The Old Man & The Dying Village

As Suria and Riang stepped out of the portal, back into the cirque, three days had passed since their engagement with Purba.

Her true form restored, five times the size of her miniature self, Riang strode ahead, a casual flick of her hand preceding her.

A soft hum of Shakti filled the air, and a stone ladder, as if conjured from the mountain's heart, unfurled from the cirque wall.

Suria followed, walking up the nature stairs, her chappal crunching against the rocky surface.

The white and blue ice of the cirque gave way to a short-lived vibrant green as they moved, but that soon was replaced by a barren expanse as they continued their journey to Tambora.

A strange, cool wind danced with the harsh midday sun. Skeletons of trees, their branches like gnarled claws, rose from the cracked earth, and the bones of long-dead animals lay scattered across the dry ground.

Exhaustion was a heavy cloak upon them. They hadn't rested in over a day, pressing forward through the changing landscape.

"This place gives me the creeps," Suria muttered, pulling out the mission map to confirm she was on the right path. 

"At least we're on the right track. Tambora isn't far. We need a rest, Riang." Relief softened her expression, but a flicker of worry remained in her eyes.

Riang stopped, hands on her hips, her gaze sweeping the desolate horizon.

"Yeah, I know. But..."

Her gaze swept the desolate landscape, taking in the withered trees and cracked earth.

"Something's wrong. I sense no life for miles, nothing to hunt. Even the air feels… empty. I'm starving, Suria, and there's no food."

Before Suria could reply, a raw cry, filled with despair and urgency, shattered the stillness.

"WE ARE LEAVING!" The distant scream echoed across the barren land.

Riang's hand instinctively went to his weapon while Suria motioned for silence.

They crept forward, slipping behind the jagged trunk of a dead tree. Peering cautiously, they spotted a group of villagers, their faces lined with exhaustion and fear.

They stood in a tight cluster, shouting at an old man who was struggling to keep up with them.

"There's no hope left! We're out of food! We'll die if we stay! The land is dead!" the leader shouted, his voice sharp with panic, the words laced with a bitter desperation.

The old man, however, remained calm.

"I've planted seeds. They will grow. Our village still has hope," he replied softly, as though trying to soothe the despair around him.

"Hope? Against the Puaka?" The leader scoffed, his words laced with bitterness and a hint of madness.

"Stay if you want, old man. We're leaving!" He turned, leading the others away, abandoning the village and its lone defender, their footsteps echoing in the desolate silence.

A wave of empathy washed over Suria.

"We have to help them, Riang," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the villagers. "I can't stand to see them suffer like this."

As the last of the villagers vanished into the distance, Suria and Riang approached the elderly figure slumped on the dry earth in defeat.

Clad in tattered brown clothes, his bald head gleamed under the harsh sun, a faded cloth tied around his forehead. His head hung low, and a worn leather pouch lay discarded beside him.

"You look like you could use a hand," Riang offered, extending a sympathetic hand, her voice softened by the old man's plight.

The old man looked up slowly, his face etched with weariness and a hint of suspicion.

"And who might you two be...?"

"Just travelers passing through. What was that all about?" Suria asked, her voice steady but curious.

"They're locals," he sighed, his voice heavy with the weight of despair. "They're leaving because the land can't feed us anymore. Our village… it's dying, slowly, painfully."

"Do you know what's causing it?" Riang's brows drew together in concern.

"The Darkseed," he murmured, his voice thick with sorrow, each word a heavy stone. "A Rakshasa Puaka, draining the life from the land. It doesn't attack with violence, but with a slow, insidious rot, sapping our spirits, driving us apart, leaving only despair."

A palpable heaviness seemed to settle over the air as he spoke, as if the very mention of the creature had cast a shadow upon them.

Suria and Riang exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. The mention of the Puaka had stirred something deep within their souls, a recognition that resonated with their purpose.

"Forgive me," the old man said after a pause, his voice laced with regret. "I should have invited you to my home rather than speaking of such things in the open. Please, follow me."

The village was a ghost town, its streets silent and empty, the silence a heavy, suffocating blanket. Gaunt trees stood like specters, their limbs stripped of leaves, reaching towards the empty sky like skeletal fingers.

Dust coated every surface, a fine layer of death, and the only sound was the mournful whisper of wind through empty windows, a lament for the lost. Remnants of abandoned lives—a child's toy, a discarded pot, a lone sandal—littered the ground, each object a silent testament to the despair that had driven them away.

The air was heavy with the stillness of a land that had lost its spirit, a silence that spoke volumes of the despair that had driven the villagers away.

The old man led them up a winding path to a modest house perched atop a hill. It was a humble dwelling, with a roof that seemed to sag under the weight of years and walls that had long since surrendered to the elements.

"Come in, come in," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Rest for a moment. I'll fetch something."

Suria and Riang exchanged a curious glance before stepping inside.

The warmth of the small house enveloped them. The scent of woodsmoke and dried herbs filled the air. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a brazier burning in the corner, casting dancing shadows on the worn rug and rough-hewn furniture.