118 — Legido

All around you, the unfinished settlement of Aitzabal stirs with a nervous energy. The dawn is a thin line of light barely slicing through the thick veil of night. Haphazardly constructed huts lean into each other for support. The ground is littered with tools and materials, remnants of projects abandoned in the rush of preparation for the journey ahead.

The settlers grimly move about the camp, anxious about what awaits them. Even the animals seem to sense the shift in the atmosphere. The restless movements of the horses and livestock mirror the unease that permeates throughout the settlement. Every heartbeat is a countdown to the moment when you will leave the relative safety of Aitzabal and step into the wild, marching toward the unknown of Xiatlidar.

The bedroll next to you rustles as Iker finally rises. Throughout the night, your longtime friend snored and slept soundly — something you feel he hasn’t been able to do since arriving to this new land. While the noises of his slumber kept you awake for most of the night, you feel you were unlikely to sleep much anyway.

The looming trek to Xiatlidar kept you up and staring at the stars. The talk from Iker about what’s occurring in the other settlement has your stomach tied into knots. ‘Tyrannical rule’? ‘Criato and Ulloa just as brutal’? ‘People forced to work without rest’? ‘Low morale and people suffering’? This does not sound like a place anyone should want to travel to willingly.

Yet Captain Lema is adamant about heading north, to reunite with the other Legido explorers. To him, Xiatlidar represents a vital link in the chain of command and survival. The tales of oppression and hardship do little to deter him — if anything, they fuel his drive to establish order, to impose the will of the Legido upon these lands, no matter the cost. It’s in the way he speaks of Criato and Ulloa with a hint of camaraderie and understanding. They are cut from the same cloth, men who believe in the mission above all else.

Iker sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as the morning in Aitzabal comes into focus. “We’re really going to go to Xiatlidar?” he asks. You have no response. You’re just as disappointed about this as he is.

It takes you no time to collect your belongings. You haven’t had a chance to establish much of a home here, yet you feel mournful about leaving it. You’re not sure what kind of reception you all will receive upon your arrival, but you fear what you’ll find when you get there. If it were up to you, you’d stay here, even if the creation of the settlement has gotten off to a rocky start.

The sun hasn’t made much progress, barely peeking over the horizon before you all depart. The cheerful birdsongs and stirring creatures — the sounds so different from the animals of your homeland — stand in sharp opposition to how you all feel inside. The only one eager to travel to Xiatlidar, Captain Lema urges everyone from atop one of the few horses to pick up their pace, even before you’ve left the settlement behind. His excitement is reminiscent of the moment land was discovered after what felt like an eternity at sea. Yet no one else seems to share in his enthusiasm.

The settlers move in a somber procession. The early morning light casts long shadows, stretching across the terrain like gnarled fingers. Each step feels labored, the soil beneath your feet seeming to pull you down. Faces are drawn, eyes fixed on the ground, as if seeking solace in the familiar texture of the dirt and leaves.

Captain Lema’s commands slice through the stillness, but they feel hollow, like the echo of a bell in an empty hall. His fervor is a lone flame in the encroaching gloom, but even his spirit cannot lift the pervasive sense of dread. The trek ahead is a march toward an uncertain fate — every settler seems aware of this.

As the journey north continues, there’s an unease settling over you and Iker like a heavy fog. The oppressive silence only heightens your anxiety. Ever perceptive, Landera decides to break the tension.

“Let me tell you a story,” she says, her voice is like a gentle current in the still morning air. The sweetness of her tone draws you in like a lifeline in the misty dawn. “It’s a tale from our homeland, a legend of the sea and stars.”

You walk closer to Landera, the early morning light filtering through the trees and casting dappled shadows on her face. Her eyes gleam with the light of the story she’s eager to weave. The forest around you awakens with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds, a serene backdrop to the tale unfolding.

“Long ago,” she starts, “in the days when our ancestors sailed the vast oceans, there was a sailor named Aitor. He was known far and wide for his bravery and skill, but also for his insatiable curiosity. Every tale of uncharted waters, every whisper of distant lands, filled his heart with an unquenchable thirst for adventure.”

Iker’s shoulders relax slightly as he keeps pace, his eyes fixed on Landera. Dorez, too, watches out of the corner of her eye as Landera tells her tale. Even Benicto, typically sour and uninterested, edges closer, pretending not to care while straining to catch every word of the story. The path beneath your feet is uneven, roots and stones jutting out, but being drawn to the narrative, the group moves as one.

