Chapter 11 : The Ashes of Vallombre

I was wandering across the vast continent of Winet, a small, remote, and secluded place spanning about 450 million square kilometers. A place so isolated that interesting stories were rare there, almost ghostly. To unearth one worthy of the name, I had to explore forgotten regions, where even the wind seemed to carry the echo of a mysterious past.

Domgis... That name still sent shivers down my spine. His story was an enigma, a paradox that always eluded me, like an elusive shadow. Reflecting on his adventure, I realized that he had preserved his sanity only by forgetting his own experiences. It was his weakness, transformed into strength. For if the weight of his memories had returned to him, he would have sunk, crushed by their immensity.

I would surely have sighed if I could. I lowered my eyes, or at least tried to, and observed the landscapes rushing past beneath me. The great tower, terrifying and imposing, had already vanished from my field of vision. In the distance, the massive rivers shimmered under a shifting light. They wound their way between snow-capped mountains, skirted inland lakes, and stretched out to fertile plains.

But despite this beauty, everything seemed distant. The wind, once familiar, I no longer felt. That connection, that ability to influence reality, had been taken from me. That right, ripped away. And my vision... it was no longer the same. I saw differently. No other sensations. No more freedom. Just a growing void, over and over again.

I wasn't simply invisible. I had become... nonexistent. Without any weight to bring to the world.

***

As I flew over a small cluster of islands, my eyes were drawn to a manor in flames. The scene before me was one of unimaginable violence, a tragic dance of fire and despair. The flames licked the walls of the building, casting menacing shadows on the ground. The acrid smell of smoke mingled with that of blood hung in the air, an unbearable fragrance that twisted my stomach.

Bodies littered the ground in places, their lifeless shapes covered in a thin veil of blood. This macabre spectacle evoked a lost battle, a desperate struggle for survival. The faces of the deceased, frozen in anguish or pain, told different but similar stories. Every detail of this tragic scene seemed to vibrate with a palpable intensity, as if the manor itself was screaming its grief through the flames.

Through the debris of a collapsed wall, a strange glimmer caught my eye, something both fascinating and terrifying. There, amidst the rubble, stood an elf, tall and imposing, like a living statue emerging from a nightmare. His pale, almost translucent skin seemed to capture the first rays of dawn, reflecting a bluish glow. But it wasn't the celestial reflections that dominated. No. His body was covered in blood, from the tips of his long, pointed ears to his clenched fingers. The dark red liquid contrasted violently with his finely adorned armor and his bright red cloak, already soaked in carnage.

His navy-blue hair, disheveled, shimmered faintly in the morning light, as if the stars themselves had taken refuge in it, but it was tangled and matted with splashes of blood. His eyes, a vivid and piercing blue, seemed to pierce through everything they met. They were calm, too calm, like those of someone who had seen the unspeakable and made it their ally.

He breathed slowly, almost as if savoring the silence after the storm. Behind him, shadows wavered in the hesitant light of the dawning day, drawing shapeless silhouettes on the blood-stained walls. The manor had become a tomb, every room a scene of massacre, and he, the undisputed author of this tragedy.

And yet, he showed no sign of remorse. He stood there, unshaken, his face barely marked by a thin cut on his cheek. The aura he exuded was almost unreal, a blend of deadly elegance and inhuman coldness. My first thought was of a predator who had accomplished his work, a being both sublime and monstrous, whose presence made the air heavier, harder to breathe.

It was a vision of macabre beauty.