I wonder how long it has been since the dark clouds came rolling in. With no way to tell the time, my perception of it has been ruined beyond comprehension. It however is the least of my concerns, I’m afraid. With death around at any corner, looking at the time will only make the dread sound closer than it already is.
I now wholeheartedly regret the job I’ve chosen. My role in this survivor’s group is about the same as one of the four pillars that hold the building together. If one crumbles, the house comes down with it. It just so happens that my job is the only reason I’m one of those pillars.
The fortune telling business is ridden with lies and false promises. To give people a small glimpse of what their future holds is both a tool and a weapon. Those down in the dumps will cling onto these hopes, hoping that it will get them out of their situations. Those high in status cling on these prophecies, giving them a sense of comfort knowing they still uphold their position in the future. One talk can sway them down entirely different paths, or further reinforce the path they walk down.
Which is where I come in. With this apocalyptic wasteland happening, many do not wish to fathom what fate has in store with them. So, they ask those who can. The answer doesn’t need to be hopeful or dreadful, all it matters is it’s an ‘answer’.
That is the lengths people have gone to cope with this situation.
I carry the burden of giving them a false hope they shouldn’t rely on. My reputation of being a good fortune teller makes it so my fortunes are believable.
They aren’t. They are just rational predictions made after staring at the countless memories one has made. One small word could be the driving force that keeps someone living, or the crumbling of one’s mental health. It doesn’t help that one of the ways the virus spreads is through the mentally ill individuals.
Do I regret it?
Should I ever have known something like this would happen, I would have never taken the job.
Which is why the words that come out of my mouth right now, have to be put through extensive rationalism and gut feeling. For even I, cling on to these hopes.
“I propose we send letters all across Sameria.” I said.
I sat in front of a table with three other companions, inside of a tent made out of several other damaged tents due to sandstorms. I find it odd to see a navy admiral, a knight, a trader and a fortune teller in the same place.
“How do we do that exactly? Everywhere other than the Samerian desert has been infested with atlanteans.” Iri asked.
“We use invisibility potions.” I responded.
“A Sameria trip’s worth of potions is going to burn a hole through our supplies. No way in hell are we supplying that much.” Neferu disagrees.
“These supplies are collecting dust in their crates. If you think the stock market still exists you’re a dead man.”
Logically. Through some experimenting, we’ve found out some atlanteans can see through invisibility potions while some can’t. Sirens have zero awareness against invisible people. With the capital overrun with sirens, it will be crucial to spread the letters.
Gut feeling. The majority of atlanteans should be gone by now, either if it’s to find prey on other islands or killing each other for food. The ones that are left would either be weakened or have adapted to sustaining themselves.
“Pray tell you realize paper disintegrates in water.” Galvestone gave his own point.
“We use enchantment scrolls as paper.” I can see Neferu about to speak, but he knows I’ll give the same exact answer.
Logically. Scrolls are water resistant because of the enchantments placed on them. They may not look like the best paper for letters, but they will work.
Gut feeling. The odd presence of scrolls in the middle of town might peak the curiosity of survivors, enough to make them pick it up.
“Why are we sending letters to other survivors?” Iri asks again.
“We need more manpower.” I answered.
Logically. We need to band the survivors of Sameria. I have taken every setback I can think of into account, and I believe we can pull through.
“I agree with the plan.” Iri raises her hand.
“Agreed.” Galvestone raises his hand.
Neferu is visibly displeased, having no choice but to raise his hands.
“It’s settled then.” I clap my hands. “Neferu, I want you and the others to prepare 50 letters. We’ll send our most quick footed members to distribute it.”
Neferu walks out the tent with his head down. Iri yawns, before also walking out the tent too. All that’s left is a valiant knight in shining armour, and a poor defenseless maiden.
Galvestone’s size is towering, possibly containing vastus blood in his veins. His armour seems tailored to him. The helmet he wears doesn’t belong to the armour set he wears. It has been weathered and damaged so badly its visor has uneven holes.
The leather of a beast is tied on him, its head acting like his left shoulder pad. His arsenal is a greatsword around half his height and a lasso that looks just like a scorpion’s tail. That’s because it is a scorpion tail, and that beast’s leather is a Manticore.
“Dost thou care to explain the plan in full detail?” He clasps his hands together, prompting it on the table.
“I’m too lazy to explain the entire thing.” I said.
Galvestone puts his head on the prompted hands. I can feel a piercing gaze through that battered helmet, gazing right into my soul. The gaze of a predator.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
He nods.