“Aitor sailed further than anyone had dared, seeking the edge of the world. His ship, the Ardent Star, was sturdy and swift, cutting through the waves with ease. The crew trusted Aitor implicitly, inspired by his unwavering confidence and his limitless loyalty to his crew.

“One night, under a sky glittering with stars, he suddenly found himself in the middle of a powerful storm, appearing out of nowhere. The waves towered like mountains, the wind howled like a thousand spirits, and the sea churned with a fury that seemed intent on swallowing the Ardent Star whole.”

Landera’s voice rises and falls with the tale, mimicking the storm’s fury. You can almost feel the salt spray on your face, and the deck rock beneath your feet. The trees around you sway gently with the morning breeze, but in your mind’s eye, you see the tempest that Aitor faced.

“But Aitor was not afraid. He steered his ship, his eyes on the horizon. Though they were terrified, the crew found strength in his courage, doing all they could to fight the raging seas. In the heart of the tempest, he saw a light that cut through the darkness. It was a soft, ethereal glow, unlike any star or lighthouse they had ever seen. Guided by this light, Aitor sailed into calm waters, where the sky met the sea in a perfect embrace.”

Landera’s words wrap around you like a comforting blanket, bringing warmth to the chilly dawn. Everyone’s gaze is fixed to storyteller, waiting to find out what happens next. You’re too captivated by the tale to remember what was bringing you anxiety in the first place.

“Legend says that Aitor’s ship was found many years later, abandoned but intact. No bodies were found on board, and no one knows what became of him or his crew. Some believe Aitor found a hidden paradise, a place so enchanting they all chose to remain, forever separated from our world. Others think he sailed into the night sky to forever become one with the sea and stars.

“But they say that on stormy nights, when the waves crash and the winds howl, a bright, steadfast light can be seen shining in the distance. It’s believed to be Aitor, embodying the bright light that brought him and his crew to a realm of peace and tranquility, where time seemed to stand still. His spirit forever guides those who dare to dream beyond the horizon, a beacon for those brave enough to face the unknown.”

Landera pauses, letting the story settle over the group. You feel a sense of calm, a glimmer of hope igniting in your chest. The journey ahead still holds its uncertainties, but the tale of Aitor reminds you that there is strength in perseverance, light in the darkest of times. Now, the forest seems less daunting, the obstacles ahead a little less intimidating.

“But how does anyone know that Aitor wrestled with the waves and made it to those safe seas?” Benicto asks skeptically. This earns him a smack upside the head from Dorez, and Benicto allows his inquiry to go unanswered.

Iker sighs, and a small smile plays at his lips. “That was a good story, Lander.”

Landera nods, her eyes meeting each of yours in turn. “We are like Aitor, facing our own tempest. But together, we can find our way, no matter how fierce the storm. The light we seek is within us, guiding us through the darkest nights and the roughest seas.”

The group walks in reflective silence for a while, the early morning light growing stronger, illuminating the forest with a golden hue. Occasionally, a light rain turns into a soft mist, then back to a persistent rain, even as the sun shines through the clouds. As you continue, the sound of a distant stream reaches your ears. It’s a soothing reminder of the life and beauty that persist even in the most difficult times. The legend of Aitor stays with you, lighting your path through the unknown.

The light drizzle suddenly transforms into a torrential downpour. Rain lashes down relentlessly, each drop like a tiny hammer against your skin. As thick as it is, the forest canopy does little to shield you from the deluge. Water streams down the tree trunks and collects in muddy pools along the path. The air is saturated with moisture, making each breath feel like you’re inhaling water. You can barely see the next settler ahead of you through the sheets of rain.

Your clothes become heavy, clinging to your body. The ground beneath your feet turns to slick mud. The settlers huddle together, their spirits dampened by the relentless storm. Once again, Captain Lema’s voice cuts through the rain, barking orders to keep moving, to not lose heart. His horse struggles on the muddy path, its hooves sinking and sliding with each step.

Night falls, but the rain does not relent. The group sets up a makeshift camp in the best shelter they can find, which is little more than a cluster of trees offering scant protection. Tents are hastily pitched, though many collapse under the weight of the waterlogged fabric. You and the others gather beneath the flimsy cover, shivering as the cold seeps into your bones. The constant drumming of the rain on the canvas above you is deafening, like a war drum has been placed directly next to your ears.

Sleep is sparse, at best. The storm shows no signs of abating, and every gust of wind threatens to tear down the tents. Water seeps in from all sides, soaking through blankets and provisions. You lie awake, listening to the howling wind and the occasional snap of branches. Your stomach churns and your hands tremble as you imagine the storm continuing to rage, its relentless fury threatening to unravel everything.

