Chapter 79 : Whispers of the Past

Sylvie’s face lit up as she took in the bustling room, her wide eyes sparkling with excitement. She tugged on Narissa’s sleeve again.
“Finally, a nap?”


Narissa smiled but gave a quick glance toward me. “Don’t you wanna eat? Dinner?”


I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Fine.”


We booked our rooms and ordered food. The inn was lively — filled with clinking mugs, crackling firewood, and the smell of roasted meat. Laughter drifted from the next table, mingling with the low hum of casual chatter.


As we waited for our meal, I leaned back slightly, half listening to the mix of conversations swirling around.


A group of merchants discussed the market, prices rising after a poor harvest. Another group of adventurers at the corner debated over dungeon bounties — which ones were traps, which paid in gold or artifacts.


But then… one conversation stood out.


A table nearby was crowded with travelers, their cloaks still dusted from the road.


“Heard it’s spreading past Valheim now,” one said grimly. “That sickness — the Hollow Sleep.”


Another scoffed. “Spreading that far? Nonsense.”


But the first man’s tone didn’t waver. “Tell that to Erosen. Whole districts silent. People fall asleep and never wake. No fever, no pain, nothing. Just emptiness.”


Another voice, older, weary, followed. “No cure. Starts with fatigue, then silence. People stop responding, just— drift off. Don’t wake again.”


A third added grimly, “Only non-MP users die from it. Mages last longer… but even they end up hollow inside.”


The man’s mug trembled as he drank. “They say in Erosen, thirty percent of the population’s already gone.”


Sylvie frowned. “That sounds awful.”


Narissa’s eyes softened briefly. “It is.”


I leaned slightly, catching fragments between the shifting noise of plates and chatter.


Hollow Sleep…


Narissa said, “You’ve heard of it too?”


“just now,” I said quietly. “But it wasn’t this bad back then. Sounds like it’s spreading faster.”


She nodded slowly. “The world’s been unstable since the southern conflict began. Some say Hollow Sleep isn’t a disease… but a weapon.”


Sylvie shivered. “Weapon? Like magic?”


Narissa exhaled through her nose. “A kind of mana corruption, maybe. No one’s sure.”


The name stirred something faint in memory.
(Helium mentioned that once...)


“It begins like fatigue,” he’d said back then, “but it isn’t illness — something drains the will directly. Mana or spirit, maybe both.”
That was all I heard before I left that day — impatient, disinterested.


Now, hearing it again, I felt a faint pull of unease.


“They say it’s unnatural,” another voice muttered. “Like it’s feeding on something invisible.”


A pause. Then the same man lowered his tone. “Some even whisper about an artifact—”


“Excuse me!” Sylvie’s voice cut through, bright and sudden. She’d accidentally knocked her mug, spilling a bit of juice across the table.


I caught it before it rolled over the edge, setting it upright again. “Careful,” I said quietly.


“Sorry!” She laughed sheepishly. “It slipped!”


By the time I looked back, the men had already changed topic, their voices buried under the laughter of another group nearby.


I didn’t catch what came next.


Narissa smiled faintly. “You always attract accidents, Sylvie.”


“Not always,” Sylvie pouted. “Just when I’m hungry of sleep or food.”


Narissa chuckled, shaking her head.


I leaned back again, eyes narrowing slightly toward the fire. The warmth felt steady, but my mind wasn’t.


Helium warned about this once…
If it’s spreading even here, things are shifting faster than expected.


Still, I let the thought fade as our food arrived — roasted meat, bread, and a faint sweetness in the air from honeyed cider.


Narissa and Sylvie began chatting again, laughing softly about something the actor at the festival had done earlier. I only half listened, my gaze fixed on the flames.


Somewhere in that laughter and warmth, the shadow of Hollow Sleep crept quietly — unnoticed, like dusk settling over daylight.


The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of honeyed cider. Sylvie’s cheeks were flushed with excitement as she leaned close to Narissa, whispering about the colorful lanterns outside and the performers at the festival square.


I watched her, the simple joy in her expression pulling at something I didn’t often allow myself to feel — a quiet, easy happiness. Narissa smiled, indulgent, her eyes warm as she listened to Sylvie chatter on.


The inn was alive with gentle chaos. Laughter rang from nearby tables, the clatter of mugs and utensils providing a constant rhythm. A group of children chased one another in a small circle, their delighted squeals cutting through the hum of conversation.


Even the music, a soft melody of flute and drum, carried a lightness that seemed to weave through the entire room. Couples swayed slightly to the beat, and the patrons’ faces glowed in the warm lantern light.