“Pray tell, elucidate thine self.”
Galvestone is the best fighter in our group of survivors despite being an individual without magic. He has done feats I never could have imagined. I have seen them first hand.
It is for that reason…
“It’s personal.” I muttered.
“Have thou considered others?”
“Yes.”
“Then that is all.”
He stood up, grabbing his greatsword that was stabbed into the sand and left. The interaction left me sitting in my chair, contemplating on why he respects my decision. Was he annoyed enough he would gloss aside my personal gains?
The plan is simple. We send three of our fastest members to scout through the entirety of Sameria. They will first head to Masada, around Mount Enkav towards Al Jahili, and lastly Caitara. This route was determined to be the safest after extensive planning.
Twelve letters each will be scattered across the towns, the rest scattered in the path they take. Invisibility potions have been provided to deal with the sirens taking over Al Jahili. Speed potions are also given just in case.
After they’ve finished distributing the letters, we wait until a hundred lightning strikes have happened, then send them out again to see if any of the letters were written back. Each letter is written like this:
[Hello! This is a group of survivors trying to find other survivors to join forces to survive. Please write the number of survivors in your group, the situation you’re facing and a signature on the back of this letter.
This is to ensure the place is safe for further expeditions. If responded, we will send people to help rescue you guys.
Thanks!]
First cycle.
Everyone was gritting their teeth or quaking in their boots. Since the concept of time is completely erased, it was natural for us to be afraid. There is no such thing as a ‘test drive’, there is only a ‘first attempt’.
Three went, and five came back. The additions were a kid and his sister, who were told to be writing a letter at the time until the scout team found them. They seem malnourished, which grossed out some of the traders. When they asked if their parents were there, no one gave a straight answer.
The mailing team also retrieved a written letter in Masada. It read:
[We have five people hiding in a building. Two samerian soldiers and three civilians. I distracted some atlanteans to grab this letter to write on it. Please, send help.
Queran.]
Everyone was surprised there were still survivors in the cities. It was an amazing discovery, and a glimpse of hope that there are people out there, struggling just like us. We can save them.
Second cycle.
Scout team manages to rescue all five people mentioned previously. They also secured some food supplies the group had been hoarding previously. By pure coincidence, the writer of the letter was a brother of one of our own survivors. A sweet family reunion cried as the two burst into tears hugging each other.
This was now an objective everyone was supporting, even Neferu. Everyone clinged tightly on the small chance of a relative or friend surviving.
It sparked a flame in everyone, to keep going.
The trader whose brother we rescued came to hug me, thanking me for saving him since technically I am the one who made the plan. I hugged back.
I covered up my envyness with a smile.
The scout team retrieved no written letters. They consulted me about finding some torn up letters. I told them to just replace them on the next cycle.
Fourth cycle.
Three went, three came back. They found two letters that contained a response. The first one was found in Caitara, one its corners stained in blood. It reads:
[Hai hai! Many many people! Many atlanteans!
Striker!]
“This is a kid’s handwriting.” Iri looked at one of the mailers.
“Just so you know we tried our best to find him, alright?”
Iri remained silent, staring blankly at the letter.
The second letter was found in Al Jahili. It reads:
[It’s just me and my wife. I hear the siren’s singing their temptations, but they don’t work on us. The voices are getting louder. We’re. In the. House down the corner.
Corner.
Corner.
Conner.]
The mailing team told us they ignored orders and entered the house after reading the letter. What was left there was a room filled with scratch marks, and an atlantean chowing down on someone…
They didn’t want to say who the atlantean was eating.
This trip was uneventful. We were too late. The news was kept between Galvestone, Iri, me and the mailers to prevent lowering the morale of the other survivors.
Seventh cycle.
“None of this bullshit, someone else take my spot, I’m not going back there again.”
After the mailers saw so many bodies, they couldn’t take it. New people replaced their positions, people less suited for the job. With rookies means they take longer, and the longer it takes, the more anxious people feel. The pressure is getting to their heads.
I tried convincing them to stay, but…
“How about you do it then?” One of them said,
“You’re the one who suggested it.” The other complained too.
I couldn’t do much other than accept the criticism and keep the cycles going. My role is too important of an asset to lose. I will admit I want to prove them wrong too.
The new team managed to retrieve two letters on their debut. They said there were possibly more, but couldn’t be retrieved because of the circumstances at the time.
