Darkness and Roars

Many days had passed in that dark abyss. Lyria hugged her knees, her tiny body trembling in the dampness of the old well. She no longer knew how many days had gone by since her mother had hidden her there. Her body was beginning to give in to exhaustion, her stomach growling with a dull pain. But none of that mattered. Nothing hurt as much as the screams of the villagers being massacred.

The echoes of the specters' roars still rang in her ears. They had come through the Rift, emerging as twisted shadows that devoured everything in their path. Every breath she took was tainted by the stench of death.

She wanted to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, her mother's face came to her mind—her smile, her final look, filled with love and despair.

"Mommy…", she whispered into the darkness. "Please… P-please…", she kept muttering, wishing that all of this was just a nightmare she could wake up from.

The days passed in cruel silence. Lyria could barely remain conscious, her mind shifting between horror and delirium. She heard sounds in the distance—the roars, the cries of the few who remained alive… and then, a terrifying stillness.

Hunger and thirst became torture. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, her body shivering from fever and dehydration. Many times, she tried to drink the water from the well, but because of all the blood spilled in the village, the water had been contaminated. Each time she drank in desperation, she ended up vomiting.

Fear kept her awake. But exhaustion was slowly consuming her life. Every time the silence outside lasted too long, her heart pounded harder. Were they still there? Were they waiting for her to come out? Had they finally left?

She had no way of knowing.

Tears fell again as she realized she could do nothing. The darkness of the well became her only companion. How much longer could she endure?

She promised herself she would not sleep, she would not let her guard down. But her body could no longer hold on.

Hunger, thirst, and fear overcame her, and she finally collapsed into unconsciousness.

...

Time lost meaning for Lyria.

Sometimes she woke up with a start, her mind trapped in the nightmare of the massacre. Other times, her consciousness faded back into the shadows. She felt like she was floating in the void, as if her body no longer belonged to this world. Her mother had told her to live, but she hadn't told her how to endure the pain and loneliness that followed.

In her delirium, she thought she heard voices. At first, she did not recognize them, but whispers and murmurs reached her from above. It was a distant sound, but different from the specters' growls. She tried to move, but her limbs were too numb from the time spent in the depths.

The noises became clearer. Heavy objects being moved… Stones being lifted? Broken planks

And then, a light. A blinding light forced her to shut her eyes tightly.

"My lord…!", a voice exclaimed. "I… I think we found something!"

She tried to open her eyes again, but they remained dull, empty, as if all the light within them had been stolen.

The sound of hurried footsteps, voices barking orders…

Someone descended into the well, and she felt strong arms lift her. They were warm. They didn't feel like the cold grasp of death that had surrounded her for days. She barely made out the silhouette in front of her.

Before she could even begin to comprehend what was happening, unconsciousness claimed her once again, dragging her back into the void.

...

The sound of horses' hooves pounded against the scorched earth. Red banners fluttered with the insignia of House Ignaris, the fire warriors of the Zephirion Empire. At the front, leading them, rode Gareth Ignaris—whose name meant 'guardian' in the ancient tongues—an imposing man with hair as red as flames, and a deep scar crossing his right eye.

"This is not a village… it's a graveyard", one of the knights murmured upon seeing the devastation.

The scene was utterly horrifying.

Charred bodies lay everywhere, the stench of burned flesh unbearable. The houses had collapsed in on themselves, and the stains of blood were so numerous that it looked as if it had rained crimson upon the village. Scattered remains were still visible—parts of bodies that had not been completely devoured.

The village had been entirely consumed by the Rift.

Upon witnessing such a nightmarish sight, some of the knights went into shock, others couldn't bear the nauseating smell and began to vomit, while the rest stood frozen, their faces locked in expressions of pure horror.

"Form up!", Gareth ordered firmly. "We must eliminate any remaining specters!"

A roar echoed from the ruins. The specters began to stir.

From the shadows of the forest and the crumbled buildings, twisted figures emerged—creatures with glowing eyes and bodies cloaked in darkness.

Without hesitation, the knights unsheathed their swords and formed their battle lines.

"Hold the line! Do not let them surround us!", Gareth shouted to his soldiers.

The battlefield lit up with sparks as the knights' steel clashed against the specters' claws. They were stronger than expected. One knight screamed as a dark claw pierced him in a moment of carelessness—his body was thrown through the air, twisting violently before hitting the ground lifeless.

But these knights were not defenseless peasants. They were the vanguard of the Duchy of Ignaris, and they continued to fight with fierce determination.

Gareth pressed forward. With a swift movement, he cleaved a specter in two, its dark essence dissipating into the air with a deafening roar.

"Protect the priest!", he commanded firmly, turning his gaze back to his soldiers.

The priest from the Temple of the Sky, wrapped in white robes, began reciting a sacred chant. His hands radiated divine light, repelling the lesser specters as if they were dust in the wind. Those that resisted were immobilized long enough for the knights to cut them down.

But then, from the distance, an overwhelming energy surged from the Rift's core. A powerful presence emerged.

¡¡GRAAAAAAAAAAAW!!

A new, monstrous roar shook the air. Every knight immediately tensed, their gazes snapping toward the source.

From the heart of the Rift, the Guardian emerged.

It was larger than the others, with a grotesque humanoid form and massive arms ending in obsidian claws. Its eyes burned like embers, and its presence was suffocating, as if the Void itself were pressing down upon them.

Gareth narrowed his eyes.

"So there you are, you wretched thing…", he muttered, a defiant smile creeping onto his lips.

