Some wondered, "How could someone so innocent be the source of our curse?"
"Do not be deceived!" the leading old man shouted. "His beauty is for deception. The devil is charming. Look at the ground—our people lie dead due to his presence."
This tore their attention away from the boy to the scene around them. The stench of death wafted toward them on the breeze, and anger and fear began to cloud their minds.
That shift in emotions made the boy's cape and pauldron vanish. Shock spread among the people—they could indeed influence him with their collective will.
They felt in control but hesitated because of the shock plastered across the boy's face. He was surprised, yet he didn't lash out at them.
He appeared more confused than they were, and he calmly looked around at each of them. Each person avoided his direct gaze—those crimson eyes were too heavy to take in completely.
"Don't be scared. Our collective will is strong—you have seen it. Our brethren lie dead beneath his feet!"
The reminder pulled them from his charm. Then a woman burst into tears. "That's my husband!" Her voice rang out as she ran toward the corpse, but the volunteers pulled her back.
"Don't be stupid. Don't get close," they warned.
The sword strapped to the alien boy vanished, then his shirt disappeared. Each disappearance of his attire brought more shock to his face.
"We have power over him!" the old man shouted.
This brought a wave of agreement, and the alien boy's belt vanished, along with his boots. Now he stood bare on the cold ground.
His beautiful, tender feet attracted their attention, reminding them of the softness of a newborn baby. They hesitated.
Even the old man and eight volunteers had to steel their hearts again. He was doing nothing but confusedly observing them, yet they were struggling against his very presence.
"WE MUST BIND HIM MORE!" A tall, scrawny man shouted before coughing blood. Supported by a young child, the man called to his people too.
"My wife, my two beautiful children died because of the blood rain. I will also die any day. We must bind the demon now before he recovers from his confusion!"
His rage was palpable, stirring the people's emotions as they remembered those they had lost—the weeping woman who lost her husband, and their own fear of dying next.
They all carried the disease, all suffered, and there was no cure in sight. If the boy was left to roam free, they would be next.
Their collective thoughts dragged marble chains from the ground, and the boy's neck was cuffed. And the chain extended beyond the boy to the people.
The old man stepped forward and took the chain. It was heavy, and the others came to help as the chains mysteriously increased in size and weight around the boy's neck.
The old man coughed blood and dropped to his knees. The other helpers swayed, coming that close to the alien boy affecting them. Few were able to hold on, but their conditions were worsening.
This slow deterioration made the people feel more fear, and that caused the alien boy to lose his remaining shirt. Now he wore only thin fabric.
"We should drag him quickly to Hollow Fell before he curses us all."
Other men among the crowd sprang up to help. They accepted death as long as they removed the cursed boy from their society.
A wave of sickness grabbed some and they fell, but fury seized the rest and they began to move. Then—
"Calm down, please!"[1]
The cursed boy spoke. Their blood felt extremely irritated by his voice, but afterward a warm sensation passed through them. They suddenly felt more energetic, more aware, and their attention was drawn to his face, to his lips that had parted as he spoke to them.
Then came the yearning to listen—no, to hear that voice again, despite the irritation within them.
"No need for any more death!"
They stepped back, their bodies trembling, faces scrunched in irritation, but then came the warmth, the energy, and the yearning.
The alien boy's eyes noted this and he did not speak until they settled. When he opened his mouth to speak, there was eagerness in their faces, including the old man's, but also wariness of what they would feel first.
"I will walk to where you want. Give way!"
"Are you not deceiving us!" The renowned old woman, known as the Misfortune Teller, spoke. She seemed to have recovered and could walk by herself again, albeit with difficulty.
The boy nodded gently at her, indicating he didn't wish to speak anymore since it hurt them.
His voice had shattered their previous rage. Though their collective will had bound him to a degree, they didn't add anything more to his restraints.
His gaze turned to the old man, who stood staring at the boy in awe and fear, then pointed in a direction.
The people there gave way, though they didn't move far enough, wanting to see the boy pass. The eight men had to push them away, shouting, "You will die if you don't go farther!"
The alien boy moved, and feeling their bodies beginning to boil made them retreat. They ran back to buildings, only peeking out to see him. Some climbed onto rooftops to observe from a safer distance.
The alien boy's pinkish skin and white silky hair were soft, like a fair, calming canvas. His crimson eyes were demanding, drawing them in, making them want to look and keep looking—like a delicacy that would never satisfy, only create more craving.
His lips were more pink than crimson—a soft, delicate contrast to his eyes, which gently attracted attention to ease the intensity of his stare.
His movements were unhurried, one step after another, but his body language and facial expressions showed surprise and curiosity. He looked at everything and everyone, and if by chance their eyes met, he nodded with a slight smile appearing on his lips.
