25

Rezak perched alone on the cold stone bench, the village's central fire doused and replaced by an oppressive blanket of darkness. Sera, after extracting a sliver of answers from the chief, had requested a private audience for further questions, leaving him to his own contemplations beneath the vast, indifferent sky.

As he pieced together the fragments of truth revealed, a semblance of understanding began to form. Divine. The Creator. His children. And him, Rezak, caught in the tangled web of their machinations. Yet, a nagging sense of incompleteness gnawed at him, a missing piece in the puzzle that everyone seemed to be overlooking. What was it?

His gaze drifted to his bandaged arm, marvelling at the accelerated healing. The herb paste, a concoction of the chief's, worked its magic indeed. He flexed his fingers, remembering the chilling memory of dawn, the day he'd mistakenly slain Sera's neighbour. Unlike the relentless curse that had plagued him, the darkness had approached that morning, only to be held at bay by an unseen force.

"My sight was foggy," he murmured, recalling the hazy vision that replaced complete blindness. "Not the suffocating darkness!" The moment Hewar plummeted from the sky, the curse had struck with renewed ferocity, plunging him into the familiar abyss. But a question lingered, a thorn pricking his mind.

Why had the curse subsided in Sera's presence? Logically, if she now harboured Destruction within, it should have amplified his affliction, doubling the curse's effect. The Creator, reduced to a mere embodiment of Destruction, wouldn't have offered respite. Was there something else at play?

He replayed the past few days in his mind, the days where Sera's proximity had kept the darkness at bay. Even now, as he sat contemplating, he could sense a faint presence, a malevolent force lurking at the fringes of his consciousness. It was there, undeniably, yet… afraid. What could possibly cow such power?

Whatever it was, Rezak welcomed the return of his sight. He knew his soul bore a taint, the consequence of his pact with The Creator. Now, he understood its nature: Destruction. The same power that emanated from Sera like a brewing storm.

As the minutes stretched into an hour, more questions swarmed his mind, each one a persistent fly buzzing around his thoughts. He paced restlessly around the extinguished fire pit, his eyes drawn towards the lantern-lit window of the hut, where Sera and the chief conversed in hushed tones.

A sudden thought struck him, sharp and cold.

If his deal with The Creator had merely stained his soul, then Sera was now a vessel overflowing with apocalyptic power. What, he wondered, had she asked of that entity, and at what terrible cost?

**********************

"Madness!" The chief's voice boomed, echoing in the small hut. Delena, nestled in her blanket cocoon, stirred momentarily before settling back into sleep.

The chief lowered his tone, his words a low rumble. "It's suicide, Sera."

Sera's voice, barely above a whisper, held a steely resolve. "Do you truly believe there's another way?" Her gaze flitted to Delena, a flicker of relief washing over her as her daughter drifted back to sleep.

"I can't let you leave," the chief declared, crossing his arms. Doubt crept into his voice. "Perhaps I spoke too hastily. It was just a hunch."

Sera stepped towards him, her hands reaching out to clasp his. "A mere hunch, yes, but also hope, wouldn't you agree?"

"You'll be safe here," the chief insisted, his voice firm yet laced with concern.

"That red-haired fiend," Sera countered, her voice low and measured, "he bypassed your guards like a wraith. He knows where I am."

The chief remained silent; his gaze locked on hers. Sera saw the unspoken question flicker in his eyes. "You're right," she conceded, her voice soft. "But it's also our only chance."

"Leave her here," he pleaded, his gaze shifting to Delena's peaceful form. "She's fragile."

Sera's heart ached with the desire to grant his plea, but leaving Delena behind would be like handing her to the enemy on a silver platter. A conflicting wave of strength and vulnerability washed over her as she met her daughter's sleeping face. With a determined stride, she crossed the hut to a wooden trunk tucked away in the corner and lifted the lid. The metal inside gleamed like molten gold, its reflection dancing in the lantern's warm glow.

"Sera," the chief began again, his voice heavy with worry, "remember, it's just a hunch!"

Undeterred, Sera reached into the trunk and retrieved the killer's long-knife. A surge of power pulsed through her as she grasped the cold metal, its energy resonating deep within her bones.

**********************

The hut door creaked open, drawing Rezak's gaze from the star-studded sky. Sera's silhouette filled the doorway, her form bathed in the warm glow of the lantern within.

"How's your hand?" she asked, her voice gentle yet laced with a newfound resolve.

He flexed his bandaged fingers, offering a reassuring smile. "Better."

She tossed him something, a familiar weight settling in his palm. As his fingers closed around the hilt of the long-knife, a disquieting sensation arose within him. A wrongness, a dark energy awakening. But amidst the unsettling power, he felt another force, a pushback against the vile influence. He glanced at Sera, meeting her determined gaze.

The desperation in her eyes, once a reflection of her fear for their daughter, had transformed into something more. Strength, purpose, fuelled by the conversation she'd shared with the chief. And for some reason, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope ignite within him.

**********************

The red-haired man's eyes snapped open, startled awake by the figure standing before him. Sera. A cruel smile stretched across his lips. "Finally, your senses have returned."

"Indeed," she replied, her voice devoid of its previous fear.

"So," he drawled, attempting to shift, only to find himself restrained by the watchful eyes of the hunters, "what grand execution have you planned?"

"None," she said, her words sharp and decisive. "Your job is far from over."

Confusion clouded his features. "What do you mean?"

The door creaked open again, revealing another figure. His chest and arm were heavily bandaged, a long-knife held menacingly in his hand. Without warning, the tip of the blade pressed against the red-haired man's thigh.

A scream ripped from his throat, a searing pain lancing through him. He felt like he was burning from the inside, consumed by an inferno.

"Stop!" Sera cried; her voice laced with urgency.

Slowly, the searing heat began to recede, replaced by a chilling emptiness. His throat was parched, his body aching. "Water," he rasped, desperation clear in his voice.

The man with the knife stumbled back, his face contorted in horror. "What the hell is this thing?"

"This," Sera declared, her voice ringing with power as she pointed to the knife, "is our last resort. And chief," she added, turning to the bandaged man, "thank you."

One of the hunters scurried forward, offering a glass of water. Another loosened the ropes binding the red-haired man's hands. As he reached for the glass, a horrifying sight met his eyes. Black patches marred his skin, like dry leaves on the verge of crumbling. He gingerly touched one, the skin cracking and flaking beneath his fingertips. The glass slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor, the water spilling around his feet.

"What have you done to me?" he rasped; his voice choked with fear.

"Worse can be arranged," Sera replied, her voice chillingly calm.

"What do you want?"

Her answer hung heavy in the air, each word a hammer blow. "Take us to The Creator."