《Utters Of Exhaustion》 Prologue Prologue ¡°In the midst of boundless fatigue, I had once laid claim to dominion over Affliction, the very catalyst for instability and upheaval. Yet in this transcendent weariness, it is the minuscule beings that grow within me that enrage me. With their ceaseless consumption, they erode the foundation of this existence. They, they consume me... They appropriate my being and manipulate it for their own insignificance. How did you attain such command? How did you form, when all you know is to devour?¡± - The whispers of a man gone mad, carved in stone.
Havina sat on the small, rickety stool in her room. Carefully, she continued to stitch the worn sole of her boots. Dim, muted light filtered through the small grime-smeared window of her room, casting an almost ghostly glow across the weathered wooden floorboards. Outside, the sky was a vast expanse of swirling hues, shifting and blending in a perpetual hypnotic dance. Each morning, these colors painted a surreal tapestry that never failed to captivate her, their beauty far outweighing that of her daily life. As she worked the old leather, Havina listened to the familiar and comforting sounds of the village beginning to stir. The distant clatter of tools echoed like a rhythmic heartbeat, accompanied by the low murmur of voices as workers made their way to the depths beneath the rock. Each morning, the colors in the sky seemed to whisper promises of adventures untold, urging her to break free from her routine. As Havina looked through her shutters, her mind wandered. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be free of the village''s confines, to explore past the horizon and discover what lay hidden beyond the outer ridges. Other villages and larger towns were far and few between, most completely encased with rock and stone. It was not easy to leave Kiven. Maybe, if she saved enough, she could purchase transport to Verstav for her and her father. However, fear held her back. The unknown was both alluring and terrifying. What if she left and found nothing but even more disappointment? What if the beauty she imagined was just an illusion, a cruel mirage to lure her away from the safety of the known? The thought of venturing into a world where her dreams could be shattered paralyzed her. The possibility of finding nothing, or worse, finding her fears realized, kept her firmly rooted in place. She gripped her boots tightly, her fingers pressing into the worn leather. With a sigh, she lowered her gaze and focused on finishing the final stitch. For now, responsibilities and duties kept her tethered to this place. There were those she loved, and their needs anchored her firmly to the village. Her friends kept her going, and her aging father who needed to be taken care of, even if he would never admit it. Her bond with her father was fragile and precious, a constant reminder of why she stayed, even when the skies whispered of freedom. The comfort of the familiar, even if it was mundane, was a strong chain to break. Havina set her boots aside and stood up from the stool, her sleepwear still clinging to her from the night''s rest. She stretched, steeling herself for another day. Perhaps one day she would find the courage to follow the sky''s beckoning and seek out the world that lay beyond her village. But today, she would remain grounded, her dreams of exploration lingering like the fading colors of dawn. She dressed quickly, slipping into her worn but well-kept attire, suitable for her work at the tavern. If there was one thing she believed in, it was being prepared. Just before Havina could step out the front door, a voice sounded from the table behind her. ¡°It¡¯s been a year, you know,¡± her father said, his voice heavy with unspoken sorrow. Havina¡¯s gaze dropped to her feet, the words feeling like a weight pressing down on her. A tear traced a path down her cheek, falling silently onto her boot. ¡°Not today, please,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. ¡°I just... I can¡¯t do this today.¡± But it was too late; the dam of her emotions had begun to crack. Her father¡¯s voice, soft and filled with pain, reached out to her. ¡°Oh, Havina, I miss her too. I thought... maybe we¡¯d find her, or...¡± ¡°She¡¯s gone, Father,¡± Havina interrupted, her voice hardening as she struggled to maintain control. ¡°She¡¯s gone. I¡¯ll see you tonight. If you need anything, send someone.¡± With that, she pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped outside. She wiped the tears away and took a deep breath as she was enveloped by the familiar, damp scent of the village. The small community was bustling with morning activity. Warm air carried the clamor of metal and the hum of daily life. Miners and laborers were already hard at work, their movements purposeful. The streets were lined with weathered buildings, standing as silent witnesses to the passage of time. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys, a promise of warmth and sustenance that contrasted sharply with the chill in her heart. To Havina¡¯s left she could see the entrance to the caves, it was a gaping maw in the side of a ridge that loomed protectively over the village. The miners moved with practiced efficiency, their faces set in determined expressions and their uniforms already dusted with a fine layer of dirt. As she made her way down the familiar path towards her destination, her gaze fell on one of the waiting carts. These carts were constructed from sturdy wood and reinforced with steel bands; they featured a single band of white Ohr woven around the metal. This band provided the means for suspending the carts above the monorails, allowing them to glide effortlessly through the air into the the mines. One simply had to push, propelling the carts along the monorail that was fastened to the stone ground. She approached the cart slowly, the quiet hum of its suspended state drawing her closer. She had often been tempted to try to tip one over, just to see if it would fall, but she never had the heart to touch them. Especially not now, not after her conversation with her father. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°Havina, are you alright miss?¡± A friendly voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see an older man, bald with a long gray beard and a warm smile. ¡°Uh, yes, Sorry. I was just...¡± Havina began, but he cut her off with a reassuring grin. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± the man said. He had a twinkle in his eye, and a smile that almost made her feel like everything was going to be okay. ¡°I¡¯ll see you later tonight, have a cider ready for me, will you?