It fell like a curse.
It wasn't like that in the beginning though. Tymera in its former days was generous; adorned with lavish vegetation that stretched all the way through the heart of ๐๐ข๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ข๐ฏ๐ข ๐๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต, its wings that sheltered countless nobility, lands that traded luxury, and merchants always paving their way, hoping to make their money count. The city at the core held a shrine, a breathtaking structure that arose all the way through the sky; lustrous and shimmering. A sapphire lake towards the east, ๐๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ข mountain to the west. The north and south dawned with priceless fabrications making Tymera rise to its pinnacle.
It almost seemed like the gods themselves had ascended to build it. The glory was beautiful. The beauty made Tymera.
But then it struck. An endless catastrophe that was like a curse.
A curse that arose out of nowhere. A curse that was ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฏ๐ต to happen.
As the carriage creaked and groaned against the jarring road, that was once overlaid with festoons of flowers, Anya couldn't help but think.
๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ธ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ?
It was a pointless question; a distraction, really. Anya knew why Tymera had forgone all sorts of changes. She also knew why the catastrophe had struck. If she went by the ways of the novel, it had perfectly described the gruesome origin of the ๐๐ช๐ด๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐๐ณ๐ช๐ข๐ญ. A one-sided massacre that went against the laws of Leselhia. A bloodbath that condemned nothing but innocents, just for the sake of a missing girl.
A sight that was so dreadful that the young Anya had sunk it deep under her brain, hoping it would never resurface.
But something in Anya's mind stirred. Like a sudden exposure, it seemed to spurge her underneath it. As a black mass swirled inside her, the image brought her back faster than she could stop it. The memory of the dying people fed into her ears. Cries of terror following...
"๐๐ฉ๐ช๐ด," ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ด๐ข๐ช๐ฅ. "๐๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ช๐ด ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ."
๐๐ช๐ด ๐ท๐ฐ๐ช๐ค๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ข๐ฅ. ๐๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ. ๐๐ถ๐ต ๐ช๐ต ๐ธ๐ข๐ด๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ข๐ด ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ข๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ค๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฎ๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฏ๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ญ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ด.
๐๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ญ๐ฐ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐๐บ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ญ๐บ ๐ด๐ค๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ญ๐ญ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ด๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ข๐ญ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ง๐ง๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ถ๐ฑ ๐ค๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ช๐ญ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฏ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ช๐ณ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฅ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ง๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฉ.
๐๐ต ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต๐ฉ.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐จ ๐๐ฏ๐บ๐ข ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ญ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฎ๐ด ๐ค๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต๐ฉ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ข๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ. ๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ด ๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฏ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ด๐บ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฌ๐ด, ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ธ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ท๐ช๐ฆ๐ธ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ, ๐ค๐ฉ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ด๐ต๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ข๐ค๐ฉ ๐ข๐ด ๐ฃ๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ข๐ต. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฑ๐ถ๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ต ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ข๐ธ๐ข๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ด๐ฎ๐ข๐บ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐บ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ต๐ฐ๐ฑ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ณ.
๐๐ถ๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต.
๐ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ช๐ญ๐ฅ, ๐ด๐ช๐น ๐ข๐ต ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต. ๐๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ข๐ด ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ข๐ฏ, ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด ๐ค๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ฑ๐ถ๐ฏ๐บ ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ฅ๐บ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฅ ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ช๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฏ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ค๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ.
"๐๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ!" ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ค๐ณ๐บ ๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ข ๐ณ๐ช๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ถ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ด. "๐๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ---"
๐ ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ญ๐ข๐ด๐ฉ, ๐ข๐ณ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ, ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ช๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฌ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐บ ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ, ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ฆ๐บ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ข๐บ. ๐๐ฏ๐บ๐ข ๐ด๐ค๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ, ๐ท๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ, ๐ฉ๐ข๐ญ๐ง-๐ง๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ. ๐๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ณ๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ข๐จ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ด๐ต ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต ๐ข๐ด ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ต๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฅ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฎ ๐ข ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ญ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐บ'๐ด ๐ญ๐ช๐ง๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ฅ๐บ.
๐๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ข ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ข๐จ๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ข๐ญ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ; ๐ข๐ง๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ฅ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ค๐ณ๐บ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ. ๐๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ข ๐ด๐ฆ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ด๐ข๐ท๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฎ.
๐๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ค๐ข๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฌ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฎ.
