Chapter 4: Before The Snowfalls
Year 0001, Month X: The Imperium
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The Days That Followed
After several days of meticulous scouting in our village, I managed to gather a modest array of tools from the abandoned houses scattered throughout the village. Each dwelling I entered felt like an intrusion, a violation of privacy that made my skin crawl. Yet necessity drove me forward. I pried open our neighbors root cellars and, to my immense relief, discovered stores of preserved food—jars of pickled vegetables, dried meats, and sacks of grain.
For now, at least, I wouldn't have to worry about venturing beyond the village boundaries in search of sustenance. It was a small comfort amidst the overwhelming desolation, but one I desperately needed to cling to. Each night, I returned to my broken home with my findings, organizing them with trembling hands, trying to impose some semblance of order in a world that had been reduced to chaos.
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The Rotting Dead
After nearly a week of exploring every corner of the village, I could no longer pretend they weren't there. The corpses of my fellow villagers—my neighbors, my friends, my family—lay scattered everywhere like discarded dolls. Some were crumpled against walls, others sprawled in the streets, frozen in their final moments of terror.
Mrs. Anna Lorete, who had taught me to weave, was slumped over her loom. The butcher's son Throndeir Bahr—he couldn't have been more than sixteen—had fallen just steps from his father's shop, his hunting knife still clutched in his rigid fingers.
Suffice it to say, after staring at the villagers' half-eaten and decaying forms for so long, my conscience—or rather, my stomach—could no longer bear it. I retched violently, doubling over as my insides twisted in revulsion. The putrid stench of decomposition hung in the air like a miasma, inescapable and all-consuming. Each breath filled my lungs with the foul reminder of mortality, of how quickly life can dissolve into nothingness.
Giving Them the Dignity They Once Have
I decided I could not—would not—leave them like this. These people had names, stories, lives entwined with mine since birth. They deserved better than to rot where they had fallen, exposed to the elements and scavengers alike. But the sheer number of bodies made my heart sink to depths I didn't know existed. There were too many for me to bury alone, too many graves to dig with my still-healing body.
After hours of agonizing deliberation, I made a painful decision that felt like a betrayal. I would bury only my immediate family—mother, father, and younger sister—giving them as much dignity as my limited strength would allow. As for the rest of the villagers, I would commit their remains to fire. It wasn't what they deserved, but it was the best I could offer them now.
Each shovelful of earth I displaced for my family's graves felt like a mountain. My muscles screamed in protest, reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal. But I persisted, driven by a desperate need to honor them in death as I had loved them in life.
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The Retching Stench
I began the grim task of gathering the rotting corpses at dawn the next day. One by one, I dragged them to a clearing just beyond the village entrance. Each body was heavier than it should have been, bloated with the gases of decomposition. My arms ached with every pull, my stomach churning with every jolt that released fresh waves of the nauseating stench.
The smell alone was unbearable—a thick, cloying odor that clung to my clothing, my skin, my hair. I vomited more times than I could count, until nothing remained but bitter bile that scorched my raw throat. Still, I continued. What choice did I have?
I was weak, my body still recovering from injuries that should have claimed my life. Yet somehow, I found the strength to push forward. Each step sent lances of pain through my healing wounds, but I noticed I could now walk with less agony than before. It seemed my body was mending at an accelerated rate—another mystery to add to the growing list of things I couldn't explain.
After hours of grueling labor under the unforgiving sun, I had managed to pile the bodies atop one another in a macabre pyramid of flesh. The sight alone was enough to make the world spin around me.
But then—
*Erghhh!!!*
I gagged violently as my foot sank into Uncle Thomas's bloated abdomen. The flesh beneath my sole was sickeningly soft, yielding like rotten fruit, oozing putrid fluids that soaked through my threadbare shoe. Maggots squirmed in the wound that had ended his life, a writhing mass of pale bodies feasting on what remained of the man who had once taught me to whittle wood.
The sheer revulsion overwhelmed me, and I emptied what little remained in my stomach onto the ground beside him, tears streaming down my face—from the stench or from grief, I could no longer tell.
After what felt like an eternity, I dragged the final body onto the pile. I think it was Aunt Mary, though her features had deteriorated beyond easy recognition. Her once-kind face, which had smiled at me countless times over freshly baked bread, was now barely more than a grinning skull draped in decaying flesh.
I gathered wood from nearby houses—broken furniture, splintered doors, anything that would burn—and arranged it around the base of the pyre. With shaking hands, I struck flint against steel, creating sparks that eventually caught on the dry kindling. It took several attempts, but once the fire finally caught, it rapidly spread to the corpses. The oils from their decomposing bodies fed the flames, which soon erupted into a roaring inferno that reached toward the heavens.