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Havina smiled as the man started to walk away, whistling cheerfully as he pulled the cart along with him towards the depths. As the man and the Ohr cart moved away, Havina¡¯s thoughts drifted back to her sister, Learuh. Ohr was a source of wonder to most, but it was a painful reminder to Havina of the day Learuh disappeared near the southern ridge. While searching for Learuh that night, one of the search parties discovered a cavern of what they now knew was Ohr. That had been a year ago now. The discovery of Ohr with its potent strength had overshadowed the day for most, but for Havina it would always be the day her world changed irrevocably. The thoughts of Learuh''s terrified face haunted her, knowing that her sister had died alone somewhere in the dark. The body had never been found, they had always assumed some animal had gotten to her, or that she fell down some shaft they couldn¡¯t find. The village was completely enclosed by the rigid walls of rock that towered around them. The walls stretched for miles, creating maze-like patterns that were treacherous to explore. The caves underneath them however, they went on for what seemed like an eternity. The image of carts quietly gliding to the depths was a constant reminder to most how easy their lives had become. Down the main thoroughfare, the market square was already bustling with life. Stalls filled with goods¡ªranging from freshly baked bread to simple tools and clothing¡ªbeckoned villagers who bartered and chatted. The voices mingled with the rhythmic clang of hammers at a nearby forge. As she walked, Havina watched as sparks flew, flying from bright orange metals as they were struck repeatedly. Forging was the heart of this village, the primary reason many chose to live here. The forge¡¯s numerous chimneys belched thick, black smoke as engineers labored, refining metals and producing the tools, cart parts, and machinery essential for maintaining the mines¡¯ operations. Ohr Engineers had quickly become highly sought after. Every day, Havina came across new constructions and innovative uses that amazed her with their creativity. There was even talk of building a structure that could reach ten stories high. Havina couldn¡¯t imagine why they would ever need something so tall, but the idea itself was astounding. They had recently found a way to magnify the glow of Ohr, infusing lamps to cast a soft, blue-tinged light that gave the entire village a slightly otherworldly feel, all the while sending chills down Havina¡¯s spine. The properties of Ohr had proven to be a double-edged sword, offering remarkable construction capabilities, but also presenting risks that remained poorly understood. Many who eagerly embraced Ohr¡¯s unusual qualities tended to overlook the earlier trials and mishaps endured by those who first experimented with these innovations. The conveniences and advancements they enjoyed had come at a cost. Havina made it to the tavern¡ªher tavern. She didn¡¯t own it, no, but it was hers. The scent of stale ale and roasted meat always welcomed her like an old friend. Each worn wooden table held stories of the village¡¯s past, and each creaky floorboard echoed the laughter and sorrow of its patrons. With all its imperfections, it was her sanctuary, a small haven amid the daily grind. Her eyes swept over the village she knew so well. The familiar sights and sounds enveloped her, a routine that she had grown accustomed to. Walking through the open doors, she greeted the early patrons with a warm smile and began her duties. The colors of the sky outside whispered to her as she worked, their song a call to the world beyond the ridge, waiting to be discovered. The loveliness of the dawn, fleeting yet eternal, lingered in her mind as she served drinks and listened to the miners'' tales¡ªstories and triumphs, full of fallacy, a quiet promise that real adventures were yet to be discovered. . . . Even at night, the sky was illuminated by dim lights swirling in mesmerizing, intricate patterns. These lights, glowing with a fervent brilliance, seemed to reaffirm their eternal presence in her life, dancing with an enigmatic splendor. They almost looked like they should be loud. To the contrary, this night was far too quiet, especially considering the circumstances. Solemn and tall, a man she had often seen returning from the mines covered in dust, had strong hands tightly wrapped around her neck. She had served him countless times as he drank alone in the corner, never partaking in stories or games of chance. His presence was a shadow that darkened a room. His eyes, cold, yet intense, had always seemed to bore into her soul. The silent tension between him and anyone who glanced in his direction had never not been palpable. Each interaction left her feeling uneasy, her skin prickling, and her stomach left feeling sick. She knew why now. "I don¡¯t understand," she gasped through choked sobs, "What did I do?" Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up at the vibrant hues of orange, green, and red in the sky, blending into multiple radiant halos. The colors reflected on her tear-streaked face, seeming to beckon her home, yet also whispering that her suffering was insufficient, that it wasn¡¯t enough. Each hue, a memoir of the beauty and pain intertwined in her life, mocked her helplessness. The lights began to go dark. She didn¡¯t want to think that this was it, she still had to go on adventure. The end of her story was nevertheless here, she wanted to know why. Why this was her fate, why she deserved to die, why he was killing her. In her final moments, the most bewildering sight, and the last thing she thought she would see. The last thing she did see, were Eeromoar¡¯s tears. His sorrowful eyes filled with a dread she couldn¡¯t comprehend, as he begged her to be afraid. Chapter One | Cry Of The Decimated Chapter One Cry of the Decimated ¡°With overarching sovereignty, You chained our souls, and have jaded our eyes. We, the depleted, claim our right to seize Your being. In our wake, You have lost all dominion. Growth shall be the sole legacy of our people, and it shall tire You. We have asked, do we harbor greater enmity towards our deity, or our adversary? We have answered. You of in-consequence. You are not our master. Histories will not remember You. Our children will not love You. No more shall You lull us into Your intoxicating slumber.¡± - Of those who slept.
