Part I – The Broken Clearing
The night had fallen still again, but not the stillness of peace.It was the silence of a wound too deep to close, the hush that comes when even the forest does not dare to breathe.
Ahayue knelt in the ruined clearing, his hands shaking as he lifted Alusya's limp body. Her head lolled against his shoulder, strands of hair clinging to her sweat-damp face. The pale glow had finally faded from her eyes, leaving them closed in uneasy sleep. But her body twitched now and then—like something inside still stirred, pressing against the boundaries of her small frame.
He carried her carefully away from the shattered altar and laid her near the roots of a toppled tree. The ground there was soft, still warm from the struggle. He brushed dirt from her cheek with his thumb, whispering her name.
"Alusya. It's over now. You're safe."
Safe.The word felt false even as he said it. All around them lay the proof: shattered stones, claw-marks gouged into the earth, roots twisted into grotesque knots where they had strangled the living. Warriors' bodies half-buried in those same roots stared sightless at the sky. The stench of blood and ash thickened the air.
And yet she looked so small. So fragile. Just a girl who should have been laughing at riversides, weaving baskets, learning songs from elders—not collapsing with a god's voice echoing through her throat.
Ahayue's jaw clenched. He knew curses. He had lived with one his whole life. But this—this was something different. Something older, deeper, hungrier.
He dipped his rag into his waterskin and gently dabbed the sweat from her forehead. Her skin was clammy, her breaths uneven, but steady enough to reassure him she lived. The god's presence had not burned her hollow. Not yet.
As he worked, his mind replayed the moment again and again. The way her scream had ripped the air. The way vines darker than any shadow had writhed from the earth. The sound of warriors dying in terror.
And the words. That voice, twined with hers, carrying the weight of ages: I was forgotten. I was betrayed. I was starved. Now, I feast.
He shivered.
Behind him, the broken altar glowed faintly—stone veins pulsing with a dull, sickly light, like embers refusing to die. He couldn't look at it for long. The gaze of something unseen pressed down whenever his eyes lingered. As if the altar itself still watched, waiting.
Alusya stirred suddenly. Her fingers twitched against the roots, then clenched. Her lips parted, whispering hoarse fragments.
"No… please… I didn't mean…"
Her eyes snapped open, wide with terror, and she jolted upright. "Ahayue!"
He caught her shoulders quickly, steadying her. "I'm here. You're safe. It's gone."
Tears welled in her eyes. "I—did I kill them? Tell me it wasn't me."
Ahayue hesitated. What could he say? That it had been her, but not her? That she had been nothing more than a vessel, a channel for something ancient and starving? Truth would crush her. But lies… she would see through them.
"You fought," he said finally. "But you weren't alone. There was something inside you. Something that used you."
Her breath hitched. She pressed trembling hands over her face. "Then it's true. I'm… cursed. Just like you."
Ahayue's throat tightened. He remembered his own youth—mocked, beaten, spat on. He had believed he was cursed too. And maybe he was. But he had fought to find strength anyway. Andalusia had helped him find it. Now, it was his turn.
He pulled her into his chest, cradling her trembling frame. "No, Alusya. You're not cursed. You're carrying something dangerous, yes. But you are still you. Don't forget that. Ever."
She clung to him, sobbing into his tunic. "What if it takes me away? What if one day, I'm not me anymore?"
Ahayue closed his eyes. He had no answer that would ease her fear. Only a promise. "Then I'll pull you back. As many times as it takes."
Above them, the altar's glow dimmed further, sinking into shadow. But Ahayue knew it had not ended. This was only the beginning.
Part II – The Survivors' Fear
Deeper in the jungle, five warriors stumbled through the undergrowth. Their torches sputtered, casting shaky light over bloodstained faces and torn leathers. They had fled blindly at first, driven by sheer terror, but now they slowed, collapsing onto damp earth.
Breath ragged, one man ripped off his cracked helm and spat. "By the ancestors… what did we just see?"
Another, his arm twisted and bloodied, shook his head violently. "That was no fight. That was no child. That was—" His voice dropped to a whisper. "—a god."
The others flinched at the word. For a moment, only the forest's muted night sounds pressed in: the hiss of insects, the distant cry of a bird. The jungle itself seemed unwilling to draw near them.
The eldest of the group, scars crawling across his jaw, finally spoke. "We've heard tales, haven't we? From the elders. Gods that walked in the First Dawn. Gods chained and forgotten when the tribes turned to newer worship. We thought them dead myths." He stared at his blood-caked hands. "But tonight, I saw chains break."
The youngest warrior, barely past manhood, trembled. "We cannot return. Not after this. That… thing will follow. It will slaughter us all."
