The Broken Tales

The inn buzzed with laughter and the clinking of mugs as three friends crowded around a sturdy wooden table, their faces flushed with drink. Each was a soldier of different realms, yet still friends, adorned with scars and tales of glory that grew more extravagant with every round.

“I swear, I took down two of them with just my dagger!” boasted Jarek, slamming his fist on the table and spilling a bit of Dragon drink. “They never saw me coming!”

“Ha! That’s nothing!” shouted Elin, raising his mug high. “I single-handedly held off a band of raiders while the others fled. They called me a hero! A legend!”

Beside him, Marn laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Legends are all well and good, but do you remember the time I saved your hides from that ambush in the Red Forest? Without me, you’d have been just another pile of bones!”

Their laughter echoed through the inn, drawing glances from other patrons. At a nearby table sat an old, weary man, his face creased with the weight of countless battlefield battles long past and life’s struggles. He scoffed at their bravado, shaking his head as he nursed a half-empty mug.

“Is that so?” he muttered under his breath, barely audible over the noise.

Jarek caught the old man's eye, mistaking him as a peasant, a smirk grew on his face. “And what do you know of the world and war, old man? Have you even fought?”

The old man slowly turned his gaze toward them, his eyes dark and stormy, reflecting the kind of knowledge that only comes from true hardship. “I’ve seen more of war than you can imagine,” he replied, his voice steady yet laced with weariness. “But let me tell you a story, one that might give you a taste of what lies beyond your boastful tales.”

The friends leaned in, intrigued despite themselves. The old man took a deep breath, his gaze distant as if peering into the very depths of memory.

The old man paused as if reaching deep into his well of thoughts. He began speaking in a hushed tone, that was measured and erratic.

“I lay on the battlefield. I have no way to measure how long I laid there. I woke with pain flooding every inch of my body. It wasn’t a sharp jolt or a clean wound; it was a crushing, merciless weight that told me something inside me had broken, maybe everything. Maybe every bone in my body. Even breathing felt unnatural, a chore I wasn’t meant to keep doing. Every pull of air dragged a new kind of agony through my ribs and spine; it felt as if the world itself resented me for clinging to life.

“The pain didn’t sit only in my bones, flesh, or skin. It gnawed at my thoughts, smothering whatever courage or strength I had left. Deep inside, beneath the haze and terror, I understood what it meant. My life, the people I loved, the things that made me who I was, felt like they were slipping away. I could feel that loss as clearly as I felt the broken ruin of my own body.

“Exhausted beyond anything I had ever known, physically battered, mentally hollow, spiritually drained, I forced my eyes open. The world that greeted me wasn’t a world at all. Everything blurred into a dim wash of bluish grey, as if despair had been painted across my vision, across everything I should have been able to see.

“The air around me hung thick and unmoving, saturated with the smell of decay. The rot of bodies, the final scent of flesh that would never rise again; it pressed into my lungs, clung to my tongue, settled into my hair and skin. It was everywhere. And lying there in the middle of it, I wondered if I was already dead and simply too stubborn, or too foolish, to accept it.

“My eyelids drifted open and shut in slow, clumsy cycles, each time taking a little more of me with them. I wasn’t fighting anymore. I wasn’t trying to survive. I was waiting, waiting for death, begging for it, hoping it would show even a hint of mercy. But death didn’t come. It lingered nearby like some patient watcher, almost amused, keeping me trapped between moments of dull consciousness and the pull of the void.

“Somewhere in that fog, in that strange space between living and dying, I noticed movement. At first, it was only flickers, shapes and shadows drifting across the ruins. Then, slowly, they formed into something real. Massive creatures moved through the field with deliberate, almost ritual steps. They didn’t belong to any world I knew. They looked like beasts shaped in whatever place comes after life, not before it. They moved from body to body, lifting each corpse with unsettling tenderness, pressing their lips to the lifeless face, and then letting it fall back to the ground.

“I strained to focus, terrified of what I might witness. Were they eating the faces? Tearing them away? But no, the dead were untouched. Their expressions remained exactly as they had in their final moments. The creatures weren’t feeding, but they were taking something.

“Were they harvesting souls?

