ANATHEMA - Inferno's Vow

Chapter III: Echoes Of The Ashes

In the summer heat, planted between the rolling hills of the sprawl of Sylrel, was a well. Made of stone and mortar, its base was cracked and covered in moss and mildew. On the posts holding up its weathered roof was the rune of Valor, the town's patron deity, now faded and battered by time, and an old metal crank. Weary and worn, the crank was covered in layers of rust and erosion from years of neglect.

Ander, having completed a jaunt out to the well with the goal of fetching water, stopped to collect his breath under the morning sun. Much like the day before, the heat was relentless, burning his skin with its harsh rays. The surrounding fields, often strewn by Feylings and farmers, were barren of life, besides the dry crops that grew there. He leaned against the stone base of the well, feeling the combined stress of the sun and his pack, challenging his endurance, both physical and mental. But he had made it—that was all that mattered.

He approached the well and the crank mounted on its side. Stopping before it, he reached around his back and unstrapped a hanging glass container, placing it upon the rough stone surface of the well. With both hands, he gripped the iron crank and pulled back with the might of his tired muscles.

But the crank refused to budge. Not even a fraction of an inch.

He released the crank from his grip, rolling out his wrists as he eyed it with annoyance. It wasn't uncommon for it to lock up, especially during the mornings when it hadn't seen much action. Resolute, he took up the crank again, pulling with his body weight.

*Creak*

It shifted, but just barely. It appeared as though the added force of Ander's mass was just enough to get it to rotate, and thus the young man again pulled on the crank, seeking to loosen it even further.

*Creak*

*Creak*

*Snap*

He was thrown onto his back, unable to catch himself as the crank roared to life. However, even as the instrument broke free of its rust, the rope connecting it to the bucket snapped. He could hear the sound of the cord plummet, before hitting the water reservoir at the bottom of the well. Fearing he had made a grave mistake, he bolted up onto his feet and leaned against the well, staring down its length. He saw nothing but a black abyss staring back at him from the depths of the well, having consumed the water-fetching mechanism without a trace. It groaned with the echoes of the rope's impact, sloshing about before returning to still silence. There was a faint wind through the planes, and nothing else.

As Ander grappled with the broken well, he noticed something else amiss. His glass container had disappeared. He looked down at the parched earth but found no trace of its existence. The glass had vanished into thin air, and upon reaching around to check on his pack, he noticed it wasn't the only thing gone.

His bag, much like the glass, was nowhere to be found.

The worry within him morphed into something darker, more akin to a foreboding sense of dread. The sky above, which had been clear not a moment prior, had become infected with dark clouds, swirling about a central eye as the wind picked up. It bled through the rows of wheat and barley, their rustling like a muted choir of voices, calling out to the young man. Ander began to sweat, confusion and unease boiling within him.

High above, there came the booming echo of thunder, crashing through the sky. The clouds grew ever grimmer, blocking out the last remaining beams of light cast down by the sun. Shadow covered the land, save for a faint glow emanating from the stone and wooden structure.

Billowing out from the depths of the well came plumes of smoke, rising up and spilling over the slanted roof. Red and orange reflections of flames danced off the wet stones inside the well. Smoke continued to crawl into the sky, and as he began to step back from the ominous sight, a bolt of lighting was thrown down from the heavens, striking the wooden roof in an inglorious display. It fractured in an instant, sending bullets of debris in his direction as he was again cast onto his back. The winds turned into relentless gails, rushing past his ears, and pulling at his hair. Shadows grew from the base of the well, looming over the boy as he cowered in fright.