"Fool," the scarred one snapped. "Do you think hiding will save you? We must warn the tribe. If this power grows unchecked—" He broke off, eyes darting as if the shadows themselves might eavesdrop. "We need the chieftain. The shamans. Perhaps even the high priests. Only they might know what to do."
The others muttered uneasily. One spat into the dirt. "Or perhaps they will send us back to die in the front line again."
An argument swelled—fear sharpening into anger. One insisted they flee far from the tribe, vanish into another land where no one would know their failure. Another argued their honor demanded they report, no matter the cost. Yet another whispered that no human should stand against a god—that perhaps the only choice was submission, worship, appeasement.
Their voices rose, overlapping, echoing harshly in the jungle gloom.
Then, abruptly, all fell silent.
Something moved nearby. Not footsteps. Not breath. Just… pressure. The faintest suggestion of a whisper sliding between trees.None of them spoke of it, but each knew: the god was still near. Listening.
The youngest warrior broke first, clutching his head. "It's in my skull! I hear it—I swear I hear it!"
The scarred man slapped him across the face. "Enough! Keep your wits or you doom us all." His own voice trembled, betraying cracks in his control.
At last, they staggered on again, choosing a direction at random, torches flickering. They carried no unity, only fear. And fear would spread faster than fire.
By dawn, stories would reach the tribe: a girl-child wielding god-power, a clearing of the dead, an altar awakened. Whether twisted by terror or sharpened by memory, those stories would travel. And with them, the promise of war.
Part III – Night Whispers
Ahayue had made a small fire, shielding it behind rocks to keep the smoke low. Alusya lay on a mat of woven leaves near the flames, wrapped in his spare cloak. Exhaustion had finally claimed her. Her face, in sleep, was pale and drawn, but peaceful—almost like the child she truly was.
He sat nearby, sharpening his blade more for focus than need. The scrape of stone against steel was steady, but his eyes kept flicking to her. He could not rid himself of the image of her standing with glowing eyes, voice layered with another's. It was her face, but not her. Her voice, but not her.
He should have been afraid of her. Instead, he was afraid for her.
The fire crackled. In the distance, an owl called once, then fell silent.
Then a whisper coiled through the flames.She is mine, boy.
Ahayue froze. His hand tightened on the blade.
Do not fight it. You of all people should know curses cannot be denied. You carry one yourself, do you not?The voice was neither male nor female. It was old, frayed at the edges, heavy with longing. We are alike, you and I. Bound. Forgotten. Hungry.
Ahayue clenched his teeth. "Leave her alone," he hissed under his breath. "She's a child. She doesn't deserve your chains."
The flames guttered, shadows stretching long across the ground. And what of you? Did you deserve yours? The laugh was like crumbling stone. You cannot protect her forever. One day, she will call me again. And when she does, you will kneel as well. You will beg, and I will answer.
The fire flared suddenly, spitting sparks. Alusya stirred but did not wake.
Ahayue pressed a hand to his chest, forcing breath to steady. He would not give the voice the satisfaction of seeing him shaken. But in the hollow of his chest, he knew: this battle was not only with men or beasts. It was with something far older, and it was already inside their lives.
He looked at Alusya again. Her small hand clutched the edge of his cloak even in sleep, as though seeking reassurance. His chest tightened.
He whispered to the night: "You will not take her. I swear it."
But deep in the dark, the whisper came again—soft, amused, unyielding.We shall see, boy. We shall see.
And so, the silence of the clearing stretched on. But it was no longer empty silence. It was silence waiting to be broken.
The silence that followed was not the silence of peace.It was the silence of awe, fear, and confusion. The kind of silence where no one dared to breathe too loudly, lest it summon back the terror that had just swept through them.
The battlefield still reeked of charred earth and scorched blood. The shadows left behind by that unnatural power seemed to cling to the trees, blackening bark, staining soil, and leaving an unnatural chill in the air.
Alusya stood in the middle of it all, panting heavily, her eyes unfocused. Her hands trembled as though they no longer belonged to her. The faint shimmer of divine radiance that had clung to her skin moments ago was gone, leaving behind a girl—small, fragile, and utterly exhausted.
Yet to the survivors who had witnessed her act, she was not a girl. She was something else. Something that walked between mortal and god.
The Whisper of Fear
The survivors whispered among themselves in hushed tones, their voices jagged with disbelief:
"She… she called down the fire.""No… it wasn't fire. It was… something older. Something forbidden.""The Gods are angry at us. This girl… she is their weapon.""No—she's cursed. No mortal should hold that kind of light."
