Chapter 2 — Ashes of the Forgotten
50 Years Ago — Valmora, Abandoned Church
The sky was bruised black with ash and fog as a lone rider approached the edge of the city. His stallion, sleek and silent, trotted toward the charred remains of a chapel — its stone cross split in half, its bell long silenced.
He wore a long obsidian coat over a crisp dark suit, a silver insignia glinting from his collar: the mark of the Ferrum Votari — an ancient order sworn to destroy what should not exist.
He dismounted slowly, leather boots crunching glass and gravel. Inside the church, smoke clung to the broken pews. Candles had melted into wax puddles. The altar was cracked.
He wasn't here to pray.
He was here to prove if the whispers were true.
For days, he had roamed Valmora's veins — alley to alley, ruin to ruin. All quiet.
Until one night…
Screams.
Dozens of them.
He followed the chaos down foggy streets, heart pounding beneath layers of steel.
People ran. Tripped. Fell. Died.
Their mouths hung open, eyes wide, voices stolen.
He unsheathed his blade.
Then, from the mist — shadows moved.
Tall. Faceless. Dagger-wielding creatures of smoke. Silent. Swift.
He swung his sword — it passed through the spirit.
No blood. No reaction. No death.
The demon turned its eyeless face toward him. He stepped back.
"Steel doesn't work…?"
Another figure appeared. Then another. And another.
He panicked — threw his blade, turned, ran.
One spirit chased him, gliding like death itself.
He reached into his coat, pulled a wooden relic etched in Latin.
He spun, shouted a verse — the relic pulsed.
Flames swallowed the spirit mid-flight.
It shrieked.
He didn't stop to watch. He ran, drawing another relic.
He fought. Burned two more. Dodged blades. Cursed the fog.
But they were endless.
A blade found his ribs.
Blood. Cold. Numb.
He fell to his knees.
Still breathing. Still fighting. Still...
> "I confirmed it... The curse is real..."
His head tilted back.
The last thing he saw was the spire of the dead church.
Then darkness.
[Black screen.]
---
Present Day — Valmora, River Side Village
Chaos erupted. Screams. Blood. Smoke.
Leo sprinted through the village paths — too late.
A home burned. A child's toy floated in a red puddle.
A family — gone.
He dropped to his knees.
> "Again..."
He clenched his fists, eyes flickering with grief and fury.
---
Valmora — Alchemist's Tavern
The noise inside was deafening — laughter, shouting, broken glasses.
Leo sat in silence. One hand on his cup. The other on his blade.
His face unreadable. His eyes storming.
Ten men burst through the doors — rowdy, half-drunk, looking for a fight.
Guy 1:
> "Hey, look who's here. The cursed hunter himself."
Guy 2:
> "Heard he talks to ghosts. Sleeps with them too."
They laughed.
Leo said nothing.
Guy 3:
> "What's the matter, sword boy? Dead inside like the folks you couldn't save?"
Leo looked up, voice flat as steel:
> "Walk away."
They didn't.
Guy 1:
> "Make me."
He reached for Leo's drink.
Too slow.
Leo moved — fluid, brutal.
An elbow shattered a jaw. A foot cracked a knee. One blade stolen mid-swing and turned.
The room turned quiet as the brawl turned bloody.
Patron 1:
> "He's not human..."
Patron 2:
> "That's him. The man who faced the Whispering Curse."
Leo stood amidst broken bodies.
He finished his drink.
Stared back at the crowd.
Then walked out without a word.
---
[Black screen.]
Elina's Cottage — Woodland Edge
Soft light trickled through the windows.
Elina searched a cabinet, humming softly.
She opened a drawer — and a photograph fell.
She stared.
A picture of her family. Younger. Happier.
Leo stood beside her. Her parents behind them.
Her hand trembled.
---
[Flashback Begins]
Sunlight. Laughter.
Leo running through tall grass. Their mother singing. Their father carving music from a wooden flute.
A picnic. Wind. Joy.
A world long gone.
---
> "Ma!"
Her daughter's voice snapped her back.
She turned.
> "Coming, love."
She tucked the photo into her coat and opened the door.
They stepped outside.
She hugged her daughter tightly.
They drove off.
---
[Black screen.]
Valmora — Unknown Manor
Candlelight flickered.
A woman sat by the window, skin pale as moonlight. Eyes deep as void. Ageless. Watching.
She whispered to herself:
> "So... the city bleeds again."
A hooded servant approached.
Servant:
> "Mistress... shall we act?"
She smiled — slow, cold.
> "No. Let the curse crawl."
> "Let them remember what silence costs."
She raised a finger — and the candle's flame dimmed.
> "Let the book remind them all."
[Black screen.]