Darkness consumed everything.
It was a ravenous veil, crawling forward like invisible fingers erasing existence bit by bit. First, the subtle details: the glimmer in one's eyes, the sheen of light on metal, the grain of wood. Then came the outlines, the shapes — shadows swallowed into a bottomless abyss.
The world around crumbled like paint diluted in dirty water, dissolving into chaotic smudges that bled into nothingness.
And in the middle of that vortex of forgetting — a baby.
Small, fragile, far too aware.
He watched reality fall apart, his gaze unable to turn away from the growing horror. The ground beneath his carriage had already dissolved into shadow, leaving only the unsettling sensation of motion, as if drifting above a starving void.
The woman holding him was still there.
Or… what had once been a woman.
Her body, once warm and real, had become a formless silhouette, a dark blur with no true edge. With each moment, more of her was erased, devoured by the voracious dark — her arms, her hair, her face... stripped of expression, of color, of soul. Just the ghostly shape of something that had once existed.
The baby reached for her, tried to hold on to what remained.
His tiny fingers slid through emptiness, touching only a merciless cold — a chill that whispered nothing could be saved.
And then, the silence was torn open.
An arrow tore through the eternal night, hissing like the scream of something lost in time. It crossed the void and struck the woman. The impact echoed like shattering glass. She didn't scream. Didn't flinch. She simply froze for an instant, while a red, vivid liquid poured from the freshly opened hole in her chest.
Blood. So red, so real. A brutal contrast against the blackness devouring everything. The warm liquid slid down her skin, dripping onto the baby's small arms, marking him with a touch of something the world should no longer contain: color.
That was when the black door opened.
The world trembled, as if the dream itself were being torn from the inside out. It was an abyssal fissure, a tear in reality where the void pulsed, gathering strength. And from within it, something emerged.
A monster. Tall, twisted, its presence a weight too heavy for the mind to bear. But it was the face—or what pretended to be a face—that drew all attention. Hidden beneath a grotesque mask, marked by countless red handprints, stamped in different tones, some vivid, others faded by time. So many that the surface of the mask bore no other color, layered in dried blood and memory. Each print was a testimony, an echo of a violent past written across its face, a story told in crimson scars.
And the darkness kept devouring.
The carriage broke. Reality around the baby shattered, and he was thrown into the abyss. The world, a chaos of faded colors and dissolving shapes, spun around him. The distant mountain split in two, its rock cracking like an open wound, collapsing upon itself, while its other half remained intact. The sky, once cloaked in an endless black mantle, now crumbled into pieces of an unstable cosmos, falling in disjointed spirals.
The baby fell like a leaf carried by the wind, helpless, unaware of where the weight of his body would lead him. The scream of disintegrating reality echoed in his ears, but his mouth couldn't form a single sound. The sensation of falling was endless, the void beneath him expanding, each second filled with a dense silence that squeezed his chest.
And then, the impact.
He plunged into a raging river, its black waters dragging him with brutal force. The baby sank, swept away by the current, his small fingers trying to grab onto something—but the water was merciless. Before his eyes, parts of bodies floated by, fragments of people lost to the current, victims of the same fury he now faced.
Terror mixed with despair. Air vanished from his lungs, and the cold of the water invaded every fiber of his being. He fought, but each attempt to stay afloat was futile. The human fragments around him seemed to crawl within an endless nightmare, each piece of flesh a memory of what had been devoured by the darkness. He felt the weight of time and death in his own body, and fear took shape in his mind, a prison without escape.
He drowned. The world around him closed in, and the darkness finally consumed him entirely.
And then, he awoke.
Nwyn woke with the heavy sound of his breathing, the same muffled noise that always followed the nightmares. The stifling heat of the small house clung to the air with unbearable weight. The smell of mold mixed with sweat and the stench of something burnt clung to the walls of the aging wood. The boy rose slowly, as if the act of leaving the bed was a monumental effort. His pale skin was dotted with flea bites, and the discomfort seemed to seep into his bones—but he no longer felt angry about it. The filth was simply part of the environment, an extension of his indifference.