"๐๐ฐ๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ง๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ฅ," ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ด๐ข๐ช๐ฅ, ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ท๐ฐ๐ช๐ค๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ฎ. ๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐จ๐ณ๐ช๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ค๐ฌ ๐ข๐ด ๐๐ฏ๐บ๐ข ๐ธ๐ข๐ต๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐จ๐ณ๐ข๐ค๐ฆ๐ง๐ถ๐ญ๐ญ๐บ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ด๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐บ'๐ด ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฆ. "๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ๐บ ๐ญ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ๐ด ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ช๐ต๐ช๐ง๐ถ๐ญ ๐ญ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ๐ด ๐ค๐ข๐ฏ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ. ๐๐ต ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ."
๐๐ฏ๐บ๐ข'๐ด ๐ง๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ง๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ข๐บ. ๐๐ต ๐ช๐จ๐ฏ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ค๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ฎ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ข ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ๐ต.
๐๐ถ๐ฏ.
๐๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ง๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ณ๐ต; ๐ด๐ญ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ญ๐บ, ๐ค๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ๐ง๐ถ๐ญ๐ญ๐บ, ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ช๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ต๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ช๐ค๐ฉ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐บ ๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ข๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ง๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฎ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ช๐ค๐ฆ๐ฅ, ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐จ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ ๐ข๐ธ๐ข๐บ.
"๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ'๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ," ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฆ๐บ๐ฆ๐ด, ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ง๐ญ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฆ. ๐๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ๐ถ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ด๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ด๐ญ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต๐ญ๐บ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ข๐ป๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ค๐ข๐ณ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฅ, ๐ช๐ต๐ด ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ญ ๐ด๐ถ๐ณ๐ง๐ข๐ค๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ธ. "๐๐ง ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ญ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต๐ฆ๐ด๐ต ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ, ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ."
๐๐ธ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ช๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฏ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ค๐ฌ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ท๐ฆ๐ช๐ฏ๐ด. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฅ๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ. ๐๐ฆ๐ค๐ข๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ช๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ๐ด๐ด๐ข๐ฏ๐ต๐ญ๐บ. ๐๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฏ๐ต ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ข๐ช๐ฅ.
๐๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฐ.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ด๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ. ๐๐ฏ ๐ฆ๐น๐ข๐ด๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ช๐จ๐ฉ. ๐๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ต๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ. ๐๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ด๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ค๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ.
๐๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ.
๐๐ฆ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฏ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ต๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ข๐ต ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ค๐ฌ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ญ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ญ๐ช๐ค๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐๐บ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข ๐ค๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ข๐ด ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ๐ญ๐บ ๐ข๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐จ๐ข๐ป๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฅ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ข๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐บ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฏ. ๐๐ฏ๐บ๐ข ๐ค๐ญ๐ถ๐ต๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ข๐ฃ๐ณ๐ช๐ค ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ข๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ค๐ญ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด, ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ต๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ.
"๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ซ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ ๐ด๐ข๐บ," ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ต๐ถ๐ค๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ข ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฉ๐ข๐ช๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ด. "๐๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฅ๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ ๐ด๐ข๐บ."
๐๐ช๐ด ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฅ. ๐๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ, ๐ง๐ญ๐ข๐ต๐ฃ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ ๐ง๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ณ๐ข๐ด๐ฉ ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ ๐ฅ๐ข๐บ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ญ๐ต ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ. ๐๐ช๐ด ๐ง๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ถ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ข๐จ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ด๐ต ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฌ, ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ง๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐ค๐ฉ.
"๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ข ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฏ," ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฎ๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ. ๐๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ช๐ณ๐ด๐ต ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ, ๐๐ฏ๐บ๐ข ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ง๐ข๐ณ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ง๐ถ๐ญ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต๐ฉ. ๐๐ต ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ง๐ข๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ. ๐๐ต ๐ฏ๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ญ๐ช๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ด ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ค๐ณ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฅ. ๐ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐จ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฑ๐ข๐ช๐ณ ๐ช๐ต๐ด๐ฆ๐ญ๐ง.
"๐๐ฆ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐ข," ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ข๐ณ๐ฎ๐ด ๐ข๐ด ๐ช๐ง ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ช๐ต๐ด ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ข๐ค๐ฆ. ๐๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ข๐ด ๐๐บ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฎ, ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐จ๐ถ๐ญ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ณ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ข๐ช๐ญ๐ด, ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐ง๐ถ๐ญ ๐ด๐ฎ๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ข๐ค๐ต.
"๐๐ฆ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฅ๐ข๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ."
The memory collapsed, and Anya was forced back into the present. Her head throbbed, a wave of nausea and familiar electric pain behind her eyes. Her breath was stuck in her throat, and tears streamed down flawlessly.
"...Huh?" Anya blinked, unable to understand her emotions. She wiped off a single tear, smearing her face. "Why am I crying...?"