Jaanava emerged from the stifling depths of the excavation site, her dark hair streaked with hints of red, clinging to her forehead from the exertion. The chill of the crisp mountain air invigorated her senses as she pulled her thick traveling cloak tighter around her slender frame. Glancing northward, she beheld the breathtaking sight of the black lake nestled at the foot of the mountain. It was a view she had not yet had the pleasure of witnessing, and its beauty captivated her. To the south, expansive farmlands stretched out before her, their lush greenery a vast opposite to the rugged terrain of the mountains. Beyond the fields, further south lay the walled city of Laphor, with open gates it was the centerpoint of Aymus. As Jaanava took in the panoramic vista, she couldn¡¯t help but smile. Despite the challenges and hardships, this moment filled her with a sense of joy she hadn¡¯t felt in years. The promise that things were going to get better finally aligned with what she felt to be true in her soul, casting aside the shadows of doubt and despair that had only recently been in control for so long. In this moment, surrounded by nature''s splendor, she felt alive. Jaanava extended her arms, savoring the freedom of movement after the claustrophobic confines below. How could anyone find solace in such damp and constricted spaces, she thought. Gazing back at the substantial chalken-pillars supporting the entrance to the mountain, Jaanava marveled at their strength and resilience. How did they withstand the weight of so much rock? The geological underground-masterpiece she had just witnessed was a testament to Ohr¡¯s strength. Six years ago they would have never dreamed of being able to build such subterranean complex structures. In the intervening years, a seismic shift had occurred in construction and innovation. Architecture that once seemed unimaginable now had planted across the city. They could now transport massive loads of food, water, or even people over the city''s distances. The most impressive creation in Jaanava¡¯s eyes were the contraptions that they had built to traverse the Johar river; she was going to get in one today. The thought sent a shiver of excitement down her spine as she anticipated the short adventure that awaited her. Taking a moment to savor the sensation of open sky above her, Jaanava tilted her head back, allowing her eyes to drift upwards. She had spent what felt like an eternity, what was really only about half a day, submerged in the depths of Aymus. She felt deprived of the natural light that now bathed her surroundings, their beauty seemed amplified upon these majestic peaks of the Sylvan Stretch. The sky extended out before her in a breathtaking display of hues, a tapestry woven with shades of black, purple, and green, in a multitude of varying halos that danced with their shadows among the clouds. Behind these celestial halos, a deep and infinite blackness loomed, hinting at a boundless expanse of everything that might be beyond. Jaanava had been eager to witness firsthand the Ohr extraction process, a preparation for a task her masters bestowed upon her. They had identified two types of Ohr, named chalk and alizarin after their colors. She was surprised by the extent of the mines; they protracted much deeper than she had anticipated. The sights that greeted her down below were mesmerizing. The rock formations glowed with vibrant reds, their surfaces gleaming with a hardness that spoke of their durability, of their difficulty to be cut into. Delicate white veins ran like sheets through the rich mineral deposits, separating the reds into large groups. If Jaanava didn¡¯t know any better she would almost think that these deposits were created. She found herself captivated by this experience, the subterranean world was wondrous, and a stark contrast to the rugged majesty of the mountains above. However, amidst her awe, Jaanava couldn''t shake the distaste she felt for inhumane treatment of those who worked below. The entire Ohr collection process was built upon the backs of the unfortunate. Moreover, the shimmering allure and enigmatic properties of Ohr seemed to whisper warnings in the back of her mind. She had heard tales of strange accidents and phenomena experienced by the slaves deep within the ground. As she had watched the extraction process unfold, a part of her wondered if there truly wasn¡¯t a better way to do things. The thought lingered like a shadow, casting a faint unease over her otherwise exhilarating experience. ¡°Ready to go?¡± the freight coordinator called out. Jaanava glanced over to see the men boarding the passenger carts. Had they already loaded everything? Each day, a shipment of chalk and alizarin was sent down the Johar river from the Alpine Outpost. Passing the lumber yards, they would end at the construction depots situated between The Timberlands and the Western Wall of Laphor. Today she would be joining them. The journey south by southwest would be much quicker than the arduous two-week trek up the Sylvan Stretch Road. Now that they could travel the sa¡¯vis via freightcraft, the return trip would only take a few days. Although there were plans to build a rail system along the Sylvan Stretch, it was still in its early stages of development. Besides, few had the need or desire to venture into the cold mountains. "Sorry about that! Yes, I''m coming. It''s just so beautiful up here," Jaanava said as she settled into the front cart alongside the freight coordinator and shipmaster. As the men continued their previous conversation, discussing engineering feats and accomplishments, or something like that¡ªJaanava wasn¡¯t entirely listening, she found herself drifting back into her own thoughts. Soon after entering the cart, they began to move. The rail would carry them and their cargo eastward until they reached the Johar river. There, the men would disconnect the carts and transfer those carrying the Ohr onto the freightcraft using a chalken-crane. Jaanava¡¯s eyes remained fixed on the trees as they flew past her in the opposite direction. After what felt like no time at all they had arrived at the docking station. Jaanava marveled at the sights before her¡ª the freightcraft was a massive and intricate construction that seemed to defy the laws of nature by hovering just above the sa¡¯viz that flowed in the Johar river. The sheer weight of the craft, combined with the heavy Ohr it carried, should have sunk it into the thick and scalding liquid. Sa¡¯viz was exceedingly perilous, its dense and tar-like consistency making it nearly impossible to bridge, even where the river thinned in the south. In the past building anything over it had been a formidable challenge, traversal however was impossible. The mere thought of traveling over such a dangerous substance was both terrifying and overwhelming. Though she wasn¡¯t an expert, Jaanava had been told that something about the properties of chalk enabled this feat. The rail systems apparently operated in a similar fashion. Though, how exactly? She couldn¡¯t quite grasp it. Yet, she accepted it as one of those mysteries of the world that didn¡¯t require full understanding. And for now, that was perfectly fine with her. While watching the chalklen-crane load carts onto the freightcraft, Jaanava finally had to ask. ¡°How does that contraption not just fall into the sa¡¯viz?¡± she asked. The older freightmaster, who had just been engrossed in conversation with one of his men, turned around. ¡°Pardon, what was that?¡± he said. "How does the craft stay afloat with all that weight?" she asked again. "Well," the old man pondered, scratching his long gray beard, "It''s not too complicated. I''m not the best person for technical details, but..." She accidentally cut him off, ¡°What is, sorry, what is the simple explanation?¡± He continued, ¡°You know chalk? Well obviously you would, they sent you all the way up here I have to assume you know what chalk is¡ªanyway, imagine a force, a weight. Now imagine that same weight being pushed against the initial weight, they would just stand still. Like this.