The next morning, the rain still pours down in surging sheets. The camp is a muddy quagmire, and everyone looks exhausted and disheartened. Yet there is no choice but to press on. Captain Lema rallies the group, urging them to muster what strength they can. There’s a sinking feeling inside you that knows the worst may still be yet to come.

You push forward through the dense foliage, the air growing damp and heavy as you approach the narrow pass. The scent of wet soil and vegetation clings to you, mingling with the sweat on your brow. Captain Lema rides ahead, his eyes vigilantly sweeping the terrain. There’s an ominous, distant rumble that puts you on edge immediately. You occasionally glance back at the weary faces of the settlers trailing behind. Among them, Gartzen rides close to some of the group, his expression habitually stern. Iker looks upon the landscape nervously, while Landera strides forward with confidence. Dorez and Benicto march silently, their uneasy gazes fixed on the path ahead and the uncertainty of the terrain.

As you navigate the slick, muddy ground, the distant rumble grows louder, more insistent. The rain continues to batter you from all sides, turning the path into a dangerous mire. Your boots quickly sink into the muck, and you fear that any misplaced step is a potential slip into disaster.

The first sight of the mountainside brings a tightness to your chest. Recent rains have turned the ground unstable, and the path ahead is littered with loose stones, glistening in the scant light. The mountains loom like silent sentinels, their peaks obscured by a swirling mist that moves like haunting spirits across the ridge — could those be the spirits of travelers who have died trying to traverse this terrain? Captain Lema signals for a halt, his hand raised high. The settlers gather, their anxious murmurs blending with the distant rumble of the shifting terrain.

The narrow pass ahead is a ribbon seemingly carved into the mountainside, barely wide enough for a single file of people and horses. On one side, a sheer rock face rises, pocked and scarred from years of weathering, its surface slick with moss and rain. On the other side, the ground falls away into a yawning abyss, a steep drop into a chasm where the sound of rushing water echoes up. Every inadvertent glance down is a terrifying reminder of the danger below. The path itself along the ledge is strewn with jagged rocks and patches of loose gravel that threaten to give way underfoot without a moment’s notice.

“We must navigate this pass carefully,” Captain Lema announces, his voice steady and authoritative. “This is the only viable route to Xiatlidar.”

Your eyes sweep the landscape, and you question if Captain Lema’s assessment is correct. Upon returning to Aitzabal, you never came across such a location. And you imagine that Iker and his search party never did, either.

Nevertheless, Gartzen nods in agreement, his eyes narrowing as he assesses the unstable path. “We’ll need to move slowly and keep the horses in line. Can’t spook them. Any sudden movement could trigger a slide.”

A man steps forward, his face lined with worry and exhaustion. “Captain, this pass is too dangerous. We should find another way.”

Captain Lema’s jaw tightens, but he remains calm. “We don’t have time for detours. We move through here.”

The man doesn’t back down, and his voice rises in desperation. “And what if the path gives way? We’re already stretched thin as is.”

Gartzen steps in, cutting through the confrontation with his low and firm voice. “If we delay, we risk running out of supplies before we reach Xiatlidar. We do as the captain commands. We move through here.”

You see the tension ripple through the crowd, like a stone cast into still water. Landera moves up beside you. “We’ll have to be quick and careful,” she murmurs. “No room for error.”

Captain Lema begins organizing the crossing. The settlers form a line along the narrow path. The few atop horses grip the reins tightly. You take a deep breath and follow, the loose stones shifting underfoot like traps waiting to ensnare the unwary.

The path is narrower than it looks. It winds precariously along the mountainside, and the steep drop below makes your heart pound, as though it wants to leap out of your chest and back to safety. You focus on each step, your hands planted onto the face of the mountain for balance. Landera continues to remind you to not look down, never look down. The ground beneath you feels unstable, ready to give way at any moment. The oppressive silence of the mountains is broken only by the occasional clatter of dislodged stones.

Suddenly, a cry pierces the air. You look up, just in time to see a cascade of rocks tumbling down the hillside, driven by the relentless downpour. The ground shakes, then a section of the mountainside gives way. Settlers scramble to avoid the debris. You barely have time to react, to get out of the way.

You dive ahead, narrowly avoiding a boulder that crashes down where you stood moments before, hurtling down the steep cliff. The others scramble for cover, their screams mingling with the thunderous roar of the slide. Panicked, you look around for your companions, Iker and Landera. But there’s too much calamity, too much rain and dirt and haze to see through.