It was always hard to get up from bed—the thin padding of hay, twigs, and rags felt almost like an extension of his own body. He stared at his bare chest, noticing a few red blotches, maybe irritation, probably the fleas. A few hairs were trying to break through the skin—he didn't know what age that was supposed to happen, but he figured seventeen was pretty late.
Dragging his feet, he made his way to the living room, where the silence of the house hung heavy, as if the place itself were being swallowed by time. As he reached the door, he heard the sound of something being thrown to the ground, followed by a weary sigh. He wasn't in a hurry to step outside, but felt the sudden urge to see what was happening out there.
Leny was in the pig shed, crouched over a fallen sow. He examined the animal closely, fiddling with her legs, trying to understand what was wrong. Leny stood up slowly, as if dealing with the animal had already drained him of more energy than it was worth.
The boy approached in silence. Leny glanced at him for a moment, raising an eyebrow, but didn't look surprised.
- Just what I needed! - Leny muttered, running his fingers over where hair used to grow on the top of his head. He moved his hand up to his temple, where a few white strands still clung.
- Is she okay?
- Does she look okay to you? - the old man grumbled, raising his eyebrows in such a way that turned the boy's question into something immeasurably stupid. - She's lying in her own shit. - Nwyn thought that was what they usually did anyway, since they had nowhere to cool off—a life as undignified as most others. - The others are weird too. - He pointed at one of the fatter pigs, wobbling toward the trough. - If these beasts don't make it through the winter, I'll have to sell you to pay off the farm. - It was a joke about selling him, but Nwyn didn't laugh. It was a joke, right? he wondered.
- So what do we do? - the boy asked, kneeling in front of the sow, gently touching her furry ear. She groaned in response, and a pang in Nwyn's chest made him arch his back slightly. He didn't like seeing the animals like that, even knowing their fate was slaughter. He always tried to give them a dignified life.
- Looks like the plague. Already lost a bunch to it. We'll have to separate them all. - One of the piglets tried to approach the sow—Leny kicked it away. - Then we'll head to the Central. I bought parasite eggs once that help against the plague, but they die fast in older bodies—these ones, we can already count as dead.
- There won't be even five piglets left.
- You think I can't count? - Leny growled, irritated by the whole situation. - Five's more than zero! I'll kill the ones already bad off, try to sell the meat in the Central tomorrow. Fresh meat'll pay for the parasites.
- I filled a sack of potatoes too.
- Good, we can sell that too. The loan shark comes in ten days, so we've got time to get the coins. - The old man dusted off his clothes and headed toward the small gate. - Sort the tools—all of them, old and new—I'll see which ones we can sell.
- Should I come with you?
- You think the pigs'll take care of the farm?
- Ben's still fixing the shed. He said it'll take another fortnight. He can sleep in the house and keep an eye on things for us. That way he won't have to go back and forth to his own farm. - Nwyn explained, a hint of excitement in his voice.
- Right... - He murmured, more to himself than anyone else, before letting out a long sigh. - But don't think it's going to be a stroll.
The boy nodded, showing no exaggerated excitement, but the idea of going to the Central did stir something inside him. He had only been there a few times, but his friend Garlei had told him countless stories about the city.
- Alright, I'll start packing the stuff.
- We leave early tomorrow! - Leny called after him as the boy ran off.
Nwyn just nodded in response, not bothering to argue. He already knew the trip would be short, but for a while, at least, he'd be free from the monotony of the farm. He spent the rest of the day busy with chores. The work was repetitive but familiar. He fed the chickens, checked the water buckets, and helped Leny sort through the old tools that would be taken to Central. The sun dipped below the horizon, and night draped itself over the dry earth. He ate in silence and went to bed early, knowing the journey the next day would be long.
His awakening was abrupt. Nwyn's body was drenched in cold sweat, chest heaving. The dream had left him unsettled, but as always, the details slipped away the moment he tried to recall them.
He stepped out of his room, breathing in the crisp morning air. Leny was already up, talking to Benedito, who had arrived at the farm early. The old, dark-skinned farmer scratched his patchy beard as he spoke, while Leny, arms crossed, listened with his usual grumpy expression.
