Chapter 1: Haran Village

Within the southernmost region of the Holy Artemisian Empire, there lay a quaint little farming village called Haran. It was a small village with a population of less than three hundred, and although most of its inhabitants were poor farmers, they were very skilled in their trade and had a strong affinity for earth magic. They did their best, devoting all of the blood, sweat, tears, and mana to cultivating the land and in turn, their ruling lord took good care of them, ensuring that they never needed for anything, even during the harsh winter months.

The people of Haran Village were content with their lives. Most spent their days toiling over their fields, while others tended their shops, and mothers stayed home to care for their children.

Every morning, the local baker, Mr. Passier, woke early to sell his bread to the farmers headed off to the fields for a quick coin. The town crier, old man Lewis, would hobble his way to the village square to offer daily news updates from the capital. And Priest Marion and Holy Knight Sebastian, from the small abbey on the edge of the village, offered early morning sermons. It was everyone’s duty as a citizen of the empire to give offerings and prayers to the goddess in order to receive continued blessings for the land.

One morning, however, something had changed. At first it was nothing obvious, just an eerie gloom that had set over Haran Village. No one was really sure what had happened, but during the night something had occurred that would not just affect this small village, but also the entire empire.

Mr. Passier, woke early as usual to sell the previous evening’s leftover bread to the farmers headed out to tend the fields, but he found himself at a loss when less than half of his usual customers showed up. It was highly unusual as these men had never missed a day of work in their lives, and they never missed a morning to stop by his shop.

People also gathered in the village square for the daily news update from the capital, but old man Lewis, who was always on time, even in his old age, never showed. They had even waited over an hour for him before deciding that he wasn’t coming at all.

Even more perplexing, was the fact that the doors of the abbey at the edge of town didn’t even open a crack, for the usual morning sermon. Priest Marion and Knight Sebastian were nowhere to be seen.

More and more villagers gathered at the square in confusion, many of whom reported missing relatives. The village leader, Justain, did his best to calm the crowd. His efforts, however, were proven futile when one of the farmers, Ben, pushed through the crowd and nearly fell at Justain’s feet. Ben, who had gone to tend the fields earlier that morning, was now out of breath and on the verge of tears.

“S-sir, the fields! In the fields-” Ben could barely speak as Justain placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Take a deep breath, Son.” Justain’s voice was calm and reassuring. “Good. Now, tell us slowly.”

Ben gulped in a breath of air, then continued.

“T-the fields. They’re done for! Almost everything is gone. And the bodies.. OH GOD, the bodies! It’s-”

Before he could even finish explaining, the village head, the baker, and most of the other townsfolk were already running towards the fields that surrounded the little village. It was almost harvest time and their livelihoods depended on that harvest. If something had happened to the herbs that they had painstakingly cultivated, the entire village would be held responsible. Considering the rarity of the herbs they tended, it took a long time to produce something worthwhile. It was also much too late in the season to pull up everything and begin again.

Once they reached the fields, what they saw brought them much grief. A large section of the land around them no longer held the lush greenery that they were used to but rather, now looked more like land that had been arid for many years.

A lot of the herbs had turned into an ugly brown color, seemingly overnight. They were severely dessicated and brittle to the touch. The habitually rich earth had also blackened in a way that didn’t seem natural. And perhaps most grievous of all, spread throughout the once beautiful fields, lay dead bodies. And to the villagers’ dismay, amongst them were several of the missing farmers and relatives, the Priest Marion, Knight Sebastian. Not even poor, old man Lewis had been spared.

No one could figure out how they had ended up that way or what had caused this. Upon closer inspection, Justain also realized that none of their bodies showed any sign of foul play either. There were no signs of trauma, or poisoning. They all just wore similar peaceful expressions on their faces. It was as if they all simply wandered off and fell asleep in the field. However, their blue and yellow tinged skin along with the horrible smell of defecation and rotten flesh told otherwise. It also seemed as if the bodies had been there for weeks rather than days, and this stumped most as all of these people had been seen alive and well the day prior.

It was quite clear to Justain that this wasn’t something that he, a small village chief, could handle. If it had been only one person, he might have been able to brush it off. But there were well over 50 individuals that now lay dead on the edge of the village he was in charge of. He counted at least 63, and there was also the matter of the dead fields.

He immediately ordered the small contingent of knights that protected Haran Village to clear up the fields and give proper burials for those poor souls. He also set a curfew for the rest of the village residents in hopes to limit the spread of whatever caused this plague, and then sent off a messenger with the fastest horse in the village to deliver news of the incident to Count Sirus, the fief lord.

Over the course of the following week, the villagers did their best to control their situation. They even burned the fields around the village in order to contain whatever had caused this rot of the land whilst they waited for help from their lord. However, it was all in vain. After a week-and-a-half, more villagers went missing only to reappear in the fields, and the remaining healthy lands soon became tainted as well, despite their best efforts.

No human, animal, or plant was spared.

By the time the Count’s men had made it back to the village with the messenger, it was too late. Almost everyone and everything in the village had succumbed to this strange plague. Only one young girl, Lily -who the messenger recognized as the daughter of the village chief, Justain- was still alive, along with a few other women and children… Just barely. The Count’s men, worrying about this plague spreading further, could offer the villagers no help.

They simply took a report of what had happened since the messenger’s departure, before cutting off all access to the village from the outside. Then they razed everything to the ground with fire.

The messenger, Cassius -and the last living resident of Haran village- couldn’t hold back the bile that rose in his throat, as the screams and agonized cries of the people he grew up with rang through the quiet night. He watched on as anyone that had tried to escape their fiery coffin was immediately shot down like a dog in the street. He wasn’t sure if he was lucky or damned to have been considered “not a risk,” but his heart cried as the heat of the flames licked his skin.

This was the end for Haran Village.