The Omen of the East

The night was heavy, suffocating, as if the sky itself was holding its breath. The stars, usually so bright, seemed to have faded one by one, leaving behind an unsettling darkness. In the village, whispers spread like wildfire. Words that sent shivers down spines were murmured: "Nothing will happen to him if he returns. Bring him to us, and we will see what really happened."

But that wasn’t all.

A strange cloud, shaped like a horn, loomed on the horizon, coming from the East. An omen, the elders said. A bad omen. "I bet you a month’s worth of dinners that we’ll have bad news before sunrise," one of them muttered, eyes fixed on the ominous shape.

Oh, but this was no time for jokes. "No, no, no, don’t worry, Lira," a trembling voice replied. "You’ll never be my soup. I need your help."

The help in question? A sorcerer. Not just any sorcerer. The great sorcerer Malther, known for his mysterious powers and a temper as sharp as a boiling cauldron. "Sorry, I’m as sour as a pot and as naked as the child just born," he declared, without a hint of humor.

But why was he needed? What was brewing in the shadows? Why did that horn-shaped cloud seem to herald the arrival of something… or someone?

The villagers exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes filled with fear. "You said you asked the great sorcerer Malther to come?" one of them whispered, their voice barely audible.

Yes, Malther was on his way. But what would happen when he arrived? Was he coming to save them… or to seal their fate?

The wind picked up, carrying with it a sinister murmur. The horn-shaped cloud seemed to inch closer, slowly but surely. And in the darkness, something stirred. Something that should never have returned.

Before the sun rose, the village would face a terrifying truth. A truth that would change everything forever.

Stay tuned. The night is far from over.

And Malther… Malther is coming.

But is it already too late?

The village square was eerily silent, save for the occasional crackle of torches struggling to stay alive in the damp night air. The horn-shaped cloud now dominated the sky, its edges glowing faintly, as if lit by some unseen fire. The villagers huddled together, their faces pale, their breaths shallow. No one dared to speak above a whisper.

Lira, the young woman who had been addressed earlier, stood at the center of the group, her hands clenched into fists. She was the one who had called for Malther, the sorcerer. But now, as the weight of the night pressed down on them, she wondered if she had made a grave mistake. "What have I done?" she thought, her eyes darting toward the eastern road.

The road was empty, but not for long.

A faint sound echoed in the distance—a rhythmic tapping, like the slow, deliberate steps of someone—or something—approaching. The villagers froze, their eyes widening in unison. The sound grew louder, closer, until the figure of Malther emerged from the shadows.

He was exactly as the stories described: tall, gaunt, with a cloak that seemed to writhe around him as if alive. His eyes glowed faintly, like embers in the dark, and his expression was unreadable. In his hand, he carried a staff carved with runes that pulsed with a faint, otherworldly light.

"You called," he said, his voice low and gravelly, like the grinding of stones. "And I have come. But know this—I do not serve for free."

Lira stepped forward, her voice trembling but resolute. "We need your help. Something is coming. Something… terrible."

Malther’s gaze shifted to the horn-shaped cloud. For the first time, his expression flickered—a brief, almost imperceptible hint of unease. "The Omen of the East," he muttered. "I had hoped never to see it again."

The villagers exchanged nervous glances. "What does it mean?" one of them dared to ask.

Malther turned to them, his eyes narrowing. "It means that the veil between worlds is thinning. Something ancient, something forgotten, is trying to break through. And if it succeeds…" He trailed off, but the unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

"Can you stop it?" Lira asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Malther’s lips curled into a grim smile. "Perhaps. But the cost will be high. The ritual requires a sacrifice—a life for a life. Are you prepared to pay that price?"

The villagers recoiled, their faces pale. Lira, however, stood her ground. "If it saves the village, then yes. We have no choice."

Malther studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Gather what I need: a silver dagger, a vial of blood from each household, and a lock of hair from the eldest and youngest in the village. And hurry—we have little time."

As the villagers scrambled to fulfill his demands, Lira stayed behind, her heart pounding. "What happens if we fail?" she asked.

Malther’s expression darkened. "If we fail, the Omen will consume us all. The horned shadow will descend, and the village will be lost to the void. But failure is not an option."

The wind howled, carrying with it a faint, mournful wail. The horn-shaped cloud seemed to pulse, its glow intensifying. In the distance, a low, guttural growl echoed, sending shivers down everyone’s spines.

Malther raised his staff, the runes blazing to life. "It’s here," he said, his voice cold and steady. "Prepare yourselves."

The ground beneath their feet began to tremble, and the air grew thick with a suffocating energy. From the shadows beyond the village, a pair of glowing red eyes appeared, followed by a massive, hulking figure. Its form was indistinct, shifting and writhing as if made of smoke and shadow, but the horned silhouette was unmistakable.

Lira’s breath caught in her throat. "What… what is that?"

Malther’s grip tightened on his staff. "The Harbinger," he replied. "The one who heralds the end. Stay behind me, and do not falter."

The Harbinger let out a deafening roar, its voice shaking the very earth. The villagers screamed, some fleeing in terror, while others fell to their knees, paralyzed by fear.

But Malther stood firm, his staff raised high. "By the ancient pact, I bind you!" he shouted, his voice ringing out like a thunderclap. "By blood and bone, by shadow and light, I command you—return to the void!"

The runes on his staff flared brighter, and a beam of light shot toward the Harbinger. The creature shrieked, its form writhing as the light engulfed it. For a moment, it seemed as though the ritual was working.

But then, the light began to flicker.

Malther’s face twisted in frustration. "The sacrifice!" he barked, turning to Lira. "Now!"

Lira hesitated, her heart pounding. She looked at the silver dagger in her hand, then at the terrified faces of the villagers. "I… I can’t," she whispered.

Malther’s eyes blazed with fury. "If you do not act, we all die!"

The Harbinger roared again, breaking free of the light. It lunged forward, its massive claws slashing through the air.

And then, everything went black.

To be continued…