The Timeless Tale

     Slowly rising, he ambled away from the dump. Recognizing the familiar Meridell dwellings, Rhea felt a surge of joy. Unintentionally, he had arrived exactly where he wished to be! Excitement propelled him toward the woods, leading him to a tranquil glade. The mere thought of encountering Illusen, one of his beloved faeries, tinted his cheeks with a rosy hue. Clearing his throat, adjusting his coat, he approached her quaint cabin and timidly rapped on the wooden door. Moments passed, and contemplation deepened. What if the faerie was already asleep? He hesitated about knocking again but decided against it, turning back. Yet, after a few steps, the faint creak of the door reached his ears. Swiveling around, he met Illusen's gaze. Startled, she let out a terrified scream and promptly shut the door. Bewildered, Rhea fled in the opposite direction as swiftly as he could.

     What had caused such a fright to the faerie? Was he that repulsive? No longer a Darigan, he couldn't fathom such an extreme reaction. Palpitations echoed in his chest, and heat flushed his forehead. Large drops welled at the corner of his eyes, blurring his vision. He traversed the forest tirelessly, sinking deeper until he questioned if he could find his way out. Stumbling over roots, sliding down muddy slopes, falling and rising, he eventually reached the shore of a small pond reflecting Kreludor's glow. Panting, he caught his breath, contemplating whether to look at his reflection. Tentatively approaching the water, he shut his eyes. He took a deep breath to give himself courage and finally opened his eyes.

     Rhea recoiled, horrified. Suddenly, everything clicked. The issue wasn't becoming a Grey Pet; it was that he alone had transformed into a Grey Pet. Behind his diminutive figure sprawled a looming shadow—a Darigan Ixi’s shadow to be precise. He remembered the few sips of potion he hadn't drunk. Those few drops that had ended up crushed to the ground along with the vial that contained them. He cursed himself for struggling, realizing that in attempting to save his life, he had sealed his own fate. Overwhelmed by regret, loneliness, and confusion, Rhea curled up in the hollow of a dead tree and fell asleep. In a matter of hours, he had lost all sense of purpose and dreams.

     *******

     The passage of days became a burdensome routine for Rhea. No longer did he sprint; he merely dragged his feet, navigating a life devoid of any awareness of time's flow. His aimless wandering eventually led him to Altador. In the shroud of a thick, dark night, he slipped into a bookstore, quietly borrowing a few scrolls, ink, and a pen. Guilt pricked at him for pilfering from an honest Neopian, prompting him to drop his last neopoints on the counter before leaving hastily. With a pouch slung over his back, he resumed his quest for a new sanctuary. Jumping at every murmur, dreading the possibility of encountering another Neopian and witnessing the all-too-familiar mix of fear and disgust, Rhea retreated deep into the forest, far from any habitation.

     His aimless journey led him to a dilapidated shack nestled in the woods. Broken windows replaced by large nailed planks, a roof resembling a checkerboard of red and black from afar, but on closer inspection revealing broken tiles—this shack seemed to wear its misery like a tattered cloak. Wide gaps in the walls allowed the wind to weave a haunting melody through the structure. The sky, overcast since the day before, unleashed raindrops that played a frenzied rhythm on the foliage. Shivering from fear and cold, Rhea summoned his courage and entered the hut.

     Inside, the cabin was far from welcoming. Water leaks had left wet streaks on the walls, and the cracked wooden floor attested to years of neglect. Dust covered the entire floor in a volatile layer. Rhea's first step on the parquet floor caused a cloud of particles to blow off the floor, making him sneeze. He then turned his gaze to the ceiling. Cobwebs adorned with droplets of water reminded Rhea of fairy dust and he let out a long sigh. Exhausted, he curled up in a corner and surrendered to a dreamless night.

     As the morning dawned, Rhea took a piece of parchment, placing it on a wobbly table in the corner of the room. Seated, he placed his quill on the paper but found himself paralyzed. Just a few days ago, he would have sketched faeries without hesitation, but everything had changed. Illusen's terrified expression haunted him, causing his heart to sink. Closing his eyes, he let his hand guide the pen, shaping formless shadows on the paper until not a single spot remained blank.

     Days turned into a semblance of routine for the young Ixi: mending holes in the roof, picking berries for lunch in the forest, and, above all, drawing. Drawing had become more than a hobby; it was his sole means of expression. He illustrated what he ate, what he aspired to be, his emotions, and his fears. Especially his fears. Drawing was what he was good at, after all. However, something had changed since he had left the Citadel... The pink and blue pastels that he had loved so much had been replaced by red and black inks. And Rhea never drew a faerie again.

     To avoid encounters with others and theft, Rhea taught himself to make his own paper, charcoal, and paint colours. He gathered leaves from the forest, scavenged for old newspapers left carelessly on the city's outskirts, created a mesh screen, and used river water to craft textured sheets. Berries and flowers served as pigments, while wood sap acted as a binder. Days melted into weeks, then months. When occasional adventurers stumbled upon his dwelling, the first sight that greeted them was a plethora of drawings scattered across the floor—black shapes and nightmarish figures. Venturing further, the ominous shadow cast on the wall ensured their swift retreat.

     Gradually, gossip began to circulate throughout Altador. The shabby appearance of the hut, the sinister whistling of the wind through the dilapidated floorboards, Rhea's lamentations in the middle of the night. Over time, these stories grew in fervor, and some gossipers went to great lengths to make them even more entertaining. Some even claimed that Balthazar himself occupied the place. Others said Vira had turned it into her vacation residence.The cabin in the woods was deemed haunted, a place where danger lurked for anyone brave enough to venture close.

      *******

     A piercing howl shattered the serene silence enveloping the woods near Altador. "JOSH!!! JOOOOSSSHHHHHH!!!" Adam, the Blue Bori, careened through the trees, slaloming so fast that he stumbled multiple times. As he came to a halt, his face appeared drained, and he trembled like a leaf.

     "Adam? Are you okay?" His friend Josh inquired, remorse flickering in his eyes as the gravity of his prank sunk in.

     It took a few minutes for the Bori to cease shaking, and his attempt to speak was labored. "There really is a monster in the shack, I saw it." A sudden recollection crossed his mind, and a sneer warmed his previously livid face. "But I still succeeded in my dare!!!"

     With pride, Adam raised his trophy for his friends to see. A maze of dark ink sprawled across the paper, forming an interweaving tendrils of dead branches. In the heart of this sinister labyrinth, a foreboding tunnel emerged, its depths veiled in shadow. Within this macabre setting, a black silhouette loomed ominously. The Aisha opened his eyes wide, then frowned. He briskly moved the drawing out of his sight, as if to prevent the silhouette from coming out to haunt him.

     "Brrr... it's creepy..."

     "And there were hundreds more like this. They were all scattered on the ground, and some of them were even creepier than this one!" The little Bori finally regained his composure. "You can go and check it out for yourself if you want."

     "It's okay, I believe you. Come on, let's go home. I don't know what your monster is capable of, and I certainly don't want to find out." Josh flipped confidently, taking a step forward but was abruptly halted as he collided with the cloak of a stranger, emitting a startled yelp.

     The stranger towered over him by at least a head, and didn't look particularly friendly. A large scar barred his face, and a few purple bangs streaked his greying hair. He slowly reached out and snatched the scroll from the hands of the Aisha. He carefully analyzed the drawing and asked in an assertive tone. "Where did you get that?"

     "It was... It was... In the cabin... haunted cabin deep in the woods," the Aisha stammered, gesturing toward the path.

     The traveller wasted no time and immediately set off in the indicated direction.

     To be continued…