Captain Lema shouts orders, his voice barely audible over the tumult. “Stay together! Keep moving!”

Gartzen moves swiftly, guiding those closest to the slide. “Keep moving! We’re almost through!”

A woman loses her footing and is nearly swept away by the falling rocks. You watch helplessly as she struggles to regain her balance. Panic spreads, and the line falters. You grind your teeth and push forward while the ground shifts dangerously beneath you.

Landera reaches out, steadying a young boy who’s about to be pulled off his feet. “Hold on! We’ll get through this!” she shouts, her voice strong and reassuring, cutting through the calamity. The boy looks on, silently pleading for her help, as Landera carefully guides him along.

Captain Lema calls out from his position at the front, his voice carrying over the wind and rain. “We’ve faced worse! We can do this!” Have you faced worse than this? His words echo down the line, trying to bolster the resolve of those struggling to navigate the path.

But the mountainside shows no mercy. Another section of the path gives way, sending a fresh wave of rocks crashing down. You choke on the dust and debris, but you don’t let go. You pull yourself forward, driven by sheer will and the knowledge that turning back is not an option.

Behind you, you see an elderly man fall, the rocks swallowing him almost immediately. A woman nearby screams at the terrifying sight. But her cry is cut short as she, too, is overtaken by the slide. The relentless force of nature claims more victims, their bodies disappearing beneath the rubble. The loss is staggering, each life extinguished in an instant, and you are powerless to stop it.

Amidst the chaos, you spot Landera as she helps an injured settler to safety. Iker is not far behind, his eyes searching the carnage for any hopeful sign of living explorers. You push on, the ground beneath you now slick with mud and blood that coats your soaked and soiled garments.

Captain Lema and Gartzen work tirelessly to persist, to make it through. Their voices are hoarse from shouting, their bodies battered by the falling debris. They guide the last of the settlers through the path, their eyes darting around for any signs of the missing.

Finally, you reach a safer section of the path. You collapse onto the ground, gasping for breath. One by one, the settlers emerge from the danger zone, their faces pale and drawn, etched with the trauma of the ordeal. Captain Lema and Gartzen help the last stragglers, checking for injuries and offering words of reassurance.

The man who questioned Captain Lema’s decision steps forward, his face contorted with rage, and the veins in his neck bulging. “I warned you this was a mistake! We’ve lost good people because of you!”

Captain Lema’s eyes flash with both grief and resolve. “We did what we had to. Every delay brings us closer to failure.”

Gartzen steps between them. “We move forward. We honor the fallen by continuing the journey.” He says this in a manner that is so cold and practical, it’s unsettling. Perhaps, you hope, he’s merely attempting to mask the pain he feels for the number of fallen from the rockslide.

As the group drags what remains of their belongings and themselves away from the treacherous cliffs, the day’s disaster hangs over you like a storm cloud refusing to break. The last rays of sunlight disappear, leaving the world bathed in the dim, uncertain glow of twilight as your group decides to warily set up camp for the night.

The camp is set up quickly, but it’s done in silence with the unspoken grief for those lost. The settlers move with a mechanical efficiency, their minds numb from the ordeal. You sit by the fire, hoping to warm your bones, yet you feel an overwhelming chill from the emptiness inside. The night is eerily quiet, the usual sounds of the forest muted, as if the world itself mourns the fallen.

Nearly one hundred people, battered and bruised, shuffle into some semblance of order, trying to find a spot to rest their weary bodies. The horses stand restless, sensing the tension that permeates the air. You hear the soft murmur of discontent ripple through the settlers like a low tide, threatening to rise into a wave.

“How many did we lose?” a voice whispers nearby, tremulous with fear and exhaustion.

“I counted at least twenty,” another replies grimly. “And that’s just the ones we know of.”

Another voice cuts through the grumbling, louder and filled with frustration. “What are we even doing out here? We’re marching to our deaths!”

A chorus of agreement follows, the settlers’ fear and anger simmering just beneath the surface. “We should have never left Aitzabal,” someone else mutters. “This is madness.”

“We trusted Captain Lema, and look where it’s gotten us,” a woman says bitterly, clutching a child close to her.

Voices rise, the discontent swelling. “How much more are we supposed to endure?” one man snarls. “When will this end?”

Without warning, Gartzen appears, stepping up beside him. “Captain Lema is doing everything he can to keep us safe,” Gartzen adds in a rumble of a voice. “We need to work together and stay strong.”

