Act-4.2 Silence of Terra Neralis

The land of Terra Neralis—once known for its music, markets, laughter, and a sky that shimmered in warm hues—was unrecognizable.

The sky had bled into a deep, foreboding red, as if the heavens themselves were wounded. The moon, now completely black, loomed like a gaping eye with no soul.

Not a bird dared sing. Not a breeze dared dance. The air was heavy, stale, and chilling—like the breath of something ancient and watching. An ominous silence draped over the town like a funeral shroud.

Shops were shuttered. Stalls deserted. Streets that once overflowed with color now sat in lifeless stillness. Doors were locked, windows tightly sealed, and makeshift talismans hung at the thresholds—desperate attempts to keep whatever cursed omen this eclipse brought, outside.

In a narrow alley tucked between two tall, crumbling buildings sat a modest apartment. It belonged to a Tula family—one of the lowest classes in Terra Neralis.

For them, surviving meant enduring high taxes, long hours of labor, and the ever-present fear of being cast out. Their apartment was nothing more than a single room carved from stone and timber, just big enough to fit their lives.

Inside sat Ruu, a boy of perhaps eleven winters, perched on the windowsill—though the window was firmly shut. His eyes stared through the faint layer of dust that clung to the glass, out into the ghostly red horizon. In his hand, he clutched the old spyglass Layra had given him. He hadn't seen her since that day.

The last thing she'd said haunted him.

"Brothers of Destruction… I've seen that name before—etched into the scrolls beneath the shrine. I need to go. I think I understand now."

She hadn't explained what she meant. And now, Ruu couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Brothers of Destruction…?"

"What scrolls…? What shrine?"

"What did she mean by 'I know what this means'…?"

His brows furrowed in frustration and unease.

"Is she involved in something terrible...?"

"Brother, are you okay?"

The voice broke into his thoughts. Ruu flinched and turned sharply. His little sister stood behind him, blinking innocently.

"Agh! You scared me, idiot!" he snapped.

She folded her arms. "You're the one talking to yourself like a lunatic! And you call me the idiot?!"

"I was just… thinking!" Ruu grumbled, hugging the spyglass tighter.

"Yeah, thinking so hard you'll lose your brain!"

"Are you insane, you little—"

"Both of you, enough!" came their mother's voice—firm, tired, and edged with fatigue. "Sit down. The food's ready."

They scurried to the center of the room where a tattered mat was laid on the floor. Clay bowls, uneven and chipped, were filled with a simple stew and a few slices of hardened bread. It wasn't much. But in times like these, it was something.

Their father, a weary man with rough hands and the stooped posture of someone who had carried burdens heavier than bricks, sat in silence. The lines on his face told the story of too many debts and too few answers.

"Is this all for today?" the daughter asked in a small voice.

"For now," their mother replied gently. "We'll manage."

"Just eat," their father added, not unkindly. "There are plenty of Tulas outside who don't even have this."

Ruu stirred his stew slowly, then glanced at his father.

"Dad… how long will the sky stay like this?"

A long pause.

"…Who knows?" he said at last. "Maybe a day. Maybe a month. Maybe longer."

"So what do we do?" Ruu pressed.

The man forced a tired smile. "We keep breathing. We keep praying. Lord Nera watches over us. He'll answer eventually."

The mother added softly, "I've heard that children's prayers reach the gods faster. A pure heart is louder in heaven."

"Really, Mama?!" the little girl's eyes lit up. "Then I'll pray that in the next life, we're born noble!"

The room fell still. The words hung in the air like smoke. For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

Ruu looked away.

The mother's smile faltered—but she pulled herself together.

"…Yes, darling," she whispered. "That's a wonderful prayer."

Her husband nodded, eyes distant. "Yes. Lord Nera will hear you."

But deep in their hearts, they all knew—to be born noble in this world was a fantasy too far for the likes of them.

They finished their modest meal in heavy silence, the only sound the quiet clinking of clay.

– – –

Meanwhile, deep inside the royal palace, Zerem lay unconscious. His body was still, his face pale. He had not moved since being brought in. He had no visible wounds—no poison detected—yet something was clearly broken within him.

Surrounding him were several Medas, the kingdom's most gifted healers. At the center stood Yuu, the most revered among them, with long silver hair tied back neatly and fingers glowing with an ethereal green light.

His hands hovered above Zerem's chest, as if drawing something unseen out of him.

Nothing happened.

Again, he tried.

And again—no response.

Yuu frowned.

"Still no progress…" he murmured.

Another Meda leaned in, concern etched into her face. "We've tried all known recovery chants. Physical scans show nothing. He's not wounded."

"He's in a mental shock," Yuu replied. "Some form of psychic trauma. Something he saw… something he remembered... has shattered his mind. He's not sleeping—he's trapped. Somewhere deep."

A moment later, the chamber doors opened. Advisor Kirn entered, elegant as always, his presence as heavy as the tension in the air.

"Report," he said.

Yuu bowed slightly. "Advisor Kirn, we've ruled out physical causes. No poison, no curses, no external injuries. I believe… he's in a coma. Induced by mental trauma."

"A coma…?" Kirn's voice didn't rise—but a chill spread through the room.

"Yes. It's unlike anything we've seen. Something has locked him within himself. If he doesn't recover soon…"

"I see."

Kirn turned to the window, where the blood-red sky poured its color into the room. The black moon was just barely visible from this angle.

"…Do everything you can," he ordered. "I need him conscious. We must know what he saw out there."

Yuu nodded silently.

Kirn left without another word.

As the doors shut behind him, Yuu looked back at Zerem.

"What did you see…?" he whispered.

"What could frighten a man like you into silence?"

– – –

Back in the small apartment, Ruu sat awake while the others began to doze off. He looked once more at the spyglass—its brass casing scratched, worn, and strangely warm to the touch.

Outside, the wind howled low like a distant growl. The red sky pulsed as if alive.

He pressed the spyglass to his eye, peering through the dusty glass.

He saw nothing.

But he felt something.

A shadow moved across the sky, invisible to the naked eye—but his heart clenched as if it passed through his soul. Something ancient. Watching.

And in his mind, a name echoed softly—

"Aren..."