Morning came like it always did—slow, gray, and lying.
Ithariel stood at the edge of the cracked well near the thorns, not far from home. The sun had broken through the clouds briefly, casting golden light on dead grass like it meant something.
He carried two buckets. One in each hand. The third swung from Flow's eager jaw.
The Flow tail beat the dirt like a war drum.
They walked back through the ruined path, dodging serpent roots that twisted out of the earth like bones of forgotten titans. The wind was kinder than usual.
For a moment—it almost looked peaceful.
The door creaked open. Jon and Yuna still slept in their beds, curled like kittens near the hearth's ash.
He placed the buckets down, wiping sweat from his brow.
He looked at Flow.
"I need to go to the town," he said quietly. "To work. You can come if you want."
Flow barked once, wagged his tail like a child offered meat, and trotted beside him.
They passed the field of rusted grass, where the wind never sang. The trees leaned in like they'd heard something they shouldn't. And as they walked, the air began to change.
The town should have been loud. It wasn't.
Usually he heard distant hammering, vendors shouting, the clang of boots or wheels. But now… nothing.
No voices. No movement.
Too quiet.
Then the sky darkened, as if the sun had been swallowed whole. Shadows lengthened. A rotten yellow tint began to bloom across the horizon.
They reached the town gates.
That's when he saw it.
The fog. Yellow. Pulsing. Alive.
His stomach clenched.
The Weeping Eclipse - Poison of the Heart. Madness of the Soul.
He had seen its effects before—but only traces. Thin, pale, ghostly.
This was thick. Visible. Heavy.
If you could see its color, it meant it was strong enough to devour minds whole.
"Flow—GO!" Ithariel shouted, grabbing his companion's fur. "Go home! It's too dangerous here! Protect them if something happens!"
Flow barked once. Then again. He didn't want to leave.
But Ithariel's voice had changed—steel beneath the whisper.
And Flow understood.
He ran. Fast. Loyal. Gone.
Ithariel turned and stepped into the town.
Hell waited.
The fog clung to everything—like a disease with fingers. Windows shattered. Blood stained the walls. Clothes lay scattered, torn like the people wearing them had vanished or lost their shape.
He took another step.
The voice screamed.
[DODGE!]
He moved just in time. A silver glint. A scream. Pain.
A knife grazed his cheek.
Blood ran warm and fast.
A woman stood before him, breathing wild, eyes void.
It was the old women that collapsed.
The one he had helped. Just the day before.
Now she was a monster.
"DIE! DIE!! YOU CURSED BOY!" she shrieked, lunging with bare hands, fingers like claws, mouth foaming.
The Weeping Eclipse.
It twisted affection into hatred. Turned warmth into weapons.
Ithariel stepped back, heart thudding.
Behind her, more figures appeared. Faces he knew.
The fruit-seller. The baker. The man who once gave him clothes.
They were all… wrong. Tearing their own flesh. Laughing. Screaming. Some gnawed their fingers to the bone. Others stabbed neighbors with glee.
He ran.
His boots echoed down broken alleys, through the fog, through the madness. Screams chased him. Sorrow chased him. The town had become a theater of self-slaughter.
Everything rotted.
He reached the door.
The building site.
A joke, really. Only three people worked there.
Him. Flord—a brutish boy. And the old man.
The old man still sat in his usual chair, smoking from a cracked pipe. Hair tied back like some forgotten Viking, beard long as history, eyes sharp as glass.
"You're late," the old man said calmly.
Ithariel stared, panting. "Old man! What the hell's going on?!"
"Sit."
"I'm being chased—!"
"Sit."
The weight of his voice made Ithariel obey. He slumped onto the bench beside him, legs trembling.
"The end has come for this place," the old man said.
Ithariel swallowed. "What do you mean…?"
"The serpents came."
Ithariel's spine stiffened. His breath hitched.
"They weren't supposed to… interfere. That was the rule. Poison only."
The old man laughed. It was soft. Hollow.
"That was their lie, boy. Not a law. Not a promise. Just a game until they got hungry enough. This time, they left more than poison. They left teeth. I saw them—eating."
