Chapter 33

The Unspoken

Sylas had gone through motions, mostly, until he managed to convince everyone, once again, to go on the expedition. Similarly, he went ahead and waited at the volunteering place for Ryne to show up. The moment she(he) did, he had her follow him to the Prince’s room. If anyone knew what the hell that rain of the dead was, it was one of these two. If even they didn’t know, then likely nobody else did. At least here.

Valen was surprised to see Sylas return so quickly—and with a boy in tow, no less. The boy seemed confused and reserved, his eyes inspecting Valen keenly.

Sylas, on the other hand, ignored the two's conundrum and took a deep breath. He was about to roleplay as a Prophet once again, but he didn't have the patience for the theatrics. After all, this time around, he actually wanted to discuss something beyond serious.

“I’ll speed through the introductions for you two,” he said. “Ryne, this here is Valen—the rumored dead Sixth Prince of the Kingdom who is, as you can see, very much alive. Valen, this here is Ryne—a girl disguised as a boy—and an Exorcist to boot.”

“What?!”

“How do you—”

“Pipe down, the both of you,” he interrupted their shocked responses immediately. “How do I know? I’m a prophet. Ask the Prince. Now, leaving all that aside—Prince, I had a vision.”

“A… vision?” Valen recovered quickly. If the Prophet said that the young boy(girl) was an Exorcist, then he(she) was. There was no other way around for it. Still, for someone at such a young age to become an Exorcist… Valen wasn’t impressed as much as he was petrified. He pitied the girl, knowing everything she likely had to go through to earn that title.

“Yes, a vision,” Sylas said, sitting down. “The skies opened and from them… the dead rained. Their numbers are innumerable, uncountable. They swarm the sky like locusts. They are everywhere. And, in the distance, beyond the tall forest of trees… I saw our unhinged walls. I saw our men manning the walls. I’ve seen us. Another one is coming.”

“…” Valen’s expression hardened. The last time Sylas warned him about the invasion, he was very specific with the prophecy. And even with those specifics, they barely survived. And yet, this time around, their number was ‘uncountable’ and they were somewhere from where they can see the castle’s walls. There was no timeframe, there were no numbers. This terrified Valen—as it could only mean that the invasion would be that horrifying.

Ryne looked at the two men carefully, wondering whether they were hoodwinking her somehow. But then she shook her head—no, that was unlikely. After all, the strange guard knew not only that she was not a boy, but that she was an Exorcist. And, from the mere countenance of the other man, she could venture a guess that he was at least high-nobility, so it wasn’t a stretch to claim he might be a Prince.

But a Prophet… Ryne had never met a Prophet before. No, nobody alive did, really. There were stories, mostly counts of mystical men who came and went like the wind. The stories told of the men’s ability to foresee the tomorrow and look into the yesterday. However, none of those accounts were verifiable, and all were likely exaggerated tales. If he were a Prince, the man should know that as well. So, why was it that his face turned snow-white upon the guard’s recount of the future events?

“The last invasion,” Valen, looking at the girl’s inquisitive glance. “Mr. Sylas warned us beforehand. That was the only reason we survived.”

“…” Ryne’s eyes widened as she looked at the guard. No, he was no guard. If what the Prince said was true…

“All of that doesn’t matter,” Sylas said. “Does my recount sound familiar at all to either of you? Did you read or hear stories about anything like that happening before?”

“The dead… raining from the sky? No,” Valen firmly shook his head. “In fact, there’s only one among the Unspoken that can even fly—Wyts. But they are beyond rare and almost never seen in our Kingdom since we don’t have deep-dwelling caves.”

“Maybe it’s a metaphor?” Ryne ventured a guess. “For the size of the invasion?”

“No, no, no, oh trust me, it’s not a metaphor,” Sylas said. “It is literal. So, neither of you ever heard of anything like this?”

“No.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“…” Sylas’ frown deepened. If that was the case… then he had to go again. He had to go there, into the land of the dead. At least, now he knew what the man in the diary was fighting. He likely spent the last years of his life fighting that horde. No, was it even possible to fight that horde? Would a single man count for anything? It’s likely that some slipped through the cracks and perhaps helped the invaders overtake the peninsula. He didn’t know. He could only guess.

