Chapter 4: New Hope
Something was seriously wrong.
The sun was sinking behind the murky horizon when the man reached his destination. A makeshift wall of iron sheets eaten through with rust and heavy stones haphazardly stacked, marked the edge of the village. At first glance, it looked intact. But when his eyes lingered, a different truth surfaced: scars of a recent attack. Smoke plumes that should have curled from within the walls were few, thin, fading. The main gate was gone. The guards who normally flanked it were nowhere to be seen.
It wasn’t until he drew within a few meters of the barrier that he noticed a hunched figure trying - and failing - to stay hidden. A pair of nervous eyes glinted above the stock of a crossbow aimed at him.
Without hesitation, the man lowered his hood, then raised his shotgun high, a wordless sign that he came as a friend. The crossbow trembled. For a moment it seemed the man might loose the bolt. Then the guard’s face shifted as recognition broke through fear.
"Traveler! By the Veil… it really is you."
"Where’s the Elder? I need to speak with him,” he said - his voice blunt and sharp.
"The Elder... he... he’s not well...”
"What do you mean, not well? Where is he?”
"We got attacked. The Elder... he still lives but - go to his house... You'll see.”
The man shoved the guard aside and drove himself through the wreck of the gate, with the dog at his heels. The hound whined, as if it too sensed that something inside had gone terribly wrong. Inside, things were way worse than the damaged walls suggested. Smoke hung in the air, faint but acrid, clinging to his throat. The tang of rust and unwashed bodies weighed heavy. Somewhere a door creaked, then silence fell again, too thick and final.
This was New Hope.
That was what the locals called their settlement, though the name always rang bitter in his ears. Laid out in a rough square of abandoned workers’ housing, it had been chosen almost a decade ago by the Elder as the place to begin again. The few buildings still standing - leaning, cracked, patched with scavenged timber and sheet metal - had been forced back into life. Families sheltered there. For a time, life had been possible.
The land around offered small mercies. Beneath the ground ran a forgotten spring, its water clean enough to drink. Around the walls stretched fields that, against all odds, could still be worked. Thin soil, meager harvests, but it was food. Enough to keep famine from the door. Here, in this fragile oasis, the Elder had built a fortress of humanity, made not of stone and steel, but trust, care and the will to endure. A community that held together as the rest of the world rotted away.
But even oases dry up, and this one was bleeding away.
Walking its broken streets, he felt how easily this faint light could be snuffed out. The air seemed different - filtering a metallic stench, sharp and iron-heavy. Blood, and not just a trace. At the edge of the square lay dozens of bodies piled high, unburned despite the risk. Their wounds leaked horror into the dirt. Nearby another heap of corpses waited for fire.
He saw twisted faces, bodies warped and broken, reshaped by the fractured magic of the world. Mutants. That was what the people called them: mortals distorted or born into monstrous forms, neither fully human nor entirely beast. Most were shunned, feared, or hunted - pariahs wandering the edges of human settlements, a living reminder of the cost of this broken world.
Those who had survived were gaunt and sorrowful. Most wept and all were shaken, unable to believe the fragility of their safety. Several tried to stop him, some seeking comfort, others demanding to know where he was going and why he had returned after all this time. To all, he answered the same way: he remained silent, abrupt and dismissive, pushing them out of his path.
He opened the door of the low, battered house without knocking. Two pairs of eyes turned on him immediately: first puzzled, then wide with a mixture of surprise and relief. None of them was the one he sought. A woman stepped forward to embrace him, but the hard weight of his gaze froze her mid-motion, and she withdrew.
"Stella? What happened?” he asked, glancing between her and the blond man standing a few steps away. The delicate teacher tried to speak, but a choked series of sobs swallowed her words. Though she was well past sixty, Stella usually carried a spark and a vivacity that made her seem younger than her age. Now, she seemed fragile, her once-lustrous auburn hair thinned and streaked with gray, her face lined with the weight of recent hardships. Her eyes, still bright, shimmered with fear and grief, and the tremor in her hands betrayed how deeply shaken she still was.