The journey was not long. They passed buildings—ancient ones that had lasted for unknown ages.
The town was made of strong, hardened walls like bricks, with sturdy rooftops and doors designed with great precision and calculation.
But within the alleys and corridors were makeshift crafts of the people. You could see the contrast between objects that had survived thousands of years and those crudely made by the settlement dwellers.
They reached a rusted steel gate and pushed inside. Beyond it was a 200-meter walk, then a plank that extended halfway over a giant hole.
There was a wooden makeshift mechanism that held the plank steady, preventing it from falling into the Hollow Fall.
One of the people ran toward the mechanism and pulled something, securing the plank even if someone stood at the far end.
The alien boy didn't stop and stepped onto the plank until he reached the point where he would fall. He hesitated but continued to the edge. Now at their mercy—all they had to do was make the man pull down the handle and he would fall.
The chain on his neck vanished and he stood free from binding. Before turning to face them, he said, his voice having less effect than before:
"I have the cure!"
They all gasped, and the man holding the handle grip it tightly.
"Do you want to know?" the boy asked again.
The old man shouted, "Chase these people out. Close the gate. If this is deception, we don't want anyone falling for it!"
Only a few hundred people had come in, but the eight chased them out and sealed the gate.
"Demon child!" the old man spoke, his tone almost neutral but with a quiver underneath. "Thirty days ago, rain was predicted—but rain that was bloody and came with fever that caused bleeding."
He took a deep breath. "Why would demons desire the suffering of innocent people? We did nothing. Is it true you feed on suffering, the pain others feel, the anguish and chaos you sow?"
***
Eiran sighed for the first time. The weight on his shoulders was heavier than when approaching the Great City. The confusion in his head was worse than his first battle with the mechanical construct.
For the first time, he had said something he truly didn't know if he possessed—the cure.
Under normal circumstances, he would use his Brand Skill: Healing, and in regular situations, it would be his very presence that would heal and energize them.
But this situation was nothing but complicated. His presence was anathema to them. His body radiated something that made their blood boil and siphoned their energy—eventually they would die if they stayed within ten feet of him.
His gaze failed to see the depth of the Hollow Fell, and he slowly turned to face them. Their eyes still held awe and fear.
Eiran remained standing. He had done what he could to make them calm. Now he would have to stall for time while thinking of a solution.
"I will cure you. But I want to hear more about your people. What are your names?"
He still had not fully faced them and waited to hear an answer, but was met with silence.
Eiran's feet scraped on the plank as he slowly turned to face them. Their eyes stared, hearts beating with anticipation of meeting his crimson gaze, and they sighed.
"Why.. did you curse us?" the old man leading them asked again. His face tried to remain stoic, but his eyes and slight stammer betrayed him.
Iran's brain immediately began crawling back in time, pulling different scenes from living in the orphanage and his time in the facility.
His mind immediately formed an idea when that question was asked.
The idea came from a drama that the nannies loved to watch, about a man asked a similar question by his wife.
"Why did you cheat on me?" A woman had asked angrily and in confusion—the same as here with the people of this settlement.
Eiran didn't know what cheating meant, but he understood the people. From the answer the man had given, trying to convince her and tell her to calm down while pulling her mind from the topic, he got his idea.
He relaxed. At least he knew how to handle them. Though he wouldn't be begging, he would be able to address them properly.
Eiran suddenly jumped, and they recoiled. He bounced on the plank, which bent with his landing and propelled him up.
"I have the cure!" he reminded them. "I can see the people—few will survive in the coming days."
They frowned, anger returning to their eyes. "But I can give you the cure!"
Eiran was half-lying. He had no idea how to handle it, but he trusted his mind would come up with something.
"I don't want to fall down here!" He said, showing his vulnerability just as the man had in his long conversation with the woman.
Then he showed his probable strength: "That doesn't mean I will die or be lost forever!"
He stopped jumping and stood still. "Tell me your names!"
Now he had them, and they hesitated before the one holding the handle said, "I'm Gole!"
Gale, Zale, Sak, Jole, Mol, Shol, and Rol were their names, which they hesitantly told him.
"Greetings..." Eiran looked at each of them, called their names, and greeted them.
"You people are the leaders of your community?" he asked. He recalled they were volunteering, so he wanted to confirm something.
"We have no leaders. We are a free people. But some take command when they lead in world exchange!"
"World exchange?" Eiran asked, confused.
"Yes. There are other worlds we can contac
t and exchange resources with!"
Eiran dropped that topic and said with a smile that sent chills down their spines, "Now, I want a drop of your blood to examine something."
[1] It sound celestial