“I lay paralyzed, trapped between fear and a sick kind of hope. Fear of whatever torment these beings might bring, of what it meant to have them this close to my fading body. But at the same time, a part of me hoped they would come for me soon. The waiting, the agony of not knowing, felt worse than anything they could possibly do. The uncertainty gnawed at my mind more viciously than the pain in my body.

“I wanted it to end. Whether it meant salvation or eternal damnation, I didn’t care anymore. I just needed the waiting to stop.

“Then I felt it, something approaching from my left, just outside the narrow tunnel of my fading vision. I couldn’t see it, but its presence pressed against me like a shift in gravity. The air seemed to bend around it. A shadow stretched across the dim light, not sharp or defined, but heavy, like a storm cloud rolling over the sun.

“Its nearness wasn’t something I observed. It was something I felt. It pulled at me, not with hands or claws, but with a strange, irresistible weight, as if my soul itself leaned toward it even while my body lay frozen. I tried to turn my head, to catch even a glimpse, but nothing moved. Not my eyes, not my neck, not even my breath for a moment.

“I knew the creature was beside me. Close enough to touch. Close enough to claim whatever was left of me. And even through the terror, through my instincts screaming for my escape, a small part of me whispered a quiet, desperate truth:

“Maybe this was the mercy I had been waiting for.

“My body lifted, no, floated, pulled upward by a force I couldn’t fight and couldn’t understand. I felt weightless, as if every shattered bone no longer mattered. My face began to turn, slowly, gently, guided by something unseen yet impossibly strong. I was being rotated toward it, drawn into the presence that had been lingering just outside my vision.

“I felt its breath before I saw its shape. Warm, steady, calm. My fear spiked, clashing violently with a strange sense of relief that washed through me. I was being brought face to face with my fate, and some part of me welcomed it.

“Its lips, if they were lips, pursed and extended toward mine with a purposeful slowness, as though “granting me time to understand what was happening. Fear, agony, and mental release swirled together until my conscious mind couldn’t hold them separately anymore. All I could do was surrender.

“Closer our mouths closed on each other, and in that moment, I let go of rational thought. I abandoned the idea of escape. I abandoned the need to know what would happen. I accepted what I believed was coming.

“The kiss of death was approaching, and I no longer resisted.

“Our lips touched without the feel of touch. There was no pressure, no warmth, no sensation, yet somehow, we were locked together. Our breath flowed back and forth. At first, I was certain it meant to steal the breath from me, to draw out the very little life I had left. Out, then in. Out, then in. My lungs emptied completely, then filled so forcefully I thought they would burst. Pain crashed over my body. Wave after wave, pulse after pulse.

“The cycle continued, breath passing between us in an endless loop that felt like it lasted an eternity. I expected to fall limp at any moment, to be discarded like the others, my life spent and consumed. I braced for darkness, for emptiness, for the nothingness I believed would swallow me whole.

“But something else happened. Something I could never have imagined. Amid the terror and strain, warmth surged through me, soft, soothing, impossible. Instead of dropping lifelessly to the ground, I felt myself held. Not by arms or hands, but by a presence that wrapped around me like a shield. A sense of protection, of safety, of being cradled in a way no human touch had ever managed.

“For the first time since awakening, a flicker of something stirred within me, something like hope, fragile and trembling, but unmistakably alive.

“I am not sure what happened next. One moment there was the warmth, the protection, the strange embrace of something beyond human, and then, nothing. A silence, a drift, a slipping away without fear.

“I found myself waking again. This time I wasn’t on the battlefield. I was in a room, no, not a room. A hut of some kind. My eyes struggled to focus. At first I saw nothing, only darkness. Then, slowly, a dim glow began to form. I couldn’t tell if the room was growing brighter or if my eyes were finally adjusting.

“It was the same bluish grey light. But this time, it brought comfort. Comfort to my body. Comfort to my mind. Comfort to whatever remained of my soul. As the haze lifted, I became aware of a presence, the presence, the same one from the battlefield. It moved about the hut with deliberate, purposeful motions. I watched its shadow drift across the faint light. It came closer.

