'A blessing?' Arin furrowed his brows.
'Hm. Put into place for the protection of Lullwater and its residents, since the very conception of the village.'
'How did something like that backfire?'
The white-haired man sighed. 'Several generations ago, Lullwater was founded by the youngest son of a high-ranking military family. His faction was unlike the others; made up not of conquerors, but of pacifists who grew disillusioned with the violence and misdeeds of the rulers of their times.'
'They saw no honor in the bloodshed their families had perpetuated.' The man paused, looking pensive as he took a sip from his cup. After a moment, he continued. 'Their attempts to challenge the old regime, however, were swiftly, and brutally, suppressed. After the dust settled, those who survived abandoned their posts in defeat. Seeking to build a life of simplicity and peace, they, along with the families of their supporters, renounced their titles and left it all behind for this remote corner of the world.'
Arin raised an eyebrow. 'Good choice, considering this forest remains the favored retreat of retired aristocrats even today,' he remarked.
The man's lips curled into a faint smile. 'Indeed. On a land blessed with fresh water, orchards, and vast, fertile fields, they hoped that time would erode their names from the Empire's memory. In doing so, they believed their descendants could live undisturbed, free from the weight of their past.'
'One among them had a particularly brilliant talent for rules. She crafted one to ensure that the land itself would protects its people, sustaining them for as long as they themselves wished to remain. The land would keep them, ensuring that they could never be forced away by any outsider.'
Arin leaned back in his chair. He didn't quite understand the whole 'rule/blessing' freaky magic stuff. Even so, he could guess where the story was going. 'The outsider sought to… collect, the village on that day. But the residents of Lullwater did not know of his plans, and never expressed any desire to leave…' he said.
The white-haired man nodded. 'Precisely. Without the blessing in place, the villagers' souls would be taken and trapped by the tool, unknowing and forever reliving the one perfect day that was recorded. With the rule in place, however…' He paused again.
Arin swallowed. The man before him remained languid and unruffled. His wore a pleasant expression, with his usual, light smile. His deep voice was still effortlessly steady.
But despite the calm, something about the very air felt heavy. Sad.
…
Or maybe the shock and lack of sleep was finally getting to him, and he was starting to hallucinate this stuff. Who knows.
Arin blinked, refocusing his attention to what the man was saying.
'The cursed instrument drew in their souls. The blessed land held on to their bodies. And so, at a time when most families had long since retired for the night, the tragedy unfolded.'
'The children, the elderly, and the weak, were the first to feel the pain of their souls being ripped from their bodies. Even as the others awoke to the cries of their loved ones, they too, became victims of the same pain.'
'To that repulsive man, his actions were merely the result of a momentary whim. Upon seeing his plan fail, he simply abandoned the tool and took his leave, without so much as a trace of remorse in his heart.'
'The villagers' souls remain trapped in stasis. Not awake, not asleep, unaware of the passage of time, like puppets with their strings cut. And when an outsider crosses Lullwater's boundaries, the abandoned tool is activated. The 'perfect day' replays, altering every element to resemble what it had once been. The souls awaken with no memory of their plight, and live their lives as they had once done.'
'When the night falls, with the approaching times of their deaths, the veil lifts. The people regain memories of their miserable fates, as well as those of any subsequent loop they have been forced to relive. With this realization, their pristinely preserved souls are pulled into their corpses. They suffer the process of their deaths once again as the soul bleeds and breaks to align with its withered body.'
'That, Arin, is what you witnessed.'