Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

A Restful Meal and Sleep

The scavengers eventually turned back to their food, generously offering Aurel a sizable portion of the roasted meat. It was charred and tough, but to him, it was the most delicious thing he'd eaten in years. He devoured it gratefully, barely pausing to breathe as he chewed. They handed him a simple drink—a mix of water and something sweet—and he nearly laughed in delight.

"Thank you," he mumbled between bites. "Really, thank you. You didn't have to, and... it's been so long since I've had anything like this."

One of the older men waved him off. "Don't mention it. You're here now, and everyone pulls their weight. Take what you need." Another man gestured to a small tent at the edge of the camp. "You can sleep there. But you'll be sharing it with three others. Hope you don't mind."

Aurel shook his head quickly, his tone earnest. "Not at all. I'm still very thankful. Whatever you offer is more than I've had in a long time."

As the camp settled in for the night, Aurel climbed into the shared tent. The space was cramped but warm, with thin bedding spread across the ground. He murmured his thanks once more before stretching out, his thoughts still lingering on the strange auras he'd seen.

Aurel's Restless Thoughts

The sounds of the camp—the crackling fire, the faint rustle of wind, the occasional murmur from the guards on duty—lulled him toward sleep. But his mind remained restless.

"Those shadows," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the night's quiet. "They're feeding on something. Emotions. Anger. It's too clear to ignore." He paused, his pale fingers tracing patterns into the fabric beneath him. "Am I the only one who sees them? Why?"

The other men in the tent shifted faintly, muttering in their sleep. Aurel closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over him. Whatever the answer was, he knew it would come in time. For now, he was simply grateful—to have food, shelter, and the strange, fleeting warmth of human company.

Aurel and the Scavengers

For days, Aurel had traveled and worked alongside the scavengers, falling seamlessly into their routine. Whether it was hauling scavenged goods, patching tents, or keeping watch during the night, he contributed as if he'd been part of the group all along. They still found him odd—his pale skin, his tendency to mutter aloud, and the peculiar way his eyes seemed to linger on people for just a bit too long. But over time, his quirks became something they simply accepted. He was Aurel, the strange but helpful wanderer.

In truth, Aurel had grown fond of them, appreciating their resilience and camaraderie. He watched them closely—not just their movements, but their behaviors, their emotions, and the dark, ghostly beings that occasionally flickered into his vision.

Observing the "Darkcuties"

It began subtly, like a whisper at the edge of his mind. Every now and then, when someone argued, or grew frustrated, or let their anger slip through the cracks of their composure, Aurel would see them—small, shadowy creatures that seemed to manifest from the dark aura of human emotions. At first, they had terrified him. Their inky forms and curling edges had struck him as sinister, as something to fear.

But as the days passed, and Aurel studied them with his characteristic curiosity, he began to notice something else. These beings weren't evil. In fact, they seemed... almost harmless. Their movements were light and playful, their forms compact and oddly adorable, like small shadows dancing in the firelight.

"Darkcuties," he said aloud one night as he crouched near the fire, his voice clear and deliberate. "That's what I'll call you. Darkcuties."

One of the scavengers glanced at him from across the fire, raising an eyebrow. "Who are you talking to now, Aurel?"

"Just the darkcuties," Aurel replied casually, waving a hand. "They don't bother anyone. Just feeding, collecting, you know—doing their thing."

The scavenger shook his head and turned away, muttering, "He's harmless, I guess. Just a lunatic."

Growing Acceptance

The group had grown accustomed to Aurel's constant narrating. At first, his tendency to talk aloud had unsettled them—his half-finished sentences and muttered observations had felt like whispers from someone teetering on the edge of sanity. But now, they hardly noticed. Aurel could wander into a deep monologue about shadowy beings or the strange shapes of clouds, and the scavengers would nod along, treating his words like background noise.

"I've got it figured out now," Aurel said one morning as they sifted through the wreckage of an abandoned trade caravan. He knelt to inspect a rusty lantern, turning it over in his hands before continuing. "Those beings. The darkcuties. They're not dangerous. Just harmless little spirits collecting or feeding on dark energy. Like scavengers, but for emotions."

A man nearby grunted, tossing a broken barrel onto the pile of scrap. "That right, Aurel? Feeding on emotions? Sounds... interesting."

