The corpse burned with crimson flame. Villagers surrounded it, standing helplessly, losing their hope over the burning werewolf, without knowing that it had been the main culprit.
"Everything… is over."
"Who… will save us now?"
The priest stood among them, his mouth open, lips flickering. But he closed it without a word, bowing his head and joining his hands in prayer.
Tears fell upon the golden ichor. They mixed with it and seeped down into the earth through gaps between rocks and soil.
They seeped deep into the soil, vanishing into the veins of water beneath the village.
---
The sun rose beyond the fields, pale light spilling over the village roofs. Yet the village did not stir with it.
Meanwhile, in the temple of Hecate, Pharon had just completed his cleaning work. He put the broom in the corner and glanced at the stone, but the old man was absent.
After a very long time, he felt loneliness.
"First the hermit… now the old man…"
Sigh…
He knelt before Hecate's statue and began his prayer.
Suddenly, his senses caught something—something very ominous.
But still, he continued his prayer.
This feeling intensified, disturbing his calm mind. He endured it.
After some time, his prayer was complete, and he gave a deep bow. He stood up, a long black rag wrapped around his body, and ran to the shade of the trees.
He stopped halfway up the hill, then climbed high into a tree. He sat among the branches, using the leaves as cover.
From there, the whole village was visible. Arcane energy gathered in his eyes, glowing with a purplish hue. Through it, he gained not only long vision but the ability to see things invisible to normal eyes.
The sky appeared clean and clear, but the air, water, and even the soil were polluted by miniature golden particles. With every breath drawn and released, the golden particles multiplied.
Every organism now present in the village—their eyes were growing hollow, with frequent coughing and sneezing. Their bodies grew weak and skeletal, as though the particles were using their life force as fuel for multiplication.
These changes were very minimal, easily escaping even observant eyes. But the symptoms worsened over time.
Then his eyes shifted to the village chief and the priest. Along with some villagers, they were preparing a proper burial for the werewolf. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the werewolf's half-burned corpse.
Golden particles drifted from its ashes, either absorbed by the earth or carried by the wind.
"Oh my god!"
His eyes and mouth gaped open. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but nothing had changed.
"If this is managed in time, then it may be stopped." He was about to take flight, but he stopped at the last moment and turned back.
"No matter what I do, they will only see it as heresy." His eyes fell on the luxurious burial being given to the werewolf. "Is my help even necessary to them?"
Then he walked back to the temple.
---
The sun had fallen, the sky darkened by a moonless night. Everyone slept in their warm, cozy houses.
In one hut, a mother and her son slept soundlessly.
Suddenly, a coughing sound disturbed her sleep. She sat up and looked beside her toward her child. He was coughing violently, blood staining his cheek.
"SON!"
She jerked awake, shaking his chest and shouting again and again. But her efforts showed no result. He remained unconscious and coughing.
She picked up an earthen utensil and sprayed some water on his face. This only worsened his coughing. His skin reddened with rashes.
"Cough! Cough! Cough!"
She picked up the child and came out of the house.
The village appeared more unusual than it should have been. No lamps hung on the walls; even the guards who usually roamed at night were absent. A creepy silence shrouded the village.
But the temple was the only building whose boundary was lit. Without wasting a second, she ran toward the temple.
As always, the temple's door was open, but inside, no lamp had been lit. A foul odor of rotten flesh hung in the air. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. She stepped back out and took a lamp from outside.
Then she entered, enduring the rotten smell. Her steps were short and cautious.
"Sir… Sir!"
Her hand tightened around the child, and she gulped. As she took another step, she felt she had stepped on something.
She leaned down slightly. But what she found completely drained the blood from her face.
The priest's rotten body lay on the floor. Insects gnawed at his decaying flesh.
The lamp dropped from her hand. She ran outside the temple and vomited everything.
"Blurgh!"
She leaned against the wall. Her body trembled and went numb. Her vision grew blurred.
"Cough! Cough! Mama…"
Her child's voice pulled her senses back. She lightly patted his back. "Don't worry, son— Cough! Mama… will save you."
Her eyes fixed on the ruin atop the hill. She gulped.
---
Pharon was meditating in the temple, the only source of light being the blue wisps floating in the hall. Suddenly, the door was pushed open, breaking his concentration.
A mother with a child entered the temple and collapsed on the ground. "Cough!… Please, save my chil— cough!"
He opened his eyes and looked at them. The child's body had begun to rot from the inside, barely holding together. The mother's own condition was not much better. The plague was rapidly consuming her body.
"I will not do that. Find someone else."
With that, he turned toward the statue and lit the candles.
"Please, save him… I— cough! —take my body and soul— cough! But please, save my child."
She laid the child on the ground and knelt deeply before him.
A candle slipped from his hand. He turned around and shouted, "WHAT WILL I DO WITH YOUR ROTTEN BODY AND SOUL!"
"YOU AND YOUR VILLAGE BURNED MY PARENTS ALIVE. HARASSED ME. AS IF NOT SATISFIED WITH THAT, YOU EVEN TRIED TO KILL ME AND DESTROY THIS TEMPLE. NOW, WHEN YOU ARE IN TROUBLE, YOU COME TO THIS TEMPLE FOR HELP. RIDICULOUS!!!"
The mother shook to her core. She kept kneeling. "Punish me for all of it… but save my child— cough! He is innocent."
Pharon ignored her and became engrossed in lighting the candles.