Ithariel felt his stomach twist.
"What…?"
"They fed, boy. On the humans. Like cattle."
His hands trembled. "That's not… That can't be…"
The old man leaned back, eyes half-lidded in thought.
"Our time's over. I knew it was coming — we all did. Still, we kept hammering nails into empty walls, pretending this place still meant something. We gave our money to those association folks, thinking they'd protect us."
"They smiled, nodded, took it all — said they had our backs. But the moment things got bad, they cut the line. Just left us out here, betrayed us."
"Like we were nothing. Like we'd never mattered at all."
And then—
"As for you, immune kid…"
Ithariel flinched. His eyes shot wide.
"You—what?"
"I always knew," the old man said. "You think I didn't notice? Black veins that never burst. Eyes sunken from fatigue, not infection. You never screamed, never vomited, never begged. You just… carried it. And kept walking."
Ithariel couldn't speak.
"Don't worry," he added. "I told no one. Figured the world would use you like a tool if they knew. Or worse."
He took another drag.
"You've got people to protect. Take whatever money's left around here. No one else is gonna need it. Use it for them. Keep them alive. That's all that matters now."
Ithariel stood. He was shaking.
"I… thank you," he whispered, voice brittle as frost.
The old man smiled—not kindly, but truthfully.
"Don't worry, kid," he said, voice calm as an executioner's blade.
"Deep in my heart, I know they'll regret ever choosing this world as their prey. The serpents. I've always believed those damn snakes would face hell—delivered by something far worse. Something they never saw coming. Stronger. More terrifying than anything they ever imagined."
Ithariel turned to leave, then stopped.
"How are you still sane?" he asked. "Are you… immune too?"
The old man laughed.
"Immune? Gods, no. My mind's been broken for years. My heart twisted long before their poison reached the gates. Maybe that's why it can't twist me further."
Ithariel said nothing—but in that moment, he understood the man better than anyone he'd ever met.
"Thank you," he said one last time, before running into the dark once more.
Behind him, screams grew louder.
The old man stayed in his chair.
As they came—mindless, hungry, wrong—he didn't move. Just stared ahead, smoke curling from his lips, muttering:
"You weren't a regrettable choice, kid."
The run home felt wrong.
Too long.
Too quiet.
Each step landed like a fist to the earth, lungs shredding with the weight of breath that wouldn't come. The clouds had swallowed the sky whole—choking out the day, turning the world into a dusk that reeked of rot.
Something's wrong.
Not fear. Not thought. Instinct.
A thread inside his ribs, wound too tight, had snapped.
Home. Now.
The house broke from the treeline just as the wind shifted—sweet, sharp, and wrong. He stopped.
The Weeping Eclipse hung in the air—thick, yellow, visible. The color of spoiled joy. The color of agony left out in the sun too long.
Then—
"Woof! Woof! Woof!"
Flow.
Barking. Desperate. Not warning.
Begging.
Ithariel sprinted.
He cleared the final hill——and saw them.
Two serpents.
The first he had ever seen with his own eyes. Not just bones. Not just shadow-slick legends from whispering mouths.
Real.
Their scales glowed a bruised yellow, tall as the house, bodies coiled like rope around gallows. Black markings crawled across their skin—runes not drawn, but carved. They didn't hiss.
They smiled. Eyes molten and slit like rusted coin, narrowed with the pleasure of cruelty.
But worse—
Worse was what they held.
Flow.
Bleeding. Snarling. Still resisting. Pinned beneath coils that didn't even try to crush him—just restrain.
And striking the dog with sticks, small arms trembling—
Jon. Yuna.
Their faces were blank.
Smiling.
Jon's hand shook with each blow. Yuna's eyes were wet with tears, but her grin never broke. As if something inside her cried while her body cheered.
"Stop," Ithariel whispered.
His voice cracked.
They didn't stop.
Yuna raised her hand again.
"STOP!"
He moved without thought. Just motion. Just need.
He tore the stick from her hand, dragged Jon off by the shoulder, shoved them both back as Flow collapsed, panting, blood in his fur.