The sickening stench of burning flesh replaced the odor of decay—hardly an improvement, but at least it meant the end was in sight. I held my breath as long as I could, offering a silent prayer for each soul whose vessel I was now committing to the flames.
"May you find peace beyond this world," I whispered before retreating from the foul smoke that billowed upward in thick, black columns visible for miles around.
It hadn't rained for days, which was perhaps the only small mercy in this entire ordeal. Had the bodies been soaked, the fire might not have caught so readily, and the stench would have been even more unbearable as their decaying flesh melted and spilled across the village grounds.
As for my family, I treated their remains with all the care I could muster. I dragged each of them to the village graveyard, where the first generation of our ancestors already lay in eternal slumber. I dug three deep pits, each one a labor of love and grief combined. My body was beyond exhaustion, my hands raw and blistered, but I refused to stop until the task was complete.
I laid my mother down first, arranging her limbs as best I could, wiping dirt from her face with gentle fingers. My father followed, and then my sister—sweet Elora Finn, who had only just begun to learn the village songs. I covered them with earth, tamping it down firmly to protect them from scavengers. I encircled each grave with stones gathered from the mountains, marking them as sacred ground, and whispered prayers for their souls as tears carved clean tracks down my soot-covered face.
I returned home as dusk fell, my body leaden with exhaustion, my spirit hollow. The village was quieter now, the air cleaner, but the silence was deafening in its finality. At least now, I thought as I collapsed onto my bed, they could finally rest in peace.
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Peering at the System and Its Mission
After ensuring that the funeral pyre had burned down to ash, leaving nothing but blackened bones that would soon be scattered by the wind, I turned my attention to the mysterious [System Panel] hovering at the edge of my vision. I checked my [Mission Panel], still bewildered by its presence.
The system remained as coldly impersonal as ever.
[SYSTEM: MISSION - SECURE THE ENTIRE MAYA VILLAGE FROM PREDATORY BEASTS]
[REWARD:
° MINOR REWARD - SLIGHT INCREASE IN BODY CONSTITUTION AND MENTAL STATE, +1
° MAJOR REWARD - UNLOCK YOUR PERSONAL PANEL]
[TIME LIMIT: INDEFINITE]
"Hmmm... Personal Panel, huh? What could that be?" I muttered to myself, wishing the system would elaborate without my prompting. To my surprise, it responded:
[SYSTEM: A PERSONAL PANEL IS AN OVERVIEW OF YOUR CURRENT SELF. IT INCORPORATES GAME-LIKE FEATURES THAT WERE TAILORED TO THIS SYSTEM BASED ON YOUR PAST SELF'S REQUEST.]
"Oh? You're back?!" I exclaimed, a grin splitting my face despite everything. The sound of any voice—even this mechanical, emotionless one—was a welcome break from the oppressive silence.
[... I NEVER LEFT.]
"..."
Cold as ever. I sighed deeply and looked back at my mission panel, trying to make sense of it all. "So... this is a good thing?" I ventured cautiously.
[YES.]
At least that was something. "I guess I'll start doing this mission of yours, then."
[...]
The silence that followed was answer enough. Whatever this system was, it clearly wasn't interested in conversation beyond the bare minimum required to convey information.
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Some Form of Plan
With no further guidance forthcoming, I began planning methodically, sketching the village's layout in the dirt with a stick. I marked the areas that needed immediate fortification, identified potential weak points where beasts might enter, and cataloged what resources remained usable.
Our village wasn't large—twenty one homes in total and at least nine storage houses, but they were all burnt—but securing its perimeter would still be a monumental task for one person. I decided to dismantle some of the more damaged structures, repurposing their materials for repairs to the outer walls and more defensible dwellings. I designated my neighbor's abandoned home as a central storage facility, where I meticulously placed all the useful items I had scavenged.
"I wish someone could help me..." I whispered to the empty air, my voice sounding foreign even to my own ears. "This would be so much easier with even one more pair of hands."
I sighed heavily, tilting my face toward the vast, uncaring sky. "Because someone keeps ignoring me..."
[...]
Predictably, my passive-aggressive jab at the system yielded no response. I was truly alone in this endeavor.
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Finding a Novice Simple Wooden Bow
During my exploration of the chief's house—a building I had always viewed with childlike awe—I discovered a simple bow hanging on the wall. It wasn't elaborate or ornate, just a functional hunting weapon similar to those the village patriarchs had used for generations. The string was still taut, and though the wood showed signs of age, it seemed serviceable.
It wasn't the finest weapon, certainly nothing like the enchanted armaments of legends told around evening fires, but it would serve as something for self-defense. At the very least, it gave me a fighting chance should any predators venture into the village before I could secure it properly.
