The small room was a fragile haven, a stark contrast to the brutal cold and raw terror of the alley. It was dim, thick with the scent of old wood and the comforting warmth of baking bread. Yet, even here, a subtle unease seeped into the air, a faint, metallic tang beneath the flour and yeast that spoke of the chaos outside.
The boy sat on a worn wooden stool, the coarse tunic scratching his skin. The bread in his hand was a tasteless lump. He huffed, his eyes dragged down by exhaustion, every muscle screaming from the frantic escape. The skull-splitting headache from earlier had finally begun to recede, leaving a dull ache. The old table beside him, barren with the only thing on top was the framed picture of a young boy.
What the hell was that thing I'm seeing?
He shuddered, clenching his jaw.
What is all this?!
The old woman, her face a web of weary lines, moved about. Her movements were slow, but purposeful. She coughed, a dry, rasping sound that rattled in her chest, before turning to him. Her tired eyes held a deep, surprising kindness. She moved closer and settled a hand on his forehead; her fingers, calloused but gentle, felt cool against his clammy skin.
"You're burning up." She murmured, hurrying into her kitchen. Clattering sounds came from within as minutes stretched into a quiet eternity. She returned with a rough towel and a basin filled with water.
She began to wipe the grime and sweat from his face. Her touch, oddly comforting, soothed his scattered mind.
"W-Why are you doing this…?" He asked, his voice still edged with disbelief.
"Especially to a stranger like me?"
"Oh… it's nothing…" She softly answered.
"I just believe that even the Blighted still deserve to be treated like a human, sometimes." She murmured, reaching out a hand, almost as if to pat his arm.
"I mean… We're all still humans, right?" She added, her gaze steady.
"Look…" The boy snapped, mustering all the strength in his frail body.
"I'm not… whatever this Blighted stuff is." He managed, his voice hoarse, foreign even to his own ears.
She paused, her brow furrowing slightly, her gaze searching. "Then why were you running around stark naked, boy?" Her voice was soft, but the question was direct, cutting through the thin veil of his denial.
He looked away, shame flaring hot on his cheeks. "I-I don't know." He swallowed, the bread suddenly tasting like ash.
"What…" His voice dropped to a near whisper.
"…What is all this Blighted stuff anyway?"
She stopped wiping his face. Her hand dropped to her side. He could feel her gaze on him, puzzled, then wary.
"You…" Her voice was barely a whisper, laced with disbelief.
"…You don't know?"
"No…I don't." Clyde answered.
"You don't know anything at all?" She pressed, her words slow and heavy.
"The Blight?" Her gaze flickered over him.
"The war?"
The war?
His mind reeled.
"What war?" He asked, feeling more clueless than before, a raw, gaping void where knowledge should have been.
Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion entering them, sharp and unsettling. "Where are you from, child, that you know nothing of this?"
"I'm from Louisiana," The boy said, his voice surprisingly sure of himself.
"Louisiana?" The woman looked even more confused, a crease forming between her brows.
"Do you mean Lasagna?" Her voice gently soured.
"Are you messing with me now?"
"No-No, I'm not," He said, slowly waving his hands in a frantic attempt to appease her.
"It's in America…North America." He tried to gesture his hand to form the vague shape of the continent, though he knew it was futile.
The woman scoffed, a dry, humorless sound. She watched in disbelief, shuddering back, her hand recoiling from him as if he were diseased.
"You're really far gone…" She murmured, glancing at the door with a contemplated, almost desperate look on her face.
"Maybe it was a mistake helping you."
"Me far gone?" The boy tried to speak, but then it felt as if he had just lost control of his own voice.
"You're the one---" He was cut short.
...What the?!
He forced air out, clutching at his neck. The woman just watched in fear, slowly nodding her head, her body beginning to quiver.
[CEASING ALL COMMUNICATION. REASON: DE-ESCALATION]
Oh no… Not this again…
De-escalation of what exactly?
He tried to speak, but only air gasped out. His silhouette now resembled that of someone about to turn, to distort.
I-Is it for this woman?
He focused on her, seeing the raw fear in her eyes, her body shifting slowly towards the door.
No…This is bad.
If she goes and calls those people back…
"No, wait, please!" He reached his hand out, pausing for a moment, shocked he could speak again.
"I-I'm not Blighted…" He shuddered, the word tasting like ash.
"And I'm also not mad."
"I just honestly don't know what's happening…"
"So p-please…" He slowly pointed at his chest, his hand wavering in the air.
"Help me."
[OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: GATHERING INFORMATION]
An objective?
