Aiden had settled in the most secluded corner of the cellar, leaning against bags of moldy grain, the grimoire resting on his knees. Around him, the other survivors had gradually fallen asleep, their steady breathing creating a symphony of whispers in the confined space.
But he felt no fatigue. It was strange, after that mad dash, that adrenaline rush, that panic-stricken fear, he should have collapsed from exhaustion. Instead, he felt... alert. As if his body had recovered in a way that defied all logic.
System? he thought, wondering if he could communicate mentally with this mysterious entity that had brought him here.
The familiar blue screen appeared before him, transparent and silent so as not to wake the sleepers.
[IN STORIES, THE HOST DOESN'T NEED TO SLEEP]
And that was all. No explanation, no details. Just this terse sentence that explained why he could stay awake while his body should have demanded rest.
Convenient, Aiden thought with a hint of irony. At least I won't be dead weight during this mission.
He remained motionless for a few hours, letting his body recover from the physical effort even though his mind remained perfectly lucid. The muscle tension gradually decreased, the aches faded, and he felt capable of action again.
But the atmosphere in the cellar had become unbearable. He could feel the sideways glances, the whispers that stopped as soon as he moved, that muffled mistrust that poisoned the air like toxic gas. These people were afraid of him now, and he couldn't blame them. How could he explain his abilities without revealing secrets that would sound like pure madness?
I can't stay here, he realized. They don't trust me anymore, and I can't tell them the truth. It's a vicious circle.
He got up silently, tucked the grimoire under his jacket, and headed toward the ladder leading to the trapdoor. But before leaving, he had to try one last time.
- "Thomas?" he whispered.
The old man immediately opened his eyes, as if he hadn't really been sleeping.
- "What is it, kid?"
- "I'm leaving again. I'm going to look for more clues, try to understand how to stop Corvus."
Thomas sat up, his face hollowed by fatigue and something else—guilt, perhaps?
- "Are you sure? Alone, it's dangerous..."
- "More dangerous than staying here going in circles?" Aiden looked him straight in the eyes. "Thomas, do you want to come with me?"
The old man looked away, his hands trembling slightly.
- "I... no, kid. My place is here, with the others. Someone has to protect the survivors."
Aiden nodded, disappointed but not surprised. He climbed the ladder and lifted the trapdoor, letting in a current of cold air laden with fog.
- "Good luck," Thomas murmured from the bottom of the cellar.
Aiden emerged into the silent house and headed toward the front door. Outside, the fog seemed even thicker than before, as if the night itself was thickening around the cursed village.
He had just placed his hand on the handle when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.
- "Wait!"
Thomas emerged from the staircase leading to the cellar, out of breath, his round glasses slightly askew.
- "I... actually, I'm coming with you."
Aiden looked at him, surprised.
- "Are you sure? Earlier, you said that..."
- "I know what I said." Thomas ran a hand through his gray beard, still avoiding Aiden's gaze. "But guilt would have killed me to let you die here like that. If you're going, I'm going too."
There was something in his voice, a resolution mixed with shame that intrigued Aiden. Thomas was already putting on his jacket and retrieving his enormous club leaning against the wall.
- "Thomas," Aiden said softly, "you need to tell me something. Ever since I came back from the forge, everyone's been looking at me strangely. What happened?"
The old man froze, his hand on the handle of his weapon.
- "Nothing, kid. It's just that... you came back with information that no one else managed to obtain. It makes them nervous."
But Aiden sensed there was more to it. Observing Thomas, his hunched posture, his hesitant gestures, that guilt oozing from every pore of his skin, a realization suddenly struck his mind.
My God, he thought. It can't be possible...
- "Thomas," he said slowly, "before I arrived in this village... it was you, wasn't it?"
- "What?"
- "The hero. The one who was supposed to save everyone."
Thomas froze completely. His shoulders sagged, and suddenly, he looked every bit his age.
- "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled, but his voice lacked conviction.
- "Yes, you do." Aiden approached him, speaking in a soft but firm voice. "You were the mayor, the natural leader. When Corvus arrived, everyone turned to you to find a solution. You were the one who was supposed to get us out of this."
Thomas finally looked up at him, and Aiden read immense pain in his eyes.
- "And I failed," the old man whispered. "I failed miserably. My fellow citizens died because of me. My wife... my own wife became one of those things, and I couldn't do anything to stop it."
He punched the wall angrily.
- "And then you arrive. A sixteen-year-old kid who discovers in one night what I couldn't understand in three weeks. You come back with crucial information, you survive where grown men died..."
His voice broke.
- "How do you think that makes me feel, kid? How do you think I feel, facing you?"
Aiden felt his heart tighten. He was beginning to understand the complexity of the situation. Thomas wasn't just any survivor, he was the former protagonist of this story, the one who had failed to save his world. And now, a stranger was arriving and succeeding where he had failed.
That's why the others are looking at me strangely, he realized. They're wondering why me, and not their natural leader. They're wondering who I really am to be capable of things that Thomas can't do.
- "Thomas," he said softly, "I'm not here to replace you. I'm not... I'm not even sure I know what I'm doing, to be honest."
- "Then how do you explain your successes?"
Aiden hesitated. He couldn't tell him about the system, about his true nature as a Librarian. But maybe he could tell him part of the truth.
- "Because I have nothing to lose," he said finally. "You still have people to protect. I'm alone. I can take risks that you can't afford."
Thomas looked at him for a long time, then slowly nodded.
- "Maybe. Or maybe you're just braver than me."
- "No," Aiden said firmly. "I'm terrified all the time. But I feel... I feel like if I don't act now, no one will. And I can't live with that idea."
Thomas straightened his shoulders, regaining some of his former stature.
- "In that case, let's go together. And maybe this time, we'll succeed."
They left the house together, Thomas carefully closing the door behind them. The fog immediately enveloped them, muffling their steps on the wet cobblestones.
Neither of them noticed the silhouette watching them from the shadow of a nearby building. A puppet with rigid movements, whose porcelain head followed their movements with mechanical precision.
When they had disappeared into the mist, the creature turned toward the house they had just left. Strange clicking sounds escaped from its wooden body, not the creaking of joints, but something more complex. Like Morse code composed of mechanical tics.
Click-click-click. Pause. Click-click. Long pause. Click.
And somewhere in the manor on the hill, a man in a raven mask received the message from his puppet. A terrible smile stretched his lips beneath his mask.
Perfect, he thought. My little green-eyed dreamer has finally decided to play his role. And he's even bringing the old failure with him. How... touching.
He turned toward his workshop, where two new puppets he had just finished awaited him. Perfect bodies, ready to welcome new souls.
Soon, very soon, his collection would be complete.