I gathered an assortment of straight twigs and branches from the outskirts of the forest, careful not to stray too far from the relative safety of the village. I was still too weak, too vulnerable, to risk an encounter with whatever beasts lurked in the shadows between trees.
To my frustration, when I attempted to draw the bow, my arms trembled and gave out before I could pull the string back fully. The muscles that had once been strong enough for farm work had atrophied during my recovery. If I wanted to use this weapon effectively, I would need to train my body back to its former strength—and beyond.
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Preparing For the Long Winter
Days blended into weeks as I established a rigorous routine—eating preserved foods sparingly, scouting the village perimeter for signs of intruders, practicing with the bow until my fingers blistered, searching for additional food sources, and collapsing into exhausted sleep each night.
Slowly but surely, I was getting stronger. Each day, I could draw the bowstring a little farther. Each day, I could work a little longer before needing rest. My body was rebuilding itself, adapting to this new, harsh reality.
Winter was approaching relentlessly—I could feel its cold fingers reaching into the valley earlier each evening. The first snowfall couldn't be far off, and if I didn't prepare adequately, I wouldn't survive to see spring. The thought sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature.
I reinforced my family home using pre-cut wood my father had stacked behind our house, intended for repairs he would never complete. I sealed gaps in the walls with mud and straw, repaired the roof where it had begun to leak, and constructed a more efficient central hearth that would conserve precious fuel while providing maximum warmth. It wasn't much compared to what skilled village craftsmen could have accomplished, but it would provide some protection from the brutal elements to come.
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The Effects of the Village Isolation
As I worked, I considered my options for long-term survival. Farming, which had been the lifeblood of our community, was no longer viable in the immediate future. It was far too late in the season to plant crops, a realization that filled me with frustrated helplessness. I had found seed stores while scavenging through the houses—carefully preserved potential that would have to wait until spring thawed the ground once more.
Our village had always prided itself on self-sufficiency, rarely engaging in the few trades with the outside world from poor lost souls. The elders had viewed outsiders with suspicion, preferring to rely on our own resources rather than risk exposure to foreign influences. Now, that very isolation that had defined us was working against me. There were no neighboring settlements I could turn to for help, no established trade routes I could follow to civilization.
I sighed deeply, shaking my head at the irony. No point in dwelling on what couldn't be changed. I had to work with what was available to me now.
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Trapping Rabbiets and Food Preservation
I dedicated myself to stocking our root cellar as thoroughly as possible. I preserved everything edible I could find, using techniques my mother had taught me since childhood—smoking meats, pickling vegetables, drying fruits, and storing root vegetables in sand to prevent rot. I carefully rationed what I had, calculating how much I could consume each day if winter lasted until the first thaw, typically around three to four months as one year comprises thirteen months.
I also set up small game traps in the forest clearings near the village, constructed just as my father had shown me years ago. They were simple snares designed primarily for rabbiets—furry creatures similar to rabbits but with slightly longer ears and more valuable pelts—that foraged among the underbrush.
To my immense relief, the traps proved effective almost immediately. I caught two or three small creatures each day, providing a steady source of fresh meat to supplement my preserved stores. I skinned them carefully, preserving every usable part: meat for food, fur for eventual clothing, bones for tools, and entrails for fishing bait should the opportunity arise.
I had briefly considered venturing to the river to set up fish traps as well, knowing that the slow-moving pools that came down from the mountain sometimes remain unfrozen even in the deepest winter. But the risk seemed too great to justify. The Great Central West River is nearly almost a month's worth of paced journey through the dense forest, and I barely remembered the path. If I got lost or injured, there would be no one to help me find my way back.
For now, I stayed within sight of the village smoke, avoiding unnecessary risks while focusing on making my immediate surroundings as secure and sustainable as possible.
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A Reminder of What is to Come
The days began to blur together in endless repetition. Trapping small game before dawn, reinforcing the village perimeter through the morning, training with the bow during midday, preserving food in the afternoon, and planning by firelight each evening—I repeated these tasks with religious dedication, pushing through exhaustion and occasional despair.
Each night, I fell into bed with muscles screaming in protest, but also with the satisfaction of measurable progress. The village perimeter was slowly becoming more defensible as I removed destroyed debris and patched it with anything I could find and use. My aim with the bow was improving steadily. My food stores were growing more substantial by the day.
And then, one crisp morning as I stepped outside, pulling my threadbare cloak tighter around my shoulders—
A single snowflake drifted down from the pearl-gray sky, landing delicately on the tip of my nose before melting into nothingness.
I stood motionless, watching as more began to fall, gentle harbingers of the harsh season to come. The world around me gradually transformed, harsh edges softening under a growing blanket of white.
Winter had arrived, bringing with it new challenges I would face alone.
But I was ready. I had to be.