Of Her (Eighty Days)

The market was still. The stalls were open but empty. The ground was cracked and the air felt heavy. Eryn stepped carefully, boots scraping against the rough cobblestones. He didn't know why, but his feet felt too loud. The silence wrapped around them like a blanket.

Liora moved beside him. She didn't speak, but he could feel her eyes on the shadows. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. He knew she was thinking the same thing. Something wasn't right.

The wind shifted. Cold, though it shouldn't have been. The air was thin. Empty. It didn't belong here. He wanted to say something, but the words felt pointless. They both knew it was wrong.

"This isn't right," he muttered under his breath.

Liora nodded, her gaze moving across the street, scanning every corner. Her hand tightened around her sword. She didn't say anything back. There was nothing more to say. They both felt it. A presence. Unseen. But there.

He turned to Eight, who was a few paces behind them. Without a word, Eight handed Eryn a sword. The steel was cold, familiar, but distant. Eryn took it. He didn't need to ask why. There was nothing else to do.

"Don't engage too close," Eight warned. Her voice was low. "We don't know what we're dealing with."

Eryn nodded. It felt right, taking the sword. He gripped the hilt harder.

They moved deeper into the market, passing silent stalls, shelves with rotting fruit, broken pottery. It was still. Nothing moved. But something was watching. The feeling was there, pressing down on them.

Then, out of the corners of his eyes, he saw them. Figures. Slowly shuffling from behind the stalls. They weren't running, but they weren't walking either. They moved like something lost. Something without a purpose. They wore masks. Dirty. Rough. The kind of mask someone would wear to hide their face.

He could feel the air change.

Liora stopped. She didn't speak, but the sword in her hand was already drawn.

Eryn took a step forward, his feet dragging. His eyes never left them. They moved closer. No sound. Just the shuffle of feet against stone. They weren't the people who had been here. Not anymore.

"They're just villagers," Eryn said, though the words didn't sit right in his mouth.

Liora's eyes didn't leave the figures. "No," she said, voice low. "Something's wrong."

The first one lunged. It came fast, too fast. Eryn barely had time to react. He raised his sword, parrying the strike. The force of it rattled his arm, the jolt of it sharper than he expected. But it didn't matter. He didn't stop.

Liora moved in, striking at another one. Her blade met the mask with a crack, slicing through the air. Eryn followed suit, his movements rough and quick. His strikes weren't clean, but they didn't need to be. There was no time to think. No time to doubt.

The villagers kept coming. Their bodies twisted and strange. They didn't bleed. Not like normal people. It was like they weren't real. Eryn blocked another strike, the clang of metal loud in the quiet. His heart was pounding, but it wasn't the fight that made it race. It was the emptiness. The way they moved without thought.

"They're not real," he muttered.

Liora's sword cut through another attacker. "They're something else," she said. Her voice was tight. "Don't let them touch you."

Eryn could feel the sweat on his skin. The sword felt heavier with each swing. The villagers didn't stop. They didn't slow. They were like shadows, moving without purpose. But they were relentless. They were in the way.

One of them lunged at him, the mask twisted in its mouth. Eryn sidestepped. His blade cut through the air. The mask fell away. The face behind it was nothing. Hollow eyes stared back at him. Empty. There was nothing there. Eryn's chest tightened. These weren't enemies. These were bodies. Dead ones.

Another attack. Eryn raised his sword. But the voice came again. Inside his head. Soft. Too soft.

"You did this," Alyssa said, her voice like a blade in his skull. "This is your fault."

Eryn staggered. The voice echoed in his mind. Her words cut deep, deeper than the fight. He didn't know what it meant, but it made the ground feel unsteady beneath his feet. He didn't want to listen, but the words didn't stop. They pressed in.

"Shut up," he muttered. But it didn't work.

Liora cut through another figure. The sound of the blade was sharp. But there was no relief in it. The villagers didn't stop. They didn't care. There was no life in them.

Another one lunged at Eryn. This time, he didn't step back. He took it head-on. His sword met the blow, but the force of it threw him back. His breath left him in a rush. He stumbled, but he didn't fall.

The words came again. Softer this time. "Return to ash," Alyssa said. "You'll never be free of it. You'll never outrun this."

Eryn's breath caught. The voice was getting louder. Getting closer. He didn't want to hear it, but he couldn't shut it out. He fought harder. His blade bit deep into the next villager. The body fell, limp. But the others kept coming.

They were never ending. Always more. They didn't stop.

Liora moved beside him. Her strikes were clean, fast. She didn't look at him. She didn't look at the villagers. She just kept moving. Her eyes were focused ahead. Focused on the next attack.

Eryn turned his head quickly. The shadow was there again. A figure. But it wasn't one of the villagers. It was watching them from the corner of his vision. It wasn't human. Not like the others. The figure stepped back into the shadows as soon as he looked. Eryn's heart thudded. It was like it was waiting for him to see it.

The fight went on, but it didn't feel like a fight. It felt like being trapped in a cycle. He was fighting nothing. Fighting a shadow. Fighting the empty.

And then, just as the last villager fell, a cold hand gripped his chest. He couldn't breathe. It wasn't the fight. It wasn't the wounds. It was something else. Something darker.

Liora wiped the sweat from her brow. Her face was set in stone, but there was something in her eyes. Something haunted.

"They'll recover," she said, her voice heavy. "But this isn't over."

Eryn didn't answer. He couldn't. His chest was tight, his breath shallow. The feeling was still there. The presence. He couldn't escape it.

The market was empty again. But the emptiness was different now. Something had changed. The shadow was closer.

Eryn didn't know what it meant. But he knew it was only the beginning. The fight had only just started.