¡± The tall man lifted both arms, hands in front of his face and clapped, leaving his hands where they remained in the air, against each other. ¡°Like this!¡± he said again, his light blue eyes glimmering, looking much too proud of himself for his explanation, ¡°Does that make sense?¡± "Um, I think I get it. Sort of... Not really," she admitted. Jaanava smiled, her green eyes reflecting the light of the midday sun as she addressed the freightmaster. Her tanned skin, a result of years of working outdoors, contrasted with the pale complexion of the man in front of her, who spent most of his time in the captain''s cabin scribbling notes. As the men around the shipmaster began to laugh, one patted him on the back. ¡°Well, it makes sense to me!" he said with a smile. This man loved what he did; she could feel it in her soul, even if he wasn¡¯t of the most sound mind. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°Now,¡± he continued, ¡°if there aren¡¯t any more questions, I think we are ready to begin our journey. Or rather, it¡¯s not so much a journey as it is a trip.¡± He trailed off awkwardly. With that, the freightmaster joined his crew on the freightcraft, and Jaanava hurried after him. She noticed the load coordinator, a middle-aged balding man, scribbling something off on a piece of parchment. After finishing, he handed it to the freightmaster before joining his own men on what remained of the steam carriage. The freightmaster, noticing her gaze fixed on the paper in his hands, explained, ¡°Signatures,¡± he said, ¡°proof of receipt, authorization to attain and transport such material. Which supplier transported what to where. Guild legalities, they can be quite tedious.¡± He trailed off as he strode onto the gangplank leading up onto the craft. Taking a deep breath, Jaanava followed onto the sturdy deck of the freightcraft, her senses tingling with a mixture of anticipation and a subtle, unfamiliar unease. For generations, her people had lived inland, their lives shaped by the rugged terrain and towering mountains that surrounded them. The concept of sa¡¯viz travel had been so foreign to them. The legacy of ancient tales passed down through the ages had always seemed a myth. Stories of vast, unknown sa¡¯viz oceans and the mysteries that lay within the searing pitch had instilled a subtle unease that lingered in her memory. Suppressing a shiver, Jaanava forced herself to focus on the reassuring presence of the crew nearby. The world was breathtaking, the Johar river and scorched-line trees teeming with life, a haven untouched by disturbance. As Jaanava peered closer, she saw monkeys darting from one tree to the next, yellowish-green bananas in hand. She was journeying along a path that no man or woman had ever dared to tread, gliding across the sa¡¯viz like a bird above the skies. The Johar river was vast, easily spanning hundreds of feet in width, yet their craft would cross from one shore to the other in mere minutes. The vessel moved with a surprising grace, the ride smoother than she had anticipated. Jaanava had expected jostling and bumps, but the passage was serene enough to allow her to stand with ease. Had she been below deck, she might not have realized they were moving at all. She gazed into the opaque sa¡¯viz, lost in thought. Suddenly, a large, black shape emerged from the water about twenty feet away. Jaanava jumped back as sa¡¯viz sprayed in the air. The creature''s head, roughly half a foot wide, and several feet of its body briefly surfaced before it slid back beneath the pitch, vanishing like a shadow slipping away. The creature''s sheer size and the way it moved were unlike anything she had ever encountered, leaving her terrified. ¡°What was that!¡± she screamed, ¡°Are there creatures under the sa¡¯viz?¡± A man approached, his initial concern giving way to a relaxed smile. ¡°Oh, we call those fish.¡± ¡°Fish,¡± Jaanava repeated, awe-struck. ¡°They live in the sa¡¯viz? How? How do they not burn?¡± The freightman shrugged. ¡°Beats me. We''ve tried catching them, but they''re too slippery.¡± Jaanava had never heard of creatures living in the sa¡¯viz before; visibility from the shoreline was extremely limited. What did they eat to survive, how did they breathe? A flash of red caught her eye, darting so swiftly she barely registered it. Was that another fish? There were red ones too? Her love for growth and nature ignited with curiosity about these fish, fear slipping away as she wondered how she might catch one to study. Jaanava was a specialist, a master botanist with an uncanny ability to understand why things grew and thrived. Her expertise bordered on the miraculous, earning her the title of ¡°The Mother of Ecosystems¡±. This was why she had been sent to the Alpine Outpost, and why she was now returning to the Timberlands. They had discovered something out there, though what exactly remained a mystery. They wouldn¡¯t disclose it yet, but it must be significant given her importance. She had always loved to watch things grow, although her focus was on plant life, that didn¡¯t mean she couldn¡¯t be interested in the way other types of things grew. That list most definitely now included fish, she wanted one. As the days passed, the temperature gradually increased as they departed from the chilly mountainous terrain, the landscape leveling out. According to the map she consulted, they would soon be traversing past the western farmlands of Laphor, her home. Jaanava had resided with her husband near the southern edge of these farmlands. They had relocated there years ago when she was hired by Jorvan¡¯s Guild, tasked to aid in cultivating crops with significantly higher yields than the standard varieties used in the North. With an impressive resume, Jaanava and her husband Ba¡¯mies had assisted multiple Guilds throughout the Laphoran province. They were quite skilled at enhancing agricultural output. Everything had been fine until, until... Jaanava stepped away from the side of the craft. She forcibly suppressed those memories. Her husband wasn¡¯t returning, and dwelling on the past served no purpose. Such reminiscence only exacerbated her pain, and she had made considerable strides to move forward. Jaanava cleared her mind and endeavored to focus on the majesty surrounding her, stifling any thoughts of home. After all, their arrival would be later this day, and she would soon be occupied with her tasks. The Johar river now exhibited shallower depths compared to its mountainous origins, the flow of sa¡¯viz slowing. The freightcraft occupied only about one third of the Johar river''s total width now, necessitating cautious navigation. They were nearing the lumber yards situated on the periphery of the Timberlands, west of the river. Here, she would disembark to meet her awaiting guard, who would finally provide her with further instructions about her actual task. As their journey continued, Jaanava''s gaze remained fixed on the river''s surface, searching for any more signs of hidden life. She had seen thirteen fish so far, not that she was counting. Later that evening, their destination came into view, and with a gentle slowing of the vessel''s pace, they arrived. Jaanava stepped off the freightcraft, the sole disembarker at this stop, while the vessel swiftly resumed its course. Its direction would continue southward, bound for the construction yards and engineering depots where their resources would be transformed into marvels. Two towering Mishtaal awaited her. ¡°Jaanava, is it?