Erythro: The Prophecy Unveiled

Gripping his fists at his sides, Thomas squared his shoulders and faced Father Noah. Determination burned in his eyes, a stark contrast to the tremor in his voice. "I'm alone now," he choked out, the words raw with grief. "My family... they're gone. Was it really a wolf that took them?" Father Noah, his weathered face etched with concern. "Look, child," he said gently. "Do you see the signs on its fur? The crimson staining its fangs?" A heavy silence descended upon them. Thomas swallowed hard, his gaze flickering between the priest and the ground where his siblings were buried.

"Are you hunting these creatures, Father?" he pressed, a flicker of defiance replacing the raw grief. "Are there more of them out there?" Father Noah met his gaze, a deep well of empathy in his own eyes. But for a long moment, he only held the boy's stare, the weight of the answer hanging heavy in the air. "Answer me!" Thomas roared, his voice cracking with a mix of desperation and fury. The raw emotion hung heavy in the air. Then, his voice dropping to a pleading whisper, he added, "Please."

Father Noah, his eyes filled with a flicker of caution, glanced nervously around the place. "Alright, alright, I'll tell you everything," he stammered. "But first, we need to get out of here." Without waiting for a reply, the priest turned and hurried towards the exit. Thomas, his determination hardening, made his decision. "I'm coming with you," he declared, his voice firm despite the tremor that ran through him.

Father Noah didn't stop him. He simply continued his hurried pace, casting another worried look back at the place as the first rays of dawn began to paint the horizon with streaks of gold. Together, they left Perstone City behind, their steps quickening into a desperate sprint.

Muscles burning and lungs screaming for air, Thomas finally crested the last hill, his eyes widening at the sight before him. Towering pines, their emerald limbs heavy with mist, marked the edge of a sheer mountain face. "Where are we?" he gasped; the question barely audible over his ragged breaths."Pinehaven," Father Noah replied tersely, his weathered face etched with an unreadable emotion.

Pinehaven. The name sent a shiver down Thomas's spine, a name whispered in hushed tones by the villagers, a place shrouded in mystery. Without waiting for further explanation, Father Noah started his ascent. A seemingly endless staircase, carved right into the mountainside, snaked its way upwards, disappearing into the swirling mist that clung to the higher reaches. The damp stone, slick from a recent rain, offered treacherous footing.

Thomas watched, a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach, as the priest climbed with an agility that defied his age. Each step seemed effortless, as if the man had traversed this path a thousand times before. Taking a deep breath, Thomas grasped the cold, damp railing and tentatively placed his foot on the first step. The unforgiving stone sent a jolt through his leg, and he nearly lost his footing. A gruff voice startled him. "Careful, lad," Father Noah called back, his voice barely audible over the wind whistling through the pines.

"Welcome to Pinehaven," Father Noah announced, his voice heavy with a strange reverence."Pinehaven?" Thomas echoed. "Is this still part of Carthage?" "Indeed," Father Noah replied, his gaze fixed on the swirling mist above. "Pinehaven is a small, remote settlement nestled high in the Carthaginian mountains, far from the bustling cities of Ardiell and Perstone." A shiver ran down Thomas's spine. He'd heard whispers about such a place, a mountaintop town shrouded in mystery and accessible only by a treacherous climb.

He glanced down at the seemingly endless staircase that snaked its way upwards, the damp stone slick beneath his trembling hands. Here, the air grew colder, and the mist clung thicker, obscuring the peak from view. "Why are we going to Pinehaven?" Thomas asked, his voice strained from exertion. He paused for a moment, catching his breath as he watched Father Noah continue his ascent with an unnerving ease. Father Noah stopped; his silhouette momentarily framed by the swirling mist. "The Church where I lived," he said, his voice low and purposeful, "and the Venatores Sacri... they reside in Pinehaven."

After an hour of strenuous ascent, a colossal stone gate loomed before them, towering and ancient. The gate was tightly shut, its surface etched with inscriptions in an unfamiliar language. At the very top, large letters boldly declared, "Pinehaven."

Father Noah stepped forward, his voice echoing with authority as he proclaimed, "Sono tornato per riferire, Padre Noè, un gruppo di cacciatori di mostri." Thomas glanced at the priest beside him, his brow furrowing in confusion. 'I wonder what that means,' he thought, curiosity gnawing at him.