One of these letters was found in Masada. The scroll looks more damaged than it used to be and the handwriting is god awful. The fish stench it carried had us cleaning it before we read it.
[Five.
Masada.
Help.]
Those were the only words we could decipher. Everyone assumes it’s some child who wrote this since the last time we had a handwritten letter this bad it was also from a child. Something tells me it isn’t.
The second… can you even call it a letter?
It’s made out of some weird shiny green material. It looks exactly like a thin sheet of some sort of crystal, but it’s bendable and doesn’t break. Someone even sat on it and nothing happened, not a crack formed. Galvestone insisted on pummeling it but we didn’t allow that.
There were no words in this letter, yet it reminds me of something bad.
After all of this, the mailing team came to find me. They said some of the scrolls in Al Jahili are being affected by the rain there, turning purple-ish in colour. There were also some missing, probably being used up by the survivors living there. Told them to restock the areas next cycle and head to bed.
Thirteenth cycle.
Three went… and one came back. Their bodies were soaked in blood and bruises all over. When we helped him on to a bed, he only then felt safe enough to pass out. Curiosity soon took hold of everyone’s mind.
With curiosity comes an answer born out of gut feeling.
“We should’ve stopped doing this a while ago.”
“They wouldn’t have died if the leaders volunteered.”
“I would’ve volunteered if I were in their shoes, they suggested we did this anyway!”
It echoes through my mind non-stop as I walk down what used to be a pathway, now covered in sand. It stretches on for miles, before stopping at an orange blotch.
The previous cycle was met with many questions. A letter that we found had the exact same handwriting as that childish letter found in Masada, except this one was found in Caitara. We assumed they were already dead but it seemed not. The reason we didn’t send the scout team there was because they simply hadn’t had enough time to rest, mentally.
Which is when Iri suggested we go there to check on if they are still alive, and to restore faith in the survivors. This was also the first time they all agreed to us leaving the camp.
I find myself already at the entrance of the capital of Sameria. It seems overthinking things have messed up my concept of time even more.
There was an eerie feeling that came from just entering the gates. It’s almost as if the landscape was the exact same during the start of the apocalypse despite the amount of time that has passed. It was too quiet for even my liking.
Iri suddenly tugs my sleeve, pulling me into the shadow of a building. I wanted to ask why, but when the big strong guy of the team has his weapon primed, it’s best to keep your mouth shut.
Then I see it. A siren fully transformed with its crow-like wings, walking. The bow in its hand is ready to be fired at a moment’s notice. It stops, looks around, and continues walking.
Something’s not right, this isn’t regular siren behaviour. In the dark sea, they’d stand on tall stone spires in solitude, singing their hypnotizing lullabies to lure unsuspecting sailors. Once they’re close enough, they shed their human-like appearance into this black feathered demihuman and eat the sailor.
They’ve disregarded their nature, for what reason?
Iri points deeper into the alleyway, so we follow. There were the occasional dead bodies, both atlantean and human. The tight corners and dark atmosphere made traversing claustrophobic. Everytime we reach a street, Iri checks it before giving us the clear to go.
Eventually, we reached the town square.
The fountain was stuffed with mountains of atlantean corpses. There are sirens both on top of the corpses and walking around it. They all seem the same, except for the one sitting on the top. Its gender looks like… a male. Young too.
“That’s a man right?” Iri looked at me and pointed her thumb at the male siren.
“Yes. Don’t ask me any more questions, I’ve never heard of male sirens.”
“Really?”
“Ask Galvy.”
“Nay.” Galveston shakes his head. “What thou called me?”
“Shhhhh…” Iri placed her finger on her mouth.
The male siren stood up. His legs start growing shimmering dark violet feathers, his feet grossly turning into huge bird talons increasing his height. A pair of black wings blooms from his back, probably bigger than the female sirens. It raises a finger, gazing at us with its red eyes.
“ጋዐ ሃዐ፱ ፕⶴጎክኡ ሠቹ ርዐ፱ረጋክ’ፕ ⶴቹልዪ ሃዐ፱?” We all heard its croaking voice.
“ፏቹፕ ፕⶴቹጮ.”
All of the sirens start to transform. Galveston wasted no time slamming the ground with his greatsword creating a smokescreen. We all started dashing in the opposite direction not caring where we’re going. Galveston ran behind us in order to block the arrows with his armour.
