Elara surfaced slowly from a deep, heavy sleep. Her limbs felt weighted, as if sheâd been submerged for a very long time. A lingering ache throbbed behind her eyes, a dull echo of the guilt that had dragged her down into unconsciousness. The small tent around her was quiet, a rare peace she almost mistrusted. Soft lamplight, a gentle, magical glow, spilled from near the entrance.
A faint shuffle broke the stillness. She pushed herself onto her elbows, the bedroll rustling beneath her. Kael stood silhouetted against the tent flap, a plate of food in his hand. He paused, seeing her.
"Oh," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Did I wake you?"
Elara sat all the way up, rubbing the fuzz from her eyes. Her mind, still thick with sleep, struggled to catch up. "No," she mumbled, the word dry on her tongue. "I think I was already waking." Then, a cold wave of memory crashed over her. The acrid smoke, the jarring explosions, the rubble where her house had stood. The paladin, his face etched with pain, the arrow buried in his shoulder. The townsfolk, oblivious. A frantic knot tightened in her stomach.
"Kael!" Her voice, thin and raw, pierced the sudden silence. "What happened? My house⦠it was destroyed! And the town! Everyone was fighting! And those people⦠walking around⦠they didn't even notice!" Her words tumbled out, a desperate, breathless torrent of fear and confusion. She needed to understand. She needed someone to make sense of the nightmare.
Kael looked at her, his expression unreadable. He placed the food down, a soft thud on the small table.
He hesitated, then his gaze flicked towards the tent flap, his eyes sharpening, suddenly wary. He lifted a hand, a silent command. "Shhh," he whispered. His eyes, fixed on her, hardened with a serious intent that chilled her.
Elara stared, confused. A spark of anger ignited within her. Why wouldn't he answer? Why the silence, the evasiveness? She had just lived through pure terror, seen her world shatter.
Then, a blur. A dark shape, impossibly fast, leaped through the tent entrance. It was a man, cloaked in shadows, a hood pulled low. A short, shiny dagger gleamed in his hand, a sliver of light reflecting her own terror. He lunged. Straight at her.
"Elara, move!" Kaelâs roar vibrated through the tent, shaking her to her core.
But Elara was frozen. Her blood turned to ice. The dagger, a predatory gleam, rushed towards her face. Cold, fierce eyes, barely visible beneath the hood, locked onto hers. This was it. Another ending. Another brutal, senseless end. The memory of the goblinâs blade flared in her mind. This was happening again.
Kael was a whirlwind. He didn't reach for his sword. He simply launched himself forward, a huge, guttural cry tearing from his throat. He collided with the assassin mid-air, a sickening crunch of bone and flesh. They crashed to the floor, a loud, heavy thump that echoed in the small space.
The assassinâs dagger flew from his grasp, a silver flash in the lamplight. It tumbled and landed right beside her leg. So close she could reach out, touch the cold, lethal metal. It flickered with the lamp light.
Kael and the assassin became a tangled knot of limbs, grunts, and ragged breaths filling the air. The assassin, quick as a viper, pulled another blade from his belt. He lunged, a silent thrust aimed at Kael. Kael twisted, deflecting the blow with his forearm with a dull thud.
They rolled closer, their struggle a brutal dance on the tent floor. Elara could hear their strained breathing, the guttural sounds of effort. The assassinâs face, a distorted snarl in the shadows, seemed to mock her helplessness. She squeezed her eyes shut, then forced them open, unable to tear her gaze away.
Kael, larger and stronger, lunged for the fallen dagger. His hand closed around the hilt. With a roar, he pinned the assassin, a grunt of exertion escaping his lips. A swift, brutal thrust. The blade disappeared into the assassinâs throat.
A choked, gurgling sound tore from the man. His body stiffened, a brief, violent tremor, then his hands clawed feebly at Kael's arm. Wide, shocked eyes stared, then slowly, the light in them faded. His limbs went limp. He lay still. Dead. A moment later, his body shimmered, dissolving into nothingness.
Kael pushed himself up, his chest heaving, air rasping in his throat. He looked down at the empty space where the assassin had been, then his eyes snapped to Elara. He knelt beside her, his face grim, concern etched around his tired eyes. He reached out, his hand gentle, and touched her arm.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice rough, laced with a fear she recognized. He scanned her quickly, searching for injuries she didn't possess.
Shouts erupted outside, distant alarms rising through the camp. The tent flap burst open again. A guard, sword drawn and gleaming, rushed in, his face pale and stark in the lamplight. "Commander!" he gasped, breathless. "The two guards outside⦠they were killed! An ambush!"
