Unveiled Shadows: Tales of a Lich

Chapter 12 - Revelations

The fields stretched endlessly from Dunstan's view, a desolate expanse beneath a leaden sky that seemed to press down with a weight of its own. The wind howled through skeletal trees, their branches clawing the air like desperate fingers. A thick fog draped over the ground, mingling with the autumn leaves, creating a blanket that obscured the earth beneath.

Mutius's question, "Have we any food left, Dun?" sliced through the oppressive silence like a cold gust, its desperation echoing Dunstan's own gnawing hunger.

"No, just as I told you last time, and the time before. You've eaten all we had," he said, the weight of each word heavy with the burden of their dire circumstances.

In that moment, watching Mutius's shoulders slump, a pang of guilt twisted inside Dunstan. "I'm just so hungry, Dun. I forgot. How long has it been for you?" Mutius's voice, laden with genuine concern for Dunstan's well-being.

"A while," Dunstan confessed, the words barely a whisper. His gaze drifted to the horizon, where the bleak landscape mirrored the desolation within. Memories of simpler times, of laughter and warmth, now felt as distant as the stars above. "But salted pork and hard bread wouldn't have satisfied this hunger," he murmured, a hint of sorrow lacing his tone. The hunger he spoke of was different; it gnawed at his very being, a reminder of the monstrous transformation that now marked his existence.

In the silence that followed, Dunstan's thoughts spiraled. He remembered the first time the hunger had truly taken hold, an insatiable beast within that no mere food could quell. It was a night much like this, under a sky devoid of hope, that he'd first felt the stirrings of a darker appetite. These memories, once locked away, now surged to the forefront of his mind, as unwelcome as the cold that seeped into his bones.

He glanced at Mutius, his friend's face etched with lines of hardship and hunger and felt a surge of protectiveness. Mutius, who had stood by him through his transformation, never wavering in his loyalty. "We should find you something more filling then," Mutius suggested, his voice a mix of concern and unwavering support, oblivious to the true nature of Dunstan's affliction.

"No!" The response came out sharper than intended, a reflex born of fear and self-preservation. Seeing the confusion in Mutius's eyes, Dunstan's heart clenched. "I mean... I'll manage, Mutius. Focus on yourself." His voice softened, a feeble attempt to shield Mutius from the grim reality of his existence.

Dunstan turned away, his face a canvas of mixed emotions. Resentment simmered beneath the surface, a tumultuous sea of feelings he struggled to navigate. "Holy Father, why must he be so... selfless? If he'd just look out for himself, he wouldn't be in this mess," he thought, bitterness in his thoughts.

"Oi, Dun, look ahead!" Mutius's voice broke through the silence, a spark of hope in his tone. Dunstan, pulled from his thoughts, looked towards the remnants of a once vibrant village. The ruins stood silent and forsaken, their boarded windows and sagging roofs a silent testimony to past tragedies. An old sign creaked in the wind, its faded letters barely clinging to the wood in the dimming light.

"They were barricading against something..." Dunstan observed, his voice low, a hint of dread lacing his words.

"Against what?" Mutius inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"Whether beast or man, I'd rather not discover," Dunstan admitted, his eyes scanning the ominous claw marks and dried blood that marred the window boards. "We need to find shelter, especially with a tri-moon night approaching. Only the Father knows what lurks in such darkness," he added, a sense of urgency in his voice as he surveyed their surroundings.

"Here? In this place?" Mutius's disbelief was evident, a reflection of the fear.

"It's our best chance. Let's find a secure spot to hold out until dawn," Dunstan declared, determination in his voice, a resolve to protect them both from whatever horrors awaited in the night.