The room, once brimming with warmth and hope, had grown cold, its air thick with despair and fear. The village outside, once alive with celebration and joy, was now besieged by desperate screams and the relentless rumble of storms and debris, heralding the fierce battle of the heavenly titans overhead. Furniture shook under the vibrations of distant roars, the chaotic symphony of destruction echoing through the night.
Only the murky moonlight, seeping through the window, illuminated the room, casting ghostly shadows as Raquel's hands moved with frantic purpose, searching through the shelves. A cry of relief broke the tension when she found the source of hope. "I found it! ¡Lo encontré, Rigel!" she exclaimed, her fingers closing around a crystal-framed amulet, its facets flickering with a desperate gleam. Clutching it to her chest, she whispered, "Please, help us, please…" Her voice was a repeating chant of trust in the heavenly.
Beside her, young Rigel and Daniel stood, their faces etched with confusion and dread. Rigel's eyes, wide with the innocence of youth, reflected the storm of turmoil around them. Her voice, small and fraught with uncertainty, broke through the tense silence, "¡Mamá! What's happening?"
Raquel turned, her features strained as she enveloped Rigel in a protective embrace, her voice a trembling whisper meant to reassure. "Everything is fine, dear, todo estará bien," she murmured, though the tremor in her words betrayed her true feelings. She clutched Rigel tightly, as if her embrace could shield her daughter from the horrors of the night. "He will come, he must…" she added; the delicate quiver in her voice, however, did little to calm Rigel's mounting anxiety.
As the tumult outside swelled to a fever pitch, the door was flung wide with a resounding crash. A pulse of terror gripped every soul within; yet, this alarm swiftly gave way to a sigh of relief. In the doorway, a throng of anxious villagers, their faces etched with worry, gathered around the prophetess, seeking solace in her presence. Among them, Carlos and Miguel, their faces marked by deep furrows of concern, gently supported Tabitha as she entered. The father and son duo carefully steadied the druidess, whose formidable yet fragile form appeared as if it might collapse without their sturdy support.
A fleeting smile crossed the young boy's face as he rushed toward his mother. "Mother!" he exclaimed with a mix of relief and joy. Tabitha, summoning her fading strength, reached out a trembling hand to her son. "I'm back, chaver," she reassured, her touch gentle as she brushed his cheek, then turning her weary eyes to Raquel. "Thank you, my na'arah," Tabitha whispered, her voice frail yet filled with deep relief as she met Raquel's gaze. It was a mother's gratitude, palpable in her expression as she saw her child safe.
"What are these creatures? What should we do?" Raquel's words spilled out in a rushed torrent, her voice threading through the din of chaos.
Tabitha's eyes lifted skyward, observing monstrous entities that previously skirmished at a safe distance now entangled in battle directly overhead. Their colossal forms cast harrowing shadows upon the village below. With a heart heavy as lead, Tabitha turned back to Raquel, whose fingers were clenched tightly around the amulet, her knuckles white with tension. "You and Rigel must leave now, follow me," Tabitha commanded, her voice a firm anchor amidst the tumult. Supported by Carlos and Miguel, she pivoted laboriously, her weakened stance belied by the urgency in her movements. Daniel, small and shadow-like beside his mother, matched her determined strides with nervous speed.
As Tabitha crossed the threshold of the house, Raquel's imploring whispers halted her. "Please... I need you more than ever…" Raquel's voice, fragile and wavering, tugged at the still air. Her hands clutched the amulet tighter, her pleas intensifying. "Where are you... your daughter needs you!" The desperation in her voice filled the rapidly collapsing space around them.
"Let me stand," Tabitha insisted, steadying herself as Miguel questioned with concern, "Are you sure?" His reluctance was clear, but her firm nod dispelled any doubts. The men gently lowered the druidess to her feet; her legs quivered, barely supporting her weight. Summoning the last vestiges of her strength, Tabitha turned to Carlos. Relieved of her weight, Carlos straightened, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. With a clear and authoritative voice, Tabitha commanded, "Summon the rest; we are leaving." Carlos nodded and, with a dutiful bow, quickly set off to fulfill the druidess's task, soon disappearing into the murky depths of the alley.
Turning back to Raquel, Tabitha's features softened yet remained resolute. "I will take care of you two, but we must hurry, Raquel," she urged, her voice cutting through the thick air. Raquel's response was a whisper, carrying the remnants of hope, "He promised..."
"I know… I know he did. But he isn't here now - we're on our own," Tabitha replied, her tone blending gentleness with an iron resolve.
