Unfortunately, like most things in Eldric’s life, his plans of becoming a magical researcher went sideways. His dream never came true; he never had the time to perfect his skills and become a professional, nor had the chance to help people with magical potions. Instead, he was forced to join the Royal Guard when he turned eighteen.
At the time, Eldric wasn’t too upset about it. With this job, he could send more money to help his mother each month, and he’d still be helping people; protecting them would be part of his duty in the Royal Guard. Besides, he thought it would be temporary. The patriotism he had felt in his soul, along with the honor and resolve to defend his homeland, ran strong in his veins, so he embraced the challenge with his head held high.
But now, after ten years on duty, all he had ever done was travel from city to city to charge overinflated taxes from people who barely made enough to feed themselves. He never transported shipments from Bryniard; that was a task reserved for the Iron Claws. It would only make sense for the elite group of fighters to be responsible for matters related to a city supposedly overrun with monsters, right? How lucky was he that the one time he was assigned this task, the shipment wasn’t just ale—but two women.
In the course of his duties, he had seen fathers imprisoned for life for failing to pay absurd yearly fees. He had seen children have their fingers cut off for pointing them at a representative of the royal family. He had watched orders of execution of elderly citizens being issued only because the capital did not makeenough profit to provide for those who couldn’t contribute to the kingdom financially. That, while the nobility lived a life bathed in luxury and gold.
After ten long years of serving a self-centered, tyrannical king, he learned of the manipulation, the oppression, the subjugation, and the injustices that restricted the people to invisible chains. Eldric had lost count of how many times he had filed a formal request to be discharged from his duties—all denied without an explanation. He loathed everything and despised himself for waking up every day to do a job he didn’t believe in anymore.
After learning that Bryniard was not infested with monsters, as the kingdom erroneously—and most probably intentionally—taught the people, he could only wonder what else they could be hiding from everyone in plain sight.
How blind could he have been all this time not to see the truth that lay just under his nose?
“How do you cope with murdering animals every day?” Freyah asked while she watched her friend shoot an arrow at the head of the third rabbit in a row.
Murder.Such a strong word to define what she had to do for a living, yet it was the only word to describe it. “I only do it to survive,” Alissa repeated her own mantra without even glancing at Freyah as she walked toward the corpses of the animals she had killed.
Freyah followed close behind, quietly watching the lifeless bodies on the grassy land as Alissa whispered a prayer for eternal peace.
Everything outside the walls of Bryniard was different from what they had ever seen back home. The cities they stopped at seemed to be built with a more modern architecture as they moved east. The landscapes changed so much that she felt they could have belonged to completely different kingdoms. The only thing that remained unchanged was the sun that shone strong and bright in the sky, day in and day out.
“You never told me how you knew Dhalia would be the next victim.” Freyah changed subjects inadvertently.
Alissa suddenly froze, letting go of the corpses, and turned back to look into her friend’s eye.
“Why are you asking this now?” Her reaction was a bit brusque, not because she was insulted by the question, but because remembering the reason she was there hurt so badly that she struggled to breathe.
Freyah showed no sign of judgment or resentment. Freyah, who was probably the most compassionate person to have ever set foot on the lands of Heldraine, knew exactly why Alissa acted that way. She knew it because Dhalia was like a daughter to her, and she would easily give her life to save the girl from the awful fate that awaited.
“Lissa, I came all this way to help you save your daughter. I think I have the right to know what made you so sure we had to leave, don’t you?” Her soft tone encouraged Alissa to speak the truth.
Alissa took a deep breath and walked to a large tree just a few steps from where the animals lay dead. She made a signal with her head, inviting Freyah to join her under the tree, enjoying the shade and the sound of the leaves swaying with the breeze.
“I have some sort of… premonition that warns me of the victims of Senectus beforehand,” Alissa explained.
Freyah’s forehead creased, confused. “How accurate are your ‘premonitions’ usually?”
“A hundred percent accurate.”
Freyah’s eye widened, her right hand adjusting the band of her eyepatch. “How does this premonition work? Do you hear a voice or see a ghost or something?”
Alissa chuckled. “No, not really.” She looked down, gathering the confidence to spill it out.
She had never told anyone about this before. After all the struggles and judgmental gazes when she mentioned the threads as a child, she simply buried this part of herself deep down, keeping it a secret until that moment. But if there was anyone she could trust this with, it would be Freyah.
“I see black and white sparkling threads flowing around the victims until they are buried.”
“Does this mean you can see everyone who will die from Senectus Subita at once?”
“No, I can only see one person glow at a time. The glow only shifts to someone else once the last victim is buried,” Alissa explained, her chest tightening when flashes of the first time she saw the threads embrace her little girl came unannounced.
“So, Dhalia started to glow right after Mr. Monlard was buried?” Freyah placed her index finger on her lower lip, her feet tapping the ground with the same insistent, anxious movement.
Alissa nodded in confirmation.
“That’s why you were crying so much at the funeral.” It was not a question, simply a loud thought. “Do you know what the threads are?”
“No, I have only thought of theories. Maybe being able to see the threads is related to some sort of sight disability? Maybe the Senectus Subita itself is a disease?” she pondered. “Mr. Hamit thinks it could be a curse.”