“I felt no fear. I welcomed it, the savior I believed had lifted me from the field of the dead. It stopped beside me. It reached out, not with an arm, not with a hand, but simply reached, as though extending itself toward my arm. My eyes followed its motion, watching the space between its reach and my skin shrink. I braced for contact, for that strange sensation I remembered from the battlefield. But there was no touch. Instead, the reach continued forward, straight into my skin.

“A cold shock surged through me. Terror clawed its way up my spine, piercing through bone and thought alike. I could not move. I could not scream. I felt it inside me. Its reach slid past flesh, past muscle, past everything that made me human, until it wrapped itself around the bone.

“A strange, wet, unnatural sound came from deep within my arm. A grotesque, sucking pull vibrated through me as pain exploded across every inch of my body. My mind scrambled, searching for escape, for refuge, for anything, but found nothing. The sound grew louder. A sickening suction. And then, I felt my bone being pulled free.

“My false savior lifted the extracted bone toward its face, toward something that might have been a nose. Before my mind could grasp the horror, it put the end of the bone into its mouth. And chewed. Crunching. Grinding. My God. It was eating my bones. It chewed slowly, methodically, then spat a white-blue paste into a kettle beside it. Bone by bone, the process continued. Agony. Sickness. Despair. And still I could not move. Still I could not scream. I could only watch.

“After every bone, vertebrae, jaw bone, every single bone had been excruciatingly pulled from my flesh, chewed, spat into the kettle, the creature moved the kettle over a small fire at the far side of the hut. With a long, crooked stick, it stirred the thick paste inside. As the mixture warmed, steam began to rise, thin at first, then heavy and rolling.

“My tormentor turned to look at me. Its eyes were empty pits, void of emotion, void of anything resembling life. Staring into them felt like gazing into a well with no bottom. I hated it, hated this creature, this beast, this unholy bastard that had pretended to save me. A master of manipulation, that was the only explanation that made sense. The steam thickened, and with it came an aroma. A bold, sickening scent that clung to the air. I cannot truly describe it, only that it was heavy, foul, and yet… bizarre. Vile. And somehow… enticing. The smell curled into my senses, twisting something inside me. Hunger, unnatural, alien, tightened in my gut. I felt myself wanting it. Craving it.

“How? How had this creature twisted me so completely that, even as its victim, I could entertain the thought of joining it, of participating in my own torment? What kind of monster could do that? What kind of victim could I be becoming?

“After a while the creature brought the kettle to my side. It settled close, crouching with that unnatural stillness, and lifted a spoon of the bone broth to my lips. I tell people I wanted to refuse it, say I tried to turn my head, clamp my jaw, anything. But that’s a lie. The truth is uglier.

“I hungered for it. I wanted to taste it. I desired it. I needed it.

“The flavor, when it hit my tongue, betrayed the scent entirely. It wasn’t bold or enticing, it was rot made liquid. Putrid. Sour. Wrong in a way that felt personal. The taste clung to my teeth, coated my tongue, drenched the back of my throat, and still I swallowed it down because something inside me howled for more.

“Each spoonful made my body betray me further. My mouth opened without my consent, wider each time, desperate. I felt like a baby bird, helpless on its back, beak stretching for whatever its mother dropped inside. Except this thing wasn’t my mother. And I wasn’t sure I was still me.

“After the last drop was consumed, the creature, the one I had feared, then trusted, then learned to distrust, then ultimately learned to hate, lifted the kettle with a slow, deliberate movement and shuffled toward the door of the hut. As it stepped outside, something changed.

“The light dimmed.

“I still don’t know if the world itself darkened or if my own vision collapsed in on me, but the edges of the room blurred, folded, and the bluish-grey turned into shadow. My thoughts softened, thinned. Whatever strength the broth had given me drained away just as quickly.

“And then I slipped into darkness.

“In the darkness I lay. No sense of time, no sense of self, just the smothering weight of nothing. Then, at the far corner of my vision, something flickered. A single flash. So faint I questioned whether it had happened at all. A trick of a broken mind? A dying nerve firing its last signal?

“I waited. Pain swallowed me whole, rising and falling in waves that made me pray for an end, any end. Death, life, escape… I didn’t care. Just as long as it was not this.

“Another flash.

“Not light. Not anything so gentle. It was a warning, a precursor to something worse, something new, something designed to peel back the layers of physical, mental, and spiritual endurance all at once.