¡± one of them inquired. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s me,¡± she confirmed. A few moments passed before she realized the Mishtall were carrying bags. ¡°Are we departing immediately?¡± ¡°Afraid so.¡± The elder Mishtaal replied. ¡°But we¡¯ve brought provisions for your hike.¡± He handed her a pack, radiating warmth. Unwrapping it, she found hiking rations and a hot meal wrapped in cloth. "Thank you," she expressed warmly. The Mishtaal were enigmatic beings, their demeanor unpredictable¡ªsometimes kind, sometimes brusque, but always distinct from one another. They did not conform to the emotional patterns of humans; they were truly unique, she mused. "Could you enlighten me about our mission? I''ve brought my instruments; They¡¯re not too heavy, but an extended walk with them will be difficult for me. I''d like to leave behind what I won''t need," she requested. "Apologies, ma''am, but we cannot divulge until we approach the heart of the Timberlands. However, we can carry your equipment for you," the Mishtaal responded. ¡°Careful, please!¡± she implored as he grabbed her satchel containing her priceless tools.¡° These cost me a fortune to create. In fact they had, they cost her Ba¡¯mies. Her collection included a myriad of instruments: measuring devices, calculation tools, extractors¡ªand everything necessary for researching biological matter. She was quite curious as to the purpose of their expedition; was it related to a unique species of tree? ¡°We¡¯ll ensure their safety, ma¡¯am. Let''s be on our way,¡± the Mishtaal assured her. Jaanava felt a spike of excitement, a joy that nestled deep within her heart at the prospect of discovery or creation. However, alongside this anticipation, there lingered a trace of apprehension. Sometimes, she reminded herself, discovery could also be fraught with danger. The Timberlands were full of things that could kill you, especially if you weren¡¯t watching for them. Pushing aside the thought she adjusted the hem of her simple yet sturdy linen tunic, brushing off the layer of dust it had accumulated. Pulling her long, dark braid over her shoulder, she tied it back with a leather cord, keeping it out of her way as she prepared for the journey. Jaanava followed as the Mishtaal led her westward, towards the towering wall of trees that kissed the sky. Oh, to behold the marvel of these towering arboreal giants, standing in silent communion. Their verdant, deep brown branches entwined like the tender embrace of newfound affection. She loved to ponder the mysteries of these titan, how had they sustained themselves while in such close proximity to one another. She would figure out this timberland secret, just not today. The massive roots entwined in a delicate dance above the surfaces of the terrain, creating a labyrinth. Jaanava was attempting to traverse the land, even in a braid her long hair snagged on outstretched branches. It would be so easy to become ensnared by the sheer abundance of foliage, even though she was rather small compared to the average woman. Her eyes darted around as she tried to scan the shadowy undergrowth. The dark and holy halos of the sky offered no light here, eclipsed by the canopy. Though the darkness seemed to swallow her whole, every shadow a potential threat, Jaanava knew that she would be alright, even in this endless forest. Like nocturnal predators endowed with uncanny vision, her Mishtaal could pierce the veil of night, rendering their path visible. As Jaanava trailed a few steps behind her guard, the darkness of the Timberlands covering her, she found herself straying off course. The lack of light made it difficult for her to navigate, and she hoped to find a clearer path through the brush. It was then that a peculiar sound caught her attention, her eyes snapped to the source of it as she took one last step. Suddenly, she stumbled and fell upon a figure laying on the ground, hiding in the shadows. This previously undetected presence emitted an ominous moan, sending fear coursing through her veins. Her chest tightened, and her pulse quickened as her mind raced with imagined horrors lurking in the corners of the Timberlands. She collapsed to the soil, her hands grasping the dirt and mud smearing her face, Jaanava''s panic peaked as she struggled to comprehend the reality of the situation: this presence was alive. ¡°Oh no¡±, Jaanava thought to herself as her heart sank, the only creatures that lived this deep in the Timberlands would most likely want to kill her. After what felt like an eternity, waiting for the inevitable, Jaanava pushed her hand forward to touch the thing that groaned. Though this figure remained shrouded in darkness, Jaanava felt a shock as she discerned the unmistakable essence of humanity emanating from the skin. It wasn¡¯t any sort of creature, anything out here would have fur, and it couldn¡¯t have been a Mishtaal. Mishtaal¡ªthey felt different to the touch. Try as she might, Jaanava had struggled to articulate as to why that was. It was as if the very fabric of a Mishtaal lacked the familiar resonance of a human soul, a sensation she had dearly missed. Before Jaanava¡¯s mind could start to react, the Mishtaal had quickly doubled back, the younger of the two pulling her up. Panic shocked her again as the figure on the ground, obscured, had reached out to her, murmuring indistinguishable words. Jaanava recoiled instinctively, her eyes widening with trepidation. Before she could gather her thoughts, the older Mishtaal intervened, his spear poised menacingly at the motionless form. But the figure fell ominously still, its silence echoing through the once tranquil forest, now fraught with tension. Jaanava''s heart hammered against her chest as she waited for something to happen, each beat echoing in the oppressive silence of the Timberlands. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, the air thick with uncertainty. Despite her mounting fear, she knew she couldn''t retreat from this enigmatic encounter. As the moments stretched on, the Mishtaal¡¯s command sliced through the silence, demanding the figure to rise. But motionless, it remained. Chapter Two | Ordained By Radiant Scars Chapter Two Ordained By Radiant Scars ¡°Like infection, we fester, a blight upon you we will be. We are here to devour you, to ingest the very essence of your being. Should you have a glimpse of one coming, know that the multitude lie in wait. Should you see thousands, know that safety is an illusion. This realm awaits our feast and pleasure; This place is ripe for us. From afar we have come to greet you child. We are the abominations under your bed, we are unstoppable and inexorable. Flee if you must, for there is no sanctuary for those whom we mark.¡± - From the dream of a child, on the darkest night.
