Enaeya

16 - A God's Curse

As the sun spilled its golden light over the elven city of Liriendel, I wasn't only bathed in warmth, but also wrapped in uncertainty. Like a well-crafted tapestry, my life was woven with laughter and randomness - yet its threads were frayed, leading nowhere. With black hair that fell lazily over my forehead and grey eyes scanning my surroundings, I often thought of myself as a jester in a court where the king had gone missing long ago. Today, however, laughter was the last thing on anyone's mind.

"Misha, wait up!" I called after the shaman's young apprentice, barely keeping pace with his hurried strides. Worry carved lines in his youthful face - his brow furrowed, eyes darting nervously. There was a commotion emanating from outside the greenhouse, cries piercing the morning stillness and triggering an instinct in me that demanded I run towards it, rather than away.

"Damian! Come on!" he shouted back, a tremor in his tone.

Misha had a way of worrying that always put a damper on my attempts at humor. With his messy brown hair, wide brown eyes full of concern, and an insatiable need to fret over every little thing, he reminded me of a cornered wren flapping about chaotically. Today, that frantic flight was directed toward the shrieks that punctured the tranquility of the elven city.

We dashed out of the greenhouse, the refreshing fragrance of plants and earth forgotten as we plunged into chaos. The city spread before us, normally a vibrant tapestry of elven elegance in its spring bloom, now transformed into a scene from a nightmare. Elven guards swarmed, shouting orders, their eyes keen and urgent. Healers darted like fireflies caught in a storm, urgency twisting their graceful features. The air was thick with panic. My heart pounded in rhythm with Misha's as we pushed ourselves into the crowd. It was a jarring tableau - chaos roiling along with the cries of the afflicted.

"We need help over here!" One of the guards' voice broke through the tumult.

My heart raced, not only from the frenzy around us but from the strange tightness in my chest. The crowd thickened, and I maneuvered us closer. Panic flared in my veins as an unsettling sight caught my eyes - there, amidst the disorder, a human woman writhed on the cobbled street, veins, once bright and healthy, darkened ominously, like shadows creeping across her skin. Her raw screams echoed, making the hairs on my neck prickle. A spell of silence enveloped me momentarily, and I couldn't help but wonder if there was a hidden magic pulling at my memories - fragments lost, perhaps, in chaos like this.

Elven guards formed a protective barrier around the scene, yelling for space. "Step back! Clear the area!" Their sharp voices clashed with the desperate cries trailing from the convulsing woman.

"What's happening?" I breathlessly inquired. Misha's attention was already glued to the chaos, worry etching deeper lines onto his face. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, another shriek sliced through the air.

"Help! Another one!"

It was an elven woman, pointing to a nearby patch of grass where another human clutched his midriff, twisting as if tortured by invisible demons. My stomach churned, sensing an absurd, dreadful truth - this was more than mere illness.

"Misha, you're a shaman! You can help, right?" I spoke out loudly, but my voice felt small against the raging chaos.

Misha's pale face was set in grim determination, though panic still flickered behind his eyes and made his hands tremble. "I-I don't know if I can," he stammered, glancing at the convulsing woman. The elven doctor was already at work, rallying nearby guards, urging them to clear the area for her. Straining to hear, I caught snippets of his frantic commands, desperate for rear aids.

"We need to make room! Another human is going down! Make way!" A guard bellowed amidst the fevered cries.

And I could see it then - a man, his face contorted in agony, dropped to his knees nearby, another victim to whatever malevolent force had swept through the city. The chaos was everywhere, as if it were a living entity, snaking its way through the crowd, infecting it with fear.