I thought about it over and over, pacing, trying to think up some other explanation for the hideous state of the village. I wanted it to be raiders. To be something more traditional… and yet, the only explanation was that Lonely Briar was harvested for its blood. Vampires? Some other creature or race? For all I knew, goblins were at work. I doubted it, though.

Quickly finding a relatively breathable area, I slipped off my pack and pulled out the tome. I practically ripped it open in search of anything that could explain the horror around me. I first sought out the entry for vampires. If there were demons… why couldn’t there be vampires too?

I found the entry and began reading. ‘Prideful, haughty, powerful, disillusioned, vampires have the ego of a dragon and the morality of a devil. They see themselves near the pinnacle of existence, and because of that, see no harm in using others as objects or tools. Before I go into further details, I grant you fair warning, boya… you would do well to avoid them.’

My eyes rose to look at the destruction. The burning corpses.

“Time to leave,” I said, slamming the book shut and quickly stuffing it into the sack. There was no way under the heavens or above the hells I would risk running into someone who harvested men, women, and children… as if they were some form of cattle. While the hero somewhere inside me wanted to seek vengeance for these poor souls, the brain inside me gave the honest truth; if I tried, I died.

As I began a brisk walk back, I let out a sigh. My lips turned downward. The Hated, or Pyrates, harvested the blood and organs of certain races. Vampires probably did too. Though, maybe it was Hated who were selling it to vampires… or someone else. Or the vampires were part of the Hated.

The wounds on the villagers’ necks proved that they had been living under this oppression for a while. For some reason, their usefulness had been outweighed by their blood’s worth… and the field was harvested.

It reminded me of some movie. A game. Something other than reality. But there I was, walking through the proof that such things existed in Mortalis. And I wanted no part of it. I would head south to the shores and find the Mer. Set up a home there with Ditto and Ivy. And just lie low and study, train… gain immense powers so that this fate would never befall me.

If a typical human was worth bleeding dry… I didn’t want to imagine what a Thalwesse’s body parts would be worth.

The thought sped my steps. Hurrying along, a sudden thump from one of the cabins stilled me.

I became a statue. Breathing, gone. I waited for the sound again. After a few seconds, the hearty thump sounded once more. It ran through the cabin, heavy, and yet carried the slightly hollow tinge of something banging on wood. It originated from inside the charred shell. I waited again and once more the noise repeated.

Now curious, but deathly cautious, I inched my way to an opening in the wall and peered into the cinders and ashes. The roof had caved in, at least the part that hadn’t turned to gray snow, making the floor a jungle of wooden beams the size of men. I looked over it all carefully. I could make out the remains of a dresser, a bed, a table and a few chairs… though most were black and half gone.

Nothing that could make that noise was there, though.

‘What was that…?’ I wondered. I picked up a nearby piece of wood and threw it into the fray. It hit a beam and caused several of the larger beams, propped precariously on one, to fall with a resounding crash. I internally wailed at my stupidity as the sound’s echo shuddered through the quiet crackling of village. Hopefully it’d be dismissed as simply the fires doing their job.

A muted voice arose from the pile, “Well that be great… just dandy. Now thar be even more boards top our heads!” It sounded like an old man and yet carried a spitting fire to it.

“Shhhh!” Several hissed. Even though their voices were low, I could hear them; the link with Ivy seemingly enhancing my ears to pick it up when I focused.

A different man spoke softly, “There may be more out there, father. So quit yelling.”

“Ya daft be, son! Yer banging brought the roof down. Plain simple!” Someone pounded on the floor’s belly with something hard. I wagered it was a cane or walking stick. “Get good’n comfy, folks, cause we be livin’ here for the rest o’ our short lives.” A child began to cry. A woman tried calming and shushing them. The gramps and his son began arguing.

‘I should help… but…’ did I want to? If I helped, then I had an obligation to… I stopped my thoughts.

Of course I was going to help! What was I, some monster who allowed people to just starve to death in a basement when I could do something about it?! To consider myself so special that I could shun my base humanity? That I could become… like Chaos who just stood by as I suffered and nearly died? I already stole from the dead… I wasn’t going to add heartlessness to that list.

“Hah! I’ll never become that vile goddess…” I muttered. I raised my voice so they could hear me, “Hello. I’m going to move the roof. Wait till I finish to come out. Okay?”

A moment of silence followed before gramps spoke. “Ya be a soldier o’ Kamra?”

“Father, if he was, he wouldn’t just-”

“Shush boy! I be tryin’ to hear!”

I chuckled a little. They certainly had an interesting father-son relationship. I immediately felt bad for smiling in such a wretched place. How could I be happy in… this? I shook my head and just focused on responding.

“I’m just a traveler, gramps. I was coming for a visit when I found…” I didn’t know quite how to say it. Bloodbath? Massacre? “Well, I found this…”

“Well trite lucky ya happened along, friend!” Gramps shouted. “See? Told ya we’d get outta here. Ya all be far too a-ppess-omistic-al!”

“For the love of…” his son muttered.

“I’m moving the roof now,” I called out. With a quick slit of my finger, which I was far more used to doing now, I focused on the weeds near the cabin. I willed them to grow. To become larger, stronger. To become part of me.

My blood zipped over to them and as they turned red, black, and white, they began to wildly expand in size till each bladed reed stood thicker than a door. I looked to the beams and felt a rush of energy leave me as they obeyed, wrapping around each piece and lifting them away with ease; making it seem like the fingers of Gaia lifting toothpicks.

I set the beams neatly to the side of the cabin and had the weeds sweep along the floor, brushing the ashes and remains to one side of the cabin, away from the obvious trapdoor installed in the floor. With a hearty sigh, I released the weeds and they shrunk back to normal, though they remained an odd color of red.

