Time itself seemed to falter, in stark contrast to the chaos that had consumed the village. That relentless, mechanical voice kept repeating the same cryptic phrases, echoing through the empty streets like a curse. By now, the last of the villagers had barricaded themselves in their homes.
Then, suddenly, the voice cut off.
It was replaced by another sound—an entirely different alarm. This one pulsed in harsh, rhythmic bursts, like the distorted wail of a broken siren, louder and far more unsettling than the one before.
"What in the world..." Cesar muttered under his breath as he crept closer to the village, trying to get a better look.
The streets were deserted. Most of the village guards had rushed toward the border, where those strange intruders had last been seen. Even the castle watch had been mostly recalled. The village, once full of life, had been reduced to something eerie, hollow—like a ghost town trapped between time and terror. The new alarm droned on, and beneath its sound came a voice, its message scrambled, garbled by static, the words barely decipherable.
The only sound that broke the dreadful silence was the soft tap of footsteps—slow and cautious.
Cesar moved quietly along the abandoned lanes, eyes scanning the shuttered windows and barricaded doorways. The houses looked more like tombs now, sealed shut against some invisible force.
"Hey! You there, boy!" a voice called out, sharp and unexpected.
He froze.
An elderly woman had appeared at a third-floor window of a crumbling old building. She had been about to shut the shutters when her eyes caught sight of Cesar, particularly the dark tuft of hair tinged with red atop his head.
"Didn't you hear the alarm?" she hissed, her voice trembling more with fear than anger.
Cesar stood still, caught off guard by the sudden encounter. He hadn't expected anyone to still be watching.
"Oh—uh, yes, of course! I'm heading back now," he lied, nodding quickly and taking a few steps as if to turn away.
"Good lad," she replied, already pulling the shutters closed. "But don't shout... not now."
Then came a loud bang—the window slamming shut with a force that echoed down the empty street.
He retraced his steps, though each one felt heavier than the last. The silence of the village wasn't just around him anymore—it was inside him, creeping into his thoughts, clouding his senses. The twisted stillness of the streets seemed to seep into his very soul.
Whispers. Shuffles. Echoes.
He began to hear strange sounds, faint and fleeting—just beyond the edge of clarity. Perhaps they were real, perhaps just tricks of a restless mind strained by fear. He couldn't tell. Shadows moved where there should be none.
The rustle of something—cloth? breath? claws?—came from nowhere and everywhere.
Then, a sound shattered the fragile silence.
Footsteps. Quick. Urgent. Too fast.
Cesar spun around, heart racing. The pounding drew nearer, louder with every second. Was it real this time? Or just another illusion?
No—this time it was real.
Someone was running.
From around the corner, a boy suddenly burst into view. He was fast—almost too fast to react. Before either of them could stop, they collided.
"Ah—ouch!!" the boy cried, hitting the ground hard.
Cesar stumbled back, steadying himself.
"Are you okay?" he asked, trying to sound calm despite the adrenaline still burning in his chest.
The boy looked up at him, wide-eyed, alarmed.
"Who are you?" he asked warily.
Without warning, he reached into his coat—and the glint of metal appeared—a blade, half-drawn.
"Wait! Stop! I'm not a guard!" Cesar yelped, hands raised in surrender, eyes fixed on the weapon now half-exposed.
The boy's grip loosened slightly, but his fingers remained wrapped around the hilt, still tense.
"What are you doing out here?" the boy demanded, voice tight. "Didn't you hear the alarm?"
"I... I don't live here," Cesar replied, still catching his breath. "I was just passing through."
The boy stood slowly, dusting himself off while glancing around as if expecting someone—or something to emerge from the shadows.
"You shouldn't be wandering through foreign villages," he muttered, voice urgent. "Not when the alarms are sounding."
Without another word, he turned and bolted down the road toward the north side of the village.
"Hey! Wait!" Cesar called after him.
But the boy was already disappearing into the distance.
Something—he couldn't explain what—urged Cesar to follow. A pull, quiet but insistent, deeper than curiosity. Maybe it was the alarm. Maybe it was the sword. Or maybe it was the look in the boy's eyes.
Whatever it was, it left Cesar no choice.
He ran after him.
[•••]
"Yeah... looks like four of them," murmured one of the guards into a device resembling a crude, rune-etched walkie-talkie. His voice was barely audible, strained with confusion.
"I... I can't even tell what gender they are."
The guards shifted into formation, fanning out into a wide semicircle. Their intent was clear: to contain whatever threat these beings posed—if containment was even possible.
"Call for backup. Now!" barked one of the senior guards, tension cracking in his voice.
A high-ranking officer—one of the generals stationed nearby—stepped forward. His gaze locked on the frightened guard.
"What did you see?" he demanded, noting the sheer terror etched across the man's face.
"We can't take them alone..." the guard whispered, eyes wide and unblinking.
That haunted expression was enough to shake even the most battle-hardened of the generals. Fear, raw and unfiltered, had taken root.
Across the field, several guards near the edge of the formation began to inch backward.
There was something wrong about the four strangers. They stood utterly still—unnaturally so. They hadn't moved a muscle. Yet their very presence felt like a storm waiting to erupt.
"Call for backup immediately!" shouted one of the front-line guards, his voice cracking.
Suddenly, the earth trembled.
A violent gust of wind exploded upward in a spiraling vortex—unnatural and deafening. A cyclone tore through the formation. Guards screamed as they were lifted from the ground like rag dolls, hurled through the air, bones shattering against trees, some impaled upon broken branches like discarded toys.
From within the eye of the storm, one of the four figures stepped forward, their voice calm, almost annoyed.
"Shigatsu... that wasn't necessary."
The one called Shigatsu said nothing, but the air around them shimmered, still crackling with residual power.
"They called for backup. We need to finish this quickly," said another, voice sharper now, urgent. "If a hero arrives, this could get complicated."
"You think the government cares that much?" Shigatsu replied coldly.
"We can't be sure. If they send a hero, one of the real ones—we're not ready for that. Not yet."
Back at the edge of the formation, amidst the chaos and the wounded, a surviving guard shouted over the comms.
"General! The government responded—Nation 7's hero has been dispatched to this location! This hero should be here in two minutes!!"
A ripple of hope flickered through the battered line.
But so did a deeper dread.
Whoever—or whatever those four were... even two minutes might be too long.
Within the quiet village, meanwhile, Cesar was already on the boy's trail—though he had no idea how deeply their fates were about to intertwine.