Battered and broken and surrounded by the pitch black, the young girl reached her trembling arm out blindly towards the voice of the nearby women she had heard. She used the last vestiges of her fading strength, all she was able to muster. Every fiber of her being screamed in protest under the weight of utter exhaustion. She was crushed with pain as she sent out her silent plea, begging for her deliverance, her body and spirit on the brink of surrender. As she grasped for redemption a harrowing call penetrated the storm inside her mind. ¡°Evrah¡± it commanded sharply, ¡°Get up¡±. Confusion clouded her mind; was he talking to her? Drained and fatigued, she succumbed to weariness, closing her eyes in defeat, and yielded to the embrace of sleep. . . . Fourteen Months Later . . . ¡°Evrah!¡± Thunder roared as her blue eyes, dulled by exhaustion, flew open. Dark hair, almost black, clung to her face, wet from the cold rain. Fragmented memories of her first awakening in the Timberlands flickered through her mind. She recalled the searing pain of her arm being dipped into the Johar, the branding that marked her as a slave. They had claimed she attempted to escape. Was that true? She couldn¡¯t remember having a brand before¡ªno one had found one, at least. They said she must have hit her head hard while fleeing. Why had she run? Her life before couldn¡¯t have been worse than her current suffering. Everyone knew the risks of escape; why had she tried? ¡°Evrah!¡± Ben¡¯Jari¡¯s urgent voice cut through her disoriented state. ¡°We need to be ready!¡± His concern was palpable, and Evrah could sense the worry in his tone. Startled, Evrah leaped to her feet, driven by fear. They could¡ªno, they would¡ªburn her again. ¡°Are we here?¡± she asked, her voice trembling. Ben¡¯Jari¡¯s dark eyes met hers, filled with a mixture of urgency and compassion. The cage came to an abrupt halt. Evrah peered through the bars, struggling to make out their surroundings. The faint light from the halos above barely cut through the night, and the rain pouring through the barred roof soaked her, the frigid mountain air biting at her skin. They had arrived. Despite the cold, Evrah preferred this to their destination; she knew she wouldn¡¯t have another chance to be clean for days. A Mishtaal approached the cage, his presence imposing. ¡°Alright, out!¡± he barked. The commanding tone made Evrah¡¯s heart race. He opened the barred door and grabbed the nearest man with a strength that seemed beyond human, hurling him onto the snow-covered ground outside. The sight spurred the others into action, now eager to avoid the Mishtaal¡¯s wrath. Moments later, Evrah jumped out, her bare feet instantly freezing as they touched the snow. She winced at the bite of the cold, hoping they wouldn¡¯t be here long. The freezing rain continued to pour, threatening frostbite. ¡°Get up!¡± the Mishtaal yelled at the man he had thrown. The man¡¯s desperate attempt to disobey only fueled the Mishtaal¡¯s anger. As the Mishtaal leaned in to grab him, the man rolled over, and Evrah gasped in shock. The man¡¯s hands were bloody, clutching a large rag that steamed as raindrops hit it. In a desperate move, he used the rag to attack the Mishtaal¡¯s face, and a scream pierced the night. The man tackled the Mishtaal, pinning him down and laughing maniacally as he shouted, ¡°I won¡¯t go back in there, I won¡¯t!¡± His laughter continued, mingling with the Mishtaal¡¯s screams. ¡°The rag,¡± Ben¡¯Jari said, his voice tight with recognition. ¡°It¡¯s been dipped in sa¡¯vis.¡± His gaze remained fixed on the scene, a mix of horror and grim understanding in his eyes. He trailed off as the other Mishtaal fell to their knees in unison, their collective suffering seemed to amplify the chaos. The Mishtaal who was burning fought to overpower the man with the rag, finally throwing it off his face. Evrah watched closely, horrified as the Mishtaal¡¯s skin was nearly gone, blistered from the burning liquid. But then, as Evrah watched closely, she swore she almost saw it begin to reknit itself. The sight was both mesmerizing and disturbing. The man with the rag tried to back away, but the Mishtaal retrieved a chalk knife from his side, raising it as Evrah turned away. There was no scream; it was over. She glanced back, her heart heavy with an unfamiliar sense of loss. The man with the rag was on the ground, a dagger protruding from his face. She felt a strange connection, a fleeting understanding of his final act of defiance. Evrah tried to feel something more for him; she didn¡¯t know the man¡¯s name, though he had been part of the same crew as she had for almost six months. Although she had never spoken to him, she wanted to mourn for him, to believe that his last stand had meaning, but it didn¡¯t¡ªand she couldn¡¯t. She looked up and saw that the Mishtaal¡¯s skin had now been fully restored. The other Mishtaal, their faces now serene and untroubled, closed in on her group and began to herd them toward the entrance of the subterranean Ohr chambers, all without a word. Evrah descended the slippery stone steps cautiously, the chill of the mountain air fading as the warmth of the subterranean depths enveloped her. Her heart pounded with each step, her thoughts racing with anxiety and dread. The barriers at the cave''s entrance kept most of the melting snow at bay, but water still trickled down the walls, joining the streams flowing off the backs of the shivering, wet slaves. The sound of dripping water mixed with the rhythmic clanking of chains, creating a haunting backdrop that filled the cavern. The constant noise felt like a physical weight pressing down on her, adding to her mounting sense of helplessness. There were about eight Mishtaal leading them down the main corridor; it was a vast expanse, bustling with activity. Each Mishtaal wore chalk-plate, as well as their own chalk-blade or chalk-axe; their imposing presence made Evrah feel small and vulnerable. Other slave groups were being led down by their own Mishtaal, most likely groups that had arrived in the other carts drawn by the same steam carriage that had brought Evrah¡¯s group. Monorails stretched overhead like veins, and beneath them, carts floated silently, suspended just a foot below the rails by some unseen force. The carts glided smoothly, carrying loads of chalk, alizarin, and other materials deeper into the darkness or toward the surface. The fleeting hum of the rails vibrated through the cavern, adding a low, ominous undertone to the distant voices and shouts from slaves and overseers. Commands and cries echoed, blending with the natural sounds of the cave. Chalk lanterns, hanging every twenty feet, cast a ghostly, flickering light that danced off the walls, illuminating the cavern in patches. The soft glow highlighted the natural beauty of the cave: gray stone shot through with brilliant red veins of Alizarin crystal, sparkling like blood frozen in time, interlaced with strands of white rock that glistened like polished bone. Despite its harshness, the sight held a strange, morbid allure. Carved-out shafts yawned like open mouths, their jagged edges hinting at the danger within. This was a place of work and death¡ªa living, breathing entity that consumed those who entered. Around thirty slaves moved in Evrah¡¯s group, each step a desperate plea against the oppressive silence. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and fear, remnants of a thousand silent screams. Evrah glanced over, catching the eyes of Toviin, a younger man with long dark hair like hers. Toviin was a larger man, and despite his intimidating features, he looked afraid, his soul betraying him. A flicker of defiance that made Evrah feel a pang of empathy. As her group was forced deeper into the cave, the rails split, directing them down one of the narrower, twisting paths. The sharp, newly cut edges of the walls loomed close, ready to tear into flesh without mercy. She moved carefully, her medium frame allowing her to navigate the tight space without injury. Others weren¡¯t so fortunate, their arms and legs scraped raw against the jagged stone, leaving smears of blood that the stone walls seemed to absorb eagerly. Toviin stumbled besides Evrah, his hands clutching his bruised and scraped arms. Now closer, Evrah could see the tears he was trying to hide. After walking down the corridor for a few minutes, Evrah occasionally heard grunts of pain as a few slaves stepped on sharp stones or brushed against the jagged walls. Finally, they arrived at a cavern spacious enough for them all to stand, but dominated by a gaping hole in the center. A single monorail was affixed to the stone ceiling above, plunging into the unknown below. At the top of the rail was a massive block of hardened chalk, anchoring it in place. Evrah knew there would be a similar block at the bottom to stabilize it. Suspended around the rail in the center of the cavern was a large cylindrical metal platform, its sides encircled with bars. Above this platform, a metal framework comprised the top of the shaft climber. The platform had a single entrance, an open gap about six inches from the edge of the rock ledge. Inside the chamber, affixed to a metal bar near the entrance, was a large steel lever with a chalk knob, currently pointing upward. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The Mishtaal who had killed the man with the rag ordered them to wait. His presence alone was enough to keep the group silent, the memory of his swift violence still fresh in their minds. Toviin stood close to Evrah and Ben¡¯Jari, they were all relatively close in age, Toviin being the youngest. His body was trembling slightly, Ben¡¯Jari reached out and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Toviin looked up, and did his best to smile back, trying to convince himself that everything would indeed be alright. ¡°We¡¯re going all the way down this time,¡± Ben¡¯Jari said, looking back into the dark abyss below. His tone was steady, but Evrah could sense the underlying tension. She could tell he didn¡¯t expect a response. His voice was barely audible over the steady dripping of sa¡¯vis from the stalactite above and the murmurs of other slave groups in the distance. ¡°Twenty-three,¡± he said suddenly. Evrah looked up at him, confused. He repeated himself, ¡°Twenty-three. That''s how many times I¡¯ve been down there.¡± His tone carried a weight of resignation, but at the same time seemed to give Toviin some hope as he looked up at Ben¡¯Jari. Evrah was shocked. Most of the time, they were sent to mine chalk; mining chalk was harsh, but survivable. But Alizarin? Alizarin cut at your very soul. It was rare to meet anyone who had survived ten trips into the Alizarin mines, but twenty-three? She had heard the stories¡ªthe ones about people who went mad, who died strange, inexplicable deaths. Tales of bodies found in the depths, bodies that were the wrong color or too heavy to move. These stories whispered through the slave quarters, warnings in the dark. This was Evrah''s first time facing the descent into those unlit pits. The thought made her stomach twist. The Alizarin mines were more than just a physical danger; they were a gateway to a place where reality twisted and the boundaries of the world blurred. The abyss below seemed to breathe, a cold exhalation of air that brushed against her skin like a whisper of dread. Toviin glanced at Evrah slightly shaking, and Evrah could feel the shared fear between them. ¡°How have you survived?¡± Toviin asked quietly, his voice barely rising loud enough to hear. Ben¡¯Jari kept his eyes fixed on the pit. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he replied. ¡°Whatever is down there, it just doesn¡¯t get me, I suppose.¡± His words were haunting, a cryptic statement that left more questions than answers. Evrah knew very well what Ben¡¯Jari was referring to. There were whispers among the slaves about creatures called the Phafel, said to roam the countless caverns when men slept. The stories claimed that no one who had ever seen one lived to tell the tale. But Evrah thought these were just stories. After all, most slaves didn¡¯t talk much, perhaps out of fear or a desire to forget. Maybe there were more survivors like Ben¡¯Jari who simply kept their experiences to themselves. She had only known Ben¡¯Jari for a couple of months now. He hadn¡¯t been on her first crew; they were all dead, of course. She didn¡¯t want to think about that. The memory was still too traumatizing. ¡°Alright, get on,¡± the lead Mishtaal commanded, waving them toward the shaft climber''s entrance. There was a moment of hesitation before the group began to shuffle forward. A young man with short brown hair and a dark expression was the first to step up to the edge. He hesitated briefly, judging the small but unnerving gap, then stepped into the chamber. One by one, the others followed, with Evrah near the back of the group, Ben¡¯Jari and Toviin just behind her. When it was her turn, Evrah closed her eyes, her breathing growing heavy as she stepped toward the edge. Her body began to shake, fear gripping her at the thought of falling into the chasm just to her left. Suddenly, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Startled, she opened her eyes, expecting to see Ben¡¯Jari. But it was a Mishtaal, his face a mask of heartless indifference. ¡°Move it!¡± he yelled, shoving her forward. Evrah yelped as she stumbled, her head smacking against the cold, hard metal floor of the chamber. Tears sprang to her eyes as she whimpered, pulling herself up into a sitting position. Blood dripped from her forehead, mingling with the dirt on her cheek. Ben¡¯Jari quickly stepped in behind her, offering his hand to help her stand. She brushed her hair out of her face, feeling the warm liquid on her fingertips. ¡°It¡¯s alright, you¡¯re alright,¡± Ben¡¯Jari said, his voice steady. ¡°I¡¯ve got you.