RISE OF THE SWARM

Liam gasped as he regained consciousness, his lungs burning as if he'd been drowning. His eyes flew open, his chest heaving as if he had just run for miles, his heartbeat a frantic drum against his ribs. Sweat drenched the thin shirt he wore; it clung to his skin like a second layer, cold and suffocating. The world around him was a blurry mess, a swirling blend of indistinct shapes, muted colors, and muffled voices moving about like shadows just beyond his grasp.

He clutched his head, fingers digging into his temples as he fought to regain his bearings. The throbbing behind his eyes was relentless, each pulse sending fresh waves of nausea through him. But slowly, his vision sharpened into focus, the haze lifting like fog burned away by the sun.

He looked around, disoriented. He was lying on a bed, a real bed, with a proper mattress and sheets, not the scratchy hay he was used to back in the village. The village. His breath hitched as the memories surged forward unbidden. The screams, the blood, the way the air had smelled of smoke and iron. His stomach twisted violently, and before he could stop himself, he keeled over to the side, retching onto the wooden floor.

But it wasn't just the village that haunted him. The woman's voice echoed in his skull, her words a poison sinking deeper with every repetition.

This is your future.

The vision of that dead world, barren, lifeless, a graveyard of civilizations sent shivers down his spine. Yet doubt gnawed at him. Had any of it been real? Was she even trustworthy? He didn't know what he'd gotten himself into, or worse, how he'd gotten himself into it. The weight of it all pressed down on him, suffocating.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the storm in his mind.

"Finally awake, are you?"

Liam turned his head, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. An old man sat beside the bed, his gnarled hands resting on his knees. His blue eyes glinted with an unreadable expression, sharp as flint but softened by the creases of age. The man stood, revealing a waterskin in one hand. He extended it toward Liam, his meaning clear.

Liam didn't hesitate. His throat was parched, his tongue thick with the taste of bile. He snatched the waterskin, fingers trembling as he tore off the cap and tipped it back, gulping greedily. Water spilled down his chin, soaking into his shirt and the already damp sheets beneath him.

"Hey, careful now," the old man chided, though there was no real anger in his tone. "They'll charge us extra for the mess you're making. If you're that thirsty, I can fetch more."

Liam slowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Shame prickled at him, he hadn't even thanked the man.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, voice rough. "What's your name, sir?"

The old man's face softened slightly as he crossed his arms, leaning back into his chair with a quiet creak. "Well, you can call me Garrik. I'm an adventuring mage. Took on a quest with a few companions to hunt down the heretics that attacked your village."

Liam nodded, though the mention of the village made his stomach clench again. Flashes of what he'd done to those heretics the way their blood had felt on his hands, warm and sticky a feeling he couldn't forget. Even if they'd deserved it, the memory left a sour taste in his mouth.

"You seemed to be having some nightmare," Garrik observed, his gaze lingering on the strange rock hanging from Liam's necklace. "Are you all right?"

Liam lowered his head, staring at his hands. "A nightmare? I guess you could call it that."

Garrik hummed, but didn't press further. Instead, he shifted topics. "Mr. Garrik," Liam began, forcing his voice steady, "where are we? The last thing I remember is passing out in a forest."

"Cavora City," Garrik answered. "We found you unconscious, so we brought you here to recover. You've been out for a while, how are you feeling?"

Liam managed a weak smile. "Better. Just... weak."

Garrik nodded, but then his expression grew more serious. "Speaking of that forest... when we arrived, we found all the heretics dead. Any idea what could've done that?"

Liam's throat tightened. Garrik's piercing blue eyes bore into him, as if peeling back layers of his lies before he even spoke. He couldn't tell the truth no one would believe a non-body like him could wield magic, let alone slaughter a group of armed heretics. They'd drag him to the church for questioning, or worse.

"Well, I—"

The door burst open, cutting him off. The knight Aldric and the woman from before strode in, their armor clinking with each step. Their eyes locked onto Liam, surprise flickering across their faces.

"He's awake?" the woman said, arching a brow.

"Indeed he is," Aldric rumbled, his voice like gravel. He crossed the room in a few long strides, stopping at the bedside. "And about time, too. You're lucky to be alive, boy. How in the gods' names did you survive the heretics and the beast that slaughtered them?"

Garrik sighed, rubbing his temples as if Aldric had just ruined his carefully laid plans.

A beast? Liam's mind latched onto the excuse. Perfect.

"I don't know," he stammered, feigning confusion. "The beast showed up just as they were about to... to sacrifice me. It tore through them. Everything after that is blank—I must've blacked out."

Aldric studied him for a long moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Hmph. Well, at least you lived. You'll need to give a full report at the church later, but that can wait until you've recovered."

Liam swallowed. "Alright."

Aldric's stern expression softened slightly. "Where are my manners? What's your name, lad?"

"Liam. It's Liam, sir."

"Good name. I'm Aldric." He gestured to the others. "These two can introduce themselves. I've got business in the city, so I'll take my leave. Rest up." With that, he turned and strode out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The room fell into silence, thick with unspoken questions. Garrik's gaze lingered on Liam, thoughtful. The woman crossed her arms, her expression unreadable.

Liam exhaled slowly, his mind racing.

He had no idea what came next.