Aurel nodded sagely, his tone almost instructive. "Oh, absolutely. I'm probably the only one who can see them, though. Not sure why that is. An ability, maybe?"

The scavenger sighed and shook his head, muttering, "You know, sometimes I think he's crazy. Other times I think he might be the smartest person here."

Confirming Their Nature

As Aurel grew more accustomed to the "darkcuties," he found himself studying them at every opportunity. They appeared most often during moments of tension—when arguments flared, or frustration boiled beneath the surface. Their forms would linger for a moment, feeding off the emotions before disappearing again.

One evening, as the group sat around the fire, two men began bickering over supplies. "I told you to save some of that for tomorrow!" one snapped. "You never listen!"

Aurel leaned forward, his pale fingers tapping against his knee as his sharp gaze locked onto the faint flicker of dark aura that surrounded them. The "darkcuties" were there again, weaving between the shadows like playful wisps. "See?" he muttered to himself, smiling faintly. "There they are. Dark aura, faint anger. The cuties love that stuff."

The scavengers continued their argument, oblivious to the beings dancing near them. Aurel tilted his head, his voice carrying a quiet certainty. "They're not bad. Just adorable little collectors. I finally understand them."

Settling Into Camp

That night, the group welcomed Aurel back to their camp, sharing food and drinks as they laughed around the fire. Aurel sat quietly at first, his gray hair brushing against his face as he analyzed the people around him. The scavengers were kind, despite their rough edges, and their generosity never failed to warm him.

One man handed him a portion of roasted meat, which Aurel accepted gratefully. "Thanks," he said simply, tearing into it with gusto. Though he hadn't known them for long, the scavengers had become the closest thing he'd had to companions in years.

As the camp settled in for the night, Aurel climbed into the tent, lying back against the thin bedding with a sigh of contentment. His thoughts drifted to the "darkcuties" once more, their strange presence both puzzling and comforting. "You're not bad," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes. "Just cute little shadows. Harmless. I finally understand."

The other men shifted beside him, muttering in their sleep, while the camp guards kept watch outside. For the first time in a long time, Aurel felt at peace.

A Morning of Possibilities

The camp buzzed with light chatter as scavengers gathered for breakfast, seated in groups that mirrored their natural cliques. Old men grouped together, exchanging stories over steaming cups of broth. The younger men talked strategy while the women huddled in circles, sharing plans for scavenging routes and supplies. Aurel found himself seated among a familiar group—the same scavengers he'd worked alongside for days now—and though his quirks remained intact, they had grown comfortable enough to include him in their conversations.

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One of the men, chewing on a piece of dry bread, glanced at Aurel and leaned forward slightly. "So, Aurel, what are your plans?" he asked, his voice casual but curious. "I'm sure you don't want to be stuck with us scavengers forever, do you?"

Aurel smiled faintly, leaning back and crossing his arms as he replied. "Right, I actually plan to leave you guys. Maybe in the next day or so." His tone was light but tinged with gratitude. "I just stayed to repay you for all the trouble and help you gave me."

The man waved off Aurel's words, shaking his head with a laugh. "Oh, come on, you don't have to mention that! You've earned your keep here, carried your weight. Most of us are actually thankful you decided to stay."

Aurel Reveals His Goal

Aurel shrugged slightly, his gray eyes focused on the firelight flickering across the cracked earth. "I want to travel northbound. See the world. No rush, though. Just... going where the wind takes me."

Another scavenger raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "So where are you actually from?" he asked, leaning closer. "We know you're heading north, but what about your past?"

"I'm from the west," Aurel replied simply, his tone steady. "I somehow ended up here in the south."

The scavenger frowned, scratching his head. "The west? Oh, you must be one of those remnants of the Unified Alliance thingy. You stayed here, huh? Must've chosen to stick around after the Bloom." His voice softened slightly, carrying a note of pity. "Poor guy."

Aurel blinked, tilting his head slightly as he processed the man's assumption. He chose not to correct him, figuring it was easier to play along. "Yes," he replied with a faint nod. "I'm from the west. A warrior."

Though the statement wasn't entirely accurate, it wasn't a lie either. His past as a warrior from the western territories remained true, even if the specifics were far more complicated than he let on.

