Asdras Awakening (I)

Asdras felt tired.

He stirred in his makeshift bed — a pallet of worn fabrics that barely cushioned the cruel hardness of the ground beneath.

His body felt as though heavy chains were shackling his limbs. He tried to push himself up, but his arms refused to cooperate.

'Where am I?'

His eyes flickered open, and for a moment he was disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings jarring against his senses.

'Hmm'

The tent was a patchwork of tattered cloth stitched together irregularly in an Y shape. The thin slivers of light filtering through the gaps showed him the tent's interior — an old, nearly shattered jar, a broom worn by use, and two coarse fabrics folded near his bed.

'What in heaven's name is going on?'

His nostrils flared as he smelled the damp scent of earth mingled with grass. He felt like an alien trespasser in this place, and yet there was an inexplicable sense of déjá vu that plagued him.

'I know this place?'

He lay there for what seemed like hours, lost in this paradoxical state where his exhaustion wrestled with his restlessness. He tried to remember, but he felt as if something was missing from his memories, which made his mind foggy.

'What is it?'

A distant call seemed to reach out to him, faint yet insistent. The more he concentrated on the sound, the clearer it became, growing louder with each passing moment. Suddenly, the tent flap was thrown open. The harsh brightness from outside burned his eyes, forcing a painful grunt from him.

"Rise and shine, lad!"

Asdras found himself wrestling with the feelings surging within him as he heard this voice. He observed a peculiar rhythm in his life that was hard to ignore.

His destiny seemed to be waking up in places unknown; his first moments of consciousness were often accompanied by unfamiliar faces, predominantly those of advanced age, like the man he was currently looking for.

The elderly man stood tall, his thin body almost disappearing in the bright sunlight. He was thin as a stick, his skin tightly wrapped around protruding bones. Scars crisscrossed his arms, and his robe, worn out and ragged, hung loosely on him as if a gust of wind could carry him away.

He clutched a stick in his hand, as knotted and bent as he was. His eyes were sunken into his skull, yet they held an eerie glow that seemed both alive and lifeless.

Despite his frailty, there was an inexplicable energy about him that felt supernatural. A smile lingered on his lips as if he were privy to some private joke.

"Who?"

"Eh? Who else but your ol' Grandpa First?" The elder chuckled, stretching his arms wide. "What's got your head in the clouds this mornin', boy? Still lost in dreamland? You look as if you've been dancing with the dream fairies all night."

'First? What on earth does that mean?'

With a struggle, Asdras managed to rise to his feet, his attention turning to the state of his body. It felt as it usually did — as normal as it could be for him. The only difference was the fabric that covered him.

'Different, but how come it's different?'

Asdras tried to make sense of his situation. However, he quickly realized that without a few clear answers or at least something recognizable, he would just end up asking more questions than getting answers. Thus, with a sense of resigned determination, he chose to confront the man before him.

"Where am I?"

"You're snug in your tent, lad! Now enough dawdling. Fetch that broom of yours and let's get to it."

His response didn't make it easier for him. The tent he found himself in was foreign, not his home, yet he couldn't recall where his actual home was or why he felt so certain this wasn't it. He glanced at the brook to his left. The wood was nearly decayed, and the deep finger impressions on the broom's handle sent a chill down his spine.

'By Saint Rose's grace, please don't let it be me who's been using this all along.'

"Hmm, F-first, why the broom?"

The old man tried to look astonished at Asdras, or at least he attempted to. His face was gaunt and lined, and the lack of plumpness in his cheeks made his features more pronounced than they should be. His effort to express shock only lent an eerie quality to his words, as if a skeleton were speaking.

"First," the man said as he extended his finger. "I be Grandpa First to you, not just plain old First. And two - not Second! That laddie ain't even within earshot. Zero, have ye been nippin' at grandpa's special brew? A broom's for sweepin', boy! What other harebrained ideas ya got about brooms?"

'Zero? Is that my name... Wait a moment, do I even remember my own name?'

In an instant, his mind was flooded with a rush of thoughts. Firstly, he was unable to recall his own name, although he was certain it wasn't Zero. Secondly, his feelings were a whirlwind of confusion and numbness. Consequently, he found himself clutching a broom in his hand as he was pulled along by First.