Suddenly, with a loud, eerie creak, the gate began to open. The sound reverberated through the air, causing Thomas to jump. As the gate swung wide, the sight that greeted them took Thomas by surprise. The town of Pinehaven lay spread out before them, a quaint and compact settlement nestled atop the mountain.

Pinehaven town, perched atop the mountain, was a place of rugged beauty and imposing architecture. The air was crisp and cool, the scent of pine mingling with the faint aroma of burning incense from the church. The massive gate, made of ancient iron and adorned with intricate carvings of saints and angels, stood as a guardian to this secluded sanctuary.

Thomas, a young boy with wide, curious eyes, walked alongside Father Noah, a man of serene demeanor and wise countenance. As they entered through the towering gate, the town unveiled itself like a hidden gem. Cobblestone streets, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, meandered through a maze of stone houses with steep, gabled roofs. Each house seemed to tell a story of its own, with ivy creeping up the walls and vibrant flowers spilling from window boxes.

At the heart of Pinehaven stood the church, an ancient edifice of stone and stained glass. Its spire reached towards the heavens, a silent sentinel watching over the town. The sign above the entrance, "Chiesa di Dio," was faded yet noble, its letters carved deep into the weathered stone. The church's interior, glimpsed through the open doors, was dimly lit by flickering candles and adorned with statues of saints, their faces serene and solemn.

Father Noah and Thomas continued past the church, their footsteps echoing in the stillness. Behind the church, they entered a vast compound, a stark contrast to the quaint town. The compound was a bustling hub of activity, with men and women honing their skills in the art of combat. The clang of swords and the crackle of energy filled the air, a testament to the relentless training of the town's protectors.

At the center of the compound stood a grand building, its facade marked by the words "Venatores Sacri." This was the headquarters of the Sacred Hunters, an elite order dedicated to battling the forces of darkness. The building was a fortress in itself, with thick stone walls and narrow windows that gave it an air of impregnable strength.

Thomas watched in awe as the hunters practiced their craft. Some wielded swords with deadly precision, their movements a blur of steel and sinew. Others chanted prayers in words he didn't understand, their hands weaving intricate patterns in the air as if they summoning protective wards and offensive spells. Father Noah guided Thomas through the throng, their destination the imposing building at the compound's center.

Inside the headquarters, the atmosphere was one of solemn purpose. The walls were lined with ancient tomes and relics, each artifact a piece of history in the eternal battle against evil. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and candle wax, a stark contrast to the fresh mountain air outside.

Father Noah led Thomas to a room at the end of a long corridor. The door was heavy oak, carved with symbols of protection and power. Inside, a council of elder hunters awaited, their faces lined with wisdom and experience. Father Noah bowed respectfully, and Thomas followed suit, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Inside was a vast room with huge statues of deities standing along the sides. The atmosphere made young Thomas uncomfortable. At the center was a long dining table made of gold, where the elder hunters sat. Though old, they looked wise, dressed in black priestly robes. An old priest sat at the head of the table. "He must be the leader," Thomas thought.

"You're back, Father Noah," commented the elder priest seated at the head of the table. He was old, with white hair, clad in a black priestly uniform, and golden rings adorned his fingers. "I am here to report," Father Noah responded, bowing his head.

"Alright, who is this young boy with you?" the elder priest inquired.

"Father, this is Thomas. His siblings were victims of the dark wolf," Father Noah explained.

The elder priest studied Thomas and asked, "I assume you don't have any place to stay?"

Young Thomas found himself nodding, feeling a sense of comfort in the priest's soothing voice.

"You can stay here in the church if you wish," the elder priest reassured him.

"I want to be a hunter!" Thomas suddenly exclaimed. The group of elders seated at the long table widened their eyes, some laughing at his outburst.

"You're still a child; it is dangerous," a few of them spoke.

"It's alright, if that's what you truly desire," the head elder said gently, silencing the rest.

"Welcome, young Thomas," one of the elders spoke, his voice deep and resonant. "You have much to learn, but you are among friends here. The Venatores Sacri will guide you on your path."

Thomas felt a surge of determination. He had entered Pinehaven as a boy, but he would leave as a hunter, ready to face the darkness that threatened their world and to take vengeance for his siblings.