There was an objective?!
He stared at the panel as it quickly faded away.
The woman just stared at him. An awkward silence enveloped the room, thick and heavy, as they both looked at each other. A sigh then escaped her, long and drawn out, breaking the silence like a stone dropped in a still pond.
"Fine. You want to know?" Her voice was weary, resigned.
"I'll tell you."
"But first of all…" She paused, a subtle, almost mocking smile touching her lips.
"Tell me what's your name?"
"Or…"
"You don't know that too?"
The boy just stared at her, quiet for a short moment as fragmented memories flashed before his eyes. Then, with a rather bold expression, he spoke. "Of course I'll remember my own name."
"It's Clyde."
[NAME REGISTERED]
The panel popped up in front of the boy.
[C_]
[CL_]
[CLY_]
[CLYD_]
[CLYDE]
What the?
[SAVE NAME?]
Save name…
It's as if I'm in some kind of video game?
... That's it!
It could all this just be a dream?
He sighed internally.
There could be possibly no other explanation…
So uhh… what do I click?
He thought, looking around for anywhere to touch like a check mark or a button, but couldn't find any as his hands just phased through it, like it was non-existent.
Or…Do I just say "yes?"
He sarcastically thought, holding a skeptical look on his face.
"That's a really good name you got there." The woman said, interrupting his internal debate.
"Thanks." Clyde replied, the panel still hovering in front of him, irritatingly persistent.
"Well, as common courtesy…My name's Rosemary." She said, a faint smile on her face, almost tender.
"Huh…Rosemary…" Clyde mused aloud.
"Just like the spice?"
"Yes…My mother was sort of a cook when she was still… around." Rosemary briefly looked at the floor, subtly clenching her skirt, a flicker of pain in her eyes.
Weird name.
"But before I get lost…" She straightened, her gaze returning to him, now with a renewed purpose.
"Let's continue on, shall we?"
"Yes." Clyde answered.
[THIS IS THE NAME THE USER SHALL BE KNOWN AS FROM HENCEFORTH]
Hmm…It seems that I have to speak to interact with it...
Because It came up as soon as I just said yes.
[THIS NAME CANNOT BE CHANGED FOR ANY REASON WHATSOEVER]
…Why would I change it…
It is my birthname…
Rosemary then began to speak, her voice low and weary, painting a grim picture.
"Well, the Blight…" Her gaze drifted, as if looking at something far away, something terrible.
"It's an ailment that everyone battles."
"So…It's a disease?" Clyde asked, trying to grasp the concept.
"Yes…You could say that…" She huffed, a dry sound.
"Or much rather…It's a vile curse!" She raised her voice, causing her to cough, a dry, rasping sound emanating each time.
She then calmed herself, rubbing her chest, and continued. "It affects people in three different ways…"
"It's either the afflicted becomes a statue made out of some red dusty and yet easily breakable rock thing…" Her eyes held a distant horror.
"Or it drives the afflicted completely mad while looking perfectly normal."
"Just like how you probably are."
"I've told you already…" Clyde groaned, his patience wearing thin.
"I'm not a Blighted…"
"I think I'd have known if I was one"
"Especially with that one." He said with a sure look on his face, but a shadow of doubt crossed his mind.
But I could actually be a Blighted…
That'll explain what I'm seeing…
Ahh…
He sighed. Can't believe my dream's turning out like this.
Better just play along, I guess.
"Or in the worse case scenario…" Rosemary coughed a little and resumed, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper.
"It twists the afflicted into beasts… No…That's not the right word…"
"They transform into horrors…"
"Unable to control their own thoughts or actions." She said, her body twitching slightly at the memory.
Okay…This Blight seems like no joke…
I don't even know whether I've contracted it…
How does it even spread?!
Clyde thought, his brain still trying to process everything he just heard, a cold dread beginning to settle in his stomach.
"Uh…Excuse me…" He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
"But how does it spread?"
"Through a number of ways…" She said, waving her hands through the air nonchalantly, as if shooing away a fly.
"But mostly through the air."
Clyde immediately stood up, the old stool falling and rolling away with a clatter while his breathing became erratic, his chest tightening.
"Wait, if it's airborne, then why is everyone not panicking?!" He shouted, his voice cracking.
"Then that means…"
"No… I might have already inhaled it…" He murmured to himself, dread taking over his face, turning it ashen.
"Hey…Stop that." Rosemary sharply said, her gaze darting to the window.
"You'll attract more unnecessary attention." She hushed, her voice low and urgent.
"And besides, don't worry."
