Western Decay

"Ahhh, wow! Did it ever feel good to bathe in heated water finally" Lucius groaned in satisfaction as he stretched, stepping out of his room feeling thoroughly refreshed. The warmth still clung to his skin, a welcome contrast to the cold, dust-caked travel days behind them.

Not seeing Olivia or Flavian in the hallway, he made his way downstairs to check if they had beaten him to the common room. Instead, he found only Madra setting the table for dinner. Helping her was a man with a commanding presence, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with arms like stone pillars, a thick moustache drooping like twin tusks, and deep-set eyes under a heavy brow. His face bore the scars of old battles.

As Lucius approached, the man looked up and gave a small nod of acknowledgement. Lucius returned it in kind.

Madra turned with a steaming pot in hand. "This is my husband, Bodroy," she said, placing the pot down with practiced ease. "We run this inn together well, mostly me. Bodroy hunts, keeps the unsavories away, and handles the things I can't."

She uncovered the pot, and the rich scent of seasoned stew filled the room. Soon after, she began dishing out portions onto wooden plates. As Lucius sat down, Olivia and Flavian descended the stairs and joined him at the long table. Each of them was handed a bowl of hearty stew and a thick loaf of crusty bread.

The trio ate eagerly, grateful for the simple comfort of hot food.

After a moment, Olivia glanced up from her bowl. "Madra, if you don't mind me asking… that warning you gave us earlier about the region. What exactly did you mean by it?"

At the mention of it, Bodroy looked up from his plate with a short huff, his voice a deep rumble. "You lot really aren't from anywhere near the western reaches, are you?"

"We're… looking for something," Flavian offered vaguely.

"Well, ain't that something," Madra muttered as she tore a chunk of bread. "Though I'd wager what you're looking for won't be found anywhere in the Vesto region."

"Is there a reason?" Lucius asked, curiosity piqued.

"Simple," Bodroy replied between bites. "The region's barren and decaying. Half of it's frozen in time. Literally."

The trio paused, spoons mid-air, glancing uneasily at one another.

"You see," Madra continued, wiping a spot of stew from Bodroy's beard with a cloth from her apron, "that kind of ignorance is common for folk from the central or eastern provinces. Which makes me wonder what you are really doing all the way out here?"

Bodroy leaned forward, setting down his spoon. "The western front of the Yoman Empire has been plagued for over a century, maybe two. Some areas are locked in a kind of arcane stasis. Others rot slowly in real time. It's all the same in the end: ruins, ash, and danger."

"And that's not even counting the wars," Madra added, her voice turning grim. "The noble houses and petty lords are always at each other's throats out here. And when magi get involved, the land suffers long after the fighting's done."

"The aftermath of war between maguses leaves scars that don't heal," Bodroy said, tearing off another piece of bread. "Ruined lands. Twisted weather. Magic that clings to bones and stones for generations."

"And while you lot may say you're 'looking for something,'" Madra began, her tone firmer now, "believing in your own strength is fine, common, even for the young and confident. But hear me well: even the strongest people you've heard of… many of them wouldn't last in the western regions. That's just the reality."

She leaned back slightly, eyes narrowed. "Spirit beasts roam the plains and forests. Lands twisted by the battles of magi and martial artists. And the Decayer those things… they're the true forces that rule these lands."

"Wait… spirit beasts roam the western lands?" Flavian looked up, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Yes," Bodroy grunted, not even pausing between bites. "If you think spirit beasts are only born in lands untouched by death and suffering, you're in for a grim lesson."

"He's right," Madra added, setting her spoon down in her now-empty bowl. "It would be foolish to think a land soaked in hatred, malice, resentment, and centuries of death wouldn't birth something twisted in return."

Bodroy's heavy fist clenched on the table. "Around here, the most common are the Terror Hounds. Frostwhispers get sighted once in a while, too."

"But… Spirit Beasts are native to the Eldorian continent, aren't they?" Flavian asked cautiously.

"Son, who told you that nonsense?" Bodroy rumbled.

Madra shook her head. "Spirit Beasts and Battle Beasts don't come from one continent; they come from battlefields. From death. From stories steeped in emotion. Mystic Beasts, those are what hail from Eldoria. Don't confuse the three."

She turned to face them fully, her expression serious. "Spirit Beasts are born of hatred deep, bitter hatred of the world. Battle Beasts come from warriors who died with valor and purpose, noble to their final breath. And Mystic Beasts? They're powerful creatures from Eldoria, yes, but power alone doesn't define origin. In fact, the Guardians are often considered an evolved form of all three."

With that, Madra reached beneath her collar and untied a string of a cloth necklace. From it, she produced a small, wooden carving: a whale-like creature with wide, dragon-winged fins and four sleek tails that resembled the limbs of a wyrm. Its presence was oddly reverent, almost sacred.

"Limus. The Floating Continent," Lucius murmured as he leaned closer, recognizing the shape.

Madra smiled proudly. "Tremendous creature, isn't it? You lot probably revere a different Guardian where you're from, one from the central or eastern provinces. But us? We're a port city. And for us, Limus was always the one. No other Guardian came close."