For once in my entire life, I was sure we’re screwed. A quick glance told me there were at the very least twenty sirens back there, even more patrolling around the city. Hiding will be impossible because of how mobile they are, those wings aren’t for show. They are primarily ranged too, capable of casting spells themselves.
I turn my head back, anticipating a flock of sirens raining down arrows and magic.
It was anticlimactic seeing a few arrows and tiny light and dark magic blasts scratch Galvestone’s armour. There were no big spells, no flying sirens, there wasn’t even the classic screech those things make whenever they’re hunting.
Galveston stops at an open street, digging his foot into the pavement. Seeing that the attacks weren’t much of a threat, I and Iri also stopped. I could see some arrows on the floor either glistening or darkened.
With our valiant knight as a shield, I hurled random objects with my gravity magic while Iri fired ice spikes into the alley way. This lasted for a good twenty seconds which I counted. How’d we know? There weren’t any more arrows being fired.
“We got them?” Iri asked.
“No.” I said, aiming my magic circle upwards.
A ball of black feathers jumps from the rooftops, heading straight for Galvestone. Iri and I launch our spells at the ball. The surprise from our faces when the ball freezes itself midair, crashing through our spells like it was nothing. Once it came in range with Galvestone, it uncovers its talons and buries them deep into his shoulders, indirectly slamming him to the ground. His sword drops onto the ground.
It lifts its wings, blocking both me and Iri’s attacks. I see Iri raise her ice imbued saber, which is followed by it hitting something hard. I couldn’t exactly see what the siren was trying to do, but the blue hue emanating from him spoke many words.
I couldn’t think of anything. Hurling objects at its frozen feathers have proved to be futile. I could use gravity magic on the siren, but the talons that have dug into our valiant knight may have his skin peeled with it. I might be able to float Iri upwards but I cannot guarantee the siren letting its claws loose. There’s no scenario in my mind where I…
…would not get my hands stained with human blood.
I’ve made a promise to not kill anyone a long time ago. Now that I realize it, I’ve never killed an atlantean, not even once. I know sirens aren’t human and I know atlanteans aren’t human anymore but… I just can’t bring myself to it.
I don’t want to experience the feeling of killing something with my hands.
“JUNIPER, LIGHTEN THE SWORD!” Iri shouted.
I see Iri using her noodle arms to grab the humongous sword Galvestone always carries. With a snap of a finger, the greatsword was covered in a purple hue. Our navy commodore was suddenly able to raise the sword with ease. She puts it into a thrusting position, like how a knight holds a lance, and charges at the siren.
The sword pierces through his right wing just like a hot knife through butter. It immediately pulled its wing out the sword, preparing to send icicles in retaliation. Juniper jumps backwards, preparing to use the greatsword just like her saber.
“Phoenix Stri-”
The sword slipped out of Iri’s hand as she swung, turning what would’ve been a gust of sharp wind into a big chunk of steel as a projectile. The siren notices it, ripping its claws out of its victim and prepares to fly away. Galvestone stops it by grabbing its bird feet.
“You’re not cough, going anywhere.” He coughs out blood.
The greatsword spins closer and closer. The siren struggles and struggles. Our victory is in arm’s reach.
An ear piercing screech erupts from the siren. The glass windows all shatter at once. I can feel my brain turning into mush as I collapse on my feet. Eyes constantly jittering, body losing control, as the world itself was shattering.
Then it stopped. A horrible ringing echoes through my head. My thoughts were scrambled, recollecting them is harder than it seems. I try to remember what happened.
We arrived at Caitara. We saw a siren scouting the area. We reached the city center. We found more sirens, even a male. We were chased by them after alerting them.
A question I brought up earlier rises from the deepest depths of my skull. Why were the sirens disregarding their natural behaviour? They weren’t singing in order to stay quiet, they weren’t flying because they didn’t want to make themselves noticeable.
I have two guesses for two puzzles. More so they aren’t the last puzzle piece, more like… They happen to fit in among the many different pieces.
The first one is a stretch. The letters with the gibberish writing were from sirens. Something about the way it was written was too off to be human. It never crossed anyone’s mind that sirens could imitate writing. Since Al Jahili at the time was also when we first got the letter, it makes some sense.
For the second, it sounds the most plausible. Something or someone is hunting the sirens. They were all in Al Jahili, but one day they all migrated to Caitara. As seen before, they’ve gone silent and are actively being silent, which is the complete opposite as to how sirens operate. It also explains why the male siren left after screeching, using it only as a last resort.