"The Blight has been around even longer than me." She chuckled, a brittle sound, while patting Clyde on the back and gently rubbing it.
"I hope that I can not worry about it…" He murmured, not looking as cheerful as her, his mind still racing with the horrifying implications.
"Then uhh…" He arranged the stool back and sat down, needing the support.
"How about the war?"
Rosemary's mood then soured, her face tightening as she huffed. "Yes… the relentless war…" Her voice was laced with a deep bitterness.
"Armies are clashing beyond the town's walls even as we speak right now." She said, her gaze locked on some distant, unseen conflict.
"Those said walls are heavily guarded, and then the gates are locked tight."
"Preventing anyone from coming in…"
"And at the same time… Keeping any of us from going out." She strained her voice, the last words heavy with despair.
Clyde's eyes widened in realization, a cold clarity washing over him. "So that's what's causing the endemic to happen…" He softly said.
He had listened, every word a fresh blow, and yet… he understood it all. Perfectly, in fact. A strange unease then settled over him, cold and sharp.
Wait… This isn't English.
It's not my English that I know, anyway.
The words that Rosemary spoke, the way they formed sentences, the nuances of her tone---it all felt alien, and at the same time so familiar, instantly grasping every syllable, every meaning, every desperate implication. He could even speak it, effortlessly.
"But… this isn't English." Clyde blurted out, his own words, in this strange, yet familiar, language, sounding perfectly natural.
"It's… I'm hearing another language."
"But it just sounds like… like basic ol' English to me. How am I…" He grabbed his mouth, his voice rising to a shout.
"…How am I understanding you?"
Rosemary stared at him, her weariness returning, deepening into open confusion and laced with a new, sharper fear.
"Another language?"
"What are you talking about?"
"What is this…English?" Her voice was brittle, disbelieving.
"This is our tongue!"
"How could you not…?" Her eyes widened, a dawning horror in them.
"Or wait…" Her voice dropped to a terrified whisper, barely audible.
"Are you a Lassan?"
"From the other side of the war?"
Lassan?
His own question echoed in his mind, then his lips, a whisper. "If I'm being honest with you… I don't even know if I'm a Lassan.
"I don't know anything!" He pleaded, the desperation clear in his voice, raw and exposed.
"Not even knowing what the name of this town is!"
A subtle silence descended, thick and heavy between them, the air suddenly suffocating. Rosemary's gaze lingered on him, searching, judging, before something in her hardened. Her fear seemed to override her compassion, just for a moment.
Then, she spoke, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "This town… It's called Lackate."
The instant she uttered the name, a violent jolt shot through his head, and the hazy panel from earlier flared into blinding clarity. Not just text, but a complex, shimmering map of the town appeared directly before his eyes, superimposed over the dim room. It was detailed, intricate, and pulsing with faint, glowing markers over specific locations: the walls, the gates, a large structure in the center.
A church.
The system's text solidified, directly above the map:
[OBJECTIVE: LOCATE THE CHURCH. PRIORITY: HIGH.]
Locate the church?
Clyde blinked, trying to clear the image, to rationalize it.
I'm not doing this.
I'm tired. This is just a dream.
He unconsciously pushed the panel away mentally, shaking his head.
The map flickered, then an ominous new line of text appeared beneath the objective:
[FAILURE TO COMPLY: HEART CESSATION IMMINENT.]
He scoffed, a dry, humorless sound, a desperate attempt at defiance. Yeah, right.
Then, a sudden, agonizing vice gripped his chest. It wasn't pain from the headache this time, but a cold, claw-like hand squeezing his heart, stealing his breath.
His lungs burned, gasping for air that wouldn't come. He convulsed, sliding off the stool, hands instinctively flying to his chest, clawing at the coarse tunic. A silent scream ripped through him as he choked, on the verge of blacking out, the world narrowing to a pinprick of agony.
Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, the system popped up again, cold and unwavering, resonating directly in his mind, clear as a bell.
{ACCEPT THE OBJECTIVE. DO YOU ACCEPT?}
"Yes!" He gasped, the word ripped from his throat, barely a whisper. The crushing grip on his heart eased, and air, sweet and painful, flooded his lungs, each breath a ragged sob.
He just sat there, trembling, sucking in ragged breaths, sweat beading on his forehead, his body still shaking. Rosemary stared at him, bewildered.
"Clyde? What was that?"
"Are you alright?" She moved towards him, concern warring with confusion on her face. The system then popped up again, now calmer, its text a chilling promise.
{REST. RECOVER. OBJECTIVE ACTIVE.}
---The end of chapter 2---