He gave her one last demanding glance, seeking some wordless answer, before reluctantly turn to the third member of the somber group: the community doctor, Andreas. He was a short man in his early fifties with a round, puffy face and cheeks flushed with the constant strain of worry. His cerulean glasses caged a blue gaze of intelligence and an almost naive curiosity, the sort that seemed at odds with the world’s brutality. He nervously ran a hand through his sandy hair before speaking, adressing Stella.
"Stella… go and rest. There’s nothing more you can do here. I’ll stay with him. The village needs you - especially the children. They must be terrified. Just... please, make sure they don’t see you like this.”
The elder’s wife gave a faint nod and began to turn away, but a sudden hesitation pulled her back. She spun toward the Traveler with sudden intensity, seizing his hand with her familiar, burning warmth. Her coal-dark eyes burned into his cold, gray ones, anchoring him in the moment. Stella, struggling against overwhelming sobs, finally managed to find her voice - at least for a moment.
"P… please… I don’t know why you’ve come, but only you can… please, help him…”
The woman broke away before he could respond, wiping her tear-streaked face on the sleeve of her worn cardigan. Only then did the Traveler notice that her walk was uneven, a subtle limp betraying a hidden wound.
"What happened to Stella? What’s going on?” he demanded as she was exiting the house.
"Sit,” Andreas said, calm and deliberate, though the weight behind the word carried a sense of authority.
"I can hear while standing, doctor. Speak!” the man snapped, frustration lacing every syllable.
The doctor didn’t flinch. He removed his glasses and rubbed them against the coarse sleeve of his worn military shirt. The motion was slow, meticulous, as though polishing away the urgency.
"Panic helps no one, Traveler. Sit.”
The man lingered for a moment, suspended between tension and indecision, before collapsing heavily into the empty seat. The room pressed in around him: stale air heavy with sweat and smoke, cups overturned on a table, a blanket crumpled in the corner, dark stains marking the floorboards. Everything smelled of grief and fear.
The room was small, rectangular and barely enough for the sparse furniture. It served as living space, reception, kitchen, dining hall, and office all at once. A faded curtain at the far end concealed a doorway to the bedroom. There was no toilet. Dust motes floated in the dim light, drifting lazily over the worn out surfaces.
Andreas slid the glasses back onto his nose and finally spoke. “We were attacked last night. No warning.”
"What kind of attack?”
"Mutants,” the doctor answered immediately. "Ten, maybe fifteen. We lost so many. Young ones… good ones.”
He coughed dryly, a thin, rattling sound, as though the memory of the events scraped against his throat.
The Traveler’s jaw tightened. “That’s impossible. They never move in numbers.” His eyes flicked to the shuttered windows, as if expecting the creatures to burst through.
"I know,” The doctor’s voice lowered, weighted with something darker. "They were organized. As organized as things like them can be. And they didn’t come alone.”
The Traveler leaned forward. "Then who led them?”
"They were escorting one of the Immortals. He came with them and demanded we surrender, promising safety if we complied. Alexander - of course - refused, and…”
A low, brittle silence fell between them as Andreas’ words faltered, tangled in themselves. Outside, faint sobbing seeped through the broken quiet of New Hope, proof that nothing here was safe anymore. The traveler’s battered hands clenched the arms of his chair so hard it seemed he wanted to tear them apart. His lips had flattened into a straight, pale line, and whatever color remained in his unshaven face drained slowly into nothingness.
Finally, the doctor, with a strain of urgency that hadn’t been there before, added, "I don’t know why you returned. But since you have… we need your help. I hate saying this… but Immortal blood is the only medicine left. Alexander isn’t well. Without it, he won’t survive. There is nothing more I can do.”