Rigel, observing the exchange with growing anxiety, called out to her mother, "Mom, come on!" Her plea was both urgent and tender. With quick steps, she crossed the threshold of the house and joined the others, her hand extended to her mother, expecting that their palms would soon intertwine.
Heartened by the daughter's plea, Raquel rose with intent, Raquel's features hardened from despair to determination. Yet as she moved towards the threshold, the timbers above whispered ominously of impending doom. In an instant, the world turned treacherous—the ceiling groaned a foreboding squeal before yielding to gravity's merciless pull. A deafening rumble tore through the air, swiftly followed by a crushing sound as the roof caved in, its downfall heralding a cascade of darkness that enveloped Raquel.
At first, a sharp, excruciating pain lanced through Raquel, a piercing agony that seemed to drown out her own scream. Then, darkness flooded her vision, an all-encompassing blackness that devoured every speck of light. This merciless shadow crept into the corners of her mind, swallowing thoughts and memories alike, smothering her consciousness under its oppressive weight. In those final moments, a serene quietude enveloped her, a stark, chilling peace that promised an end to all suffering—a whisper of oblivion.
Outside, the night air was rent by a powerful shock wave, a thunderous roar that surged through the village like an angry beast unleashed. It mingled with the screams of the terrified, a cacophony of fear and confusion that echoed off the crumbling walls. As the ground shuddered under the force of the explosion, a thick cloud of dust billowed up, obscuring sight and smothering the cries for help. The crowd that had gathered, seeking solace in numbers, was scattered like leaves in a storm. Men, women, and children were thrown asunder, their forms disappearing into the swirling maelstrom of debris and despair that swept through the narrow streets, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake.
Beneath the cruel debris of what once was a sanctuary of warmth and laughter, Tabitha found herself ensnared by the remnants of catastrophe. The fragment, a cruel vestige of the building's former glory, pressed mercilessly against her frame, pinning her to the cold, unforgiving earth. Each breath was a battle, the weight crushing the air from her lungs, threatening to seal her fate beneath this makeshift tomb.
Yet in the scant light, a slender thread of hope shimmered faintly within reach. Fueled by a surge of desperate strength, Tabitha's face twisted into a grimace of resolve as she stretched her battered limbs toward the elusive promise of release. Her fingers, driven by the raw instinct of survival, strained toward the thread, each small advance a hard-won battle in her personal war against the suffocating despair.
As the mass above her groaned ominously, sinister creaks echoed around her, whispering threats of imminent collapse, and pain surged through Tabitha's frame. Yet, this pain steeled her resolve rather than quenching it. Emitting a guttural roar, more primal and profound than any form of speech, she reached with all her might, her fingertips finally grazing the salvation she so fervently sought.
Tabitha's will infused the soil through the slender thread, and it heeded her call. Softening like the flesh of ripe fruit, the earth beside the druidess relented and began to swallow the debris that had crushed her moments before. Gradually, the oppressive weight rolled off her battered body, sinking into the forgiving soil as if drawn down by unseen hands, and finally, the heavy object was entirely consumed by the ground.
Finally freed from captivity, Tabitha struggled to her knees. Gasping for breath, she swept her eyes across the ruins where Raquel's home and the neighboring houses once stood. What had been a vibrant stretch of the village, alive with the buzz of community and warmth, was now reduced to a scattered array of debris along the lane.
Upon the wreckage, a colossal bird, one of the monstrous combatants from the sky, writhed in agony. Each convulsion of its immense form sent waves of dust and debris cascading through the air, shrouding the vulnerable figures below in a grim veil of ruin.
Survivors, their faces canvases of fear and shock, moved like shadows through the debris. Some knelt in the wreckage, their bodies curved in sorrow beside the broken, as they tenderly caressed the lifeless hands of loved ones, murmuring soft words of farewell into the stillness. Others stood with faces turned skyward, their eyes glistening with a sense of betrayal, their prayers floating futilely into the indifferent sky.
Nearby, lay the lifeless form of Luis, a village man, impaled grotesquely against a shattered post, his stillness a stark contrast to the chaos around him. The one who sought safety in the presence of a prophetess now frozen in an eternal silence.
The piercing cries of a woman sliced through the turmoil, drawing Tabitha's gaze to a figure navigating the labyrinth of destruction. A woman clutched her child's distorted figure, navigating through the twisted remains with cautious steps. Her cries are a haunting melody that intertwined with the groans of the wounded and the silent screams of the dead scattered around.
A knot of dread tightened in Tabitha's stomach, the terror for her son's safety igniting a frantic chill within her. Her eyes scoured the chaotic landscape, searching for any sign of her son. It was then a faint, muffled cry pierced the veil of destruction, pulling at the strings of her heart. With a surge of maternal resolve, Tabitha dragged herself towards the sound, her body protesting each movement with weariness and pain.