- Some soldiers passed through my land last night. - Ben said. - They were heading north, so they won't be coming this way.
Leny grunted. - Hmpf. Better that way. That kind only brings trouble.
Nwyn approached, exchanged a nod with Benedito, and poured himself a cup of hot water, tossing in some leaves for flavor.
- The Forten pay for that kind of information?" Leny asked dryly.
- Doubt it. - Ben replied, stepping closer to Nwyn and tapping his cup against the boy's in a mock toast. - The thieves' and assassins' guilds probably already told them. The day a farmer knows something before the guild does, that's when the Forten'll pay you your weight in gold—though it ain't much. - He laughed, giving Nwyn a light shoulder bump. Leny grumbled and stirred the fire with a piece of wood.
- Damn Doms and damn Forten, locked in their bloodless war. - Leny growled, sitting at the table. - Bunch of cowards, that's what they are. In my day, a soldier lived every day with a sword soaked in fresh blood!
- And whores ran around naked with their asses in the air, begging men to have a go. - Ben added sarcastically. - Your time ain't that far from mine, old man. And I can tell you, Linteal and Central have always been like this. One side shouting from its walls about how there's only one king, the other pretending their lady governor ain't just another queen.
- Central's not as bad as Linteal. - Nwyn muttered.
- And what do you know? - Leny asked.
Nwyn could have told him everything he'd read — about the trading hub that had grown so rich it unofficially broke away from the kingdom of Linteal, and how both sides feared starting a war. But speaking it aloud felt too uncomfortable. Leny noticed the boy's silence and continued.
- Not our problem anyway. What matters is that winter's coming, and we need to make sure we've got food. -
Ben nodded. - Let's get to it. The sooner we get to Central, the better.
Ben shook Leny's hand firmly, nodding slowly. - Since you're going there… see if you can get me some decent seeds. This soil's been cruel lately, and the ones I got won't take root.
Leny muttered something under his breath and pushed his hat farther back on his head. - I'll see what I can do.
Nwyn stood a little apart, watching the two men talk. Ben glanced at him sideways and scratched his short beard.
- And you, boy? Want me to look after anything?
He shook his head. - No, just take good care of the pigs.
Ben snorted a laugh. - Those beasts are more trouble than a stubborn child. Don't worry, I got it.
After a brief goodbye, Benedito headed to the barn to begin work on restoring the old structure. Leny watched him for a moment, then spat on the ground and turned toward the cart.
The vehicle was old, the wood weathered and cracked, but it still held together. It was pulled by a dark-coated horse, a thin but sturdy animal. Leny ran his hand along its mane, muttering something, before checking the straps and the condition of the wheels.
Meanwhile, the boy returned inside the house. There was something else he needed to take. Beneath the bed, in the bottom of a small hidden hole in the floorboards, he retrieved a small bundle, stained with dried blood and carefully wrapped. He hid it under his clothes, feeling the light weight against his skin. Then he took a deep breath and stepped outside, not looking back.
When he returned, Leny was already climbing into the cart, settling onto the wooden bench. Nwyn climbed up beside him, catching the scent of sweat and old leather.
Before they left, he reached for the few coins he had saved. He planned to buy something sweet in Central — a small luxury. But as soon as the coins caught the light in his hand, Leny noticed.
- What are you doing with that? - His voice was firm, with a weight behind it.
- I was just gonna buy some–
- No such thing. Hand it over. - Leny extended his hand, his calloused fingers waiting.
Nwyn hesitated. - But it's mine…
- Hand it over, boy. Sick pigs, and you thinking of wasting money on nonsense.
There was something in the old man's eyes that left no room for argument. With a lump in his throat, Nwyn handed over the coins. Leny pocketed them without another word — no thank you, no explanation. Silence settled between them, thick and heavy.
The farmer clicked his tongue, snapped the reins, and the horse started moving. The creaking of the cart filled the space between them. Nwyn stared ahead, thoughts spinning.
He could simply not come back. Central was big, there was work there. Maybe he could manage — find a corner, a job, something.
The idea began to take shape slowly, insistently, as the dust of the road rose around them.