Silence closed in around the traveler, a heavy hand squeezing the world tight, trying to erase it. His mind froze on the last phrase, and for a long while, he could not summon another thought. Decades seemed to have passed in a single heartbeat. His lean face sank deeper into the bone beneath, the shadows of his wounds etched sharper than ever. The macabre line tracing from beneath his left eye, disappearing into his unkempt black beard, throbbed with feral intensity, as if it wished to tear his head in two. His eyes, narrow like a wildcat’s, remained fixed on Andreas, yet did not truly see him.
"I have none left”
Andreas’ confidence cracked, his eyes dropping. "Then go to him. He doesn’t have long. I must… prepare Stella.”
The doctor rose and left the room. The Traveler, left alone in the small room, felt the weight of the world pressing down on him. The walls seemed to shrink, the floor tilting beneath him. His body ached - not from injury, but from memory. From the choice he had made on the road, under the knife’s edge of death: drinking the last of the vampire blood he carried, a desperate salvation that now burned his throat, leaving a bitter taste in his soul.
The dog’s damp muzzle pressed insistently against his leg. He did not look down. He rose instead, weary, his trembling fingers brushing the frayed curtain aside. A deep, shuddering sigh tore from his chest, as though his lungs had finally understood what he already knew: his own survival had doomed his mentor.
A ragged, broken breath greeted him - shallow like a last gasp. The weak candlelight made the already cramped room feel suffocating. Shadows danced across the walls - dozens of them - but one was larger than all the rest. It was the shadow of death, crouched beside the elder, waiting patiently for the moment when the longed-for breath would fail to come.
"I didn’t expect you’d bring company. Strange… comforting, in a way, to see you still capable of friendship,” the elder rasped.
The dog was already at his side, gently licking the elder’s skeletal hand with an almost human tenderness. The old man was jaundiced, waxen, like a candle melting slowly under a cruel sun. Dirty bandages across the chest were soaked a deep, violent crimson, and the sheets beneath him were no different.
"It’s just a dog,” the traveler muttered.
The elder chuckled, then hacked into a rattle of coughs, speckled with spit and blood. When the fit eased, he caught his breath long enough to whisper, "You know better than I how rare this is… What do you call him?”
"Dog.”
Alexander’s lips twitched in a tired smile. “Your imagination never ceases to surprise me. Still… it’s a good name. Simple. Easy. I miss that. And… I missed you. I’m glad you came. I feared I wouldn’t see you before...”
“Before nothing!” the Traveler cut in, fierce, unwilling to let the word death breathe in this room. “What happened, Alexander? How did they find you? You said this place was safe.”
Two clouded eyes, veined with violet fractures, searched his face. With a sudden strength the Traveler hadn’t expected, Alexander seized his hand and held on, desperate for warmth. The Traveler gave it silently, lowering himself to the bedside.
"I thought… I thought I had it under control. I was certain I’d hidden us. My defenses should have been enough, but…” His words unraveled into silence.
The Traveler could hardly recognize him. This was the man whose power had kept the whole settlement alive, the one who had bent the fraying laws of magic into a fragile shelter against the world. To see him like this - faltering, undone - felt impossible.
"You asked me to come long before all this happened. Why?”
"I wanted to see you.”
"Alexander…” The man’s voice held warning, almost pleading, as if afraid of what might follow. He forced himself onward, desperate to anchor the moment in reason. "You had another vision, didn’t you? What did you see?”
"Nothing certain… but it felt final.” Alexander’s voice cracked, the words barely dragging themselves out. "Something is coming. Something vast. The End is near. Again.” He stopped to draw a rasping breath, the pause heavier than silence. "But that isn’t why I called you. Someone betrayed us. No Immortal could have found New Hope without help. My defenses are still active. That means… someone let them in.”
"That’s impossible. Only you and I know the way.”
"So I believed. But a month ago… things began to vanish. Notes from my desk. A page here, a page there. At first, I blamed myself. Age. Forgetfulness. Or Stella, tidying too much. They were worthless scraps anyway. Scribbles.” His hand trembled as it clutched the blanket, nails yellow and brittle.
