Nu'al navigated the wet darkness of the night, her hurried steps creating soft splashes on the muddy ground. The air was thick with the smell of damp wood, wet earth, and the echoing, wild screams that made her skin crawl.
TAP! TAP! TAP!
Her boots splashed through puddles as she ran, seeking refuge in the shadows of the crooked wooden buildings.
Nu'al: "He's dangerous… I can feel it in my bones…"
She finally stopped, pressing her trembling back against the wall of a quiet, foul-smelling alley. Through a gap between two buildings, she glanced up. There, across the labyrinth of the village's rooftops, the figure of Oldred moved like a brutal phantom. He leaped from one building to another with unnatural strength, dodging the hail of hunting rifle bullets that tried to bring him down. Every missed shot tore through old tiles, creating a shower of debris below.
Nu'al: "But only he… only that monster can be my shield to get out of this hell..."
As her eyes scanned the rooftops, she inadvertently caught sight of something else. At the peak of the towering bell tower, a figure stood perfectly still, utterly unaffected by the chaos below. The figure was tall and pale, with the head of a ram's skull.
Nu'al: "Is… is that one of them? A cultist?"
She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. Something was wrong. The cultists moved with a wild, disorganized frenzy. This figure, by contrast, radiated a sense of ancient, absolute calm.
Nu'al: "No… he… feels different. Like a statue that had just decided to come to life."
Meanwhile, at the top of the bell tower, among the petrified gargoyles, the ram-skulled figure was smoking. He drew on his long pipe slowly, then exhaled a delicate grey smoke that danced for a moment before being devoured by the night wind. He then reached a skeletal hand behind his exposed ribcage and retrieved something: a kind of faintly glowing blue orb, which pulsed slowly with the rhythm of a gentle heart. With a scrap of his dark, tattered sailor's uniform, he wiped the dew from its surface.
Then, a sound began to emanate from behind his skull. A song. Not a loud one, but a deep, vibrating baritone, filled with the sorrow of a boundless ocean.
???:
"Once the waves were my song, now in silence I'm stranded…
My ship lies cracked on a dead sea, my sails are tattered and worn,
Awaiting a dawn that will never rise again, sailing upon a chart long cast away…
Oh, Sea Goddess, where have you hidden?
Your lighthouse extinguished, your promise forsworn…
You gave me the Seven Seas to conquer,
Then left, and forsook it all… for a thieving dog…"
*Sea Goddess?... this man... could he be, no it's not possible...*
His slow, soft, and cold song hung in the air, a melody older than the village itself. Before its final echo could fade, a jet-black bird landed silently on the stone parapet behind him. The bird then swelled unnaturally, its shadow stretching and writhing like spilled ink before growing into the form of an elegant woman in a black gown. Her head was neatly severed horizontally, with a plate of wax and a calm flame perched atop it. Her long black hair floated above the fire. Madela.
Madela: "Waaaa~, what a lovely tune~"
A small, enthusiastic clap followed her praise, her cheerful voice a stark contrast to the melody just sung. The ram-skulled figure glanced toward Madela with an impossibly slow movement, as if he had all of eternity.
???: "You? You're the goddess who brought him here, are you not?"
His voice was a low rumble from the depths of the sea.
Madela: "Why, I haven't even had the chance to introduce myself."
She gave a playful little curtsy.
???: "Heh. A goddess who ushers in a thief."
He returned his gaze to the blue orb in his hand, his skeletal thumb gently caressing its damp surface.
???: "I once knew someone. A very pathetic, lonely, and narcissistic person. She wrote a script… or a book? I learned a little from her. Hmm, what was the term?"
He paused, as if genuinely trying to remember.
???: "Ah, yes. 'The author will create a character or an object solely for the purpose of advancing the story.' Like you… and this thing."
He held up the blue orb slightly before carefully placing it back within his ribcage.
Madela: "Ahh, you mean a plot device? Heh, I do dislike such blatant flattery~"
Madela then raised her hand. Between her slender fingers, she held a single white seagull feather that glowed faintly.
Madela: "And it seems you left this behind, sir. It appears we have a thief in our midst..."
Her gaze drifted down, toward Oldred, who had just kicked one cultist off a roof and was now cleaving another who tried to approach him.
Madela: "And someone… who has already infiltrated my World of Histories."
This time, her eyeless gaze was fixed directly on the ram-skulled figure before her.