Chapter 1 – The Wanderer
The streets of Lichthaven were bustling with activity. Ware sellers pulled their horses along, moving their large carts across the street.
The sound of children running and laughing echoed from every street corner, and the mud and wet sand squelched under the sandaled feet of the townspeople as they migrated away from their homes and towards the town square.
A man wearing a long embroidered kimono stood at the corner of the street and held up a large sign that read [Burn the witch].
He was shouting excitedly:
“It is time! It is time! Come and watch the witches burn!”
No one stopped him; instead, the chatter of the townspeople became even more frantic, spurred on by the intensity of the man’s cries as they moved in clumped groups along the streets.
Women and men in long kimonos and hats made from straw, along with children whose clothes had been dirtied by their playing, hurried along.
Far off in the distance, high enough that it could be seen from anywhere in the large town, a pyre had been erected.
The structure of straw and wood stood proudly in the center of the town square.
All around it, people gathered like ants, watching with rapt attention as large, burly men brought more straw and wood, laying them down on the platform for the upcoming event.
The buzz of the crowd grew more fervent as the day passed.
It was late in the night now, and the only source of light was from the full moon hanging brilliantly in the sky.
The crowd had finally calmed down, and an older man wearing an elaborate kimono with drawings of blue flower petals all around it walked up the wooden stairs and onto the pyre.
He spoke with an authority that commanded respect.
“People of Lichthaven. The threat of magic in our town has plagued us for far too long. We have lost our homes, our peace, and our children to these monsters practicing the dark arts. Today, we rid ourselves of heretics who have thrown their humanity away and made deals with the devil for power. Bring out the witches!”
The crowd all turned as one to look as three women were dragged in chains towards the pyre.
The women were in tears, and their heads were bowed.
They were naked, with nothing on their bodies to protect their modesty.
And as they passed the gathered crowd, a single man bent and picked a muddy rock from the ground.
“Die, you witch!”
He threw the rock, and it slammed into the head of one of the women.
She flinched in pain and stumbled from the hit, and her tears ran more freely.
More people picked up rocks, throwing them at the women and shouting profanities at them angrily. The women raised their chained hands, trying desperately to protect themselves from the thrown rocks.
“You witches deserve to die!”
“Don’t act like humans! You’re nothing but monsters!”
“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you myself!”
The people raved with anger as the women were pulled along through the crowd.
They reached the pyre, and the burly men who crafted the pyre came forward once more with thick ropes in their hands.
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At the sight of the ropes, one of the women began to wail.
“Please! I didn’t do it! I’m innocent! Please!”
Her cries fell on deaf ears.
The people raved louder, and they managed to drown out her desperation with their excitement.
The women pulled at the chains, trying with all their hearts to get away from the fate that awaited them, but there was no escape.
Their fates were sealed.
The burly men grabbed each woman by her hand and began to tie the rope to them. Then, they pulled them towards the large pyre and tied their bodies to the structure, spreading them out wide enough to give the people a good view of each one.
The older man came forward with a torch in his hand.
He spoke once more, this time with a sneer.
“We shall give you just one chance to confess your sins. Say it now in front of us all. Tell us the evil you have committed.”
The women sobbed louder, and one of them, the oldest one who felt the most wronged, looked up with tear-filled eyes and gritted teeth.
“We have done nothing to deserve this. We are the ones who lost our children! You have no right to blame us for a crime we did not commit!”
A stone flew through the air and smacked against the woman’s temple.
“Shut up, you witch! You killed those children!”
“Bring them back, witch!”
The people raved once more.
Their cries flowed through the chilly night, scaring away the birds roosting on rooftops and drowning the small town in a veil of despair and frenzy.
The woman cried out in agony, and the people stilled at the hatred in her tone.
“I curse you all! You monsters that would burn grieving mothers at the stake! You will all die far worse deaths than this! I curse you all with my nakedness and scorn!”
Her cries echoed in the sudden silence, reaching far into the heavens and deep into the hearts of the people.
The curse of a witch.
A frightening thing.
But they were not afraid. After all, they were doing nothing wrong.
They were simply destroying the evil that stole their children from them. Creatures like these were already cast aside by everything virtuous.
The gods would protect them from any curse!
The old man brandished the torch towards the woman and made them all cry out from the heat. The crowd shouted,
“Burn the witch! Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”
Like an orchestra, feeding off the frenzied nature of each instrument to make a resounding symphony, the night echoed along with the desires of the masses.
The old man thrust the torch into the pyre.
A scream.
Fire.
Amongst the crowd, just far enough that no one paid him any mind, and yet near enough that the orange glow of the surging flame reflected off his face, a man stood.
He was a simply dressed man, with a long white and black kimono draped over his body. On his feet, he wore simple sandals for traveling, and on his head, he wore a straw hat that had been worn down from excessive use.
His hands were held behind his back as forlorn eyes gazed upon the spectacle before him.
The man’s face was masked in an observant look, leaving nothing of his emotions for people to decipher.
He was handsome, with a fair, rugged face that was a result of both genetics as well as a good life. He had long white hair that fell around his shoulders and reached down to his elbows, and his eyes were a shade of the darkest scarlet.
This was the immortal wanderer.
The immortal wanderer stared upon the crowd as they passed justice.
His mood was ruined by the smell of charcoal, and the screams from the crowd frayed his nerves.
He had been passing through.
There was nothing else for him to do on such a brilliant night, and he had simply been walking through the forest when he came upon this quaint town.
The movement of the people and their frenzied chattering made him believe that there was a festival that would soon be taking place, so he decided to wait in the shadows and enjoy the festivities when they began.
But instead, he was met with this.
An execution.
The immortal stared at the three women tied to the pyre with a forlorn gaze.
They could not be witches.
Not even if they wanted to be.
These three possessed no aptitude for magic.
Their connection to the world line was nonexistent, and there were no residual mana particles that would have been present if they were practitioners.
The people would have known this if any of them possessed an aptitude for magic.
But this town was conservative.
Not a single person possessed even the tiniest amount of mana particles, and those who had a connection with the world line had neglected the connection to the point where it was practically nonexistent.
Was there prejudice against magic in this town?
It would not be a surprise.
After all, this was within the territory once ravaged by the White Venom Dragon.
The fear of magic was most likely passed down from generation to generation until it became something sacrilegious.
The immortal raised his hand and waved away a plume of smoke that came his way before he turned and began to head out of the town.
There was nothing for him to see here; therefore, he needed to find a place to rest for the night.
