Eira sat alone in the overgrown field, where the grass swayed gently in the wind, as if trying to comfort the dead.
At first glance, it seemed empty, just nature reclaiming space. But scattered across the ground, half-buried and worn by time are stones steles. Tilted, broken, yet still standing. Many bore names, barely readable from age or neglect.
Except the one she sat upon. There is no name. No date. Just the chiseled, unceremonious words, "Mass Grave."
Her fingers curled into fists over her lap. Her jaw clenched, quiet and rigid. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. But something beneath her skin trembled.
The sadness. The guilt. The bitterness. It simmered in her chest like coals left too long unattended.
For her mother’s gentle smile. For her father’s final words. For the nobles who smiled with blades behind their backs. For the allies who turned away when their family needed them the most.
Her body darkened. Not shadowed, not lit. Just... less. Her figure seemed to fade slightly, flickering against the backdrop of stone and grass. Like her grief bled into the world around her, blending her with it.
Her eyes burned with too many emotions to name, too many to separate. She stood.
"Calm down, Eira. Someday. You’ll get there." Her voice cracked, but her face did not. She formed a ring with her hands, bringing it to her lips and exhaling through the circle. A soft breath aimed toward the ground.
Then she turned and walked away. The wind carried nothing of her presence. No trace. No sound. Only the graves remained, and the silence that had always been there.
---
Eira crouched again, her fingers grazing the familiar stalks of herbs. Her breath calm and her body attuned to the rhythm of solitude. Until she saw a faint movement behind the thick trunk of a gnarled tree.
She froze. Her instincts quieted every breath, every twitch.
She stepped lightly, soundless, adjusting her path just slightly to an arc that would let her circle the tree from the blind side. When she reached her new position, she peered through the underbrush.
An old woman stood there.
Back to the tree, hunched over a cane. Her cloak was tattered but sturdy, her posture weathered but firm. She wasn’t lost, nor resting. She was just... standing. Facing the bark like it had something to say.
Eira’s mind stirred with cautious curiosity, but her heart whispered something quieter. She stepped forward before even realizing it, emerging from behind her cover.
She stood behind the old woman. The woman turned slowly. Her eyes widened. Not in fear but in surprise. Before softening ever so subtly.
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"Why do your eyes scream anger, young lady?" The old lady uttered with a raspy voice.
Eira stiffened. Her mouth parted but no sound came. Her mind reached for the truth, but the truth was too tangled, too layered. The silence stretched long until, finally, she muttered.
"How could I not?"
A small "thock" struck her forehead as the cane tapped it lightly.
"Follow," the woman said and Eira did.
They walked through soft earth and broken branches. The morning light shimmered through the canopy, broken only by the steady beat of cane against ground.
The old woman spoke again, not with demand but with knowing calm.
"What happened to you, to make your gaze so sharp and heavy?"
Eira looked down. She said nothing. Her fingers gripped the hem of her coat. Silence again. Then the cane suddenly rose at the level of Eira's neck, halting her in place. The trees thinned. A clearing opened before them.
The old woman raised her cane and pointed.
"Do you see that pup?"
Eira’s eyes followed. A small creature, not more than a few months old, nudged the limp form of its parent. A larger wildhound, body bloodied and still. Across the clearing, the killer loomed. An Oclean bear, towering and still, its gaze unmoving.
"Look at her eyes. Full of hate, is it not?"
The pup turned to the bear, body trembling, but its eyes blazing.
"Fear and hate… they birth courage. They birth moments of bravery."
The pup barked. Once. Twice. Then it lunged, biting the bear’s front limb with everything it had. The bear barely flinched. Then its jaws opened.
Crunch.
Eira blinked.
"But fear and hate also birth foolishness. Had she run, she may have lived. But overwhelmed by feeling, she charged. What a sad turn of events."
The woman turned and walked again. Eira followed quietly, deep in her thoughts.
By the time her thoughts returned to the present, the trees parted and the familiar sight of crumbling stone greeted her.
Her home. The ruins of a fallen castle.
She turned sharply. The woman was walking away, back toward the forest.
"Wait," Eira called. "What are you?"
She had noticed it on the walk. The way some part of the lady, if not her whole body, flickers out from the existence. Just like her. Yet she knew it is different. Hers allows her to momentarily blend with surrounding. This old lady, however, does not blend but fades.
The woman paused. Glanced back with a smile. Then she stepped into the woods and vanished between the trees like she had never been there at all.
---
Eira sat on a broken wall, legs dangling over the moss-covered stone. The wind brushing strands of hair across her face. Below, the hills rolled gently, painted with the gold hue of late afternoon. The river shimmered like a ribbon of glass, curving toward the horizon.
Her chores were done. Well, most of them. Her spellbook remained untouched, safely lying on the makeshift shelves she proudly made. Her magical studies could wait.
Her thoughts on the other hand... The old woman.
Eira leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, brow furrowed in a quiet contemplation. What was she? That body that seems to flickers in and out of existence. That presence. Not magical as it does not have any magical outputs or presence. If she did, she would have noticed.
Yet still... something was wrong, or rather, something was off.
Are we the same? Or only similar?
She sighed, letting her gaze drift toward the sky. The sun sat heavy, amber and round. Its brightness made her squint but something in it triggered a thread in her mind.
Yellow... An eye... She gasped. The cat! She sat up straighter, hand gripping the edge of the wall.
That strange, black-furred cat from two days ago. It had sat in her windowsill, licking its paw, tail twitching, as if nothing in the world mattered. That yellow eye. She could still feel it. Watching her. Fixing her in place. Was it magical?
No beast she knew of—ordinary or magical—behaved like that. So why show itself? And why to me?
A chill traced her spine despite the warm light. Her shadow flickered against the stone.
“Is it watching me now?” she muttered.
She looked toward the hills. Nothing. Just tall grass swaying. Then toward the woods. Nothing.
Yet the feeling lingered. Not fear. Not quite. Curiosity.
What do you want…? she thought, not to herself, but to whatever might be listening.
Info Dump #7
- Mass graves in this world is a practice where the buried corpses in the grave are considered to have died honorless. They shall bore no names and shall be forgotten after death.