The Guardian lunged at him with inhuman speed. Gareth barely had time to raise his sword in defense. The impact was brutal, sending him skidding backward several meters. The ground cracked beneath his feet.

The knight exhaled slowly, feeling power course through his body, strengthening his muscles. He could not fail. If the Guardian was not defeated, the priest would not be able to purify the Rift's core, and the tear in reality would continue to expand, becoming an even greater threat.

The fierce battle continued. The duke and the creature exchanged blow after blow, each strike of Gareth's sword sending bright sparks into the air. But the Guardian was relentless. Its claws tore through the knight's armor, leaving deep gashes on his body.

But Gareth would not be intimidated so easily. Gripping his sword tightly, he closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself. Then, slowly, he opened them again, his presence growing heavier. With a powerful roar, he began to channel his energy. Visibly, his element began to manifest—not the fiery red one might expect, but an ethereal, brilliant blue. His sword ignited in these blue flames, and he lunged at the Guardian.

In this world, there are three primary types of abilities: Magic, Aura, and Divine Power.

Aura is a force that any knight can learn to accumulate and use if their skills are sufficient. It significantly enhances physical abilities.

Magic, on the other hand, is exclusive to the Ducal Houses and their descendants, a blessing granted by Caleus at the Empire's founding. Each house was gifted an element, and the Ignaris House was given fire, which manifests in their red hair and eyes. There are two methods to wield this power—strengthening the body like Aura, but with the added ability to manipulate their element, or externalizing it to create tangible manifestations. But the title of Swordmaster is an achievement few ever reach—it is reserved for those who master both techniques effortlessly.

Finally, Divine Power is unique to the priests of the Temple of the Sky, who have been blessed by Caleus to channel his will. This power is necessary to purify the Rift cores and can also repel and destroy lesser specters, which is why every expedition requires at least one priest.

With his sword enveloped in those magnificent blue flames, Gareth unleashed a powerful downward slash at blinding speed. His blade tore through the darkness comprising the Guardian's body. The creature attempted to resist, raising its enormous claws in a desperate counterattack. But Gareth swung his sword again, and with a precise horizontal strike, the Guardian's head was severed from its body. The head tumbled to the ground, rolling away as the rest of the monster crumbled into ash. Gareth let out a slow breath, sheathing his sword.

The knights erupted into cheers.

"Long live the captain!", "As expected of a Swordmaster!", they celebrated the duke's victory.

The priest, seeing that the Guardian had been defeated, wasted no time.

The priest approached the Rift's core and raised his staff. He began to chant a long incantation, channeling his divine power. Sacred light enveloped the corrupted gem, purifying it until nothing remained but dust.

As the core disappeared, the twisted tree that had grown around it began to collapse, turning to ash. The remaining specters suddenly froze, then one by one, they began to crumble, disintegrating into nothingness.

All of the ashes were drawn back into the Rift as it started to close with a thunderous sound. And finally, the Rift was sealed.

...

With the battle concluded, the knights turned their attention to tending the wounded and inspecting the ruined village. The Rift was gone, but it was too late for those who had once lived here. The knights moved through the remains, questioning whether there could be any survivors. Would it be worth rebuilding the village? These were questions they needed to answer.

One of the knights approached an old well, located behind a cabin on the village outskirts, intending to check the water supply. As he reached it, he noticed that the well was covered with many wooden planks and sacks. He hoped that meant the well itself was still intact.

After clearing away part of the covering, he leaned in to take a closer look at the well's state. But what he saw made his eyes widen in shock, his face frozen in a mix of disbelief and horror.

"My lord…!", he called out, his voice trembling. "I… I think we have something here!"

Gareth immediately turned and approached, accompanied by several knights.

The knights removed the rotten planks and sacks of flour covering the opening. There, in the dark, damp depths, submerged in the water contaminated by the village's devastation, lay a lone child.

Small. Malnourished. Motionless.

Gareth's heart clenched at the sight. With a sharp gesture, he ordered the knights to pull her out immediately.

As the light fell on her face, her skin was deathly pale, dark shadows lay beneath her eyes, and her clothes were filthy and torn.

Her breathing was barely perceptible.

"She's alive, but only just…", one of the knights murmured as he examined her.

Gareth wasted no time. He ordered that she be taken to their camp immediately for emergency treatment. Her testimony would be crucial to understanding exactly what had happened to the village.

...

Once the girl received medical care and was no longer in immediate danger, the knight responsible for treating her presented himself before the duke to give his report.

"The girl's treatment has been completed, and for now, she is out of immediate danger", reported a female knight with short black hair and numerous scars along her arms.

"What is her condition?", Gareth asked, reviewing some documents.

The knight hesitated for a moment, clenching her fists.

"Severe malnutrition and dehydration… possible poisoning from drinking contaminated well water… and also…", she trailed off, lowering her gaze.

"What is it?", Gareth asked, lifting his eyes from the documents, sensing her unease.

"...I think it's best if you see for yourself", she finally said, avoiding his gaze.

Realizing that this was something serious, Gareth set down the papers in his hands, stood up, and followed the knight to the tent where the girl was being kept. As he approached her, the knight subtly pointed out something.

And when Gareth saw it, he could hardly believe his eyes.

There, on her left wrist, barely visible beneath dried blood and dirt, was a cursed mark.

The Mark of the Void.

A cold chill ran through Gareth. His warrior instincts and duty as a protector clashed with the knowledge of what this mark meant.

Was this girl a victim… or a hidden threat? It was his duty to find out.