The Day Everything Was Lost

Many seasons had passed, and the sun timidly rose over the small village where Elara and Lyria had found refuge. In the distance, fields of wheat swayed with the morning breeze, and the scent of freshly baked bread spread through the dirt streets. To any outsider, this place seemed like a haven of peace, far enough from the Empire's influence and the fear the Church instilled in its people.

The wooden houses with thatched roofs were aligned along a main path that led to the village square. The blacksmith worked, his hammer striking red-hot metal, while children ran through the dusty streets, their laughter echoing in the air. The baker, a robust man in a perpetually flour-dusted apron, handed out loaves to the villagers, while the village's elderly healer gathered fresh herbs from the field.

Elara, her hair pulled into a messy braid, smiled as she watched her daughter run through the small garden in front of their cottage. Lyria, now ten years old, with her dark ash-colored hair tousled by the breeze and her fair skin bathed in the morning light, laughed innocently as she chased a butterfly.

"Don't go too far, my love", Elara warned gently. "We need to go to the market before noon."

"Just a little longer, Mama!", the girl replied with a radiant smile.

Elara sighed and shook her head fondly. They had made a living selling fabric and small embroideries that Elara crafted in her spare time. Though it wasn't a trade she enjoyed, it was enough to keep a low profile and ensure food on their table. Each morning, she went to the market to trade her work for provisions, always careful not to draw too much attention.

Since arriving in the village, Elara had been cautious. She avoided answering questions about her past, kept Lyria away from prying eyes, and never allowed anyone to see her daughter's left wrist. She knew that if anyone discovered Lyria's curse, it would all be over.

"Good morning, Elara", greeted the baker with a friendly smile. "Today's loaves are especially fresh."

"Thank you, Thomas. I'll just take one this time", she replied politely, pulling a small pouch of coins from her pocket.

Meanwhile, Lyria played with a girl her age, Marie, the woodcutter's daughter. They laughed as they collected small stones and tossed them into the puddles left by recent rains.

"Your mama is always a little... strange", Marie commented in a hushed tone.

"Really...? I don't think she's strange...", Lyria replied in the same low voice. Then she lowered her gaze, lost in thought.

For as long as she could remember, her mother had always warned her not to trust others too much. Even if they seemed like good people, many hid dark secrets—just as they did.

As Lyria was lost in her thoughts, Elara turned her gaze back to her daughter and, with a sigh of relief, called to her.

"Lyria, we have to go", she said gently but firmly.

The girl nodded and waved goodbye to Marie before following her mother. As they walked, Elara felt the village chief's eyes on them. A robust man with graying hair, watching them with a furrowed brow. There was no hostility in his gaze, but rather curiosity—perhaps even suspicion. Since the night he had allowed them to stay, he had never asked questions, but it seemed he had always kept an eye on them, ensuring no trouble befell his village.

That morning, however, an unusual sensation unsettled her. As they walked through the square, the villagers greeted her with friendly smiles, but she could not ignore the chill that ran down her spine. She looked around, trying to find the source of her unease.

And then, the world changed. A sound tore through the sky.

¡¡CRACK!!

A deep, echoing crack, as if reality itself were fracturing. The sun flickered in its glow, and a dark flash emerged on the horizon.

Elara felt her heart stop. She knew exactly what that meant.

The Rifts of the Void had arrived.

"Lyria, come here!", she shouted urgently, but before her daughter could react, the ground trembled with a deafening roar.

In the distance, at the edge of the forest, a dark fissure began to expand in the air, like an open wound in reality itself. From within, twisted shadows emerged—monstrous figures whose glowing red eyes burned with sinister energy. And behind them, in the midst of a swirling, malevolent aura, something else began to take form—a tree-like structure, gnarled and dark. At its peak, a large purple crystal pulsed ominously. A Rift had opened at the village's outskirts.

The terrified screams of the villagers shattered the morning's tranquility. Some ran to their homes, others grabbed makeshift weapons to defend themselves. But it was futile. Creatures of the Void could not be defeated with ordinary steel.

The village chief, along with several of the men, attempted to form a defense. Armed with spears and pitchforks, they stood their ground against the advancing creatures.

"We will not let them destroy our home!", the chief shouted, brandishing an old, rusted sword.

But reality was cruel. The first creature, moving with unnatural agility, slipped between them and, with a single swipe of its massive claws, tore one of the men apart. Blood sprayed across the ground, and the others faltered at the sight. But summoning their courage, more villagers charged at the creatures, only to have their weapons bounce harmlessly off the spectral forms.