Mercenary Opportunities

Another scavenger chimed in, his voice carrying an edge of excitement. "So you're a soldier? Then why don't you go to the fortress up ahead? They're always looking for mercenaries—soldiers like you."

Aurel's interest sparked at the mention of mercenary work. "Really?" he asked, his tone brightening. "They offer jobs like that?"

The scavenger nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, it's a big thing. Missions that need mercenaries—hunting wild beasts, killing bandits, escorting trade caravans. There's even a group of people nearby who work as a mercenary company. Maybe you could join them while you travel?"

Aurel couldn't hide his excitement, his grin widening as he leaned forward. "That's it! A mercenary! I love that idea!" His voice carried an almost childlike enthusiasm, as if he'd found a new purpose after days of uncertainty. "Mercenary life sounds perfect. Adventure, challenge, work while I explore—what could be better?"

His laughter echoed lightly through the camp, drawing smiles from the others around him. For the first time in days, Aurel felt a spark of direction—a step toward something meaningful.

The Arrival of Strangers

The atmosphere shifted slightly as a group of unfamiliar scavengers approached the camp, their tattered clothing and mismatched gear marking them as wanderers from another territory. Aurel looked up from his spot, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly as he studied them. His mind raced with observations, but one of his sitmates tapped his shoulder lightly.

"Just ignore them," the scavenger said casually. "They're probably another group from someplace nearby. Happens a lot out here. We help them, they offer hospitality in return—it's like an unspoken rule among scavengers."

Aurel nodded, confirming his understanding. The explanation made sense, and the camp seemed to welcome the strangers without hesitation. But as Aurel watched them more closely, something dark caught his attention.

Aurel's Vigilance

The strangers moved in small groups, their mannerisms casual yet clipped. At first glance, they seemed no different from any other scavengers passing through. But Aurel saw what the others didn't—the thick, shadowy aura that clung to them like smoke. It was far darker than anything he'd seen before, almost oppressive. "So many darkcuties," he muttered under his breath, his pale brows furrowing slightly. "There are too many of them."

The ghostly beings danced and swirled around the newcomers, feeding on the dense, dark energy they emitted. Aurel's unease deepened as he studied their behavior, his suspicions rising. "These people," he thought aloud, his voice too soft to carry beyond his seat. "They're not here for good. Something's off."

Though Aurel wanted to speak up, he refrained, choosing instead to observe. He didn't want to alarm the group or disrupt the fragile peace of the camp. For now, he stayed vigilant, his sharp gaze tracking every movement.

The scavengers at his table exchanged glances, noticing his intense focus but brushing it off. "That's just Aurel," one of them whispered with a chuckle. "Always staring at people like he sees something we don't."

The young girl across from him giggled lightly, her laughter ringing out. "I think it's part of his charm," she said playfully.

Aurel's Vigilance and the Bandits' Return

The night was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the campfire and the faint rustle of wind through the trees. Most of the scavengers had settled into their tents, their laughter and chatter replaced by the soft murmurs of sleep. But Aurel couldn't rest. He sat cross-legged at the entrance of the camp, his sharp gray eyes scanning the darkness like a predator on the hunt. His pale skin seemed to glow faintly in the firelight, and his dark gray hair fell over his face as he muttered to himself.

"They're up to no good," he whispered, his voice low but firm. "I know it. Those visitors from this morning... they're not just scavengers. They're something else."

The others noticed him sitting there, his posture tense and his gaze unyielding, but they had grown used to his oddities. Aurel's quirks were just part of who he was, and they no longer questioned his behavior. They let him be, assuming he was simply lost in his own thoughts.

Then, Aurel's voice cut through the stillness. "They're here," he said, his tone sharp and certain. He rose to his feet, his movements deliberate as he stepped toward the edge of the camp. The visitors from earlier emerged from the shadows, their faces illuminated by the flickering firelight.

The Confrontation Begins

Aurel greeted them with a grin that was anything but friendly. His lips curled into a devilish smirk, his sharp features taking on an almost sinister edge. For a moment, he looked less like the quirky scavenger they had come to know and more like someone—or something—else entirely.