As she drew closer to the source of the sound, Tabitha came upon a formidable fragment of the house, now a horizontal wall standing between her and the faint, desperate cries of her son. Gathering every ounce of her remaining strength, Tabitha pressed against the cold, unyielding mass. Despite her efforts, the wooden slab stood firm, an immovable mountain against her weakened frame. Yet with each attempt, her resolve only hardened; her hands, though scraped and bleeding, maintained a firm grip on the wood as she pushed with a desperation fueled by a mother's love.
At last, the seemingly unbearable mass groaned, and her hands, slick with blood, lost their grip, sending Tabitha tumbling to the cold, unforgiving ground. As she looked up, the young man's stoic face came into view. Miguel, his visage marked by the trials of the shockwave—blood tracing lines from the abrasions on his face and hands—appeared beside her. Despite the evident pain, his expression was resolute, his calm rose above the chaos around them.
With a guttural roar fueled by desperation, Miguel joined Tabitha's struggle, heaving his full weight against the debris. This primal roar intertwined with the druidess's anguished cries of pain and hope, echoing above the ominous groan of the wooden slab as it began to shift.
The muffled cries of the children, barely perceptible moments before, swelled with urgency, revealing Daniel and Rigel ensnared in a pit of earth as pliable as porridge—a hollow shaped by the young druid's desperate struggle to survive. Exhausted yet determined, Rigel managed to keep them both above the muck. With one arm she battled to stay afloat, while with the other, she firmly grasped Daniel by the horns, anchoring him amidst his frantic thrashing in the thick, enveloping mud, ensuring he did not sink.
Miguel reached into the viscous earth and hauled the children from the clutches of the ground, setting them firmly back on solid earth. Daniel, smeared with grime, launched himself into his mother's waiting arms, his tears mingling with the dirt on his cheeks. Tabitha, her heart swelling with relief and pride, enveloped her son in an embrace that fused joy and relief with a mother's boundless love. "How did you do it, Daniel? You are amazing!" she praised, pulling Daniel into a tight embrace to savor the warmth of his presence. However, this fleeting comfort was quickly snuffed out by the icy gusts that swept through the air.
The gargantuan bird, previously grounded and writhing in agony, let out a heart-wrenching, pitiful wail and took flight, its vast wings beat heavily against the tumultuous air, casting a fierce gale that whipped through the village. The wind, laden with the sharp, earthy scent of blood, lashed at Tabitha, stinging her face with debris and the coarse chill of the night.
Tabitha, holding Daniel tightly to her in a protective embrace, tracked the wounded creature's ascent with a mix of awe and concern; the bird, majestic even in its pain, limped across the sky, its wings flapping unevenly as it struggled to gain altitude. Hot on its tail, the formidable four-winged predator launched into pursuit, its massive form slicing through the clouds with predatory precision.
As the furious dance of the wind, born from the winged creature's powerful flaps, subsided, Tabitha gently brushed the gritty residue from Daniel's face with the back of her palm. Her words, a gentle murmur lost amidst the remnants of the storm, "Are you hurt? Is everything alright?" Her touch, though gentle, was fraught with a mother's acute vigilance for any concealed wounds.
Daniel, his face streaked with mud, tears, and specks of his mother's blood, gave a small nod. Relief briefly illuminated Tabitha's features—a spark of hope that endured despite the encroaching chaos. Even in the eye of the storm, the fire of a mother's heart blazed with undiminished fervor, so long as her child drew breath.
Nearby, however, the fire within another heart—fragile and faltering—was quenched by the cruel reality. "Mom?" The word emerged first as a whisper, lost on the wind, then surged louder, imbued with desperation and the sharp sting of tears. The plaintive cry sliced through the turmoil, summoning Tabitha's attention with a surge of foreboding.
"Oh no," Tabitha whispered, crawling towards the ruins of what was once Raquel's vibrant home, her hands scraping against the cold, unforgiving ground. A brief interlude of sweet naivety yielded to the harsh embrace of actuality. The surrounding wails of pain and despair, momentarily subdued during the fleeting peace of her reunion with her son, now flooded Tabitha's ears and mind with renewed intensity, echoing the grim reality that shrouded them all. "Oh no, no, no... please!" The plea fell from her lips, a desperate invocation to the indifferent heavens, as she navigated through a landscape strewn with the dead and the grieving.