His chest hitched before he went on. "Then it happened again. And again. Until I returned one dawn from the stream and… saw it. My study overturned. Books scattered, papers torn, the shelves stripped bare as though someone had ripped through them in hunger. And yet nothing was missing. Nothing. As if the intruder had taken what they wanted, and left no trace I could understand."
The Traveler listened carefully, straining to catch every word behind the elder’s short, ragged breaths. He had no idea what to expect coming here, but certainly not this. No one could be foolish enough to make a deal with a creature of the night. No one would be that reckless. No one had reason. He just refused to accept it.
"Did you take it to the council? Someone must have seen something.”
"You don’t understand. You’re the only one I trust.”
"And Stella?”
Alexander cut him off, sharp and sudden. "No. Only you.” He shook his head, eyes flashing clear for a heartbeat before sinking back into exhaustion. "I cannot rule anyone out. This attack found us unprepared. I must make sure it never happens again.”
"That vampire… Who was he? Did you know him?”
"Never seen him before.” Alexander coughed, a choking, weak sound. "If I must guess… he was probably one of the renegades. Their lands lie close. We fought… I - ” He choked, the sentence breaking. The Traveler tightened his grip on the old man’s hand. Alexander forced the words out. "…I couldn’t finish him. Neither could he finish me. But he’ll return. Next time, he’ll be ready.”
"Then you will be ready too. I’ll stay as long as it takes.”
"I heard you with the doctor,” Alexander said, low. "Next time… I won’t be around.”
"Don’t say that.”
"Listen…” Alexander cut in softly, and the man fell silent immediately like a child. "You can’t help me this time. I’m dying, and I’ve accepted it. The only thing that matters now is what happens when I’m gone. I care for these people, and I know you care too. I want to know that when I’m no longer here, they’ll be safe, Fabio.”
"I’ve told you not to call me that,” he muttered, jerking his hand away from the old man.
"You can’t hide forever, Fabio. I told you when you left, and I’ll tell you now. There’s no reason for you to be alone.”
"It’s better this way.”
"Better for whom? For you?”
"Stop,” Fabio whispered, lowering his gaze, but the old man remained relentless.
"Or do you think it’s better for those who depend on you?”
"I said stop!” he shouted, his patience breaking. What angered him most was that Alexander’s words made sense, but they hold a truth he refused to hear.
"Or do you still believe it’s better for her?”
"SHUT UP, ALREADY!”
He shook violently, fists tight, leaping to his feet with a raw, animal scream. The wall bore the brunt of his fury, each strike echoing hollowly. Nothing could steady him in that instant. Alexander watched, calm and unreadable. He had seen such outbursts before, but tonight it was different. Tomorrow, Fabio would awaken utterly alone, severed from the one connection that still grounded him. The last anchor in a world of shifting constants was about to vanish - and that could be catastrophic.
"You’re not the only one who lost her, Fabio. She wasn’t just your wife. She was my daughter, damn it! But she’s been dead for years. You need to accept it, move on. Zoe wouldn’t want you living in isolation. She would want you to...”
"You have no idea what she would have wanted. Neither do I. She didn’t get to say a word… she didn’t…” Breathless, Fabio halted his assault on the wall. His joints were torn, warm blood stinging new wounds, but he felt nothing. His mind replayed a torrent of blonde hair, a scream he could never soothe. He shoved the image away violently, forcing his thoughts toward survival.
"When that parasite comes back, you’ll be ready, do you hear me?”
"Stop being so selfish for once! Can’t you just - just listen! Not even now that I’m dying?”
Without noticing, he paced the cramped room, covering the tiny space in two long, restless strides. Each movement gave shape to his nervous energy, every sound on the verge of driving him mad. Deep down, he knew Alexander wasn’t wrong. The blood seeping from his torso confirmed it. His vision blurred; each breath drew sharper, heavier, as if the air resisted him.
