The Prophecy: Withering Roots

Chapter 4: A New Reality

Morria and Mother Byagga stood frozen, hearts pounding in unison, as the silence following the tapping stretched out. The air inside the hut grew thick with the weight of their shared fear. Morria's breath hitched as she heard another faint tap, then the sound of splintering wood echoed through the room.

A window shattered.

Glass sprayed across the floor as something dark, something unnatural, hurled itself through the small opening. Morria barely had time to react before it was upon them.

The creature was humanoid, but grotesquely wrong—its body thin, emaciated, with long limbs that looked as though the flesh had rotted away in places. Bones jutted sharply from beneath mottled skin, and its sunken eyes glowed with an eerie, pale light. Its mouth stretched wide, revealing jagged, needle-like teeth, and long claws scraped the floor as it landed with a heavy thud.

It was one of the Withered.

Morria gasped, stumbling backward, her hand instinctively grasping for something—anything—to protect herself. Her mind raced, her pulse deafening in her ears as she tried to process the nightmare before her.

Before the creature could take another step, Mother Byagga acted.

With a speed Morria had never seen from the old woman, Byagga raised her walking stick high, and the pale crystal at its top began to glow. Morria watched, her breath caught in her throat, as the tendrils of wood spiraling up the staff seemed to pulse, alive with an ancient energy. The light grew brighter, and then, with a sharp crack, a burst of energy erupted from the crystal.

The Withered let out a shriek—high-pitched and unnatural—as the force slammed into it. Its already decayed body disintegrated before Morria's eyes. Flesh turned to ash, bones crumbled to dust, and within seconds, the creature had collapsed into nothing but a faint cloud of debris that scattered across the hut's wooden floor.

Morria stood paralyzed, her wide eyes locked on the pile of dust where the creature had been. Her chest heaved as she tried to regain control of her breathing, but the fear had taken hold of her body, refusing to let go.

Byagga lowered the walking stick slowly, her hand trembling slightly as the glow from the crystal dimmed.

Morria turned toward her, her voice barely a whisper. "What was that...?"

"The Withered," Byagga answered, her voice steady but laced with a tension that betrayed her own fear. "A dark god's curse made flesh."

Morria's heart was still racing, her pulse erratic, but she couldn't tear her gaze from the pile of ash on the floor. The creature—no, the thing—had been so monstrous, so far removed from anything human despite its shape.

"It was... alive," Morria muttered, disbelief coloring her tone.

"No," Byagga corrected, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look at Morria. "They are not alive, not anymore. The Withering has twisted them, it has taken every shred of life from them and left only hunger. They are drawn to power, to life... to you."

Morria's stomach churned. "To me? Why would they come after me?"

Byagga stepped closer, her face etched with a seriousness Morria hadn't seen before. "Because you are more than you realize, Morria. The Withering hunts those who can resist it."

Morria swallowed hard, shaking her head. "I'm no one. I'm just... me."

Byagga's eyes softened, and she placed a hand gently on Morria's shoulder. "You are your mother's daughter. She was a great guardian of the land, a protector against the darkness. And you, Morria, have inherited that responsibility—whether you want it or not."