The blacksmith tried to face them with his hammer, lunging forward, but one of the beasts easily dodged him and struck back with brutal force. The impact sent him crashing into a wall, his body slamming against the stones with such force that blood splattered everywhere—he died instantly.

The elderly healer barely had time to run before she was dragged into the forest by the specters and devoured alive. Her agonizing screams echoed in the distance.

The baker, in a desperate act, tried to shield the children from a group of specters with his own body. But when they saw him, they only sneered with malice before descending upon him. The terrified children watched as he was torn apart—then, the creatures turned on them.

Seeing the danger, the woodcutter grabbed his daughter and fled as fast as he could, not caring about anything else. But it was useless—the specters caught up to them. Cornered, the woodcutter gripped his axe tightly and lunged at them, but it was a futile effort. In an instant, one of the specters grinned maliciously, raising its enormous claws. With a single swipe, it completely severed the woodcutter's neck, sending his head flying towards the other specters, who fought over it like starving beasts. Meanwhile, blood gushed from the woodcutter's open wound, splattering onto Marie's face. Her eyes widened in shock before she collapsed to the ground, trembling.

The first specter, having finished with the woodcutter, turned its gaze to the little girl. As she lay on the ground, frozen with fear, the specter loomed over her, opening its grotesque, gaping maw. It devoured her whole, leaving behind nothing but a bloodstain.

Elara witnessed the horror unfolding in the village, and terror gripped her heart. But she could not afford to hesitate—she had to protect her daughter. She clutched Lyria in her arms and ran towards their cabin, her mind racing to find a way out.

"Mommy, I'm scared…", Lyria whimpered, clinging tightly to her neck.

"Shh, my love. Everything will be fine", Elara lied, her voice trembling.

But she knew that wasn't true.

Once inside the cabin, Elara desperately searched for a hiding place. The specters were drawing closer. The creatures' guttural roars shook the air. Then, she saw it—the old dry well behind the cabin.

"Lyria, listen to me...", she said, cupping her daughter's face in her trembling hands. "I'm going to hide you here. No matter what happens, don't make a sound. Do you understand?"

Lyria's dark eyes filled with terror.

Tears streamed down the little girl's face as she shook her head.

"No, Mama! Come with me!"

Elara swallowed the lump in her throat and held her tightly, kissing her forehead with a trembling smile.

"I'll be fine. I just need you to do as I say. Be brave, my love", she whispered, forcing herself to stay strong.

With great care, she lowered Lyria into the well, ensuring the entrance was covered with wooden planks and sacks of flour to keep her hidden. Once the well was sealed, Elara knelt beside it.

From the darkness below, Lyria looked up, tears streaming down her face. She could hear the screams of the villagers being massacred, the growls of the specters, and then, in the midst of the chaos, her mother's voice.

"I love you. No matter what happens, never forget that", Elara said, her voice utterly broken as she fought to hold back her tears.

Heavy footsteps echoed. Elara stood immediately. She turned just in time to see the creatures closing in on her.

Elara did not scream. She did not run. She knew she couldn't win. But she took solace in knowing her daughter would be safe. She drew a small dagger from her belt, and when the specters saw it, they sneered as if mocking her.

She lunged at them, hoping to at least distract them so they wouldn't notice the well. But as soon as her dagger struck one of the specters, the blade bounced off harmlessly and clattered to the ground, leaving her defenseless. Terror flashed across her face. Seeing this, one of the specters grinned with satisfaction. It grabbed her left arm and twisted it violently.

A sickening crack filled the air, and agony shot through Elara's body. She screamed in pain, but then, remembering that Lyria was still in the well, she bit down on her tongue with brutal force, silencing herself. She could not let her daughter hear her suffering.

From the darkness below, Lyria clamped a hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her wide, terrified eyes.

The specters continued to brutalize Elara, relishing in her pain. All the while, she remained painfully aware of her daughter's presence nearby. She struggled to stay silent, but it was impossible.

At last, as if growing tired of their game, the specters advanced together, their twisted mouths curling in anticipation. They descended upon Elara, tearing into her flesh. Even as she was consumed, her thoughts remained on her precious daughter.

"Lyria... my little Lyria...", she thought, recalling the happy days she had spent playing with her child in the village. "Mama loves you...", she whispered in her mind with her final breath.

From the depths of the well, Lyria trembled uncontrollably. She covered her mouth with both hands, muffling her sobs as she listened to the horrific sounds of her mother's final moments. Then, there was silence.

Utter, suffocating silence.

Lyria sat in the darkness, clutching herself, knowing that everything she had ever known and loved was now gone forever.