Kael didn't even flinch. His gaze remained fixed on Elara for another moment before turning to the guard. "He's dead. An assassin. Secure the perimeter. I think he was the same one as last month. We may need to move the camp." His voice was calm, firm, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling around them.
The guard stared, then nodded quickly, his face a mask of grim determination. "Yes, Commander!" He rushed back out, his shouts for more guards echoing through the camp.
Kael sat down beside Elara, picking up the plate of bread heâd dropped. He took a slow, deliberate bite, chewing, his gaze still sharp, listening to the sounds outside. He was completely, unnervingly calm, even after just taking a life.
Elara was anything but calm. Her body trembled, a tremor that started deep inside and shook her to her core. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of pure terror. She was scared. And deeply, profoundly angry. Angry at the suddenness of it all. Angry at the constant, inexplicable danger. Angry at the gnawing ignorance that kept her trapped.
"What IS happening?!" she shrieked, her voice thin and ragged, but loud. "First my house, then the fighting, then those blank-faced people, and now⦠now someone just tried to kill me! Tell me, Kael! Why?! Why is this happening to me?!" She addressed him, but the question was meant for this world.
Kael finished his bite of bread. He looked at her, his eyes unblinking. And then, he laughed.
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It wasnât a cruel laugh or mocking. It was tired, a low, weary chuckle, like someone finding bitter humor in a never-ending, painful joke.
"Calm down, Elara," he said, taking another bite. "That assassin wasn't after you. He was after me." He chewed slowly, deliberately. "I'm the leader of the Royal Crusaders. The ones who are trying to free the villagers. Not control them. Not enslave them. Free them."
Elara stared. Everything was too much. Too fast. Too confusing.
Kael sighed. He finished his bread and leaned back against the sole tent pole next to the bedroll. "Youâve been through a lot, Elara. But thereâs a lot you donât know." His eyes met hers, serious now. He paused, a deafening silence. "Itâs been three and a half years, Elara. Since you fell asleep."
Elara gasped. Her world reeled, the tent spinning around her. Three and a half years? Not days. Not weeks. Years. She had been asleep, lost to the world, for years? While this chaos erupted? While her spell⦠The thought was a sickening punch to her gut.
Kael seemed to sense her shock. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's a lot. Let me explain. From the beginning, as I saw it."
A guardâs head popped into the tent. A quick nod was exchanged with Kael. Elara heard the soft crunch of two more sets of footsteps outside.
Kael settled back, his voice calm, like a storyteller about to unfold a long, intricate tale. "I came back to town about three and a half years ago. I was returning from a quest."
He looked at her, his gaze steady, unwavering. "We found everyone acting⦠weird. Just like you saw. The villagers. They walked around, doing their jobs. Selling things, buying things. But they didn't talk to each other. They didn't talk to us. They just⦠walked. Like puppets on strings. They ignored everyone. Anyone from outside the town, anyone new, they just ignored. Like we weren't even there. Like ghosts in their own lives."
Elaraâs mind flashed to Mr. Abernathy, his flour sack heavy in his arms, his eyes blank as he walked right past her. The swordsmen calling her "sheep." It was exactly as Kael described. A cold dread settled in her stomach.
"Some people tried to stop them," Kael continued, his voice growing grim. "Tried to grab them. But the villagers⦠they had enormous strength. Unnatural strength. You couldn't stop them. They just kept walking, kept doing their tasks. Like nothing could get in their way. Like nothing mattered but their own little chore." He shook his head, a weary gesture. "And because of that⦠because they ignored everyone, and because they couldnât be stopped⦠bad people came. Adventurers, bandits, desperate folk. They took advantage. They stole what the villagers were carrying. They walked into houses and took whatever they wanted. The villagers just kept sweeping their floors, or carrying their blankets, or baking their bread. They didn't even notice their stuff being stolen right in front of them. It was⦠sickening to watch."
Kaelâs voice tightened. "A few good people and I couldn't just stand by. We set up a town guard. Just a small group at first. We tried to help the villagers. To protect their stuff from theft. We couldnât stop them from walking around like ghosts, but we could at least stop people from robbing them blind."
"The town got a strange reputation," he went on. "People heard about it. A town full of people who just did whatever, didn't fight back, couldn't be stopped. Many came to see. To test how far they could push the villagers. Some were cruel. Some were just curious."
