Darkness | Male oc X PJO

Prologue

December 23rd:

The winter had been tough on all of us.

Our crops had withered until they turned to straw along with our people. Some of us had to resort to primitive ways. Spearing, fishing, hunting, gathering...sacrificing.

But the gods never responded. Not even a hint of a sign.

All it did was snow and rain, and rain and snow. The sleet had sickened most of us—taken a few.

Mother used to tell me that when they go, their souls seep down into a world where all needs have left, and all burdens are lifted. A beautiful Palace where every man could see their grandfather and every grandmother could care for the youth.

I remember how drawn her face had been when she told me about that place, like she had seen it, and was only waiting for her card to be called.

She must've been close to the top of the deck.

The sickness had spread through her faster than anyone could've expected.

It was just a cough, but her retches became wetter and faded. Her skin had turned green, and her eyes seemed tossed into the thralls of chaos. But she always retained her smile—even as her pink lips went blue and her golden hair littered the floor. Never an ounce of pain left that woman, never a complaint or fuss, but I could see through it. The shivers that plagued her just as much as the unearthly colors.

We had eventually forced cloth and blankets onto her. In the beginning, it sufficed, but as of about three weeks ago her shoulders started to seize every evening. So we decided, by night, we should put seven logs in the hearth, and every night the shaking left.

But nothing serviceable lasts for eternity.

The stocks had only 17 left. I went to her one day, telling her. She smiled calmly and told me to go to the Lumber's cabin. Surely, they would have wood.

So, I went, but my hand hesitated over the birch door. Through the panes of glass, there was a distorted figure of a lumpy figure, covered in white sheets. A lady—Margaret—was leant over the figure, crying and weeping.

All I told Mother was that they had none.

Her smile drooped, but then the wrinkles pulled at her flush lips. "Don't worry Sean," she said. "We'll find a way. We always have."

But that wasn't enough. I couldn't blindly follow in the vain hope that the gods would answer our prayers. Not anymore. I had to find more, no matter how much the cold antagonized my body. I would rather suffer that than watch her freeze to death.

I'll decide soon. I need some sleep.

December 26th:

Me and one of the other children from my camp—Arya, the butcher's daughter—had decided to go out and chop the log ourselves. Mother warned against it. "I've seen something out there," she had said. "Do not go, please. We will manage."

I didn't listen. It could've been anything. A wolf, a bear at worst, but nothing out there could've been worse than watching her deteriorate like a corpse. I wasn't about to idle around and watch her turn to one.

So, when she was drowsing in front of the still-burning fireplace. I sneaked through and met Arya.

She was wearing all black and her blue eyes were shining agleam. In her right, an axe was brandished, shining almost as much as her eyes.

Without a word, we went off.

She would speak lightly, I would next, then her. We each wanted to break the silence of the forest.