Gordon scanned the area, spotting a large, shady tree with sprawling branches. It looked like the perfect spot to relax. He strolled over, settled down in the cool shade, and stretched out beneath the leaves. A gentle breeze rustled the foliage, creating a soothing, whispering sound. He closed his eyes, savoring the peaceful atmosphere and the feeling of the cool earth beneath him. He allowed himself to simply be, to enjoy the moment of tranquility before the inevitable chaos of the village intruded once more.
Gordon drifted off to sleep, the gentle rustling of leaves lulling him into a deep slumber. His dreams, however, were far from peaceful. He found himself sitting in a room that was both familiar and foreign. It was filled with an eclectic mix of furniture: sturdy wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and towering cupboards overflowing with books. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and leather.
In front of him stood a man, tall and imposing, dressed in elegant, luxurious clothing that spoke of nobility. His posture was regal, his expression serious. He was speaking to Gordon, his lips moving, his voice resonant, but Gordon couldn't understand a single word. The language was completely alien, a torrent of unfamiliar sounds that washed over him, leaving him confused and disoriented. He strained to understand, but the words remained incomprehensible, a frustrating puzzle he couldn't solve.
Gordon was a helpless spectator in his own dream. His body moved with a disconcerting autonomy, responding to unseen forces. He felt a deep, involuntary sigh escape his lips, and a jolt of shock ran through him. The sound was unmistakably feminine, a soft, breathy sigh that belonged to a woman, not him.
The man before him, his face a mask of fury, slammed his fist on the table. The resounding crash echoed through the room, shattering the unsettling silence. "EDITH!" he bellowed, his voice filled with rage and accusation. The name hung in the air, a harsh, accusatory sound that resonated with a strange, unsettling familiarity.
Gordon's eyes snapped open, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He sat up, disoriented, his head swiveling from side to side as he tried to orient himself. The dream, with its strange language and the man's furious cry, felt vividly real. "Edith," he muttered, the name echoing in his ears. "Who is Edith?"
He shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering unease. It was just a dream, he reminded himself. A strange, unsettling dream, but just a dream nonetheless. He glanced around, noticing that the sun hadn't moved much. He had only been asleep for a short while.
He sighed, feeling a lingering sense of confusion and unease. The dream's intensity had left him feeling unsettled. He decided to try and shake it off by going back to sleep, hoping to find a more peaceful rest this time. He lay back down, closed his eyes, and drifted off once more.
This time, Gordon's slumber was blessedly dreamless, a deep, undisturbed rest. However, his reprieve was short-lived. He was abruptly jolted awake by a persistent shaking of his legs. He blinked, disoriented, and looked up to see Edi standing over him.
Edi, his former instructor from the hunter entrance test, stood with his usual stoic expression, his face utterly flat and unreadable. But even Edi's neutral countenance was enough to send a wave of nervous energy through Gordon. He knew Edi wasn't one for idle chitchat or pleasantries.
Gordon scrambled to his feet, his smile awkward and forced. "Edi! Hey, what's up?" he stammered, trying to appear casual despite the sudden awakening and Edi's intimidating presence.
Edi's voice was stern, devoid of any warmth or humor. "Gordon," he began, his tone reprimanding, "your duties are not a matter of casual observance. Proper work ethic dictates that you remain vigilant and alert, especially during daylight hours. Sleeping while on duty is unacceptable."
Gordon, still slightly flustered, attempted to defend himself. "But Edi," he countered, "I've already finished my task. I burned all the corpses and gathered the ashes. Isn't it alright to rest after completing my work?" He paused, then added, "Besides, using my power takes a lot out of me. It's mentally exhausting. I needed a moment to recover."
Edi's response was characteristically cryptic. He simply glanced at the neatly arranged ash containers, his eyes scanning the area with a clinical precision. Then, with a low, noncommittal "Hmmm," he turned and walked away, leaving Gordon standing there, utterly bewildered.