A scoff comes from the edge of the circle. You turn to see a man, his eyes hard and his expression cynical. “Safe?” he repeats. “We barely escaped with our lives today. And for what? We’re no closer to our goal than we were when we started.”

Gartzen narrows his eyes at the man. “And what would you suggest we do? Turn back? Give up?”

The man steps forward, his face grimly illuminated by the firelight. “I suggest we stop blindly following orders that lead us to death,” he snaps. “Captain Lema doesn’t know what he’s doing. We need someone who can actually get us to Xiatlidar in one piece.”

There’s a murmur of agreement from a few others around the fire, and you feel start to feel panic course through your veins. The seeds of dissent are being sown, and you can see the tension rising.

Gartzen’s eyes flash with anger. “Captain Lema has led us this far, across dangers waters and settling in a new land. He deserves our loyalty, not our doubt.”

The man’s eyes darken. “That’s rich. How were we faring back in Aitzabal, eh? No, no… Loyalty won’t keep us alive. Competence will.”

Before the argument can escalate further, Captain Lema himself steps into the circle. His face is drawn, but his presence commands attention. “Enough,” he says, his voice firm yet weary. “We’ve all had a long day. We need to rest and regroup. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out our next steps. For now, let’s just get some sleep.”

The tension doesn’t dissipate, but the conversation dies down. People slowly disperse, finding places to lie down and try to rest.

Restless, you make your way through the camp, weaving between clusters of people huddled around dwindling fires. The glow of the flames flickers on faces fraught with fear and fatigue. You find Iker sitting on a rock, his eyes wide and troubled. He clutches his knees to his chest, rocking slightly. You find a spot next to him and tentatively sit down.

“Iker,” you say, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. He startles, clearly lost in the overwhelming thoughts that consumed him. “How are you holding up?”

He looks up at you, his face pale in the dim light. “I… I don’t know,” he stammers. “I keep seeing the rocks falling, hearing the screams… It was chaos. Why did we go this way? Are we even going to make it to Xiatlidar?”

“Well, we can’t afford to lose hope now,” you reply, trying to be reassuring to both Iker and yourself. “We’ve come too far to let this break us.”

“Do you think he’s right?” Iker asks quietly. “Gartzen… about Captain Lema? I heard him tell someone before we broke camp about the captain doing what he can to keep us safe, but…” His voice trails off as worry overtakes him.

You glance around, making sure no one is within earshot. “I don’t know,” you admit. “But we can’t afford to fracture now. We need to stick together, even if we don’t always agree.”

Iker nods slowly, but you can see the doubt in his eyes. You lie down, staring up at the sky, the stars blurred by exhaustion and worry. Slumber doesn’t come easily, and when it does, it’s fitful and haunted by dreams of falling rocks and desperate screams.

Unable to sleep, you decide to take a walk. You feel that you need a moment away from the others to collect your thoughts, and hope that the cool night air will clear your mind. The camp is quieting down as the group tends to their injuries and settles in for a restless night. The moonlight casts a silver glow on the rocky landscape, and you pick your way carefully through the camp.

As you round a large boulder, you hear hushed voices. You freeze, straining to make out the words. The tone is urgent, filled with a mix of anger and desperation.

“I’ve had enough of Uxío’s incompetence,” a voice hisses. Uxío… Uxío… Is he talking about Captain Lema? “He’s going to get us all killed if we keep following him.”

“We need to take control before it’s too late,” another voice agrees. “But we have to be smart about it. We need to get the others on our side.”

Your heart races as you realize what you’re hearing. Mutiny. The group is already fragile, and this could tear you apart. You take a step closer, compelled to hear more without being discovered.

“Tomorrow, we’ll start talking to the others,” the first voice continues. “We need to make sure they understand the risks. Uxío can’t be trusted to lead us to safety.”

You feel a cold sweat on your brow. This is worse than you thought. If the dissent spreads, you won’t make it to Xiatlidar, let alone survive the journey. You know you should turn back and warn someone, but your feet feel rooted to the spot, unable to move.

Just then, a twig snaps under your foot, and the voices go silent. You hold your breath, praying they didn’t hear you. After a tense moment, the conversation resumes, quieter this time, and you take the opportunity to retreat.

As you slip back into the camp, you know that everything is about to change. Your mind races with the implications of what you’ve just heard. The cracks in Captain Lema’s leadership are widening, and if you’re not careful, you’ll all fall through.