Miguel, his face etched with the grime of dust, sweat, and blood, clambered up the ruins and tore into the debris with ferocity. His hands, hurling aside shattered tiles and fractured stones, suffered from the relentless grind; wood and stone chafed the skin from his palms, leaving them raw and bleeding. Yet, as he delved deeper, his initial fervor began to ebb. His expression darkened, transforming slowly into a visage marked by profound dread and disgust.
Tabitha's hands trembled, racked by both pain and a deep, gnawing anxiety as she ascended the chaotic heap of debris. The cruel, jagged remnants of shattered stone and splintered wood clawed at her palms, eliciting a sharp wince with each precarious step she took. Yet, any concern for her own throbbing wounds quickly dissolved into a profound guilt when Miguel's firm grasp pulled her up onto the summit of the debris, and her gaze caught the scene hidden beneath the wreckage. Amidst the chaos of broken timbers and crushed stone, a ghostly silhouette emerged, distinctly human in its poignant stillness. "Oh God, my girl..." Tabitha whispered, her voice reduced to a mere wisp of its former authority, trembling with sorrow.
"¿Mamá?" Rigel's voice, tender and quivering with bewilderment, echoed from the shadows. The young girl, shielded from the grim reality just beyond her sight, took slow, trembling steps toward the ruins of the walls that had protected her little world from wind and rain for years.
"Miguel!" Tabitha's command sliced through the thick air, sharp and urgent. Miguel, his face ashen, wiped the grime from his mouth and staggered to meet Rigel, intercepting her with a tight embrace. His arms tightened around her, a bulwark against the stark truth lurking mere steps away, his voice a whisper meant only for her ears, "Let's not go up there, Rigel."
"¿What's wrong with mamá?" Rigel's query broke, a thread of panic weaving through her trembling words. Her gaze flitted past Miguel and fixed on Tabitha. "Tell me!" Her plea surged with raw desperation.
Tabitha, her knees pressed against the cold, unforgiving rubble, inhaled sharply, a tremor running through her breath as she faced Rigel. Her voice, a delicate murmur, carried both warmth and a trace of unshed tears. "She'll be fine," she assured, the words barely concealing the lump in her throat. Catching Miguel's furrowed brow, Tabitha fixed him with a gaze that quelled any objections before they could form.
Miguel's face remained shadowed by doubt, yet he dutifully averted his eyes. No soul dared question the words of Diurnix's chosen prophet, even when veiled in apparent deception. A feeling of guilt towards Rigel washed over Tabitha, deepening sharply as she surveyed the devastated landscape. The eyes of the survivors—filled with a mix of prayer and despair—locked onto her, seeking solace and security from the once powerful druidess. The weight of her burden and guilt intensified with each desperate look. Even the dead, scattered indiscriminately across the ground, seemed to stare into Tabitha's soul with silent reproach, their lifeless eyes accusing her of failing to shield them from fate's cruel hand.
"Maestra Tabitha, my child... he is not breathing..." a voice, frail and broken, drifted up from the chaos. Tabitha's gaze swept to the source, settling on a young mother cradling her baby, the child's form eerily still and distorted in her arms. Her eyes, imploring and wide with desperation, refused to acknowledge the grim finality of her child's fate.
Tabitha, enveloped by a sudden chill of helplessness, wrapped her arms around herself, her posture curving with the weight of her feebleness. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." she murmured, her voice a quiet cascade of regret, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Mom, are you alright?" Daniel's soft, anxious voice tugged at Tabitha's heart, pulling her from the claws of despair. His innocent eyes, fixed on her, filled her fractured soul with a fleeting warmth. "My little Leaf," she whispered, a tender smile briefly lifting the corners of her mouth, ignited by maternal pride and love.
With reluctance, she shifted her gaze from his small face, framed by his not-yet-grown horns—a light that could brighten the darkest night for her—to Miguel, a young man unseasoned but resolute, whom she respected and trusted deeply. Unconsciously, her facial expression, despite all her temporary weakness, reflected endless power over the realm of ordinary people. The eyes of Miguel, who accidentally caught her gaze, reflected awe and humility when Tabitha, straining her weakened throat, spoke, her voice sliced through the air with the sharpness of a command rather than a suggestion. " Miguel, take Rigel and Daniel to the stables, get my deer, and head to the nearest city, quickly," she instructed firmly.
"But..." Miguel's voice barely whispered into the thickening air before Tabitha's tone hardened. "Now!" Her voice brooked no dissent, iron-clad and resolute. Rigel, her young face streaked with tears and dirt, recoiled. "¡No! No!" she protested vehemently, her voice breaking as she struggled against Miguel's grasp. "¡I want to see Mamá!" Daniel, standing close by, added his quiet, tremulous voice to the mix. "And papa, where is he?"