It was an unfamiliar feeling, a confusion she was yet to perceive. It was almost as if she was there, experiencing the pain that the real Anya went through. A world that she had never come across. A world of aversions and deaths.
๐ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐จ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ.
This wasn't the first time it had occurred. Pieces of memory transpired every now and then, and moments like these, where the real Anya had felt lonely and within her own embrace, the scene would repeat itself in front of her, almost as if it had taken her back in time. When she had first reincarnated in this body, half the memory of the original Anya had overwhelmed her, taking her to places with whatever joy the real Anya had experienced.
But there was more than what meets the eye.
The real Anya hadn't seen places more than the garden that held remnants of bones of the dead. She hadn't seen past the smiles her fourteen-year-old cushion doll had reserved for her. She hadn't seen people other than the same disgruntled figures whose eyes send her daggers. She hasn't heard warm words other than the curses that were spewed at her.
She was a pitiful child. A lonely child. A child that was covering up for someone else's absence.
Her presence was meant for others to use her.
Sighing, Anya tried focusing back on the present. But there was no way she could.
๐๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ง ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ? She wanted to yell it out loud. ๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ง ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐จ๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฆ ๐ข ๐ญ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ญ๐ช๐ฆ๐ณ?
๐๐ต ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ฎ๐ข๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ, she thought, determination brimming her eyes. She was going to change it. She was going to change her future.
The outside was crisp, cold, almost in a frenzy. Anya could only watch as they went past several slaves in tattered clothing, their eyes sunken and almost asking for separation. They looked tired, paralysed from starvation. A boy, who seemed at least twelve, ran past the lined up shops of bread and delicacies, halting right in front of a woman. She resembled every other person there; half-dead, wishing to be gone. But the boy's eyes said something else. Those were the eyes of someone who wanted to live.
They were desperate.
He pulled out a loaf from his worn-out pocket and handed it to the woman. Though he needed it more than her, Anya wouldn't dare think it out aloud. The woman hesitated, pausing for a few seconds. But the boy pressed it onto her hand and turned around to leave. Several moments in, the woman finally gave in, eating slowly as tears squeezed down her wrinkled face.
Anya searched for the boy, her eyes scanning everyone and everything on the horizon, but there was no sign of the boy. Vendors called out catchy phrases that would, in turn, attract the very few customers, a family of three walking hand in hand, two Nimithian women on a clothing spree, their chestnut brown skin glistening in the cutting cold. Even though it was still the crisp of the morning, and though the crowds were less than half of what they middays held, a few hundred people flocking in the small city of Jenna was still a sight to behold.
After the massacre, Hvanne, a neighbouring county, had taken over whatever that's leftover of Tymera. They set up small cities like Jenna, traded in and out in the name of the 'Fallen Land'. A few of the remaining survivors were taken as slaves for the nobility. Women were required to work in fields and men had to do everything from construction to mining. Children, less than the age of ten, were taken in by thugs that forced them to commit crimes in their stead. A few, who were lucky enough, ended up on the streets starving. Their desperation seizing them to steal.
Sighing again, Anya tried focusing on other things. But there was nothing pretty in sight. Slaves getting whipped by the nobles, their hands on the wall, their blood staining their dirt-white clothes. The cries of tiny children, weak and deformed, feet caked with mud. Thugs thrashing down rebelling shopkeepers, who worked day and night to earn a living.
It was exactly like that memory. Nothing had changed. People were still suffering.
๐ ๐ข๐ฎ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ, Anya promised, clenching her fists as she watched a young child being whipped, his skin raw and bruised. ๐ ๐ข๐ฎ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ง๐ช๐ฏ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐บ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ.
Just then, the carriage suddenly halted, almost throwing her off the seat. The carriage groaned and shuffled underneath her. The neighing of the horses resounded the entire place, alerting the people gathered. The noises outside turned to pin-drop silence, then to hushed whispers.
"Hey, you brat!" A man called out, his tone harsh. "What in the skies do you think you are doing?!"
It was Pan's voice, and Anya had enough time to think he sounded even grumpier than earlier.
"I-I am s-sorry!" A young boy spoke out, panic lacing his voice. "I d-didn't m-mean to---"
"You dare to block the young miss of Zenlyn?!" Pan's voice thundered over the boy's weak, meekly sound. "Even death is too peaceful of an ending for ye!"
๐๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ฆ๐บ, Anya wanted to boo it out, but she decided against it. The noises outside had gone silent again, and she could guess why.
Pan should have never mentioned the Zenlyns', and now all the attention is drawn to her.
๐๐ฉ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ฅ๐ด, she mentally cursed and stepped down the carriage.
This was going to be some third-rate drama.