David and Niala sat down in their living room, opening a package they had received while on their expedition. Within it lay two books, one midnight-blue and intricate; Anaakendi's memoir, the other an unadorned book containing the translation of the memoir.

  After having unlocked Anaakendi's tome, they had sent it to David's brother Luke to find someone who could translate the Tikitoan script it was written in.

  Niala, avid as she was of stories and mysteries, had been looking forward to this. The yearly disappearances might have been solved, but she still had so many questions on why and how it had all started, and Anaakendi herself was rather tight-lipped on the topic. She kept repeating the same thing; it was a ritual to contain the beast that had attacked the town.

  Their theory was that the transformation into an incarnation had affected her memories to some extent, and she outright did not remember the details, while refusing to admit it.

  As Niala curled on the couch, getting into a comfortable reading position, she glanced up from the book to David, who was in the process of dragging her legs over his lap.

  “I know you're not the most interested in stories, you don't have to be here if you'd rather be doing something else. I can give you a summary once I'm done?” Niala offered.

  He gave her a warm smile as he gently patted her leg. “I know you'd rather I be here with you, and I'm a little bit interested, and, besides, I really like listening to your voice.”

  A beaming smile took control of her face, her cheeks blushing a little, before she hid her face with the book for a few seconds. When she uncovered her face, she had control over her features once more.

  She cleared her throat. “Alright, so, ahem; The memoirs of the Bride of the Dusk wind, by Anaakendi Dakjianti, lineage of the 13th princess of Tikitoanza.”

  Niala looked up at David. “Princess? Is Anaakendi a princess?” Her eyes widened. “Is Castello a prince!?”

  “I don't know. Maybe keep reading?” David suggested, reining in her jump-started imagination.

  “Oh, right! Ahem.”

  Niala's clear and joyful voice filled David's ears as she read out loud. “I write this memoir in the hope that my descendants may learn from my successes and failures, that their own path may receive some light, for the future is ever shrouded under the moonless sky.”

  The diary's first entry was dated Amberfall Dynasty year 490, or 234 years ago, when Anaakendi would have been in her early twenties. This also predated the earliest dates found within the town hall's records by roughly 37 years, which seemed to coincide with the events that had led to the yearly sacrifices. An auspicious start.

  Being the awesome girlfriend that she was, Niala soon began glossing over the parts that she found interesting, but knew would knock David asleep within a few paragraphs. She skipped to the parts where people were fighting or dying, and would read the rest on her own later.

  David, for his part, had to jostle Niala a few times, as she'd get engrossed in the historical records and her voice would trail off.

  Over the next several hours, they found out that Riverwall had begun its life as nothing more than a small fortified camp that adventurers and land inspectors used as a starting point to venture out into the northern Ruinlands, before eventually receiving a full town charter by the Royal Office of Land Management and attracting settling families, of which Anaakendi's was.

  Anaakendi was born soon after her ancestors had settled, being of the third generation, and grew up more or less alongside the town. She was there when the stone wall that surrounded the town was completed, and also saw the establishment of many of the utilities in town.

  Then, in the year A.D. 525, the diary had a gap of several small seasons before resuming with a lengthy entry.

  Niala looked up at David, whose gaze focused on her, showing his full interest in the coming part as he dipped his head, signalling for her to continue.

  She wet her lips and cleared her throat before resuming her reading. She began with the section directly before the gap.

  “A.D. 525, 22nd of Early Spring. Tonight's winds tasted of death.

  A northerly wind, stinging with the needles of a lingering winter, yet concealing a rot of dying embers. Something happened in the Ruinlands. The town guards had already been registering a higher-than-average number of missing adventurers, leaving and never returning since Late Winter of last year.

  Now, it seems that whatever feasted on those unfortunate few has grown in appetite. Tomorrow, I will try to warn the city hall, but I know they look poorly upon the portents of the moon and the winds. I cannot blame them; my forebears were poor practitioners, more interested in the fame and power they could gain from them than actually listening to the nightly songs.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Nonetheless, I shall make ready. I will gather the other families and formulate a plan. Should the walls and guards fall, we will be ready to safeguard our kins.”

  Niala looked at David and spoke up. “The next entry is dated almost half a year later.”

  “A.D. 525, 90th of Late Summer. The Moon chapel is complete. The plan can begin.

  On the 34th of High Spring, the beast attacked in the dead of the night, under a blank sky, as if fearing the light of the moon.

  The destruction of the northern gate roused us all from our sleep. The shouting and screaming that followed confirmed that it had not been a dream.