Tabitha's heart clenched at their pleas. Softening her tone, she shifted her posture to one of feigned assurance. "Rigel, sweetheart, your mother is... You'll see her soon, I promise. And Daniel," she paused, gathering the strength to fortify her lie, "your father will be alright. We need to be brave like him."
She met Miguel's anxious eyes, her gaze imparting a silent plea for his support. "And the others," she continued, more to herself than to the others, "I will protect them. I must."
"Now go! That's an order!" - Tabitha commanded. Rigel yielded, her resistance waning under the weight of Tabitha's promises. Miguel, seizing the moment, gently ushered the children away. "We should hurry," he coaxed, leading them toward the stable, his voice a reassuring murmur in the brisk night air. Turning back briefly, he added, "Maestra Tabitha, please, take care of María and father," his words, brief yet heavy, added another stone to her already crushing burden.
As they walked away, Rigel and Daniel sent lingering looks back, their faces a tapestry of confusion and hope, tinged with reluctant trust. Tabitha, her heart heaved by faulty promises, watched their silhouettes swallowed by the shadows that encroached from the edges of the devastated village, a silent apology for the truths she could not bear to tell formed on her lips.
Amid the ruins that had, mere moments ago, pulsed with the vibrant rhythms of life and laughter, Tabitha took a deep, sorrowful breath. Around her, the silent vigil of faces—etched with fear and pleading—focused intently on her, seeking solace in her presence. However, the facade of steadfastness melted away from her expression, replaced by unmasked anguish, as her eyes settled on the lifeless form of Raquel, lying twisted among the debris.
Laying amidst the debris, it contorted in an unnatural pose. The lively spirit that had once animated that form was nowhere to be seen; only the cold, unyielding fact of her absence remained. Tabitha's heart clenched as she crawled closer, her movements slow, almost reverent.
Kneeling beside Raquel, Tabitha tenderly closed the girl's eyes, smoothing away the surprise from her face to bestow a visage of serene peace. With a gentle touch, she straightened the young woman's hair, her own voice catching as a lump formed in her throat. "Forgive me... this is my fault," she whispered, her words trembling with suppressed sobs. Carefully, she clasped Raquel's hand, so delicate and small it seemed dwarfed by her own.
Her gaze then fell upon an object tightly clutched in Raquel's palm—the amulet, identical to the one that hung around Tabitha's own neck. This talisman, once a gift from a Celestial, now lay inert and lifeless as a common stone. Gently, Tabitha took the amulet from Raquel's stiff grasp. "Not only mine... this amulet too has no signs of Adin Diurnix's presence," she murmured in disappointment.
"Diurnix, how could you forsake us? How could you forsake her?" A deep, sorrowful sigh escaped her as she slid the amulet into her pocket.
Turning her gaze back to Raquel, Tabitha's eyes traced the lines of a face that held no trace of the laughter and warmth that had defined it in life. "Farewell, my child," Tabitha murmured, her voice thick with the weight of tears yet unshed. She lingered over Raquel's serene face for one infinite moment, then slowly raised her gaze to survey the devastation enveloping the village.
Perched on a rise, Tabitha's view encompassed the entire village, now a tragic tableau of chaos and loss. The whole village lay shattered: buildings that had withstood the test of generations were now reduced to mere rubble, their walls and roofs succumbed to the celestial onslaught from above.
Across the village, small clusters of villagers gathered—some attending to the wounded, while others wandered aimlessly among the ruins, dazed by the catastrophe. Amidst this turmoil, a somber group encircled a lifeless figure. It was Carlos, once a pillar of the community, now merely another casualty of the night's terror. A jagged, bloody scale, massive and menacing—a remnant of the four-winged beast that had torn through the sky—lay beside his body.
Tabitha's eyes lingered on the scene, her throat constricting with emotion. "I'm sorry, Miguel," she breathed out, her apology lost to the whistling wind. But the night afforded little room for mourning. Her attention was abruptly drawn to a new threat: a horde of grotesque creatures emerging from the darkness of night, their forms ghastly and twisted by the moonlight.
Among them, a figure brandished overhead a round object dimly lit by the moon glow. The ghastly trophy was a head, unmistakably druid, its features frozen in pain. Tabitha's heart sank into despair as she recognized the visage. "Baruch," she whispered, her voice breaking with agony, "Why..."
The creatures' roar shattered the night, a sound so filled with triumph and malice that it chilled the very air, followed by a loud stomp. Screams and the smell of death began to fill the air with even greater fury.
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