A Living Curse

Ash drifted through the night air like dark snow as Silen reached the edge of a shattered overpass.
From above came the distant clang of metal, then a quick, wet sound that stilled the crickets.
He drew back into the shadow of a collapsed pillar.

On the street above, three figures loomed in the dim, shifting glow of burning debris.
Their hoods masked their faces, but the glint of blades caught the lanternlight from a nearby ruin.
At their feet lay a woman, her body twisted on the cracked asphalt.
The thugs crouched over her as if studying their work, knives still wet.

One of them—tall, shoulders sharp against the smoldering skyline—spoke in a low rasp that carried down to Silen’s hiding place.
“Another voice gone. They never learn.”

Another laughed, a sound without mirth.
“Silence is the only lesson left. Different views bring nothing but more ruin.”

Their words slid through the smoky air, a bitter echo of what had poisoned the world long before the first bombs fell.
It wasn’t just hunger or lawlessness that had broken the city; it was the belief that dissent itself was a threat.
That fear had sparked the civil wars and still prowled like a living curse.

Silen’s hand tightened on the lantern handle.
The prophecy had warned of this—the lingering hatred that choked hope before it could draw breath.
He steadied his breath, forcing his body into stillness.
The monk’s path was not one of reckless violence; his mission demanded patience and a mind clear as water.

Above, the gang melted into the haze, their dark silhouettes swallowed by the burning skyline.
Only the silent figure of the fallen woman remained, a stark emblem of the challenge ahead.

Silen bowed his head, a single whispered prayer slipping from his lips.
“May the new dawn come, though night is long.”

He turned from the scene, heart heavy but resolve sharpened.
The encounter was a reminder: Aurelian’s quest—and the monk’s own—was not merely to survive the ashes, but to confront the shadow in the human heart that had started the collapse.

Somewhere beyond the ruins, the prophet walked.
And together, when the time came, they would have to face a darkness deeper than the fire-lit streets above.