Their eyes refused to meet Alusya's, but they also couldn't look away. Some stared with reverence, others with revulsion, and more than a few with naked fear. The air was thick with an invisible dividing line: on one side stood Ahayue and Alusya, still reeling from what had just happened; on the other, the battered remnants of warriors, hunters, and tribesfolk who had somehow survived.
No one moved closer.
Ahayue finally broke the silence, her voice steady but sharp:"She is not your enemy. Without her, you'd all be dead."
But the words didn't soften the tension. They only deepened it.
Because what Ahayue said was true—and that truth was exactly what terrified them most.
Alusya's Fracture
Alusya tried to steady herself, but her legs buckled. Ahayue caught her before she fell, kneeling beside her like a shield.
"I didn't… mean to," Alusya whispered, her throat raw. Her voice cracked like dry twigs. "It wasn't me. It was… him."
Ahayue looked into her pale eyes and saw the turmoil within. "The Forgotten God?"
Alusya nodded, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. "He spoke. He said I only had to open myself, just for a moment. I thought I could control it. But once it came through… I wasn't myself anymore. It was like… like I was drowning, but burning at the same time."
Her hands clutched at her chest as though the memory itself scorched her from within.
Ahayue's heart clenched. She wanted to say something comforting, but her instincts screamed to remain vigilant. Because even though she trusted Alusya, she could not trust the thing that whispered through her.
And the survivors? They had no reason to make that distinction at all.
The Survivors' Unease
One of the tribal elders, an old man with hair braided in bone beads, finally stepped forward. His voice shook, but he forced it to carry:"This… child has touched something no mortal should. She bears the mark of a forgotten god. We must ask—what does that make her? A savior… or a curse upon us all?"
A murmur of agreement spread through the group, followed by harsh debates. Some wanted to bow to Alusya, fearing divine wrath if they opposed her. Others demanded she be cast out before her power consumed them all. A few, eyes still haunted by the charred remains of their kin, whispered that perhaps death was better than living in the shadow of such a power.
Alusya heard every word. She pressed her face against Ahayue's shoulder, trying to block them out, but the words crawled into her heart like thorns.
Ahayue stood, rising to face them, fury flashing in her eyes. "She is not a curse. She's a child who saved you. Would you repay that by condemning her?"
But her words only fanned the fire of their fear.
The Whisper in the Ash
And then—like a cruel reminder—the Forgotten God whispered again, audible only to Alusya:
See how they fear you.See how quickly mortals turn against what they cannot understand.This is why I was abandoned. This is why faith withers.But you, child… you can be different. You can be the vessel of my return.
Alusya's breathing quickened. She shook her head violently, whispering, "No. No, I don't want this. I didn't ask for this."
Ahayue gripped her hand tightly, grounding her. "Stay with me. Don't listen to him."
But the god's laughter echoed faintly in her skull, fading only after long, suffocating moments.
Choosing a Path
As night fell, the survivors refused to share the same fire with Ahayue and Alusya. They formed their own circle, casting wary glances across the flickering flames. Every shadow seemed longer, every silence heavier.
Ahayue built a small fire for the two of them, keeping her back to the forest and her hand on her blade. She didn't sleep. Couldn't sleep. Not when she knew both the survivors and the forgotten god were threats she couldn't strike down directly.
Alusya sat curled in her blanket, staring into the fire, voice small:"Maybe they're right. Maybe I am cursed. Maybe I should just… leave. So they don't have to be afraid anymore."
Ahayue's reply was sharp, like steel:"Don't you dare. You saved them, Alusya. And you saved me. I don't care if the gods themselves fear you—you're not leaving me."
Tears welled in Alusya's eyes again, but this time she smiled faintly through them.
The Survivors' Secret Council
While Ahayue kept watch, across the clearing, the survivors whispered among themselves.
"This cannot continue," one said."If we let the girl live, she will bring ruin upon us all," another muttered."But if we strike her down, what if the god within her strikes us in return?"
The elder raised his hand, silencing them. "We cannot act rashly. But nor can we do nothing. We must seek counsel… from the Moon God's seers. They will know how to deal with this child and the thing that dwells within her."
The decision was made in secret. By dawn, their course was set: they would survive long enough to reach the Moon God's domain. And then, they would decide Alusya's fate.
Dawn
When morning light broke over the forest, it did not bring warmth. It brought the cold weight of unspoken choices.
Alusya woke with the forgotten god's whisper still echoing faintly in her mind.Ahayue stretched stiff muscles, her eyes scanning the horizon.And the survivors began gathering their meager belongings, pretending to work together, though division was already carved into their hearts.
A fragile alliance bound them for now. But everyone knew—sooner or later, something would shatter it.