Chapter 97: The Curse Unleashed
It began the next morning.
A scream shattered the calm.
The village elder's wife had found her husband collapsed in the garden, his eyes wide open but unseeing, his mouth agape yet unable to utter a sound. He could no longer speak. Could no longer see. Just stared blankly into space as if his soul had been snatched away.
By midday, another shock followed.
Old Tamor, once a proud hunter known for his strong voice and even stronger opinions, stripped himself bare and ran through the village square, shrieking about fireflies in his blood and flowers growing from his ears. Children cried. Women screamed. Men tried to catch him, but he slipped through their arms like a ghost.
That evening, the horror deepened.
A man's body was discovered hanging from the tree at the village edge—head twisted unnaturally downward. His body was torn open, organs dangling like grotesque streamers. His brain had burst from his skull. Blood soaked the bark and ground beneath. Even the bravest of warriors turned away, retching.
Panic spread like wildfire.
And the tragedies didn't stop.
Farther down the village path, a house burned to ash in the dead of night. An entire family—parents, children, even the newborn baby—perished in their sleep. No one had seen the flames until it was too late. The ashes were still warm when the villagers gathered around them at dawn.
Then came the midwife.
She had been one of the last who remembered the birth of a nameless boy thirteen years ago. She had once whispered about the strange heart-shaped scar over the baby's ribs. She had told others, urged them to act.
That morning, she was found cold in bed, white foam bubbling from her lips. Her fingers were curled inwards as though she'd tried to claw her own throat in her final moments.
Elara stood stiffly in the square, heart pounding.
Ariella stood beside her, eyes darting between the panic-stricken villagers. "This isn't random."
"I know," Elara said, her voice sharp. "I've been watching. Every person who's died… they were involved in Mira's banishment. Some mocked her. Some turned her away. Some—like the midwife—shamed her publicly."
Ariella's brows furrowed. "You think this is revenge?"
Elara nodded grimly. "I think Albert is Mira's child."
A hush fell between them.
Ariella whispered, "The baby she held as she begged for mercy…"
Elara looked toward the center of the chaos. "He didn't come by chance. He's not here to dance or eat cake. He's here to punish."
"We need answers," Ariella said.
"We need the Queens."
They left the village at once, slipping through the trees and scaling the familiar cliff path to the ancient crevice where magic always stirred. The breeze was cold, charged with warning. They stepped inside the hollow cave-like space and knelt before the old altar of stone and root.
"Guardian," Elara called.
The earth trembled faintly. The roots in the ceiling glowed pale blue, and the air turned dense, as if listening.
A deep growl rumbled through the stone. "What do you seek, daughters of fate?"
"To summon the Queens," Ariella said. "There's danger. It wears the face of a stranger but carries the pain of our past."
Silence.
Then the roots coiled tighter, and a gust of wind swept through the crevice like a breath from another world.
"They will come to you," the Guardian said, "but not now. Wait. Tonight."
The girls left, the weight of prophecy pressing down on their shoulders once again.
That night, as they lay apart in their separate homes, sleep crept slowly. And when it came, so did the vision.
The sky was a swirl of stars and mist. The Blue and White Queens stood on a mirrored lake, their robes flowing like liquid starlight. Their eyes were grave.
"You were right to seek us," said the Blue Queen.
The White Queen nodded. "Albert is not what he seems."
The girls stepped forward in the dream. "Who is he?"
The Queens raised their hands. The mist shifted, revealing a scene.
A young woman, barefoot and bleeding, clutching a crying infant against her chest. She screamed for help. Faces peered through shutters. Doors closed. Stones were thrown. Words were spat.
"Witch."
"Curse."
"Get out."
The woman, Mira, stumbled away with the infant—into the woods, into the cold.
But the Queens didn't stop there.
They showed Mira wandering alone through the dense forest, her legs trembling with exhaustion. The baby cried and cried, but Mira clutched him tightly to her chest. Then, just as she collapsed near a twisted tree, something moved.
The tendrils.
Blue-black, glowing softly with strange light. They snaked from the roots, gently weaving themselves around mother and child. They shielded them from the wind. Fed Mira's fading strength. Kept wild animals at bay. And for days, even in silence, the tendrils cradled them both like guardians of sorrow.
But the cold never left.
And Mira's strength waned.
One final night came, bitter with frost. Mira leaned back against a tree stump, cradling her now one-year-old boy. Her lips were cracked. Her hands stiff. She didn't speak anymore.
The baby stirred, his little hands pressing against her chest.
Then, with a faint, raspy voice, he said, "Mama…"
His first words.
Not because he understood—but because hunger clawed at his belly.
Mira opened her eyes weakly, tears freezing on her cheeks.
Then they closed… and never opened again.
The tendrils shimmered around the child, lifting his tiny body from her side after the child had cried himself to sleep beside the mothers lifeless body.They cradled him gently—quiet, mourning.
Elara's hand flew to her mouth.
Ariella sobbed.
The White Queen said softly, "This is the pain Albert was born into. A grave for a cradle. A whisper for a lullaby."
"He never had a name," the Blue Queen added. "Until the shadow gave him one."
The image shifted.
The boy now sat beneath a charred tree, older, expression hollow. Smoke danced around him. Then came the voice: "You are mine now. My son. My revenge."
The White Queen's voice returned. "Shaza raised him from grief. Molded him with rage. But he is not lost."
The Blue Queen stepped forward. "You must reach him. If you can break through, he may turn against the shadow."
"And if we can't?" Ariella asked.
The Queens fell silent.
Then the White Queen said softly, "Then your world will burn."
The mist thickened, drowning the dream in silence.
Elara awoke with a gasp, sweat pooling at the base of her neck.
The first light of dawn bled into the sky. Chickens stirred. A rooster crowed in the distance.
She met Ariella under the tree by the well without speaking a word.
They had both seen the same thing.
Elara took a deep breath. "We have to find Albert."
Ariella nodded. "Before the next death."