The Slow Bloom of Decay
The days after Gerald’s pact with Plaga were marked by an eerie transformation in the lower city. At first, it was subtle—barely noticeable to the desperate souls trapped behind the sealed gates. But Gerald could feel it, deep in his bones. He was now bound to her, her whispers constant, her presence an ever-looming shadow within his mind. Yet, despite the price he had paid, the first signs of her work began to show.
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### **The First Changes**
It began with the air. The stifling stench of rot and filth that had choked the streets for weeks began to ease. The sharp tang of death and decay faded, replaced by something strange—earthy and damp, like the scent of freshly turned soil. Gerald walked the streets, watching as the people noticed the shift, their wary eyes glancing around for the source of this unnatural phenomenon.
The cobblestones, cracked and coated with grime, began to change as well. Thin, blackened vines pushed their way through the cracks, weaving across the ground like veins. At first, the people recoiled in fear, but the vines did not harm them. Instead, they grew around the broken foundations of homes, strengthening crumbling walls and closing gaps that had let the cold night air seep in.
Gerald saw it happening and felt the weight of Plaga’s influence. Her voice echoed in his mind as he knelt before a small family huddled in the ruins of their home.
"They fear what they do not understand," she whispered, her tone both tender and commanding. "But soon, they will see. My touch brings not only decay but renewal. Through destruction, there is growth."
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### **Food and Water**
The next sign of Plaga’s work was the sudden appearance of sustenance. The people had been starving, their meager supplies dwindling with no hope of resupply from the middle rings. But now, strange plants began to grow from the blackened vines that spread through the streets.
At first, they were cautious. The plants bore twisted, dark fruits that shimmered with an unnatural glow. They looked alien, untrustworthy. But when one brave soul dared to taste them, the word spread quickly—they were nourishing. The fruit, despite its strange appearance, was sweet and filling, giving strength to those who had been on the brink of death.
Water, too, began to flow. The old, broken fountains that had long run dry now gushed with clear liquid. The people hesitated, unsure if it was safe, but their thirst overcame their fear. The water was pure, cool, and refreshing, a balm for their parched throats.
Gerald watched as the people drank deeply, their hollow faces lighting up with hope for the first time in weeks. He felt Plaga’s satisfaction within him, her whispers soft and smug.
"Do you see, my knight?" she said. "I keep my promises. They are mine now, and I will care for them as no one else would."
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### **The Afflicted**
The most startling change came with the afflicted. Those marked by Plaga’s curse, their bodies twisted and veins blackened, began to transform further. Their pallor gave way to a faint glow, their movements growing steadier, more purposeful.
Gerald encountered a man he had seen days before, lying on the brink of death, his body ravaged by the plague. Now, the man stood tall, his skin still pale but radiant with a strange light. His eyes, once hollow, glowed faintly with the same eerie energy that Gerald had seen in Plaga herself.
"You have given yourself to her," the man said, his voice stronger than Gerald remembered. "We can feel it. Her mark is on you, and through you, she has given us life."
Gerald didn’t respond, but the man’s words echoed in his mind long after they parted ways.
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### **Shelter**
Plaga’s influence extended to the very structures of the lower city. The vines that crept through the streets and walls began to weave themselves into the fabric of the buildings, reinforcing crumbling stone and patching gaps with their blackened tendrils. Homes that had been on the verge of collapse now stood strong, though they bore the unmistakable mark of Plaga’s touch—twisting, living roots that pulsed faintly with her power.
People no longer huddled in the open streets or in makeshift shelters. They returned to their homes, marveling at how the decay had turned into strength. The lower city, though still a shadow of its former self, began to breathe again, its people finding a strange solace in the changes Plaga had wrought.
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### **Hope or Control?**
Though the changes brought relief to the people, Gerald could not ignore the cost. The more Plaga gave, the more her presence permeated the lower city. The afflicted, now stronger and glowing with her mark, began to speak of her not with fear but with reverence. They whispered her name as though it were sacred, their voices carrying an almost worshipful tone.
"She is our savior," one woman said to Gerald as he passed. "She has given us what your God and your King would not. We owe her everything."
Gerald clenched his fists, his heart heavy with doubt. He had made this pact to save them, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he had simply traded one form of control for another. The people were no longer starving, but they were no longer free either. They were bound to Plaga, just as he was.
"Do not burden yourself with doubt," Plaga whispered, her voice soothing yet firm. "They are alive because of me. They have homes, food, and water because of me. What did your King give them? What did your God do for them?"
Gerald could not answer.
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### **A New Order**
As the days passed, the lower city began to take on a life of its own, separate from the rest of Lotringen. The people, once abandoned and forgotten, now found strength in their unity. The afflicted became leaders, their glowing forms symbols of Plaga’s power and protection. The weak and the sick found solace in her touch, their fears replaced by a strange sense of purpose.
But the whispers grew louder, and Gerald felt the weight of his sacrifice pressing down on him. He had given himself to her, body, heart, and soul, and now he felt her influence growing within him. He could no longer tell where his thoughts ended and hers began.
"You have done well, my knight," Plaga said one evening as he stood in the shadow of a newly reinforced building. "Through you, they have found hope. Through me, they will find renewal. This is only the beginning."
Gerald looked out over the streets, watching as the people gathered around the fountains, their laughter and voices rising into the air. For the first time in weeks, the lower city felt alive.
But in the back of his mind, he knew that this life was not free. It came at a cost, a price that had not yet been fully paid. And as Plaga’s whispers grew louder, Gerald wondered how much more she would demand before her work was done.