Content warning: This arc contains graphic depictions of violence, strong language, physical abuse, psychological abuse, mind breaking, implied drugs (love potions) and involuntary violence. If any of these themes are triggering to you, please read with caution. Your mental wellbeing comes first.

Only a few days had passed since Gantlos had his encounter with the strange men. The unease that had taken root in his chest the day Ogron arrived was growing, but he couldn't shake it. He tried to carry on as usual, but the land seemed to have turned against him. Though Gantlos had no proof, he couldn't help but feel that the king had something to do with all the misfortune that seemed to follow.

Gantlos walked out at sunrise and stared in horror at the swarm making a feast of his crops. Normally, his fields were green and vibrant, the crops growing strong under his care. But now, the plants were wilted, their leaves nibbled to the vein by a swarm of insects that had appeared overnight. The air was thick with the smell of rot and decay as the pests devoured his crops. The once sweet scent of growing vegetables was overpowered by the pungent odor of dying plants. Gantlos could hear the constant hum of the insects, a dull, maddening buzz that never ceased.

He worked tirelessly to save what he could, but no matter how many pests he crushed between his calloused fingers, more took their place. As the days passed, Gantlos found it harder to sleep. He would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the next disaster to strike. It wasn't a question of if—only when. By the end of the week, he was left with little more than a quarter of his usual harvest—barely enough to make it through the season.

--

The second week brought another blow. His cow, the only one he owned, was found dead in the pasture one morning. There were no signs of illness, no marks on her body. She was just…gone, her life snuffed out like a candle.

The sight of the lifeless cow was a heavy blow. The once strong and sturdy animal lay motionless, her eyes glassy, staring at nothing. Gantlos could smell the early signs of decay in the warm morning air, a sour, unpleasant scent that turned his stomach.

He stood over the body, fists clenched, as the anger boiled within him. He didn't have the luxury to grieve; he needed that cow for milk, for trade. What cut him deeper, though, was that he himself had raised his cow from a calf. He remembered waking up every two hours to give it milk and building a bond with her. When she had a calf of her own and started producing milk, it broke his heart to sell that bull to keep the farm, but he knew his old gal would forgive him. But now, all he could do was dig a grave in the pasture and bury her, the sound of the shovel cutting into the earth a harsh reminder of his loss.

--

The final straw came in the third week. Gantlos had always been in control of his seismic magic—it was part of who he was. But now, his powers were flaring uncontrollably, surging up from deep within him like a wave he couldn't stop.

It started small: a tremor that rattled the windows of his house, a crack in the floorboards that hadn't been there before. But it quickly escalated.

The ground beneath his feet vibrated with a low, ominous rumble, like a beast waking from its slumber. The air was filled with the sound of stone grinding against stone as the church tower swayed, then crumbled, crashing to the ground with a deafening roar. Dust filled the air, choking him, and the shouts of the townsfolk were drowned out by the cacophony of falling rubble.

Gantlos could feel the weight of their stares, the distrust and fear in their eyes as they looked at him like a monster. They knew who had caused the destruction, even if it wasn't intentional. His reputation, already fragile, was shattered in an instant.

--

By the end of the month, Gantlos's life had unraveled. His crops were ruined, his cow was dead, and now he was seen as a danger to the very town he had lived in for years. The isolation was crushing—he was a pariah, blamed for things he couldn't control. Gantlos felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, a heavy, suffocating pressure that threatened to crush him. He was a man of action, of solutions, but now he was out of options. The frustration gnawed at him, a constant companion in the lonely hours of the night. The farm, his sanctuary, had become a prison.

As he stood in the ruins of his life, Gantlos couldn't help but think back to the king's visit. He hated the idea of accepting help, especially from someone like Ogron. But pride wouldn't keep him warm through the winter. Pride wouldn't fill his belly or keep a roof over his head. He didn't believe in curses, but he knew when something wasn't right. Ogron had brought this darkness with him—he was sure of it. But what choice did he have? The king had offered him a way out, and now, with everything crumbling around him, Gantlos had nothing left to lose.

--

"This is so wonderful! I assure you, you won't regret this!" The king jumped in joy as Gantlos watched. Ana seemed less than thrilled with his presence. Gantlos felt a little guilty; he wasn't trying to intrude, but he just didn't see a way out. He couldn't go anywhere else. It was too close to winter to try and replant.

"Don't go making promises you can't keep," Gantlos scolded like a father. The king practically swooned at his words. "I ain't joining your little coven, I'm just going back with you to the castle."

The king nodded, a playful glint in his eye. "Of course, oh Gantlos darling, I promise you'll be well taken care of, regardless."

Gantlos, seeing Ana in distress at the nickname, swerved the king's touch. He wasn't going to add fuel to the fire. He was, however, going to be a gentleman. He offered his hand to Ana, helping him into the carriage. For a fleeting moment, though Gantlos did not see it, an angry jealousy flashed through Ogron's eyes.

As he settled into the carriage, a shiver ran down Gantlos's spine. The warmth of the sun did nothing to chase away the chill that settled in his bones, as if the very air around him was holding its breath, waiting.