The year 870. His Godliness' year, although the world doesn't know it yet. A year that will shake the mightiest kingdoms.

The year a flesh God was born.

It was the start of fall and all the trees are starting to shed. Rowan trudged through the dry leaves, making them crackle under his leather boots. Dark circles hung on his eyes and his shoulders slumped, both tired from the heavy baggage and the dark news he carries. He looked up at his home. Their home. The crooked tower lies menacingly in the distance. It was and had always been the guardian of this town.

He went up to the gate. The sun has just reached its peak and yet the guards were already drunk. They were playing dice when he came up to them. All of them immediately tensed when they saw the red robe he was wearing. They stood up and saluted him, knocking their playing table.

"Sir, glad to see you're back." One guard said dryly.

He waved his hand and dismissed them.

"Don't mind me. Just passing through."

Rowan entered the streets of Mordan. He can hear the bustling of merchants showing their wares. Here and there, one can see people scurrying out on their own businesses. Blacksmiths were paying street urchins on advertising their services. The cooks were fanning their grill, making sure to lure customers by wafting the scent of juicy meat everywhere. Meanwhile, the drunkards were already fighting at the nearest inn.

He ignored all of it and went straight to the heart of the town. In the town center was the crooked tower in all its glory. True to its name, the tower wasn't symmetrical at all. Some parts were twisted and bent. How the tower was able to stand was out of anyone's guesses. With its interior dyed a deep red, the color of blood, it was a fitting home for the blood magi. Nobody knows who made the tower or what material did they use. All they knew about it was that it was indestructible. Even the finest chisels made from the last era did not even scratch the surface.

He drew his knife and cut his palms. The entrance of the tower was at the top and there were no staircases made. His blood continued dripping but it never landed to the ground. It floated mid-air, swirling around. He compressed his blood, freezing it, and stepped on to it. The frozen blood mass lifted him higher and higher, acting as some kind of a floating platform. The rush of wind made him feel a little bit alive and brought a little color on his pale face. He could see the wooden roofs of the whole town. Tattered it may be, but the townsfolk patched it up to the best of their abilities.

It was all about perspective. Up here, the world was big and tiny at the same time. The people working down below looked like ants scurrying for work. He landed on the top balcony and opened the trapdoor.

Immediately, a rotten stench made him gag. Cold sweat clung into his shirt. His heart started pumping adrenaline in his veins. And with this, he was wide awake, the weight on his eyelids gone. He jumped down, riding his own blood, not even bothering to use the stairs. The revolting scent becomes stronger as he goes down.

He scanned all floors. The spiraling staircase was hypnotic in its own way and watching it spin was making him dizzy. When he got to the bottom, the familiar meeting hall greeted him. The red interior was decorated with the paintings of the previous headmasters, all in the same pose of sitting down and looking sharp. He landed on the round table. The chairs were adorned with the rotting corpses of his colleagues. Feeling the vomit line up his throat, he retched all of his lunch out. Their corpses were propped up, still sitting. He walked up into one, mustering any courage he hasn't vomited yet.

Their faces were covered with maggots squirming around all holes it could find. Some were wiggling underneath the skin, feasting around the dark brown flesh of his fellow Magi. Their eyes were long gone. He stared at them and the hollow eye sockets stared back. Their wounds were similar. Several gashes on the torso spilled their guts open. Some chunk of a neck was dismembered, lying on the floor. It was a violent death, one that they didn't deserve.

He went out of the tower and sat on the roof. The sky, as if not caring, was a happy mix of orange and blue that was separated by white streams of clouds. At first, he didn't notice the crowd forming right below the tower. He was still busy taking it all in.

They were standing still, staring at him. He finally saw them and went down. They stared blankly at him. There was something unnerving about their silence. It felt odd and abnormal.

"Is something the matter?" he asked them.

They didn't reply. More people are dropping what they were doing and was coming towards him. Even the guards that we're busy with dice were here. They enclosed him in a circle and smiled at him. All of their actions simultaneous, not a single person missed a second.

His mouth dried up but he managed to creak "Stay back".

They screamed at him. High pitched voices that cut through his eardrums. He covered his ears and felt blood leaking. A little girl went forward first, sprinting in all fours. And the rest soon followed. Fear made him froze up for a second and before he could run, she tackled him with a strength a child shouldn't be able to achieve. They went down. Her spit was drooling on his face. She growled like a dog, prying his hands away from his neck. The contours of her jawline opened, tearing her mouth. Her grip crushed his hands and he felt his bones crack. That made him join the maniacs in their screaming. One of the guards caught his legs. He tried kicking but it was no use. The guard was able to seize his knees and popped them one by one. The pain almost made him faint but he fought to stay awake.

He activated his blood and whirled it through the crowd, piercing everyone he can see. With no more hesitation, he decapitated the girl on him. It wasn't enough. Headless, she kept on pinning him on the ground. He pierced her insides, making sure his blood flowed in her veins, and pulled out his blood, dismembering her whole body. He did the same for the guard and for everyone else that attempted to attack him.

Ragged pieces of what used to be people lay everywhere. Rowan crawled. His useless legs weighing him down. Paired with his mangled hands, he was slower than a snail. Soon the pain will fully kick in. He needed to get out of this place. Anywhere but here. His elbow touched something. It was the head of the little girl that tackled him first. To his surprise, he recognized the face. How could he not? It was the face of his own daughter, smiling at him.

***

He woke up with a jerk. A disheveled Tamara was beside him looking concerned. It took him a moment to get his bearings.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Nothing just cramps."

She raised her eyebrows. "I woke you up because you were screaming."

"Ah. That's cause it was a big one. The fucker suddenly cramped," He said while massaging his thighs, pretending to get some relief from it. His throat felt raw.

How long have I been screaming?

She doesn't look convinced. "Here have some water."

He took the mug and drank the whole content, burping after.

"It's one of those is it?" She asked.

He smiled, his daughter knew him too well. "Yes, it's one of those."

She sighed. Her father never told her what those nightmares were about. Even if she prodded further, he would just change the topic into something else.

She held his crooked hand. Her old man was really stubborn. As far as she knew, he never told her of his youth. She wanted to know more about him but doesn't want to open old scars. Especially now that more of his hair is turning white.

"Is it morning yet?" he asked.

"It's still dark outside, go back to sleep."

"I'm afraid there's no more sleeping for these old bones."

She remained silent for a while. "You want to tell me about it?"

"Tell what?"

"What's been bothering you?" Hesitation mixed with her voice. "All this time, you've been bottling up something. And you never tell us. Were also getting worried you know?"

"Ah that. It's just some regrets haunting an old withering man like myself. One that I don't like recalling. Or telling for that matter."

"Sometimes you like to be difficult Father." she sighed.

"Well if you find yourself a proper man then I might confide a thing or two with you."

"What's that got to do with this?"

"Bah! Everything. You're of age Mara. You've yet to discover the wonders of love. Why I bet many men would fight to hold hands with my fine daughter here." He moved to the edge of the bed and ruffled her hair. "You remind mind so much of your mother. My how the days have been dull without her."

"I miss her every day too. We all do."

That made his chest a little bit tighter. He really did miss his wife. He sighed. "I could use some night air. Clear my noggin up just a little."

She picked him up. His frail body wasn't even heavy at all. Partnered with the fact that his father was legless, it made it easier for her to raise him out of the bed and put him into his wheelchair. That was another story he hasn't told anyone yet. He always said that he was born that way.

They went out of his room towards the balcony. The cool air was refreshing for both of them. Up above, a starless sky peered into their own little inn. No words had to be said. They simply remained silent and stayed one with the night.