"I even saw it myself," Kael said, his eyes distant, haunted by the memory. "I saw someone stab a villager. Right in the chest." He looked her in the eyes. "No effect. The villager just kept walking, like nothing happened. The knife didn't even break the skin. It was⦠unnatural." He paused, shaking his head. "Thatâs when we decided enough was enough. We threw everyone out. We set up around the whole town. We caught people sneaking in, and we tossed them out. We tried to protect the villagers, even if we didn't understand what was happening to them."
"A few months later, rumors started spreading. Whispers through the adventurer guilds. That the people in town⦠were owned. Like property. Owned by an adventurer. Some wizard, or some old hermit, had done it. If you cast 'identify' on a villager, it would tell you who owned them."
Elaraâs breath hitched, a cold knot in her chest. Owned. Just like her spell. The implications were a crushing weight.
"I tried it," Kael said, his gaze steady on hers. "On old Master Elms, the carpenter. And it worked. It showed a name. An adventurer's name. But then⦠a few days later, I checked again. And the owner had changed. To someone else. Someone new. It was happening all the time."
"That's when I finally found it," Kael said, his voice lowering, hushed. "The documentation. I found the spell that was causing all of this. The 'Minor Light' spell. And I saw⦠I saw what it did." His eyes met Elara's, a heavy pain in their depths.
"I realized how to change the ownership. And, eventually, so did everyone else. It was like a tug-of-war, with the villagers as the rope. A horrific, silent battle for human souls."
"I was worried," Kael admitted, a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. "This was beyond me. Beyond any simple quest. So, I left most of my guards in town and went to search for help. I went to a wizard friend. As wise as he is cryptic." Kael chuckled before returning to seriousness, "On the way, I saw something that scared me even more. An army. Heading toward Hatting."
He ran a hand over his face. "When I arrived at my Mark's, the wizard, he was already hearing rumors. Rumors of armies gathering. Of a strange, rich town that the nobility, the powerful kings and queens, wanted to control. They wanted to use the villagers as their own personal army, or their endless workers. A resource to be exploited."
"Since then," Kael said, his voice growing hard and brittle, "it's been non-stop. I gathered allies. Good people. We formed the Royal Crusaders. We're fighting to free the villagers. To break the spell that holds them. Not to control them, but to set them free. But other armies descended on the town. Not just one. Many. They came from all the kingdoms, fighting each other. It became an endless battleground, a bloody free-for-all."
He looked at her, his eyes filled with the raw pain of what he had witnessed, a reflection of her own burgeoning guilt. "And it wasn't just Hatting. The fighting spread. Armies were busy attacking each other everywhere. Some took advantage of the chaos. Towns were left undefended, and others attacked them. Even the capital was under siege for a few weeks. The war spread like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path."
"Mart," Kael explained, his voice softening slightly, "worked tirelessly. He finally figured it out. He found the secret to breaking the spell. Nothing could stop the villagers from being devoted to their owner⦠unless all their possessions, especially their house, were destroyed. When their house was gone, and everything they owned was destroyed, their status changed. They became refugees. It broke the spell. It released them from being owned. Released them from their living death."
Elaraâs eyes widened, a sudden, horrifying clarity. Her house. Her beloved house. It hadnât been an accident. It had been destroyed on purpose. To free her. A wave of sickening understanding washed over her, mingled with a fresh surge of guilt.
"So, my paladins," Kael continued, his voice heavy with the weight of their impossible task, "we've been trying to do just that. Sneaking into town. Breaking houses. Freeing villagers. It's been slow. Dangerous. And expensive. But word of our actions spread. And now, all the other armies, the ones fighting for control. They attack us on sight. They attack us because we're trying to stop them from this evil."
"It's not easy destroying a house. The larger the building, the more difficult it is. We need to use high-level, expensive artifacts. Then there are the dangers. Fighting, even in the streets, stops when they see us. And they rally. A temporary truce to protect the prize they fight over."
He sighed, a long, weary breath that seemed to carry the weight of the entire world. "So, yes, Elara. There's not only fighting in and around Hatting now. It's in other parts of the world, too. Kings and lords are sending their armies to take the town or to defeat their enemies. Assassins everywhere. All because of a spell. All because of a terrible, terrible spell."
He looked at her. A small smile. He had saved the most important villager.
The silence in the tent felt heavy, suffocating. It pressed down on her, an unbearable weight. The crushing, undeniable truth settled over Elara. This WAS all her fault. The world was at war because of her.
The guilt, a living, breathing thing, consumed her.