The Genesis of the Dead

Neir panted heavily as he ran frantically away from the scene of the massacre. His mind and emotions were overwhelmed and disoriented by the sheer speed with which his life had drastically changed. In one evening, his future and dreams had been snatched away like a petty pickpocket's loot.

His lungs burned as he tried to gain ground in the dense forest, fatigue creeping up on him. His ornate, beautiful robe dragged comically behind him as he sprinted deeper into the woods. Finally, exhaustion caught up, and his legs gave out from under him. He wanted to keep running, but it was impossible.

For a moment, he decided to rest and come up with a basic plan of action. First, Neir pulled a small, primitive parchment from his pants pocket and examined its contents closely. Although rough, as a scout, it was integral to always carry a map. He had hoped to use this map along with some supplies to escape, but he had never imagined such a situation. Now all his supplies were gone, and he was left with a poorly crafted map. Still, he had no choice and examined both it and his surroundings, looking for a means of escape.

The map was small and only depicted the surrounding region, yet it served as a useful reference point. North of the bandit campsite was the largest city in the region, Tenebris. Unfortunately, due to the sudden incident, he had fled west into the Orniswood Forest. Thankfully, there was a medium-sized settlement bordering the northeast of Orniswood, only a day's walk away.

If he could reach that settlement, he might be able to convince the residents to part with enough supplies to make the three-day journey to Tenebris. The only problem was getting to that settlement first. It would have been easier to leave the woods entirely, but there was a chance he would encounter one of those monsters again. The image of Wilfur being devoured replayed in his mind.

Neir decided he would stay in the woods and head toward the village, only exiting when he believed he was safe from pursuit. He tried to get up and move, but his weariness forced him back down. He was tired, hungry, and had endured a tragedy. His mind urged him to keep going, but his body refused.

Keeping his eyelids open became burdensome, and the cool breeze tempted him to close them. He didn't want to sleep, but he thought a brief rest might help. He closed his eyes and reopened them, thinking it was just a blink. When he next became aware, he could feel the first rays of the morning sun.

"Shit!" he mentally cursed, realizing he had overslept. He quickly checked his surroundings to ensure his safety and sighed in relief when he found himself unthreatened. No more rest, he had to move. Guided by the morning light, he pressed on. The woods were eerily silent, and he noticed the trees gradually becoming smaller and sparser. He must be nearing the exit, he thought.

Those abominations wouldn't appear in broad daylight, he assured himself as he continued. The further he went, the quieter it became, creating an unsettling atmosphere. As he advanced, his sharp eyes caught a glimmer in the distance. "What is that?" he wondered, unconsciously moving closer to get a better look.

Eventually, the trees parted, revealing a breathtaking sight. It was as though an invisible line had prevented any trees from crossing, forming a grove filled with dozens of different flower species. The entire area radiated a soft glow. But the truly awe-inspiring sight was the dozens—no, hundreds, perhaps even thousands—of armor sets scattered across the grove, overgrown and forgotten. Weapons, once uniform, lay abandoned and damaged. All but one.

Atop the pile of countless armors sat one almost untouched by time. It bore a single scar: a hole right where the heart should be. The ornate and intricately designed armor evoked the image of a fierce general who led his soldiers from the front. In its grip was a sword that Neir could not identify.

The blade was single-edged and slightly curved, with intricate patterns inscribed along its length that Neir could not decipher. Even with his limited knowledge, he knew this was a treasure, far surpassing the value of the robe he wore. The equipment looked exotic, unlike anything he had seen from his homeland. Its worth was immeasurable.

He had to have it. Forget the robe, this gear could be sold to royalty. He would be unimaginably wealthy; perhaps he could even earn a title. He trusted his eyes above all else, and the magic emanating from that blade was unlike anything he had ever seen.

Neir moved toward it with renewed vigor, blinded by greed. He failed to notice the figure watching him from the shadows. The figure wasn't focused on Neir's approach to the equipment, instead it was watching the robe he wore.

Neir's expression was that of a child receiving the gift of his dreams, ecstatic beyond belief. He imagined all he could do once he sold this treasure. For a brief moment, a new thought crossed his mind: why sell it at all? Why not use it himself? With this armor and blade, he could become someone of true importance. No one would ever look down on him again.

He reached out, trembling with anticipation, but before he could grasp it, a voice spoke behind him.

"There you are. What are you doing here?"

Neir's neck cracked audibly as he spun around. He recognized the figure immediately. He had fled from it and its army throughout the night. His eyes shifted to the blade of the scythe it held, and he swallowed hard.