fast as they can. When the tomb was complete, they would have their final meal in the land they once called home, before setting off into the void in search of something that might not even exist—something that might have never existed.


    Chief Nelius Tuscan sighed. Only he understood the true horror of the curse—its depth, its finality. What awaited him in the journey, no one could guess. Not even the twenty-eight chosen men.


    If they did, the strength would drain from their limbs. The will to carry on would vanish.


    No. He cannot let the world crumble with the name of his race written in its blood.


    He must do something before it was too late.


    And he will!