Legend of the Black Willow: The Enchanted Sleep & The Cauldron Keepers
The air around Ashlina hung heavy, thick with the sharp scent of ozone and the subtle, rotten buzz of demon insects. They swarmed in the shadows like sharks following a blood trail—drawn to a power that shouldn't exist in a place so broken.
High above the ruined township, the ancient castle stood as a silent monument to absolute freeze-frame tragedy. When the princess had fallen asleep, the curse hadn't stopped with her. The King and Queen, the mighty knights mid-stride, the royal attendants, and even the smallest mouse in the pantry had slipped into an enchanted slumber. Thick, thorned briars had slowly crept up the stone walls, twisting so tightly and completely around the battlements that it looked as though the fortress had grown from the dark earth itself.
"Step closer," Faragonda warned, her voice steady despite the dark aura pulsating from the thorn-choked gates. "Valtor's magic is far too powerful. It cannot be undone through normal means."
Flora looked back at the writhing black vines, her heart aching for the life trapped beneath them. "How can we help, Headmistress?"
"The only way to undo Valtor’s spell," Faragonda replied, turning toward a desolate ridge where two gnarled, glowing trunks stood against the grey horizon, "is to reverse the flow of time itself. Eons ago, these two willow trees were the primary source of life for Kandrakar—a lush, prosperous land. Not like Domino."
Bloom stepped up beside Flora, her golden-red hair shifting in the ash-laden wind. "Domino is a wasteland now, but it wasn't before the Great Realm Fire," Bloom said quietly, gazing out over the burnt expanse. "It was the ancient people of the holy nation of Domino who first recognized the existence of a sacred power—the power of Soma, which flows through all things like waves rolling in upon the shores of existence. But these days..."
She trailed off, sensing the corrupted pulse beneath their feet. A shadow lurked over the purity of Soma, as if bad omens and ill tidings floated in the very air blowing through Ashlina.
A few paces away, a scarred warrior knelt by the remains of a fallen scout, examining a clean, unnatural incision across the armor. He stood up, wiping dark residue from his gauntlet.
"There's no doubt about it," he growled. "It was one of my men. But it would take the skills of a Svall to do that to a warrior of his caliber."
"That's impossible," another voice cut in from the shadows of the willow trees. "The only living Svalls left in existence are you, Scarface, Yusuke Urameshi, Prince Phobos, and myself."
"There was one more," Scarface muttered, staring into the dark treeline.
"That's ridiculous!" the voice snapped back, Phobos stepping into the dim light with a cold, contemptuous sneer. "He's dead. He has been for three years."
Yusuke Urameshi leaned against the trunk of the glowing willow, his arms crossed over his chest, listening to the dark hum of the insects gathering overhead. The demon energy in Ashlina was rising by the second, twisting the remnant Soma into something foul.
He glanced from the thorn-strangled castle to the trembling leaves of the ancient Kandrakar trees, then let out a dry, indifferent breath.
"The air in this town is thick enough to choke on," Yusuke said, flicking a small spirit-spark from his index finger to vaporize a hovering demon bug. "A sign of things to come, or maybe the danger's already here. Then again... what do I care?"
Comments
Post a Comment