As time continued, I followed the road paved ahead. My thoughts were with Adelaide, Vhersio, and whatever tribulations she was forced to weather. The strange events still did not make much sense to me. However, I held onto a tiny fragmented sparkle of hope - wishing Mother knew anything of the matter.
Crumbled Watch was left well behind me.
Similarly, I, too, had passed Cruor Waycastle some time ago.
I recognised some of the nearby hills, luscious trees, oil-paint markings, and various rock formations, but most predominantly, the great crevice that ate through the fields. The sight was oddly beautiful; though the land was low, hovering a few metres above sea level, the many cracks in the surface ran deep underground. Bubbling water bellowed up from an underground spring all year round.
Had circumstances been less dire, I would have discontinued my trek on the spot to rinse myself. Alas, the matter at hand was urgently pressing, for it would determine whatever fate befell upon a dear friend, be it for good or worse.
I owed Adelaide my life. By that logic, I could not sit idly while she faced the repercussions.
Shifting my focus to the road ahead, I temporarily put my concerns to the side; well, all but the nagging sensation in my heel. After the day's events, my feet were burning with a continuous ache. It was almost as if a thousand needles were jabbing into my sole.
My current journey stood in stark contrast to traversal atop horseback.
Nevertheless, I endured the discomfort for a prolonged period until snippets of Silvermoon Wharf's eastern gates came into sight. It was no more or less than a sheer sight of solace, particularly when struck with the realisation that the final stretch of my return was nigh. However, as I held onto that belief, I glimpsed a single grim mark in the sky, a dark pall cast in the haunting image of a crumbling moon.
Momentarily, I was taken aback at the dreadful emergence.
The startling sight snuffed out even the thinnest trace of a modest relief; in lieu of a gentle whiff of comfort came an unyielding apprehension.
It was as though fate had played its cards cruelly perfectly, forcing me to bear witness to the tragedy of night under the guise of a fallen sanctuary. The first few steps were awful. Bloodstains and ashes were dotted around the perimeter; in a way, the Wharf resembled an eerily similar image of my worst nightmares.
Every so often, I came across the ruins of collapsed homesteads and stores. Though only under siege for a few hours, flames, blades, and catapults had laid waste to the Wharf. It was a sickening sight to behold. The once-lively bustling streets had been reduced to no more than a corpse-strewn garden.
Alas, my fever dream had come true.
The vision that came to me the other day had ultimately proven to deliver a foreboding message I wrote off and gave no further thought.
Had I done so, I wondered, would things have gone differently?
As I crossed the tragedy-stricken streets, I kept my head low whilst a song of desperate cries and wails drowned out my thoughts. Last night's events were of such a profound magnitude that I could not ever have hoped to anticipate. Seeing these folk bruised and injured and grieving their losses pained me.
Tears welled up in the corner of my eyes as I continued my silent walk, carrying a deep sorrow upon my shoulders with each passing step.
The heavy atmosphere had me worry about my parents' well-being.
Mother's agony-laced howl resonated in the back of my head. I recalled well that she had been injured; as well as Father's immediately detailing the circumstances. A moment later, my thoughts were redirected to Petyr and his siblings; I hoped they fared well and stayed far out of harm's reach for they had long suffered plentiful enough.
YOU ARE READING
Arcanae
Fantasy" 𝐔𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 " In an oceanic realm littered with traces of Magick, Crescent Isle had always been the odd one out. For aeons on end, it had been sheltered from the remainder of the world, seemingly as though an enormous in...