Yet, beneath the comfort of fire and food, my attention still lingered. The Hollow Sleep rumors gnawed at the edge of my thoughts. Even here, in this cheerful room, the whispers of suffering in distant lands reminded me that danger could creep in unseen.


I caught sight of an elderly man with silver hair, sitting across the room. His hands rested over a cup of tea, and he seemed to radiate quiet calm. He began speaking, his voice soft but carrying the weight of memory.


“In every three hundred years,” he said, “our town has faced darkness—a shadow that threatened to erase us all. It was Elira Nocthym who stood against it, with no magic stronger than her will. She sacrificed herself to seal it away.”


Narissa exchanged a quick glance with me. Another story, another legend, yet somehow it didn’t feel as grim as it sounded. There was pride in the man’s tone, a gentle reverence for the bravery of the past.


“Each year,” he continued, “we gather to honor her courage, to celebrate the life she saved.” His eyes flicked around the room, resting briefly on Sylvie before returning to the cup in his hands.


I nodded, quietly absorbing the warmth of his words. “And the cost?” I asked softly, curious.


The man shrugged, a small smile touching his lips. “Some stories are better left in whispers. The world needs its memories, but not always the details.”


Narissa’s fingers tightened briefly around her cup. “Safety often demands silence.”


From across the room, a woman lifted her cup in a silent toast, her eyes glimmering with the memory of something long past. The music swelled again, the flute carrying a bright, hopeful tone that mingled with the laughter and chatter.


Sylvie’s laughter bubbled up again as she pointed toward a performer juggling fire in the corner. “Look! Look at that!”


I smiled faintly, letting the warmth of the room push the shadow of Hollow Sleep to the edges of my thoughts. For now, there was laughter, warmth, and a festival alive with life. The darkness of the world would wait a little longer.


Halden, the elder at the next table, leaned forward and nodded toward me. “Enjoy it while you can,” he said, his voice rough but kind. “Moments like these are what keep us standing when the storms come.”


I inclined my head. “I’ll remember.”


Halden leaned back in his chair, the flickering lantern light catching the lines of his face. “You know,” he said, voice soft but carrying a hint of nostalgia, “most people have forgotten the true reason for this festival.”


I tilted my head, curious. “Forgotten?”


He nodded, gesturing toward the lively square beyond the window. “The story of Elira Nocthym, her courage, her sacrifice… it was the reason this celebration began. But over the years, people replaced it with laughter, games, and dances. The darkness of the past faded from memory, and a new purpose took its place.”


Narissa’s fingers tightened around her cup, a thoughtful frown crossing her face.


Halden continued, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Now, it’s about joy, community, and living. The tale of bravery is remembered in whispers, in songs, in old stories told to children… but the fear, the shadow, the sacrifice? Those are almost gone. People needed something brighter, something to keep them moving forward.”


Sylvie, still clutching the lantern string, tilted her head. “So… the festival used to be sad?”


“A little,” Halden said with a chuckle. “But sadness is heavy. Life is easier with laughter.”


I let the warmth of the room and the soft glow of the lanterns sink in, the story of forgotten courage settling gently in the back of my mind. Even though the original reason had faded, its echoes remained, woven subtly into the celebrations — a shadow behind the light, reminding those who remembered that bravery once saved them all.


For now, though, the laughter, the music, and the firelight were enough to keep the shadows at bay.


__________


As the night deepened, the music slowed to a haunting melody, weaving through the tavern like a whisper of forgotten secrets. Shadows lengthened and mingled with the warm glow of lanterns, casting strange shapes that flickered against the wooden walls.


I glanced toward the window, noticing a gathering storm brewing on the horizon—dark clouds rolling in faster than they should for this time of year. A chill wind slipped through the cracks in the doorframe, carrying with it the faint scent of something... not quite natural.


Narissa’s eyes narrowed as she stood and looked out into the darkening streets. “The air feels heavier tonight. It’s as if the town itself is holding its breath.”


Before I could respond, a sudden hush fell over the room. The conversations died down, and every face turned toward the window. Revealing a figure cloaked in tattered black robes. The stranger’s face was hidden beneath a deep hood, but the weight of their presence pressed against the room like a storm cloud ready to burst.


The stranger’s voice, low and gravelly, carried clearly across the room:
“The lord of this town has gathered for an urgent meeting. I’ve come to escort you—your presence is required.”


Whispers rippled through the crowd as eyes darted toward the door behind the figure, waiting for who would step forward. The tension thickened like a gathering storm, and even the fireflies outside seemed to flicker nervously.


I felt a chill settle in my bones. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t just a festival anymore.


Outside, the wind howled softly, and I couldn’t shake the whispered warning lingering in the air:
“The Weeping Cycle stirs once more.”