“What should we do?” Valen asked after a short silence. “If their numbers are truly that grave… we should probably send a messenger to the capital to warn them. We wouldn’t be able to hold an army of even ten-fifteen thousand, let alone what you are describing.”

“It’s like a well,” Sylas mumbled, ignoring the two. “Where all the Unspoken are born. Does that sound familiar?”

“Ah!” Ryne exclaimed suddenly. At the same time, Sylas’ eyes regained their shine and vigor. He’d already come to adore the girl as she’d saved him from so much trouble already.

“You know about it?” he asked.

“I, I’m not sure,” Ryne replied, slightly horrified at the man’s gaze. “But I read about something like it. It’s, it’s said that the Unspoken are born from the souls of the dead. But there has to be enough dead souls to manifest a special kind of energy. As such, the dead souls group together and form Murders. When the Unspoken are born that way, they call the place the ‘Undying Well’. But it’s never been confirmed, I don’t think. Just someone imagining possibilities.” Sylas’ hopes were quickly evaporated, but it was fine.

The reason why that place being an ‘Undying Well’ sort of a deal was impossible was due to the sheer scale. Even if the entire world was taken into account, just how many years and decades would it take to gather millions of dead souls? Something that big, even if it happened twice a century, would have been noted and recorded. No, this was something different.

“In my vision,” Sylas continued. “This place… was in a valley, between two mountains. North of us.”

“That’s impossible,” both Valen and Ryne said. “There are no mountains north of the wall.”

“That’s true,” Ryne echoed the statement.

“Yeah, okay,” Sylas said. “But if there were?”

“But there aren’t.”

“Then again, what if there were?”

“But there aren’t,” Valen replied, gnashing his teeth together in a smile.

“Geography notwithstanding,” Sylas said. “How would there be mountains up north?”

“…”

“… i—illusion? Maybe some kind of a talisman array?” Ryne ventured a guess, uncertain herself. She’d never heard of these things, at least not on such a scale.

“…” Sylas fell silent, turning to his thoughts. There was no answer, not yet anyway.

Another reason why he decided to question Ryne and Valen, past just seeing if they knew anything, was in hopes of triggering the system. Previously, whenever he’d unveil an important piece of information, he’d get a quest or something akin to it that solidified that information. However, this time around… there was nothing. Not when they discovered that valley, not when they read that journal, and not when he saw the dead fall from the sky. And not even now, when he learned everything the two of them knew.

He didn’t know why; perchance, the story existed outside the system, if that was possible. Perhaps, it had nothing to do with him and his main quest of putting Valen on the throne and, as such, the system didn’t care enough to give him the answers. Perhaps, he should already be planning on leaving the castle with the Prince and gathering their forces as they move toward the capital.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps… it was entirely possible, actually, and even likely the more he thought about it. If he looked at this as if he was playing a story, 'north of the wall' would simply be filler, means of adding pages onto the world-building. The player would never be sent there. In fact, it'd be expected for the player to beeline toward the capital after acquiring the quest to Crown the Prince.

But… he wasn’t playing a story. He was living his life. And whatever that was… mattered. It wasn’t filler. It was… he didn’t know what it was. But he knew it was important, perhaps even more important than putting Valen onto the throne. Though he knew he should probably let go… he couldn’t. Deep down in his heart, despite every instinct in his body telling him not to, he knew he had to go back. And this time around, he had several concrete ideas and goals: it would only be him, Ryne, Valen, and Tenner, people he could trust. And, most importantly… they’d have to come back alive from the expedition. They had to see what he saw. His words were like abstract, strange, distant concepts to them. They had to see to realize and visualize them.

“Oh well,” he sighed, grabbing a knife from the table. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

“What are—NO!!”

“AAAAH!!” he swiftly stabbed the knife into his neck, his consciousness fading into obscurity, escorted by the horrified screams of the two. He felt kind of bad, traumatizing them, even briefly.

You have died.

‘New Friends’ save point has been initialized.