"Your noggin seems as light as the bread Third baked last week," First chuckled, pointing towards the nearby fence with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Off with you now. Go and help Sixth spruce up that corner."

Asdras watched First fade into the horizon, a soft melody escaping his lips. His gaze then wandered to the place around him, and the sight that met his eyes stole his breath away. Not in a way that evoked awe or wonder, but rather a chilling realization that such a place should not exist, let alone be inhabited.

'Blast it, this must be some sort of nightmare! I've got to wake up. Now, how in hell does one escape from a dream? Brian would know the trick, I'm sure... though, for the life of me, but who in hell is even Brian?'

He found himself in what could be called a village. Technically, it was a village, but to Asdras, even the most isolated settlements in the fairway communities would seem more familiar than the sight before him.

The landmark was small, allowing him to see both the entrance and the exit without needing to move. The enclosing fences appeared to be a barrier against the creepy trees that seemed to encroach on the village.

These trees were unlike anything he'd ever seen. Leafless, decaying, and entwined with brownish-green plants that clung to their trunks and branches. He noticed that a group of ravens claimed some as their perch, their obsidian eyes scrutinizing every movement below.

The chilling gaze of the ravens made Asdras shift his attention to the tents. Nine of them were carefully arranged in an elliptical pattern, with his tent at the center. Strange symbols etched into the ground surrounded each tent.

Everything about this place screamed danger to him — the trees, tents, ravens, and even the people. However, near the fence where a small boy was sweeping, his eyes were drawn to a circular symbol on the ground. Although it resembled a crow, the surrounding abstract lines twisted its meaning into an intriguing enigma.

Asdras moved towards the symbol and the boy, then questioned him.

"What is it?"

Sixth worked diligently, his frail figure covered in a tattered robe of an earthly brown tone. His hands moved with urgency as he swept the dust near the symbol. His head was devoid of hair or eyelashes.

His eyes were an eerie white, lacking both iris and pupil, as if they were filled with sunlight that refused to escape. A coarse rope kept his mouth securely closed. So when Asdras asked him a question, he could only point to the symbol and then towards the crows perched on the trees.

"What—," Asdras cut himself off abruptly, eyes widening at the sight of the rope looped around the Sixth's mouth.

'Just when I thought things couldn't get any more hellish.'

Asdras tried to analyze the symbol and what Sixth was pointed at. It was clear to him that there was a link between the crow and the symbol, but the meaning of it was difficult for him to spot.

'Rope? No... Maybe, tree branches?'

Reluctantly, but with the knowledge that Sixth had proven to understand him before, he posed his question while gesturing towards the lines.

"Sixth, hmm, what is it?"

Sixth took a moment to pause. He crouched by the symbol, his fingers skimming over its lines without making contact. He pointed up at a crow perched in the trees. Rising to his feet, he mimicked a defensive gesture with his arm.

His attention returned to the symbol before he pivoted on his heel, scanning his surroundings. His gaze settled on a bonfire flickering near a tent. Pointing towards the fire with one hand and creating an imaginary barrier with the other, he bent down slightly and looked at Asdras, wearing an expectant frown.

"So," Asdras murmured, a thoughtful furrow creasing his brow, then asked Sixth. "It protects us against them?"

Sixth's eyes twinkled with a semblance of a smile as he nodded in agreement. He gestured towards his own and then to Asdras's, making a sweeping motion as if telling him what he should do.

"So we need to clean it to work? What's going to happen if it gets all dusted up?"

Sixth stared at him, his face a mask of pure terror, as he grappled with the idea of the symbol failing. He nearly lost his footing but managed to stay upright, using his broom for support. He was about to make a sign when they heard it.

At first, it was as if nature herself held her breath; the village hushed into an uneasy silence. Then, like a blade slicing through the air, came the shrill cry of a crow. The trees around them groaned and creaked, their gnarled branches swaying in an eerie dance under an invisible force. Suddenly, the sun seemed to recoil in fear, its once warm radiance dimming into an uncharacteristic darkness that washed over the village like a wave of dread.

'Shit! This is hell!'