There had never been a day in Dafiel’s life where he was uncertain of what would come next. There was always something to do, someone to talk to, guidance to be received. He realizes now that he had been living a privileged life.

That safety and sense of community that he grew up surrounded by was a luxury. One that he no longer had. “Where should I put this?” He turns to address the question that was aimed at his back.

Minya, a woman of only five feet, holds about five woven cots securely in her arms. “Toma and Tells have storage set up about three trees down. You can put them in there until nightfall. We should have a few more homes finished by them.” She smiles at him, and it’s the same smile that he’s been receiving a lot recently.

It’s one of gratitude, relief really.

His people, Gods bless them, are not independent. They never have been. Onesians are like river waters trying to press through the cracks of a rock. They work best in groups, large ones, but they require a strong level of guidance. They lost their elders the night Yukos burned.

They lost their guidance.

Many were grateful to Dafiel for stepping up, and they showed it in little ways. His cot was crafted with expert fingers, and the house that was meant to be his was situated in the widest and sturdiest of trees that his people could find in such a short amount of time.

There were only a handful of villagers left. Those that had gone on the monthly route to collect seeds for the spring time came back to ruin. And the people that had been sick in their small hospital had awoken to madness.

The fact that they woke at all had risen alarms in Dafiel’s head. Those alarms, coupled with the small amount of information that Lilian had given him once she awoke confirmed his worst suspicions. He had had an inkling once the outbreak started.

Tanitha had started to itch. She could never stand still and was always whispering to herself during her shifts. She was covered in shadows as dark midnight that seemed to be as heavy as the weight of the world. It was when her mental state first started to decline that people began dropping.

“She is plague.” Lilian had whispered to him. “She is festering plague.” That was the first thing she said. That was also the last thing she said. Lilian had seen something, experienced something in her muddled state that left her far more damaged than the rest of the village.

Maybe it had to do with her being part Yulk. Maybe she saw something within Tanitha before she was infected. Dafiel supposes he’ll never know. Not unless she opens up, or Tanitha returns. Though he’s thinks both of those options are not likely ones.

Someone taps on his shoulder. “It’s time to rotate,” One of the surviving nurses states before wrapping her blond hair around her fist and tying it up. Dafiel nods, a sigh building within him. He supposes he shouldn’t complain, as this was practically his life before. And he’s better off than most.

Dafiel had arrived during the end of the brutal slaughter and destruction of his village. While most that survived had been too out of it from the sickness that had plagued them, there were some that were lucid.

There were some that saw the amonos cut down their people like trees. There were some that watched their families burn. Dafiel saw his elders’ throats slit, and he wasn’t the soundest of minds. He can only imagine how those that watched their families die are fairing.

He walks to the post that holds a few of the weapons that they had both secured from the remains of their old home and forged in the more recent days. He grabs his normal spear, the one with splintering sides, before he takes his station at the border of their slowly growing camp.

They have no veil, as the only ones with the knowledge of how to create and maintain it were dead. So the remaining villagers of Yukos take shifts acting as guards. Groups of three patrol each direction of the base, with two stationed in the central near a few tree homes. They switch out a group in each direction every two hours, rotating out their small numbers.

All those able bodied are required to take at least two shifts a day, and those not solid enough have taken to weaving cots and clothes and foraging nearby.

It will be a hard few months, but Dafiel has something that may speed things up. Onesians are too proud of their regional heritage to ever risk merging with other villages, but Dafiel thinks traveling to one and attempting to learn from their elders would help immensely.

The Onesians pass down culture and wisdom orally, so there wasn’t much remaining in the elders’ compound that he could use. But he did find a few maps, granted most of them are really old and worn from skin oils and just general wear that he can barely make them out.

But if he goes scouting every few days and figures out the positions of the visible markings, he thinks that he can pinpoint specific villages. This could very well be their saving grace. It’s what he’s holding onto.

It’s all he has really.

Because when he looks around at his people, he knows that he does not see warriors. They are survivors, yes, but his people are not meant for a life outside of their veils. They need that security. He needs that security.

Dafiel knows what he’s to spend his two free hours doing. Night has fallen and most have crammed into trees, ready for the sky to light up again. He should spend this short amount of time eating and then sleeping so that he has the energy to be alert and agile when he enters rotation again.

But he just can’t make himself abandon his short journey.

Just a few feet past the boundary of their camp is a huddle of shrubs surrounded by tall and wispy grasses. He parts the branches and looks into it. “Lilian… You need to eat, please come out.” She doesn’t move. She doesn’t make a noise. If he could see her eyes, he knows that they wouldn’t have even blinked.

Dafiel is unsure if her state is the aftereffects of the sickness or a byproduct of losing the elders and failing the mission she was tasked with. What he does know is that she can’t go on like this forever.

She’s wasting away.

She’s dying.

Dafiel reaches out, his fingers just barely brushing against her covered shoulder. At first, he thinks he’s just hearing things. But then it comes again. The sound of her voice. “I can’t eat.” Her voice is weak, but it makes Dafiel’s heart race painfully.

He swallows, his eyes burning. She hasn’t spoken in weeks. “What do you mean? I can bring you anything you want, right now. Just tell me what you need!” He steps into the ring of bushes, pushing himself down next to his old friend. His Lily.

It doesn’t take long for his excitement to wear off. Lilian’s lips, thin and cracked, bleed with the effort of speaking. Her trembling hands raise, and Dafiel sees a symbol, inked in black, stamped across both of her palms. He knows that symbol. “There was something in her,” She croaks out.

Dafiel doesn’t have to ask who she’s referring to. “I- How did she do it?” Lilian’s once bright brown eyes look up at him. The skin around them is dark, the whites of her eyes have gone gray, her irises milky, as if the sickness hasn’t fully left her. “How did she get into my head?” He has no words for her as his eyes travel across the rune tattooed to her palms.

Tanitha’s voice floats into his head.”Thiwai”. She had never explained its meaning, but he understood enough from her mood when she spoke it to know that it meant something heinous. “Every time I close my eyes, I see her.” Her bleeding lips tremble. “Every time I try to eat, she’s here, forcing my hand down. Daffy! How did she do it?!”

He’s hit with the realization that he knows nothing. He recalls the conversation that he had with Tanitha the first night she stayed in the village. He sees now that he was naive to think that knowing what was beyond the veil was pointless. He has no understanding of what’s going on, of what’s going to happen to Lily. And he has no one he can go to.

No one except…

Lilian cries, and Dafiel lets her tears soak his stained and worn top. Her bones clink together as her shoulder shake. Lily has been reduced to skin and skeleton.

And there’s no one that can help her except the person that cursed them all.