jcramirez Juan Camilo Ramírez

Something is hidden in the nights of a peaceful village on the edge of the world, where stands a cursed monastery, and to which a girl arrives under strange circumstances. Tempted by the apparent powers of the girl to avoid the horrors that live in the darkness, Nerus, the scholar, seeks to convince her to help him in his research and together unravel the magical mysteries hidden within the walls of the ancient sacred precinct.


Fantaisie Fantaisie sombre Déconseillé aux moins de 13 ans.

#fantasy #dark-fantasy #angels #demons #magic
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I

My name is Nerus Convixus, and I am a fugitive.

Now I live in the outskirts of Ziram, a place so remote from the world that I know the long arm of Dathcka won't reach me here, in the place where secrets hide, secrets to which I've dedicated almost fifteen years of my life.

The Creator's Essence, a knowledge that until about a hundred and fifty years ago was studied and practiced freely. Not anymore. The kings and the clergy, former guardians of this knowledge, deemed it dangerous for the common people, even for themselves, so when they didn't know how to deal with this threat, the best they could come up with was to prohibit it. Well, so be it. I am here, in Ziram, beyond the authority of kings and priests, with the firm purpose of unearthing the research of those who, over a hundred and fifty years ago, unveiled many of the secrets that I urgently need to obtain.

I only have one inconvenience to access all that power, and it's that, for a reason I have been unable to discern, I am prevented from approaching the ruins of the monastery where the grimoires, books, and manuscripts are kept that will reveal to me the secrets I so desire.

For almost two years, I have tried to enter that place, the ruins of the monastery of the ancient Order of Elyndhor, but I have been unable to do so. When my steps approach the vicinity of the hill, crowned by the vestiges of that ruinous building, a fear that sticks to my skin and shakes my soul seizes my entire body and senses.

Only once did I try to approach beyond what this abhorrent sensation allowed me, forcing my steps to continue. I lost consciousness, and by the time I regained it, the night had almost cloaked the sky with its mantle.

If there is anything worse than the sticky fear that churns your stomach, it's the night. I learned that from the first day I arrived here. You must always flee from the night and take refuge from the creatures that inhabit it, and although the inhabitants of Ziram remain reluctant to acknowledge it, I know that those nocturnal abominations live in the monastery and are related to the aura of mystery that prevents anyone from entering there.

“There's a network of caves that extends beneath the foundations supporting the building,” Isora, the herbalist, told me when I dared to confess my purpose. “I don't know anyone who has used that access because they were built during the war against the king. That was over a hundred years ago.”

She was talking about King Antenor "The Pious," the monarch responsible for the destruction of the monastery. Isora was the only one among the inhabitants of Ziram who dared to give me shelter on the first night I arrived. Since then, we started to forge a relationship that almost approaches friendship.

Upon hearing her words, I tried to appear indifferent to the valuable information Isora had given me. I know it bothers her, just like it bothers everyone else here, that I wander around the outskirts of the monastery, trying to enter that place which, with the stumps of its crumbling towers raised to the sky, overshadows the old and dented roofs of the town. A constant reminder of the price Ziram had to pay for the monks' uprising.

Seduced by what could be a clue to enter the ruins through another access, I began a frantic search that would lead me to one of the underground portals used by the besieged, but as extensive as my inquiries were, I never found the slightest hint of a hole.

And the terror was still there, extended even beyond the margins of the hill. I could feel it as I approached. What was I going to do? Fifteen years of research, a season in Damacia's dungeons for heresy, and a journey that almost cost me my life, in addition to the definitive rejection of my family, just to be stopped by a supernatural fear when I am so close to the ultimate discovery for which I have sacrificed so much.

No, it couldn't be. I refused to admit it. I had to do something to penetrate the monastery. Still clinging to the faint hope of a solution I didn't see, my eyes caught something that immediately drew my attention.

It was only a few steps away. It was the open door of a barn long abandoned. I felt my legs stiffen, not from the fear protecting the monastery's secrets. No. This was a common fear because such a sight was unusual. Who or what had opened the doors of a barn that threatened to collapse onto its own beams, worn down by time?

There was the possibility that, as I approached, I would encounter one of the creatures that roam at night, or some thug who would slit my throat upon being discovered. Nevertheless, my feet protested and propelled me towards the violated portal. I wouldn't have come this far if I were one of those people who are intimidated by common fears.

My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness that engulfed the inside of the barn, accustomed as they were to scrutinizing the details of a landscape illuminated by a sun that was still young that day. After a first glance from the safety of the threshold, I saw nothing apart from the rotten straw and a few tools scattered on the ground and covered in rust. The smell of dampness and clustered mushrooms was also usual.

It could have been the wind that opened the door, I thought, although I wasn't convinced that was the case. That barn had been tightly closed since I first saw it, quite some time ago. I was about to turn around when a slight movement, among the shadows, caught my attention. I swallowed and my nerves tensed. Whatever had opened the doors of the barn was still there, lurking in the darkness. It could be one of the creatures of the night, and although my sense of curiosity, knowledge, and experimentation was excited by the idea I had harbored for a long time of being able to capture one of those unknown creatures, I was also shaken by the primal instinct of survival.

It was my uncontrollable curiosity that led me, once again, not just one step, but five steps forward. The lump on the rotten straw moved violently, as if startled by my intrusion, but it didn't flee, and I hoped it might be a wounded nocturnal creature. If that were the case, I could capture it and, through its study, begin to understand what lived and prevented me from entering the monastery.

My excitement grew as, just three steps away from being above the creature, I noticed it stopped thrashing. Catching it was going to be easier than I had expected. Already adapted to the darkness, my eyes managed to perceive some of the details of the figure on the straw, and the feeling of disappointment pushed aside the instant I realized with perfect precision that what lay before me, lying in the hay, was nothing but a dirty girl.

I cursed without making a sound, with my fist clenched. The young woman stirred a little, and as she did, I could see she was consumed by fever. Her eyelids were tightly shut. It was clear they held a heavy sleep that didn't allow the girl complete rest. The skin of her face, paler than healthy, glistened with the sweat droplets covering it, and her short, reddish hair was no less soaked. I was sure the girl would die when the sun set. It would be best if the fever killed her; it would be the most merciful thing, because if she was exposed to the creatures of the night...

I stopped in my musings. The girl had already survived the nocturnal creatures! It was impossible, no. I must be entertaining a completely wrong idea, surely driven by the anxiety of finding the answers I needed so badly to continue my research.

I bent down and, covering my respiratory pathways with the shirt's sleeve, checked that the girl didn't have recent wounds. Her clothes were simple. She wore a long, loose tunic, a size above her frame, and linen pants that also hung from her flabby legs. She had lost her shoes, if she ever wore them, and although her skin was marked by several cuts and scrapes, none were recent.

The girl hadn't been attacked by the nocturnal inhabitants, and she must have been lying there, on the straw, for almost the same amount of time it had taken the sun to rise again in the sky. Or at least, that was my impression, and if it was true that she had survived the night, only she could offer me an answer.

I lifted her without difficulty. She weighed as much as a child, despite being the height of a teenager, and it took me no more than a few drops of sweat to carry her to my dwelling. I moistened her feverish lips with a cloth after laying her on my cot, and sure that her condition would prevent her from moving, I set off to Ziram with the purpose of sharing my most recent discovery with Isora.

18 Mars 2024 16:35 0 Rapport Incorporer Suivre l’histoire
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