A wave of exhaustion hit me but with several shaky breaths I calmed myself enough to remain standing and awake.

“Done. You can come out now,” I said.

The trapdoor slowly creaked open and a brown haired, brown eyed man peered out of the crack cautiously. The end of a stick slammed into the trapdoor and launched it upward, causing the hinges to squeal and the door to slam open.

Gramps roared, “I be done with this basement, boy! Get yer butt movin’ before I giv’ it a good ol’ boot!”

The brown haired man scowled but quickly climbed up. He was shorter than myself. Thinner, with scars lacing his arms and cheeks from some battles long past. Dressed in a simple tunic and knickers, with a blade at his side, he represented what I thought to be a typical villager. His father who scurried out of the hatch right behind him was the opposite.

A scrunched up prune of a man, with a beard of a grandfather oak and with wild white hair stepped out into the sunlight. He carried a wraggly walking stick and wore two knives at his waist. His hands thrust toward the sky.

“Praise be! Finally some fresh air!” His fiery brown eyes landed on me and he hobbled over far faster than I thought a prune could walk. His hand shot out in an offering for a handshake, but his eyes fell on one of the smoldering piles and he stopped cold. “Damned blighters…” he swallowed, pain covering his face. “Didn’t deserve this…”

His son was busy helping a woman and three children out of the basement; the children at least eight and below. The children quickly covered their noses while the woman winced from the smell.

“I suggest you cover their eyes,” I said quickly. “On the west side we can talk. This isn’t a good place.” They looked at me and nodded. The son and woman, married from the look of it, quickly shushed the children and picked them up. The man carried one in each arm. The woman took one. They started for the west side and I began to follow. Gramps didn’t move though.

“You coming, gramps?” I asked. I could barely imagine the pain he was feeling… likely he knew everyone in the village by name. Seeing them like that would be… heartbreaking.

He nodded, turning to follow me, “Mm… ya, I be comin’ along…”

The walk over to Ivy was a silent one. The couple focused on keeping their kids’ eyes shut. Gramps kept slowing as he walked, looking at the destruction and the bodies. He would whisper their name and freeze in time till I urged him to keep walking. It was unpleasant. I could see the ache and emotions so clearly… he wanted a moment to remember them, to think, but I couldn’t offer him that.

He needed to be out of the smoke. Of the death. So I had to heartlessly drive him.

When we came in sight of Ivy and Ditto, the couple stopped. The man looked to me for explanation.

“My summons,” I said.

“Your… summons? But that’s an Alraune.” His voice laced with disbelief. I didn’t quite understand why, but now wasn’t the time.

“Later. For now, let’s just get out of the smoke.”

He paused, obviously making a decision on whether to trust me or not. He decided, nodded, and walked forward with his wife.

As we approached, Ivy watched quietly while hugging Ditto like a stuffie. I moved up to her and pet her head as the couple sat down near the forest, plopping down their children and having them sit as well. Gramps sat down on a stump and let out a sad sigh.

“Well call me a radish… this be just plain sick. Ain’t seen this kinda thing since the Shade Wars…”

The son nodded and looked to me, “Thank you, sir. I am Britheer Larw. This is my wife, Yla. Our children,” he affectionately tapped each of them on the head. Two boys, one girl, all far too young for this hell; they were silent now and seemed to fear making noise that would break the peace they had suddenly found. Britheer motioned toward gramps, “And my father-”

“Mast. Mast Larw,” he said, offering a hand again.

I took the wrinkled hand and gave it a solid handshake accompanied by a smile. “And-” I caught myself saying ‘Andy’ and flowed with it, “-I’m Chaon. Just Chaon. Pleasure to meet you all.”

“Likewise be, sir Chaon,” Gramps said with a surprisingly solid handshake. He let go and placed both hands on the top of his walking stick. “So ya be a traveler mage then? Ain’t got a scruff er ash on ya and yet ya swept that cabin cleaner than glass.” He eyed Ditto and Ivy. “Got two summons too, ya?”

‘Perceptive… in his own way.’ I thought.

“Yes. I am a mage and summoner. This is Ivy,” I pat her head and then Ditto’s, “And this little fella is Ditto.”

“Don’t right get the slime, but good choice on ya Alraune,” he gave an approving nod, earning a chuckle from me. I noticed Britheer seemed a bit unsure about something though, but said nothing. I took off my pack, fished around for my bundle of dried fruit, and offered it to Britheer.

“Something sweet,” I whispered. He and Yla dipped their heads in gratitude and accepted, giving their children a piece of fruit to nibble on.

Meanwhile, once Gramps finished looking over both my summons, he looked at me. “Ya wanna know what happened then?”

I took a seat next to Ivy, putting an arm around her shoulders. She immediately snuggled up. It felt a little weird, acting so much like lovers… but it just felt… right.

With a nod, I replied, “Please, unless it will be too difficult.”

“Nah. I gotta get it off me chest…” Gramps said with a nod that sent his hair bouncing like a bush in a storm. “Ya know anything ‘bout our fair wood country o’ Wuudsaw?”

“Nothing. I come from a distant place,” I replied. “Though embarrassing, I was quite secluded and know little of these lands.” It was a lame duck excuse, but was far better than saying ‘Nope, because I actually come from an entirely different world.’

Gramps ran his fingers through his beard, “I do see. Might right, I do. Well then, sir Chaon, ta start my tale…” he took a deep breath, prepping. It was already obvious he told stories a lot, enjoying it. He let a moment of suspense build, then began with, “Wuudsaw be ruled by Kamra, lad. And Kamra, she and her thrall be vampires.”