¡± His calm reassurance was a lifeline she didn¡¯t know she needed. As the rest of their group including Torviin climbed aboard, Evrah could hear quiet sniffling from a few others. Her head was still ringing, but the presence of Ben¡¯Jari helped her stay standing. The Mishtaal, with their chalk blades drawn, boarded after them, positioning themselves in a line, faces set and weapons ready. The lead Mishtaal stepped on last, reaching for the lever. He grasped it with both hands, pulling hard. At first, it resisted, but then, with a groan, it gave way. The shaft climber began its slow descent into the darkness below, the world above slipping away as they plunged deeper into the depths of the cavern. After a short time, the shaft climber came to a halt with a metallic clang that echoed through the darkness. Evrah guessed they were at least three hundred feet below the cavern above. This was where they would find the large deposits of Alizarin crystal, the red veins that ran like blood when you were this deep into the heart of the mountain. The Mishtaal waited until everyone was off the platform, then began to inspect the group. His eyes moved slowly, deliberately, taking in each exhausted face. The air was heavy with the damp scent of earth and sweat. He spoke, his voice echoing in the cavern, ¡°Seven carts. I want seven carts filled. That should be about two hundred pounds.¡± His words hung in the air like a death sentence. The slaves exchanged nervous glances. Two hundred pounds in five days¡ªit was an impossible task. ¡°If you fail,¡± the Mishtaal continued, his voice turning sharper, ¡°four of you will suffer. Four of you will die. Vescarion.¡± Gasps filled the cavern. Even the Mishtaal¡¯s own kind, standing guard around the perimeter of the platform, seemed to stiffen at his words. Vescarion. The sa¡¯vis was feared for good reason. To be burned by its acidic touch was one thing, but to be submerged in it meant a death so excruciating that even the thought of it made Evrah¡¯s stomach churn. The Mishtaal¡¯s gaze moved across the group, as if savoring the terror in their eyes. He began walking slowly around the cluster of slaves, eyes scanning each terrified face. ¡°First,¡± he said, pointing to a tall man with a jagged scar running down his left arm, ¡°you.¡± The man visibly paled, his lips parting in silent protest. ¡°Second,¡± the Mishtaal continued, his finger moving to a woman with brown, matted hair. She clutched her shirt, eyes wide with panic, her body trembling as she tried to hold herself together. ¡°Third,¡± he pointed to a young man with a missing ear, a relic from some past punishment. His face fell, and he looked as if he might collapse on the spot. Evrah¡¯s heart was pounding. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps. The Mishtaal¡¯s gaze slid over the group, and Evrah¡¯s world seemed to slow. His eyes locked onto hers. She could see the decision in them before his finger rose. The anticipation was a weight, pressing down on her, each second stretching into an eternity. She wanted to run, to hide, but she couldn¡¯t move. Time slowed to a crawl as his finger extended, pointing directly at her. ¡°Fourth,¡± he said, his voice as final as a slammed door, ¡°you.¡± The world around her blurred, her mind screaming in panic. It was as if the air itself thickened, pressing in on her from all sides. She tried to breathe, but each inhale caught in her throat, trapped by the weight of what had just been said. She was one of the chosen four, marked for death if they failed. The cavern felt like it was closing in, the darkness suffocating. Satisfied with his declarations, the Mishtaal turned back to the platform. They moved with an eerie calmness, leaving a sack of what was most likely stale bread and skins of alcohol on the ground. Of course, it wouldn¡¯t be water¡ªat least, not at this time of year. The lead Mishtaal stepped back onto the shaft climber and grasped the lever with both hands, muscles straining as he attempted to push it back up. At first, the lever resisted, holding its position. Some of the other Mishtaal slouched, shoulders drooping, while another coughed harshly, the sound echoing through the cavern, and a third wiped sweat from his brow, his eyes glassy. The lead Mishtaal grunted with effort, his body shaking as he applied more force. Suddenly, the lever gave way with a sharp snap, springing back into position. The platform shuddered, then began to rise, pulling the Mishtaal up and away from the darkness below. No one from the group went with them; they were left alone in the depths of the mountain. The grinding sound of the shaft climber resonating through the cavern, fading slowly as the platform ascended. The shadows seemed to close in around Evrah, heavy and oppressive. Evrah¡¯s panic intensified as the distance between her and the platform grew. She was trapped down here, with the cold stone beneath her feet and the impossible task ahead. Her breath came in short gasps, her heart pounding against her chest. She turned around, her eyes darting through the gloom. Desperately, she lifted her chalk lantern higher, its brighter light pushing back the shadows just enough to see the faces of her fellow slaves. Their expressions mirrored her own: fear, hopelessness, and a sense of impending doom. She turned again to find Ben¡¯Jari. His eyes, usually so full of resolve, were now wide with terror. He looked directly into her eyes, and for a moment, she saw beyond his usual stoic facade. His dread was palpable, his breaths coming in shallow, rapid bursts. She could see the unshed tears glistening in his eyes, his expression a desperate mix of anxiety. In the distance, the cavern stretched into an abyss, lit only by the faint red-white glow from the distant veins of Alizarin. They would have to go out in different directions to find it. Evrah¡¯s gaze flickered to Torviin, he stood near her his face pale and eyes wide with horror. He mouthed the words ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± to her as the floodgates opened and tears started to fall down his cheeks. Evrah''s hands shook as she clutched her lantern and chalk-pick, the weak warmth of the light offering little comfort against the overwhelming darkness that lay ahead. The echoes of the Mishtaal''s voice faded, replaced by the sound of her own ragged breathing. There was no way out, no escape from the task that had been set before them. Swallowing her trepidation, Evrah tightened her grip on her chalk-pick and lifted her lantern higher, taking a step forward into the cavern. Alone, she might have been doomed to the abyss, but in the face of darkness, she would not stand as one, but as a beacon for those who could not fall. She would seek out the Alizarin. For there was no other choice but to rise, for herself and for those who were marked to die. Evrah turned to the group who lay motionless and spoke aloud, ¡°Our survival is not a choice; it is a promise we make to each other. I will not give up, for every life here matters, and I will fight for each of us.¡± With that she moved into the distance as the shadows gathered around her, the faint glow of her lantern marking her passage through the dark.