The path wound like a silver thread through the rolling green hills. Shiro walked cautiously, his steps light on the soft grass. Every sound—the rustle of wind through the trees, the cry of a distant bird—kept him alert. He was no longer in Azrath, but the instincts of war clung to him like scars.
As he approached the village, he noticed the calm.
Too calm.
The buildings were modest, made of dark wood and stone, exuding a rustic warmth. Children laughed and chased each other around a well. An old man carved a chair on his porch. Birds sang without fear.
No one here knew what it meant to face the Devouring Void.
Shiro stopped at the village's edge, heart pounding. He had to choose his words carefully. He didn't know if the people here spoke the same language, if he had the same name, if they could be trusted.
He took a steadying breath and stepped forward.
Almost immediately, a young girl approached him. She carried a basket of berries, her simple linen dress fluttering in the breeze. Her eyes sparkled with open curiosity.
— "Hello, stranger. Are you from far away?"
Shiro hesitated, then nodded.
— "Very far."
She studied him for a moment, then smiled.
— "I'm Elia. You look hurt… Do you need help?"
There was caution in Shiro's heart—but also a flicker of warmth. Maybe this world was still untouched by the horrors he had known.
— "I don't want to trouble anyone. But… I'm a bit lost."
Elia gestured kindly.
— "Come. My father is the village healer. He'll know what to do."
---
Elia's home was small but comforting. Her father, a gray-haired man with a trimmed beard and steady hands, examined Shiro in silence. He applied a bitter-smelling salve to Shiro's arms and gave him a thick herbal drink.
— "You're lucky to be alive," he said simply. "That kind of exhaustion doesn't come from travel alone."
Shiro lowered his gaze.
— "I escaped a war. My world… is gone."
The old man froze.
— "Tell me… have you seen the Striae?"
Shiro's eyes snapped up.
— "You know that word?"
The healer exchanged a brief look with Elia, who had suddenly gone quiet.
— "This world is peaceful… but not without magic. Ancient things still sleep beneath the surface. And sometimes, travelers like you… stir the echoes."
The air grew heavy.
Shiro's heart sank. He was not as alone as he thought.
Before he could ask another question, a sound pierced the quiet.
A howl—not human. Deep. Guttural. Wrong.
The healer's face went pale.
— "By the skies… That sound…"
Shiro was already moving. He stepped outside, senses sharp—and froze.
At the edge of the forest, a massive silhouette was forming. A creature of shadow and wind, stitched from fragments of memory and fear. A being of the Striae. Not the Void itself, but a twisted echo of its corruption.
It shouldn't exist in this world.
But it was here.
Shiro felt his magic stir—faint, flickering, but still there.
He raised his hand.
This world might be peaceful…
But war had followed him.