There is no time to think of more possibilities. The thought of something being scary enough to frighten sirens made me want to tug my tail and start running.
My vision is still shaky. Since the screech was able to shatter windows, potion vials were no exception. That’s probably the reason why I see blotches of green on Iri and Galvestone’s waist, since they usually hang their potions on their belts. I carry mine in a pouch, and after touching it I didn’t feel any wet cloth.
I reached in, grabbing three intact vials of healing. Even as I held it between my fingers, I wasn’t sure if healing potions could heal fatigue. Problem is I only have time to act and not to think. I pop the cork off and start chugging it down.
The soothing remedy restores my vision while silencing the ringing in my ears. The street was completely covered in glass shards all the while my comrades lay unconscious, except for Iri. I can see her stumbling around, possibly from her jittering eyes, trying to find a potion vial on her belt without even knowing it has all been shattered.
I rush to Galvestone’s side, pouring one vial equally on both shoulders. Iri starts walking towards me, holding her head with an arm while reaching out with her other. The sight of her waddling around like a penguin made me giggle a bit. I only handed her a vial once she settled down beside me, chugging it down like she never had water for the past three days.
She blinks a few times before looking at me.
“CAN YOU HEAR ME?” She points to her ears.
“Loud and clear.” I gave a thumbs up. “We’re gonna need to run as fast as we can once Galvy here wakes up.”
“The siren’s getting backup?”
“No… Well, your prediction isn’t out of the box.” This is one of the few moments where Iri actually thinks of something plausible.
Iri tells me to move aside. She raises her hand before slapping Galvestone’s face. She shakes her swollen red hand, whuch makes me think of how hard his face is to do that. He jolts awake, looking around only to see two of us sitting beside him.
“CAN YOU HEAR US?”
“WHY IS THOU SHOUTING?”
“Okay he’s good.”
“Couldn’t tell.” I blantantly said.
“Anyways, we have to run, now.”
We hear something, probably a siren, scream before it is muffled. Then, red lightning struck in the general direction. It made Galvestone get on his feet faster than I could lighten his weight with gravity magic.
We ran through alleyways, empty streets, through houses even, any shortcut possible even if we had to create the shortcut ourselves. It was not the rage of a rampaging beast, but a chilling silence the chase gave was what pumped adrenaline into our veins. We don’t even know what’s chasing us or even if there is something chasing us, we just keep running, for that is what we fear. The fear of getting hunted by the unknown.
The gate was in sight. I tell Iri to stop, hoping for all of us to catch some breath. The urge to look back was also taking shape as a pair of hands forcefully turning my head, wanting to snap it.
BOOM.
We hear a building collapse. We turned our heads and… our valiant knight was nowhere to be seen. The thought of running blocked out the sounds of iron clanking and rumbling footsteps.
“Hey, Juniper.” Iri towards my side. The worst thought my brain could ever conjure up starts to head into the spotlight.
“Yeah?”
“Think you can run fast?”
I grabbed her hand, only met with the chilling feeling of steel. She doesn’t let go, instead tightening her grasp and slowly facing me. It became a hug.
It might be our last.
“Please, don’t go.” I begged. I want to fight alongside them…
“If you die, chances are the camp will fall to insanity without someone to share their thoughts with.”
“Then w-what if…” I could hear myself stuttering already. Iri reassuringly pats my back.
“I’m going to back him up.” She takes a step back after we stopped hugging. “It’ll be just for a lil while! We’ll be back before you know it.”
The sound of stone toppling down on each other gets more and more violent. The feeling is getting all too familiar, rising up as a stream of tears that flows down my cheek. I don’t want to lose them, not now.
By the time I wiped my tears, she’s gone.
So I ran. Unlike the careless me years back that would have joined the battle, I fled without turning back. I fully acknowledge the role I’ve taken, and to waste energy by looking back was something I could not afford. My muscles were burning up with every step I took, my tears merging with my sweat and my head becoming light.
Time was now just a grain of sand in a desert.
I arrived at camp. I reach for the nearest pole, panting profusely. Finally, I had time to wipe the sweat and tears off my face. I was too tired to call out for someone to help me out.
Crkkkkkkkkkk…
The sound came from behind me. The direction where there were no camps present, no metals present and no valiant knight present. The faint scent of blood enters my nose. A magic aura so tense I could feel my shoulders carrying the very world itself. Not a trickle of sweat or tears could my body muster.
A deep croaking of something otherworldly enters my left ear.
God can’t reach me can he?
