A Fragile's Defiance

The void beneath the Surface Plane had always been a source of quiet unease, even in the best of times. Though invisible from the village, its presence was impossible to ignore. The stories passed down through generations spoke of its endless depth, its eerie stillness, and the inexplicable phenomena that would occasionally rise from its shadows.

Most of the villagers had learned to live with its existence, treating it as a distant but harmless oddity. But now, the void was no longer content to remain still.

---

It began with a subtle shift. Farmers who worked the fields near the edge of the plane reported feeling tremors beneath their feet, faint but unmistakable. Tools rattled on their hooks, and animals grew restless, their instincts alerting them to dangers unseen.

"Something's not right," said Emrik, one of the older farmers, as he stood at the edge of his field. His gaze lingered on the horizon where the land seemed to disappear into the void.

The soil beneath his feet felt colder than usual, as though the warmth of the sun couldn't quite reach it. He knelt down and pressed his hand to the ground, frowning at the chill that seeped into his skin.

That night, Emrik's cows refused to enter their barn, their eyes wide with fear.

---

Damien heard the whispers before he felt the unease.

He was carrying a bundle of firewood back to the farmhouse when the faint, disjointed voices brushed against the edges of his mind. They were similar to the ones he had heard in the village — fragmented and indistinct — but these carried a deeper resonance, as though they rose from the very earth itself.

He froze, the firewood slipping from his grasp. The whispers grew louder, though their words remained incomprehensible. They weren't calling to him, exactly. It felt more like they were pulling at something deep within him, an invisible thread he hadn't known existed.

For a moment, Damien's breath caught in his throat. The weight of the void pressed against his senses, heavy and oppressive.

"Damien!" Geralt's voice snapped him out of the trance.

He turned to see the old man standing on the porch, his expression a mixture of impatience and concern.

"Get a move on! You've been out there long enough."

Damien nodded mutely and gathered the firewood, though his hands trembled as he worked.

---

The village council called an emergency meeting after several villagers reported similar experiences.

"I felt it, too," said a blacksmith named Joren. "It was like the ground was... humming. And the air felt thick, like something was pressing down on me."

Others murmured in agreement.

"It's the void," Emrik said, his voice low. "It's stirring. I've worked near its edge my whole life, and I've never felt anything like this before."

Alric, the headman, raised a hand to quiet the crowd. "We don't know that for certain," he said, though his strained expression betrayed his uncertainty. "It could be the sky's doing. The patterns, the rift — they're affecting more than just the air. Perhaps they've disturbed the land as well."

Emrik shook his head. "The sky and the void aren't separate, Alric. They never were. We just chose to ignore it."

---

As the meeting continued, Damien lingered at the back of the chapel, listening in silence. He felt no urge to speak, but the unease in the room was palpable, feeding the hollow space inside him.

The idea that the void beneath their feet was connected to the sky above made an uncomfortable sort of sense. The Surface Plane had always seemed precarious, a fragile layer between two vast, unknowable forces. Now, it felt as though those forces were converging, squeezing the village in their grasp.

---

That night, Damien lay awake in his attic room, the whispers from the void echoing faintly in his mind. They were quieter now, but no less persistent, like a distant wind tugging at his thoughts.

He got up and went to the window, opening it to let in the cool night air. The sky above was a chaotic swirl of colors and patterns, their movements frantic and unpredictable. The rift had grown wider, its edges glowing with a cold, white light.

Damien's gaze shifted downward, toward the horizon where the void began. He couldn't see it in the darkness, but he could feel its presence — a vast, yawning emptiness that seemed to reach out for him.

For the first time, Damien wondered what lay beyond the edge of the plane. Was it truly endless, as the stories claimed? Or was there something waiting in the depths, hidden from sight?

---

The next day, rumors began to spread.

"Old Kara swears she saw shadows moving in the fields," one villager whispered to another.

"They say the void's rising," said another. "That it's going to swallow us whole."

The council dismissed the rumors as fearmongering, but the tension in the village was undeniable. People avoided the edges of the plane, and those who lived near the boundary began moving closer to the center of the village.

Even the children, usually oblivious to the concerns of the adults, grew quiet and watchful. The laughter and games that once filled the streets were replaced by hushed voices and nervous glances.

---

Damien found himself drawn to the edge of the plane, despite the warnings and his own lingering dread. He stood on a hill overlooking the fields, the horizon stretching out before him like a dark promise.

The whispers were louder here, their tones shifting between sorrow and anger. They seemed to rise from the ground itself, carried on an invisible current that swirled around him.

For a moment, Damien felt as though he were on the verge of understanding something — a truth too vast and terrible to comprehend. But just as quickly as the feeling came, it slipped away, leaving him with nothing but questions.

He turned and walked back to the village, his footsteps heavy. The void had stirred, and whatever lay within it was beginning to wake.