A booming declaration resounded across the void, calling each of their names in turn. Then came the blinding light, a merciless glare that assaulted their vision, forcing their eyes shut under its unbearable brilliance.
One by one, the overwhelming radiance faded, allowing them to cautiously reopen their eyes. Nathan was the first, squinting into the lightless air, followed gradually by the rest. What greeted their gaze was a vast clearing teeming with people, men and women of varying ages, clothed in archaic, almost medieval garb.
"The hell...? Where are we?" Rory muttered, voicing the question lingering in everyone's minds.
The crowd, villagers, judging by their humble attire, halted whatever they had been doing and began to approach, curiosity etched onto their faces. They surrounded the group of five, whispering among themselves in a language none of the newcomers could recognize.
"Hgheg, iwghe mndh ksgjwo qiowp aftsiw," one of the villagers said, his voice carrying a tone of authority, but his words were utter nonsense to the foreign ears.
Another stepped forward, and unlike the others, he stood out. Shorter by a notable margin, his hunched back gave him the appearance of frailty, though the air around him seemed to command respect. His face bore the wisdom of age, deep creases, tired eyes and he carried himself with the same gravity as someone important. The villagers instinctively parted for him, creating a pathway as he shuffled toward the five strangers.
He spoke. "Hughu."
Still unintelligible.
This wasn't supposed to happen. Language barriers were never mentioned when Awakeners first arrived in Origin Expanse. If this was a common occurrence, surely it would have been documented. Nathan didn't know everything about this place, but someone, anyone, would have brought that up.
Suddenly, a new message flashed before their eyes:
Ah. That explained it.
"Heroes," the elderly man said again, this time with perfect clarity. "I, Tullus Potnovard the village chief, extend my greetings to you."
With those words, he bowed deeply, his frail frame bending nearly to the knees. The gathered villagers followed in unison, mirroring his gesture with solemn reverence.
The five stood dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond to such a display. Confusion, disbelief, and discomfort battled silently within them.
—
They were soon escorted to the village chief's quarters, a modest wooden structure at the heart of the settlement. Tullus led them inside, his loyal aide keeping close by.
"Please, come in. Sit, sit," Tullus urged warmly, gesturing to the woven mats on the floor. "Forgive the lack of proper furniture. I regret the discomfort."
Nathan hesitated. Something about this hospitality was unsettling. No one simply offers this much respect without expecting something in return. The term "heroes" wasn't just ceremonial, he saw it for what it was? A trap burdened on them.
And from the way the villagers looked at them, that burden was immense.
No... Nathan's instincts were screaming. There was a catch. And it wasn't going to be a minor one.
"So, Sir Tullus," Subaru began, already seated and surprisingly at ease. "Why did you call us heroes?"
"Please, just Tullus will suffice," the old man replied gently.
"You speak of us as heroes, but you don't even know us," Nathan said, suspicion thick in his voice. "Why?"
"Hey, maybe dial it back a little," Rory interjected, clearly enjoying the royal treatment. "Can't you just enjoy this?"
But Tullus raised a hand. "No, no, it's a fair question. The young hero has every right to ask." He turned back to Nathan, nodding with approval. "Yes, there is a reason. One you deserve to know."
He paused, his eyes dimming as memories surfaced.
"For the past four years, our village has suffered. People, men, women, children. They die, one by one. Some happen in the day, others at night. No age or status is spared, not even the newborn."
The tone of his voice brought a hush over the room.
"What's the cause?" Nathan asked, cutting to the point.
Tullus arched a brow. "Astute, young hero. But the truth is, we don't know. No tracks, no sounds, no explanations. It simply happens."
The others leaned in now, their unease growing by the second.
"And you haven't tried leaving?" Marvelous asked, eyes narrowing.
For a village under threat, the place looked well-populated. Surely they could have fled to safety?
In response, Tullus rose, supported by his aide. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a strange spiral-shaped mark etched into his skin, like a curse branded in flesh.
"This," he said, voice grim, "is the mark of the omen. We call it the Whispering Wake. Any villager who bears it, myself included, cannot cross the village boundary. It is not a matter of will. We physically cannot."
That made sense. If escape was impossible, they were all prisoners to this curse.
"So... how exactly are we supposed to help?" Nathan asked, frowning. "We're no different from your villagers right now. What makes us any more capable?"
The question hung in the air like smoke.
"We do not know," replied the aide, stepping forward for the first time. A man in his late thirties, his tone carried a quiet resignation. "Two years ago, hope had all but died until a seer visited."
Nathan felt a chill run down his spine.
He knew where this was going.
"The seer knew of our plight," the aide continued. "And he told us that two years from then, five heroes would arrive from beyond our world. Travelers, he called them. They would break the curse and free us."
Tutorial Quest: The Whispering Wake
The village of Oakheart has endured years of loss under the unseen hand of the Whispering Wake. Its victims vanish without reason, leaving only sorrow behind.
Through years of agony, a prophecy was spoken, five heroes would arrive from another world to put an end to the suffering.
Participant: Nathaniel Lockwood
Quest Rank: Calamity
Objective: End the Whispering Wake. Survive the trials to come.
Reward: Talent Awakening
Failure Conditions:
Possible extinction of Oakheart Village
Slim chance of survival
—
Nathan stared blankly at the message sent to each of the foreigners, a deep pit forming in his gut.
Yep. His instincts had been spot-on.
This wasn't kindness. It wasn't luck.
It was a loaded gun shoved in their hands.