"Good evening, boys," Aurel said, his voice dripping with mock politeness. "I see you're revisiting. Did you perhaps forget something? Or are you here to... take something?"

One of the visitors, a rough-looking man with a scar running down his cheek, chuckled darkly. "Hahaha, we certainly are taking," he said, his voice laced with malice. He turned to his gang, his grin widening. "Alright, boys, just as we planned. Take all the valuables. No need to kill, but... maybe take some of the girls, too."

The bandits barely spared Aurel a glance, dismissing him as nothing more than a lunatic. They had studied the camp during their first visit and concluded that it was defenseless—no fighters, no real threats. And this pale, eccentric man? He was just a temporary guest, a harmless oddball.

But Aurel's grin faltered, irritation flashing across his face. He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the bandits' laughter. "Excuse me," he said, his tone sharp and mocking. "Are you guys up to no good? Because I'd gladly do some spanking to no-good boys."

The bandits laughed harder, their amusement echoing through the camp. One of the scavengers, realizing the danger, shouted, "Bandits! Bandits!" Panic spread through the camp as the scavengers scrambled to protect themselves, their fear manifesting in dark auras that flickered faintly around them.

But Aurel's focus remained on the bandits. His grin returned, sharper and more menacing than before. His gaze darkened, and his voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone. "Did you just say kill?" he asked, his words slow and deliberate. "Those who kill must be ready to be killed."

Aurel's Fiendish Fury

One of the bandits, irritated by Aurel's taunts, stepped forward with a sneer. "Oh, shut up, you lunatic," he growled, raising his sword as he charged toward Aurel.

But Aurel moved faster. In a blur of motion, he dashed forward, his movements precise and fluid. Before the bandit could react, Aurel disarmed him with a swift strike, the sword flying from his grasp. In the same motion, Aurel spun, the stolen blade slicing cleanly through the air. The bandit's head rolled to the ground, his body collapsing in a lifeless heap.

The camp fell silent. The remaining bandits froze, their faces pale with fear. It had happened so fast—too fast. Aurel stood over the fallen man, his expression calm but his eyes burning with a fiendish intensity.

"So," he said, his voice cold and steady. "Who's next?"

The Bandits' Downfall

The bandits hesitated, their confidence shattered. But with no other choice, they charged at Aurel, their weapons raised. Aurel's movements were a blur, his body a whirlwind of speed and precision. He sidestepped their attacks effortlessly, his blade cutting through the air with deadly accuracy.

Unconsciously, Aurel's techniques mirrored those of Elyrion—a style of combat that was hostile, fast, and devastatingly effective. He dashed and jumped forward, his strikes quick and lethal. In a matter of seconds, the bandits lay scattered across the ground, their bodies motionless and their blood staining the earth.

The scavengers watched in stunned silence, their fear and admiration mingling as they took in the scene. Aurel stood amidst the carnage, his pale skin and dark gray hair giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. His sinister grin faded, replaced by a calm, neutral expression.

"Evil must be purged," he stated simply, his voice steady and emotionless.

Reassuring the Scavengers

Aurel turned to the scavengers, his sharp gaze softening as he addressed them. "It's okay now," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "You're safe."

The scavengers exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of awe and unease. Some admired Aurel's skill and bravery, while others couldn't shake the image of his fiendish grin and the ruthless efficiency with which he had dispatched the bandits.

But Aurel didn't seem to notice—or perhaps he didn't care. He sheathed the stolen sword at his side, his posture relaxing as he stepped away from the bodies. For him, the fight was over. The camp was safe, and that was all that mattered.

Aurel's Departure

The morning sun broke over the horizon, its rays casting a warm glow over the camp as Aurel stood near the edge of the tents, readying himself for departure. The mood in the camp was a mixture of gratitude, sadness, and unease, each emotion written clearly on the faces of the scavengers. Aurel understood. He knew these people weren't used to the violence they had witnessed the previous night. The sight of lives taken so swiftly, the sheer ruthlessness he had displayed—it had left an impact.

But he also knew they were thankful. Thankful to be alive, thankful the danger had passed, and thankful to him, despite their mixed feelings. Aurel felt no anger or bitterness toward their complicated emotions. If anything, he felt... at peace. These people had shown him kindness when he needed it most, and he had done his best to repay them.