PASSAGE 50: FRACTURED INNOCENCE

Alaric watched with a pang of sympathy as Hrimr settled beside his father by the flickering firelight. The young man hummed a soft tune, his calloused fingers gently drumming a rhythm on his father's chest. Even wracked with grief, Hrimr's love for his father shone through, a beacon of unwavering devotion in the desolate village.

Slipping into Hrimr's room, Alaric sank onto the makeshift bed of hay and pelts. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, but sleep evaded him.  

"Hrimr's barely an adult, yet he's shouldered a burden no one his age should have to bear," Lumina's voice echoed softly in his mind. 

Alaric nodded silently, the image of Hrimr's tear-streaked face replaying behind his eyelids. "And the timing of this sickness… It can't be a coincidence. Nidhogg feeds on despair," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.

"Precisely," Lumina agreed. "The creature's influence seems undeniable.  Their descent into madness, hopelessness… it all aligns with Nidhogg's nefarious agenda."

A grim determination settled in Alaric's gut. Tomorrow, they will delve deeper into this mystery. Finding Nidhogg was no longer just about completing a mythical quest; it was about saving a village from the clutches of despair. 

"Thankfully, we've made significant progress," Lumina chirped, a hint of optimism breaking through the tension. "Finishing the first stage in a day is impressive. We have time to unravel the serpent's whereabouts and, hopefully, offer Hrimr a sliver of solace."

Alaric offered a tired smile. "Let's rest for now. We'll face whatever tomorrow throws at us, together." 

He drifted off to sleep, only to be jolted awake by a series of choked groans emanating from outside the room.  His eyes flew open, landing on Hrimr tossing and turning on his makeshift bed, a grimace etched on his young face. Alaric rushed to his side, concerned, creasing his brow. But just as quickly as the groans began, they subsided, replaced by the gentle rise and fall of Hrimr's sleep. Relief washed over Alaric as he realized it was just a nightmare. 

A pang of sorrow tugged at Alaric's heart as he stole another glance at the sleeping Hrimr, his youthful face etched with the lines of a man burdened beyond his years. Slipping back into Hrimr's humble room, Alaric surrendered to a restless sleep.

The biting Niflheim wind roused him from his slumber, the howling a relentless counterpoint to a rhythmic thudding sound. He shivered, pulling Hrimr's furred pelt tighter around him and venturing out into the pre-dawn chill.

There, in the heart of the swirling snowfall, stood Hrimr. He wielded a rusty shovel, his determined figure a stark contrast against the desolate landscape. As Alaric approached, a horrifying sight unfolded before him. At Hrimr's feet lay a body, partially covered by a ragged pelt that barely concealed its icy stillness. 

"Hrimr!" the name ripped from Alaric's throat, laced with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Hrimr turned, a smile splitting his face that seemed completely incongruous with the grim scene before them. "Alaric! You're awake already. How'd you sleep?"

Alaric ignored the question, his gaze locked on the still form. "What… what are you doing?!" he burst out, his voice strained with urgency.

Hrimr tilted his head, his brow furrowing in what seemed like genuine confusion. "Oh, this?" he said, gesturing towards the body with the shovel. "This is Brimir. You saw him yesterday, lying by the ground. Unfortunately, the poor fellow couldn't hold on any longer. Found him stiff as a board about an hour ago. So, I'm just… giving him a proper send-off. A decent grave, you know?"

The innocence in Hrimr's voice sent shivers down Alaric's spine. The sight of the dead man and the casual way Hrimr spoke about it were a horrifying combination.

The biting wind whipped at Alaric's face as he stood beside Hrimr, the icy tendrils failing to penetrate the burning questions swirling in his mind. He cast his gaze across the desolate landscape, a graveyard unlike any he'd ever seen. Wooden posts of varying sizes jutted from the snow-covered ground, each one etched with strange Nordic symbols. Some were adorned with wilting flowers, others stood stark and bare – silent testaments to lives lost.  

"Hrimr," Alaric began, his voice barely audible over the howling wind, "are those...?"

Hrimr paused in his digging, the rhythmic thud of the shovel momentarily stilled. He followed Alaric's gaze, a flicker of sadness momentarily replacing the unsettling calmness on his face. "Yeah," he replied, his voice devoid of its usual vibrancy. "That's where everyone is buried. Everyone who… couldn't make it after the sickness came."

Alaric felt a lump form in his throat. The weight of Hrimr's burden settled upon him like a leaden cloak. This wasn't just a single death Hrimr was dealing with; it was a grim harvest he'd been forced to reap for months. Each post, each inscription, represented a life cut short, a piece of Hrimr's childhood ripped away. A wave of empathy washed over Alaric, a profound understanding of the young man's quiet stoicism.  

