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A little later after the fall . . .

A miracle. The curse has been lifted, Rayo thought wide-eyed as he gazed upon the grim horizon he grew accustomed to since he was a lad.

He watched in anticipation as the heavy black clouds slowly cleared out. Sunlight shone down the lavender field. And then there it was . . . the sky as blue as the color of his robe, stained with the chamomile tea he spilled by accident when a strong gust of wind shot down the ground earlier, and immediately dissipated as if it was all but a figment of his wild imagination.

But Rayo knew it wasn't.

Not when it was followed by an unforeseen miracle from the principal gods.

Stepping out of the gazebo, he held his head up, admiring the new scenery unfolded before his eyes. He extended his hand above, peeking between the spaces of his long fingers. The peculiar crimson irises of his eyes glimmered just like a giddy child opening a present.

"Sky," he whispered, word laced with utter astonishment.

For the first time in a while, his chest warmed up at the sight. More so when the late midday sun shone brightly over the vast lavender fields before him.

Succumbing to the happiness brimming inside, he let out a burst of heartfelt laughter, spread his arms on both sides, and inhaled deeply the aftermath smell of the abominable rain. For the first time in his life, he got to see the bare beauty above and even felt the sun's warmth kissing his cheeks. He exhaled, thoughts running wild in his head.

Was he dreaming? He hoped not.

But how did it happen?

How did the curse of the spiteful Hex of Ethel break?

Did their ancestors' unforgivable horrendous deed from the past have been forgiven? Did she already forgive his predecessor?

His thick brows furrowed ever so slightly.

Forgiven. The latter case might be possible if the tale was indeed true, but if it was the former then that would be next to impossible.

Then, how?

Wait. Rayo's peculiar fire-red eyes grew wide. If the curse has been broken just like that, does it mean—

Soft sobs pierced through the solemn atmosphere, interrupting his line of thoughts.

Rayo spun around, looking for its origin. Leaving the gazebo overlooking the fields, he sashayed down the slightly elevated ground towards the first line of the purple flowers. He followed the sound coming somewhere around the area, almost questioning himself when his feet dragged him further down—even scurrying. Stopping on his track, his gaze carefully scanned the field. The sobs disappeared nearby. Surely—

Soft whimpers resonated.

There it was again.

Sharply turning his head to his far-right side, his brows furrowed at the sight of an outstretched hand to the sky, going limp until it fell with a small thud against the ground. Too apprehensive, he waited until the soft sobs gradually died down to naught before bridging the gap. Stoically, he took his time trudging through the hip-high flowers, fingertips brushing along its cluster which instantly warmed up at his slightest touch.

Rayo set aside the odd sensation it brought and prepared himself for the worst-case scenario. Only to be left taken aback by an ungodly sight of an unconscious lady lying amongst the lavenders—dead pale and soaking wet.

His stomach churned at her peculiar clothing; tight-fitted pants and a peach camisole. Her rich, curly auburn hair laid in a mess around her. His face scrunched up; lips pressed into a thin line as his squinted eyes lingered a bit longer at the lady.

He snickered. "An outsider."

A suicide, Rayo thought, shaking his head as he scanned the vast lavender field. Only those who have a death wish would do so.

He spun around, more than ready to leave, when a mild, shallow breathing caught him completely off guard. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he gingerly looked over his shoulders just to be taken aback yet again. His fire-red eyes widened. The lady was breathing just fine as if she was simply in a deep slumber.

His bewildered eyes shifted to the lavenders around her, and then back up to her again. If only it was possible, his jaw would have been on the ground already.

"What in heavens . . ."

Rayo rushed to the unconscious lady's side and took him into his arms.

How light, he thought in surprise as he stared down at her. The lady was light as a feather against his arms. He scanned her for any burn marks. Nothing. His brows heavily furrowed at that. All there to be seen were the faint purple bruises running across her slender neck.

A rope mark?

The bruise was almost fading, but with a closer inspection, it was indeed what he imagined.

Rayo stared intently at the sullen face of the lady. Colors started to return to her, but it didn't hide the hopelessness etched in her face.

He couldn't help but sigh. He'd never seen someone looking extremely despondent as her. Not even the ordeal he and his people went through for the past decades was strong enough to take them down. They were, without a doubt, resilient.

But this one . . . This one seemed to be through a lot than anyone could imagine—met the Elder Croux Ramé even.

From the distance, a frantic shout diverted his attention from the lady.

"Lord Rayo! Lord Rayo! Where are you, Lord Rayo? Lord Rayo!"

Rayo walked back to the gazebo to find a manservant of his residence, sitting on the ground, sweat dotting his utterly dejected form.

Once the manservant saw him, he quickly stood on his feet and shouted in delight, "Lord Rayo!" His enthusiasm quickly disappeared upon landing his widening gaze at the lady in his arms. "Lord Rayo! Who's that—"

"Run back quickly and call for the physician," he firmly commanded.

The manservant almost flinched. Stealing a quick questioning glance at the lady in his arms, he sprinted without a question, leaving him behind.

Whatever thoughts running inside the manservant's mind, Rayo was certain that would be everyone's concern as well in the next few minutes he'd go down the hill with the unconscious lady in his arms. The majority might rejoice; the few might recoil. Yet none of it all would matter.

None of it.

Mild wind blew by. A small voice behind his head nudged him, seemingly whispering an ancient old text he came across back in his previous home. An ancient old text that beckoned goodness . . . and mayhem.

"Curse of the wicked shall be lifted by the outcast—sky clears, sun peers; and thus, the advent of imminent fall begins."

Rayo laughed sardonically at the bitter verses sung by the very first seer in the history of Grevus, Ar'hul, the madman. He stared yet again at the sleeping form of the lady, searching for something even he wasn't sure what. She was so small, and yet . . .

He chuckled once more. "You've got to be kidding me."

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🔸 Vocabulary Check 🔸

Elder Croux – called to the three Fates.

Ramé – the Fate of Death/Reaper.

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