Gordon stared after him, his brow furrowed in confusion. Was that a reprimand? An acknowledgment? Or simply a dismissal? He had no idea. Edi's enigmatic behavior left him more confused than ever.
"Is that a yes? Is that a no?" Gordon muttered to himself, scratching his head. "Screw it," he finally declared, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I'm tired." He plopped back down under the shady tree, closed his eyes, and promptly fell asleep again. Edi's ambiguous departure had given him the perfect excuse to ignore any lingering doubts.
Gordon slept soundly, undisturbed this time, until the afternoon sun warmed his face. He awoke with a stretch, feeling refreshed despite the strange dreams and Edi's cryptic visit. He stood up, dusted himself off, and headed towards the hunter's guild.
Upon arriving, he reported to the desk, confirming that his duty was complete. He then made a request, his tone casual but firm. "I've finished burning the corpses and collecting the ashes," he explained, "but there's a lot of containers. I'm going to need someone to help me transport them. There's no way I'm carrying all of those by myself." He emphasized the "no way" with a slight shake of his head, making it clear that this was non-negotiable.
After ensuring that help was on the way to transport the ash containers, Gordon slipped away from the guild hall. He decided to finally check on his two sick colleagues, Thomas and Elias. He was still worried about their sudden illness, especially given his suspicion that it might be related to the curse.
He made his way to Thomas's house first, then to Elias's. He wanted to see how they were doing and, if possible, to offer some comfort or assistance. He still felt a pang of guilt for not being able to help them with the ashes, but he hoped his visit would make up for it. He also was curious if he could somehow use his new "knowledge" to help them, even if he wasn't sure how to explain it.
He arrived at Thomas's house and was greeted at the door by Thomas's mother. A middle-aged woman with a plump figure, she had slightly disheveled blonde hair and warm, brown eyes. She looked tired, but offered Gordon a gentle smile. After a few polite exchanges about Thomas's condition, she welcomed him inside, her voice filled with a quiet concern. "He's been resting," she said, leading him through the small, tidy house. "He's not been feeling himself at all."
Gordon sat beside Thomas's bedside, the room dim and quiet. Thomas lay pale and weak, his eyes heavy. Gordon offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about a thing, Thomas," he said, his voice low and comforting. "I took care of everything. The burning, the ashes, all of it. Just focus on getting better."
They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment, then began to chat about mundane things: the weather, the price of goods at the market, the latest rumors circulating through the village. It was a welcome distraction from the grim reality of their situation, a brief respite from the fear and uncertainty that hung over Oakhaven. Gordon tried to keep the conversation light, avoiding any mention of the curse or their mysterious illness. He wanted to offer Thomas a moment of normalcy, a chance to forget, even if just for a little while.
As Gordon sat beside Thomas's bed, he observed his friend closely. Despite Thomas's pallor and weakness, a sense of relief washed over Gordon. He could feel Thomas's underlying vitality, a spark of life that remained strong. He wasn't afflicted with the Ichor Curse. It was a normal illness, albeit a severe one. Thomas would recover.
This realization eased Gordon's anxieties. He had been worried that their sudden illness was linked to the curse, but it seemed he was wrong. He continued their mundane conversation, a weight lifted from his shoulders, knowing that at least one of his friends would be alright.
After a while, Thomas's mother, her brow furrowed with concern, insisted that Gordon drink a cup of her homemade herbal concoction. "It'll protect you from any lingering sickness," she said, her voice laced with a motherly insistence.
Gordon hesitated, a flicker of suspicion crossing his mind. It seemed ironic, even suspicious, that she was offering him a protective remedy when her own son was bedridden with illness. "Ah, thank you," he said, forcing a polite smile, "but I'm feeling quite well. I think I'll be alright."
He politely declined the herbal drink, making a mental note to avoid any further offerings. He then said his goodbyes to Thomas and his mother, promising to visit again soon. He left the house, a lingering sense of unease settling over him.