<em style="box-sizing: border-box">But the waters will know, and the winds will hear,


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">The strength of a soul that refuses fear.


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">My feet are banished, my hands are bare,


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">My children will carry what I cannot bear.


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">Yet in their eyes, the dawn may rise,


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">A future unseen by cursed skies.


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">If I am lost, let this be true—


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">Fear can’t consume what’s in you.


    Nelius turned his gaze toward the gathering. The men began to rise one by one, brushing the dirt from their clothes and bidding their families goodbye. Fathers embraced their children, wives clung to their husbands, and farewells were exchanged with a quiet finality. Nearby, the children unaffected by this day’s parting played with carefree abandon, their laughter and songs drifting through the air like a defiant melody against the somber atmosphere.


    Nelius shifted back to Ibarius, his voice sharp with urgency. “I don’t have much time to explain. I’ve wasted too many precious hours debating whether it was safer to keep you in the dark or arm you with knowledge. But now…” His voice faltered. “Now, my time has run out.”


    Ibarius frowned, his confusion deepening. “I’m still in the dark, brother. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”


    Nelius began pacing, his movements restless, his thoughts seemingly tangled. “Do you remember the day Calla drowned in the lake?” he asked abruptly, ignoring Ibarius’s question.


    The shift in topic was jarring, but Ibarius nodded, the humiliation and tension from earlier forgotten in the face of his brother’s intensity. “The little girl?” he asked, gesturing toward the group of children playing and singing nearby. His eyes landed on a dark-haired child, her laughter rising above the others’. “Her?”


    Nelius followed his gaze briefly, confirming with a nod. “Yes, her."


    Ibarius’s brows furrowed as memories stirred. “I thought she was dead that day. She looked like a corpse, still and lifeless for half the day… until she just sat up. Alive. Unharmed. Everyone thought it was a miracle.”


    And it had been. Calla had fallen into the lake and been submerged for too long. When the men finally pulled her from the water, her small body was cold, breathless, and without a pulse. Her parents wept over her lifeless form, and so did the entire village.


    As Tuscanian tradition dictated, a body could not be cremated after sunset. Since Calla’s death occurred in the evening, her family had decided to wait until dawn for the ceremony. They laid her on the pyre, her mother adorning her with flowers for her final journey. The men began preparing for the morning rites, their movements heavy with sorrow.


    But at midnight, Calla stirred.


    Without warning, the girl sat upright, her eyes wide open. The villagers froze in horror, unsure if they were witnessing a miracle or something far darker. Some whispered that it wasn’t Calla at all, but something unnatural that had taken possession of her body.


    Nelius had acted swiftly. He brought the girl to his home, where he checked her pulse himself and enlisted the priest to perform rites of protection. For hours, they watched her closely, looking for any sign of evil influence.


    By sunrise, the priest declared her free of any possession, alive and well. The village erupted in celebration, cheering Calla’s impossible return from death. What had begun as a day of mourning ended as a day of awe and relief.


    Nelius nodded, his brow furrowed with worry. “She saw something that day,” he said quietly, his voice laden with an unease that made Ibarius stiffen. “Something no living human has ever seen. That day, Calla returned from a place no one is meant to return from.”The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Ibarius wanted to laugh, to dismiss his brother’s words as absurd. But the seriousness in Nelius’s expression held him back. This was no jest. “And where, exactly, is that?” Ibarius asked cautiously.


    “The world of the dead and shadows,” Nelius whispered.


    Ibarius’s jaw dropped, his mind scrambling to comprehend. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air. Could such a thing be possible? His instincts rejected it, but then again, if witches and their curses were real, why not this?


    “And…” Nelius hesitated, choosing his next words with care. “I’m not sure if it’s just a child’s imagination or the truth, but she brought us a warning.” He stopped pacing and turned to Ibarius, gripping his hand tightly, as though his very life depended on being understood. “A warning,” he continued, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, “from Death itself.”


    Ibarius’s eyes widened in disbelief, but before he could respond, Nelius leaned in closer. “There’s a way to lift the curse,” he said, his voice tinged with breathless urgency.


    Ibarius felt a spark of hope ignite within him, his heart racing. He opened his mouth to speak, but Nelius raised a hand, cutting him off.


    “Or, in Calla’s exact words,” Nelius clarified, his tone grave, “there’s a way to contain the damage, the evil, when the curse takes hold.”


    Nelius’s grip on Ibarius’s hand tightened, his knuckles white. “Those who chased us, the ones who hunted us down—they’re blind to what’s truly stirring beneath the surface. It’s not just us who are in danger, brother. The entire world is at risk. And that’s why I must leave. To find the way. To stop this before it’s too late.”


    He paused, his expression conflicted. “The nuances, the details of the process—those will stay with me for now. Me and Calla. I won’t burden you with them, not yet.” His voice softened, as though speaking more to himself than to Ibarius. “Calla has a role to play, a task I’ve given her. She’ll carry it out for as long as she lives or until we return. I only hope she understands the weight of it.” He shook his head, his worry momentarily shifting to doubt. “Can a child truly grasp the seriousness of such a task?”


    Nelius dismissed the thought with a shake of his head and looked Ibarius in the eye. “But I need something from you,” he said, pressing Ibarius’s palm firmly.


    Ibarius nodded, his confusion mingling with curiosity. Whatever his brother needed, he would do his best to deliver.


    “Do not let them leave this paradise.”


    Nelius’s voice carried an urgency that made Ibarius’s spine straighten. His gaze followed his brother’s, settling on the villagers. The men were preparing for the farewell, dusting off their clothes and hugging their families one last time. The children, oblivious to the weight of the moment, played and sang with cheerful abandon. Their carefree melodies drifted through the air, jarringly at odds with the gravity of Nelius’s words.


    “When we leave,” Nelius continued, his tone unyielding, “me and my twenty-eight warriors, you must take them back to the other side of the lake. And under no circumstances should you ever let them set foot outside our new boundaries again. Not a single soul, Ibarius. Not now. Not ever. Not until we find a way.”


    He grabbed Ibarius by the shoulders, his grip firm, his eyes piercing. The intensity of his touch seemed meant to imprint his words deep into Ibarius’s mind. “The Tuscanian bloodline is more important than we’ve ever realized. It always has been. It’s your responsibility now. You must preserve them. You must make them thrive until we return.”


    Ibarius nodded, his brother’s command settling heavily in his heart. He didn’t fully understand, but the resolve in Nelius’s voice left no room for doubt.


    Nelius gave one final nod before turning away, his steps purposeful yet heavy as he left the clearing. Ibarius stood there, rooted to the spot, a storm of dread and confusion swirling within him. The children’s songs still hung in the air, their light-hearted tunes carried by the wind as though mocking the seriousness of the moment.


    The children sang their final verse:


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">Though death may come, though light may fade,


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">The soul’s resolve cannot be swayed.


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">Row, row, row across the tide,


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">Through cursed waves where fears reside.


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">The stones may cut, the sky may cry,


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">But hope will live, though I may die.


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">And if the end is all I find,


    <em style="box-sizing: border-box">I leave my strength for those behind.