“The flashes multiplied. Not illumination, but spikes of agony detonating behind my eyes. First one at a time. Then two. Then three. Then a cascade. So many I lost count, lost track, lost everything but the raw electricity of suffering.

“I tried to close my eyes, as if shutting them could hide me from the torment. It didn’t help. The darkness behind my eyelids only made the flashes clearer, sharper. Pain blossomed in shapes, arcs, lines that carved through me.

“This torment lasted another eternity.

“Eventually, slowly, dimly, I began to sense a pattern. The flashes didn’t just burn; they moved. They lingered. They traced paths through my head, down my spine, branching into my limbs like lightning trapped inside flesh.

“The longer each flash lingered, the more pain it delivered. And they lingered longer and longer.

“Then the flashes started to change.

“They thickened. They sharpened. They solidified.

“What had once been momentary bolts of agony began to take shape, to form, hardening inside me, becoming something semi-rigid, something real, something wrong. They were not wrong. They were becoming me.

“The flashes, the streaks of agony, those weren’t hallucinations or tricks of a dying mind. They were bones, forming inside my head, knitting themselves into a soft, pliable skull. The searing line that carved its way down my back molded itself into a tender spine. My arms, once limp and useless, began to take shape again, first as faint outlines of agony, then as structures, as frameworks, as growing bone.

“You might think I would feel relief. Hope. Gratitude. But there was none of that.

“Every new bone brought pain so vicious, so consuming, it drowned every other sensation. My mind could not hold it. It could not process or endure it. So it did the only thing it could.

“It shut down.

“A fuse blown. A candle snuffed. Thoughts, feelings, awareness, all ripped away.

“I don’t know how long I lay there in that coma-like void, suspended between existence and nothingness. Time had no meaning. Reality had no shape.

“But I remember the crying.

“Even with my mind shut down, even with my spirit folded into itself, my body found a way to weep. Silent tears in the blackness. Physical sorrow with no consciousness behind it, dripping for a self that could not speak, think, or move.

“I was a soul marooned, physically, mentally, spiritually stranded, able to do nothing but shed tears no one could hear.

“I woke.

“No pain. No flashes. No darkness trying to swallow me whole.

“The fabric beneath me was rough, coarse, like a gunnysack stretched thin. A light breeze drifted across my skin, cool and gentle in a way that felt… impossible. After everything, the sensation was almost frightening.

“I lay there, terrified to open my eyes.

“I wish I could say I hesitated out of caution, or wisdom, or strength of character. I wish I could claim I gathered my courage and faced the world like some hardened survivor.

“But the truth is simpler. Uglier. More honest.

“I opened my eyes because I was more afraid of staying where I was, of feeling that creature’s presence again, than of whatever waited beyond my eyelids. Driven by fear, I opened my eyes and forced myself upright. My body wobbled beneath me, unsteady and newborn in its movements. Every step felt unfamiliar, clumsy, like I was learning to inhabit flesh that wasn’t quite mine yet.

“The door was only ten feet away. Ten feet. But it may as well have been a mile.

“I staggered toward it, arms out, breathing heavy, legs trembling as though the bones inside them were still deciding how to function. When I finally reached the door, I gripped the handle with fingers that barely remembered how to close. I pulled it open.

A flood of brilliant sunlight shot into my eyes, blinding me. White and hot and overwhelming. For that moment, I saw nothing.

But I felt something.

Behind me.

Stillness. Presence. A patient weight, as if the atmosphere itself watched me.

The creature stood there. Not moving. Not reaching for me. Not dragging me back into the dark. It simply observed me, the way a craftsman might study something they’ve just finished shaping.

Then, for the first and only time, it spoke.

Its voice was dry, cracked, almost unused, but unmistakably deliberate.

“Now you can go forward.”

So I did.

The entire room was quiet. The old man took the last sip of his drink and stood without saying a word. He made eye contact with each of the three friends. He turned and almost floated to the door as if he were a mist riding on a breeze. The three bragging friends did not look at each other. One by one they took a few swallows of their Dragon brew. The room seemed darker now. The murmur resumed and began to grow. Just another night with friends at the White Bridge Inn