They thrashed in his arms like children mid-nightmare.
"You liar!" Jon screamed, spitting.
Yuna sobbed, "You left us! Like Father!"
Their words were broken. Twisted. But they still tore into him like glass across the heart.
And worse—he knew the truth behind them. He knew what poison did.
He knew the signs.
The Weeping Eclipse didn't kill the body—it broke the mind.
He clenched his jaw until it cracked.
Then—voices.
Mocking. Drawn-out. Too smooth. Too human.
"What a joy. What a delicious little show. Watching your toys beat the dog to death was my favorite part, wasn't it, comrade?"
"Perfect," the other replied. "Let's spread it further. Let the mutt die screaming while the children eat each other. Art."
They laughed.
Then the poison thickened.
The air turned gold. The kind of gold that bruised lungs and ruptured hearts.
"Stop!" Ithariel shouted. "Please—they'll die—!"
Flow wheezed, unmoving.
"Oh? You're still resisting?" the first snake purred. "Even now?"
Yuna coughed.
Jon fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.
"Please, please," Ithariel whispered. "I beg you. Stop—"
He dropped to his knees.
The snakes grinned, drunk on his despair.
And then—
"You're the only one not poisoned, and you kneel like this?" Yuna said.
Jon spat, "I wish you took my place. I hate being your brother."
He didn't scream.
He didn't flinch.
He broke.
Inside.
He knew what came next. He had learned poisons from the voice more than the healers ever dared. He was the shield. But even he couldn't purge this one.
The poison couldn't be stopped—not until it dragged the victim to death's door, until the soul itself screamed. Only then could he take it into himself.
And that was true only for one kind: the Pale Reaper's Breath.
Other poisons were beyond him. He couldn't interfere—not when they twisted hearts until those hearts begged to betray.
"Why?"
He punched the dirt.
"Why?"
Again.
And again.
"WHY?!"
The snakes laughed.
So did Jon. So did Yuna.
"Ah, this feeling," one of them sighed. "This is life. Breaking a soul so tender it still believes in love."
They laughed harder.
Ithariel crouched, fists dug into blood-wet grass.
Then—
The laughter stopped.
"Wait," one said. "How is he still sane? That much exposure should've melted his brain in seconds."
"You're right," the other murmured. "He is kind of weird. Let's finish this."
They slithered closer.
And behind him—
Hands.
Small. Familiar.
Touched his shoulder.
He turned.
Yuna.
Crying.
Jon.
Tears falling.
But the smiles remained—twisted. Their bodies were puppets, faces torn between agony and laughter.
"I'm sorry, brother," she whispered.
"I'm sorry, Flow," Jon echoed.
Then—
Thump.
The snakes struck.
It swallowed them whole—only their knees remained, jutting from the earth like broken prayers.
Gone.
Not screams.
Silence.
Ithariel didn't move. Couldn't breathe. He'd failed.
He stared into the dirt. As if maybe—if he waited long enough—it would spit them back out.
It didn't.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The scream rose like something dead being born.
His hands tore the earth.
His soul tried to follow them.
He had given everything.
Everything.
Risked himself. Starved for them. Worked for them. For love. For family. For the last fragile light in a world of rot.
And they were eaten. Smiling. While he begged.
The snakes howled with glee.
"Gods, I love humans," one sneered.
"They break so beautifully," the other sighed.
He curled tighter.
He finally understood.
Snakes were the cruelest thing this world had ever known.
"Fun's over," one said. "We got what we came for."
Blood dripped from its lips.
And Ithariel…
He stood.
His shadow looked different.
His voice came not from his throat—but from something older, deeper.
"I will kill you."
Over and over, he said it.
Not a threat.
A prophecy.
"I will kill all of you. If it's the last thing I do."
The snakes blinked.
Then—they laughed.
They weren't afraid.
He was just a boy.
Weak.
Except…
Except for the one inside him.
Except for the voice that wasn't a voice.
Except for the thing that woke when his soul cracked.
The thing he had ignored for five years.
And then—it came.
[𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵…]