Hrimr bent back down to resume his task, the weight of countless burials seemingly effortless on his young shoulders. But Alaric saw the truth now – the cracks in Hrimr's facade, the silent scream behind his forced smile.

A heavy silence settled between them as they finished burying Brimir and offered a silent prayer. The wind howled outside, a haunting counterpoint to the hollowness Alaric felt inside. Though he'd slept well, a new kind of exhaustion gnawed at him, an emotional fatigue that stemmed from the sheer weight of Hrimr's burden. It was incomprehensible, the way this young man carried the weight of a village's suffering on his small shoulders.

"Alaric," Hrimr's voice, softer than usual, broke the silence. 

Alaric looked up, his gaze meeting Hrimr's. The young man offered a smile, a valiant attempt at cheerfulness that couldn't quite mask the shadows in his eyes. 

"I know you're shocked," Hrimr continued. "By everything I told you yesterday, by what you saw today. But please, don't pity me. I can't afford any more negativity. I have to stay strong, for my father, for the few of us left."

Hrimr's words struck a chord deep within Alaric. Here was a boy facing a nightmare no child should ever endure, yet still clinging to a sliver of hope, a desperate desire to stay afloat in this sea of despair. 

Alaric rose to his feet, a decision solidifying within him. Words felt inadequate, so he did the only thing he felt was right. He knelt before Hrimr and offered a silent embrace. 

Hrimr froze for a moment, surprised by the gesture. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around Alaric, his eyes fluttering shut. A single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down his cheek before soaking into Alaric's shoulder. 

Another night passed, punctuated by the now-familiar sound of Hrimr's tortured sleep. Alaric jolted awake, the groans echoing through the room like a banshee's wail. Without hesitation, he scrambled to Hrimr's side, concern etched on his face. 

"Hrimr! Wake up!" he barked, gently shaking the young man's shoulders. "You're having a nightmare!"

Hrimr stirred, a guttural moan escaping his lips before it faded into a confused mumble. His eyes fluttered open, blinking at Alaric with a drowsy bewilderment.

"Huh? Oh… it's you, Alaric," he slurred, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to him like cobwebs. "Thanks for waking me up."

A weak smile formed on his lips before sleep reasserted its claim, pulling him back into its depths. Alaric watched him go, a wave of frustration washing over him. He yearned to help Hrimr, to banish the demons that plagued his sleep, but felt powerless against an unseen enemy.

Returning to his makeshift bed, Alaric vowed to talk to Hrimr when dawn arrived. As the first rays of sunlight peeked through the frost-covered window, he gently nudged Hrimr awake. 

"Hrimr," Alaric began cautiously. "I noticed you've been having frequent nightmares. Can you tell me anything about them?"

Hrimr stretched, a yawn escaping his lips. "Honestly," he admitted, scratching his head, "everything's blurry. I can't really remember what happened. Just… darkness, and a feeling of dread."

Alaric leaned in, his gaze intent. "When did they start? Every night?"

Hrimr frowned, scrunching his brow in concentration. "I think… maybe after the whole sickness thing started," he said hesitantly. "But I don't know, maybe not every night."

He trailed off, his eyes flickering towards his father's motionless form on the bed beside him. A heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, Hrimr spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"Maybe it's because… well, he killed them, you know? My mother and sister. Maybe that's why I have nightmares when I'm next to him."

Alaric offered a silent nod, acknowledging the crushing burden Hrimr carried, and a plan began to take root in Alaric's mind.

Night draped itself over the village once more, a cloak of inky darkness punctuated by the flickering firelight. Alaric waited patiently, his gaze fixed on the sleeping forms of Hrimr and his father. As Hrimr's breaths fell into a slow, rhythmic pattern, Alaric rose with the stealth of a shadow. He donned his familiar hooded jacket, the black fur of Hrimr's gift draped over his shoulder like a silent guardian. 

Gently, he summoned his Crescent Reaver, its polished surface catching the faint glow of the embers. Then, with a practiced motion, Alaric lifted his eye patch. The Eye of Chronos, a pulsating black orb with golden particles inlaid in his prosthetic eye socket, flickered to life, bathing the room in an ethereal golden black light. 

He sat vigil, a lone warrior poised against an unseen foe. The air crackled with a strange energy, a tension that transcended the physical realm. Alaric wasn't sure what he was waiting for, only that something lurked within Hrimr's nightmares, a darkness yearning to be revealed. His eye scanned the room, searching for any anomaly, any wisp of malevolent energy that dared to taint Hrimr's dreamscape. 

Tonight, Alaric wouldn't just be a protector; he would be a witness, peering into the abyss of Hrimr's torment in the hopes of finding a path to victory for both their battles – the one fought with steel, and the other waged within the desolate landscape of the mind.