THE HOLY GATHERERS

Chapter Eight: The Winds of Prophecy

Back in the cursed land of Girar, the wave of magic that had emanated from Overa rippled through the very fabric of existence. It was a subtle shift at first, but one that quickly grew undeniable. The creatures of Girar—twisted, corrupted, bound by the curse—felt it. The humans who had long been oppressed, hopeless and broken, sensed something new in the air. Even King Sola, ensconced in his dark citadel, felt the tremor in the magic.

The wind that carried the old magic from Overa swept through the land, gentle at first but gathering strength as it moved, touching every corner of Girar. For those long chained by the curse, the wind carried whispers of hope, a reminder of what once was—a life before the corruption had taken hold.

But for King Sola’s army, the wind brought only fear.

The generals and soldiers under Sola’s command had grown complacent in their power, corrupted by the curse, but now they felt the shift. The prophecy, the one they had mocked and dismissed for so long, suddenly seemed all too real. Panic began to spread through the ranks.

In the darkest corners of the land, the corrupted creatures—once human, now twisted into monstrous forms—began inhaling the wind. As they did, fragments of old memories flickered in their minds, memories of their former lives before the curse had taken them. This created a chaotic clash within them. Their current existence, filled with violence and horror, clashed violently with the memories of when they had been human, when they had loved, when they had families.

One creature, once a soldier named Kellan, who had been loyal to King Sola before the curse consumed him, collapsed to the ground, clutching his head. The wind brought back flashes of his life—his wife, his young daughter, the small farm they had shared. His clawed hands tore at the earth as his mind warred with itself. Who was he now? Who had he become?

Around him, others experienced the same torment. Screams filled the night as the creatures of Girar, for the first time in centuries, questioned the darkness that had overtaken them. Some of the corrupted creatures, maddened by the wind and the memories, turned on each other, lashing out in confusion and anger. Others fled into the forests, seeking shelter from the storm of emotions they could not understand.

In the royal halls of King Sola, the atmosphere was thick with unease. His generals and soldiers murmured among themselves, their faces pale as they discussed the strange wind that had swept across the land. Some whispered about the prophecy, while others feared that their king’s reign was coming to an end. The fear in their eyes was unmistakable.

In his throne room, King Sola sat, his face a mask of cold fury. His second-in-command, Lord Balar, knelt before him, trembling slightly as he awaited orders.

“My lord,” Lord Balar began, his voice tight with fear, “the wind from Overa… it’s spreading chaos among the men. Some of the creatures… they’re remembering who they were. It’s disrupting everything.”

King Sola’s eyes narrowed, his hand gripping the armrest of his throne. “And what of my army? Are they as weak as the rest of these fools?”

Lord Balar swallowed hard. “Some… have fled, my king. They’ve run into the forests, asking for forgiveness… as if they can somehow undo what’s been done. Others are losing their minds, turning on each other. But we’ve dealt with the traitors, my lord. We hunted them down and made examples of them.”