  We, of the families, assembled as we had planned, bringing with us our most powerful artifacts and arcane armaments. We departed for the north part of town, from where we could see the glow of raging fires, a deep tint of red, the flames drinking from the blood being spilled in the ongoing massacre.

  We came upon rubble intermixed with flesh, the ground slick with gore, most of the upper half of the town, including the town hall, nearly flattened to the ground. At the epicentre, a beast that defied description. It had legs, a body, and a head, upon which were attached jaws, whose exact number seemed to change every time we blinked.

  It was covered in fur made of black oil. The light reflecting upon its surface created patterns that brought maddening thoughts to your mind the longer you looked.

  The creature was in the process of dismembering the last few brave but doomed guards still attempting to fight, giving us mere moments to make ready.

  We pushed forth our mana into our implements, delivering a brutal initial salvo of magical power upon the creature, which seemed to do nothing but infuriate it.

  It was soon within our ranks, ripping and tearing friends and family as easily as one plucks a weed from their garden.

  As our numbers dwindled, and victory seemed but an illusion, Kurtan Mal Larta, patriarch of the Mal Larta family, unleashed his final weapon.

  A terrible artifact that could only be fuelled by the power of life. Forfeiting his future for the sake of ours, he plunged the dagger into his heart and, with his dying breath, cast the curse upon the creature.

  The effect was immediate. The tendrils of energy, fueled by Kurtan's life force, wrapped around the beast, attempting to entrap it.

  But they were also short-lived. The beast began ripping free of them at once, and our short-lived hope fell apart.

  Only to be buoyed aloft when a second wave of tendrils assaulted the beast. I looked to the dagger, to find Anna, my good friend, falling to her knees beside Kurtan, the same blood-empowered curse on her trembling lips. She looked at me, her last act a sad smile, before her eyes glazed over and her body slumped over Kurtan's.

  The path to victory was clear. A victory paid for with lives.

  One after the other, we of the families gave ourselves to the dagger, and cursed the beast again, and again, and again.

  Until it was done. The curse held strong, ensconcing the vile essence of destruction within a hexed cocoon.

  The last few of us assembled, surrounded by the fallen, so many lives lost today, most stolen, some given, so that the town may yet live.

  None of us shed a tear; it was not time yet. The beast was contained, but only for now. We could feel its rage, its incense. In time, it would break free, and we knew this to be true without the need for words.

  We collected our dead, the dagger, and the beast.

  We crafted a vessel to contain the creature and devised plans for a ritual site, where a yearly sacrifice would renew the hexes upon the monster.

  A site was chosen, on a focal point of mystical energies, where the membrane was weaker, up north in the forest.

  There, we built a chapel, safeguarded by a field that would keep out anything with the taint of the beast, powered by the moon's cycles and the night's winds.

  Now, it is complete. On the new moon of next year, we will assemble and perform the first guardian ceremony.

  One life, for the sake of many, every year, to contain the beast.

  I will be the first to manifest my will.”

  Niala flipped over the next few pages. There were only a few more entries before the last one, on the eve of the ritual, where Anaakendi hoped that the town's people would never forget the families' sacrifices, and that her descendants would remember hers.

  She looked up at David, teary-eyed, her lips trembling.

  Even for a creature that tried to kill her, she shows compassion.

  David sighed, shuffling closer to the upset catkin, removing the book from her hands and offering her a place within his arms, which she readily took, blotting her body against his, rubbing her face on his chest a few times.

  Her voice was tiny. “She sacrificed herself for everyone else.”

  “She did,” David agreed.

  “I thought she was a monster.”

  “She is.”

  Niala pulled back some, looking up at him. “Nobody who sacrifices themselves for the sake of others is a monster, David.”

  He stared into her damp but defiant eyes before shaking his head, softly speaking. “Niala, one saintly act does not excuse many despicable ones. She's sent over two hundred people to their deaths. Unwilling people.”

  She held her ground some more before relenting and cupping herself upon him once more. “She still gave up her life.”

  “I know, and for that, I will salute the living Anaakendi and honour her memory, but the Anaakendi we know is not that woman.”

  “It's not fair.”

  “I know, kitten. It's alright. Be sad for that woman, and be happy that we managed to end the legacy she left behind. From what I understood of her diary, her desires got twisted when she transformed into an incarnation. I don't think the Anaakendi from then would have wanted to sacrifice the unwilling.” David said.

  Niala did not reply, finding solace within her closeness to him, content to let her conflicting emotions war in silence, as her beloved held her tight, a warm port of call during the storm.