"Do you want to help me?” The elder’s cracked voice cut through the silence. Fabio turned, and Alexander added, “I know where you can find one of them, one of the Immortals. I want you to find them and bring them here.”
"Are you rambling, old man? Why would I do that?”
"Silence…” The voice trembled but held firm. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "There’s a vampire, three hours from here, who has been unconscious for years. If you bring them here, their blood will never run dry for you again.”
Fabio froze, the weight of the revelation pressing down. "What? How long have you known this? And why didn’t you tell me earlier, Alexander? We could already have the solution at hand!” He could barely make sense of it, and the worn, fragile figure of his mentor made everything feel heavier and final.
"It doesn’t matter. Their blood alone isn’t enough… this community… they need you, Fabio. We were nearly a hundred and were cut in half in a night. You must stay. Someone must take care of them. Promise me. Don’t let it all burn…”
He spoke quickly, unevenly, through clenched teeth, losing words again and again in his desperate rush to say everything at once. Fabio listened, but he didn’t want to be part of that reckless plan. If Alexander’s defenses had even weakened slightly, Fabio’s own meager “magical” abilities were, at best, useless. He may have tried to teach him some of his secrets, but the weak tricks he had finally mastered were little more than hit-or-miss illusions. They could never replace Alexander’s raw, innate power.
He had seen mutants crumble to dust under the gaze of the old mage. Contaminated water from the underground stream became potable because of Alexander. He knew full well that, though human eyes could see the oasis that was the small village, no Immortal could do the same unless they possessed the blood of a resident - a fact that was far from common knowledge. For all these reasons, and many more, Alexander had to stay alive. Whatever he thought of his pupil, it was a hopeful wish that his work would not die with him.
"Tell me where to find this vampire,” Fabio said finally, voice low but sharp. "I’ll go… and I’ll come back immediately. Until then, you stay alive, hear me? I won’t let you die.”
Alexander’s gaze drifted away, weary and defeated. Forming thoughts into words had become a herculean task. Whatever he said now, he knew, wouldn’t convince the man beside him of the inevitable. All he could hope was that Fabio would be the man he believed him to be. He gave a small, affirmative nod and hurried to explain where the creature could be found before it was too late.
"I’ll be back soon,” Fabio said, his voice low, as he pulled the hood over his head. He moved toward the door, but a frail hand caught his wrist, stopping him. Alexander’s eyes, wide with terror, searched his face. Never had the old man seemed so broken, so afraid.
"Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. And, whatever happens… bring the Immortal here intact. Keep them alive. No matter what it takes. Everything is about to change. And if you ever doubt… trust your instinct. No one else.”
The grip slackened. His hand fell heavily to his side. Alexander closed his eyes, exhausted, and Fabio didn’t press. He would speak to him again in a few hours - after he had found the creature that could heal him. Then, everything would become clear. That was the way it had to be.
Fabio turned, the Dog padding silently at his heels, and stepped into the night.
One of the candles flickered out with a soft whistle, immediately sending the shadows in the room into a frenzy. They danced wilder, more violently, closing in threateningly around the old man’s side.
"Take care, my child… I hope one day you can forgive me.”
Darkness swallowed the last words before they could reach Fabio’s ears. With hands stiff, brittle from fever, Alexander leaned to the side and retrieved the small notebook from his bedside table. The wound on his chest bled deeper, but it no longer mattered. The end would have to wait; at least until he had finished what he still owed to say. With painstaking care, he gripped the stubby pencil and began to write.
When Fabio returned, he would be gone.
Yet, the truth had to outlive him.
Oh boy oh boy oh boy. Traitors and the blood of immortality that's a hell of a bombshell to just walk in to. I'm already hungry to read more, this is excellent Imagica, I'm really enjoying following this story.
Thanks Keon!! It makes me very happy to see you are enjoying this <3