CH1.1: Atom

I picked up a wasp nest the size of my head from the base of the apple tree I burned. Once our red apples turned yellow, the tree grew strong despite the lack of sunlight. The smoke had killed the wasps too late to do me any good. Even far from the shack where my mother cared for my sister, I still heard her ragged breaths. The hive in my hand smelled sweet, like apples after the smoke seeped into it. With my knife, I cut away at the blackened wood to see bright yellow wood underneath. I could still taste the sweet apples the tree produced, and we needed the money selling them brought in.

Being poor hadn't bothered me when I had my sister. While I might never be rich working, our small field and orchard had been satisfying in a way. Our village helped with the picking and harvest and we all managed to scrape by. There was a girl named Yuna I was sweet on, and her father, Owen, the village blacksmith, talked about taking me on as an apprentice.

When the first yellow blemish on our tree appeared, I covered it with mud, hoping it would go away. We had a few trees that survived when the sun vanished. They had always been weird but never colored so brightly. I worked the wench on our well and pulled up a bucket of water to heat for my sister. The cook fire was stoked and burning brightly with a yellow flame. I sucked in a breath and let it out.

"Atom, hurry up; your sister needs it." Mother said.

"It needs time to warm up," I yelled.

Guilt crushed my heart, and if my sister died, I'm sure it would tear it from my chest. Our trees were healthy; they should have been able to fight off yellow spot disease. It must have been the lack of sunlight that was the only thing that made sense.

I stared down at the nest. Why had I picked it up? It was dead and useless to us. The only cure for the yellow was from a nest much older. Royal nectar wouldn't appear in such a small nest. I pulled my knife free and dug into it. Wasps poured out dead without even flinching. I cut higher, searching for the chambers where the queens were kept. If it was going to be anywhere, it would be there. I cut into a slightly tougher chamber, and something glowing fell on my knife.

A harsh wind blew clouds of dust up from the ground, blocked only by the hill in the distance. On that hill, despite the lack of sunlight, spider lilies grew red and vibrant, dancing in the wind. Under the dense cloud covering few plants survived. No one knew how long the famine would be, and the price of grain grew daily.

Getting our hands on royal nectar through a merchant was never going to happen.

I abandoned the heating water and ran home, holding my hand under my knife to keep the precious nectar from spilling. There wasn't much, but it had to be enough.

My hand clutched the handle when the sound of breathing stopped, followed by a rage-filled scream.

My sister breathed her last as yellow grew pustules on her lungs and rose as an undead faster than anyone I've ever heard of. I had left to heat some water over a fire, and I came back to see a yellow boil-covered monster digging into Mother's guts with inhuman strength and hunger. My mother's eyes found mine.

"Atom," She said as my sister looked up from her meal and turned to me.

A scared boy of 14 would have stumbled and alerted the monster; a brave man of 14 would have crossed the threshold and tried to put the monster down. I closed the door and locked it. The key rattled in the door as my sister tried to break free to devour me.

How long before my sister fed enough to gain back some sanity? Would she call out my name and beg for help? I pulled at my hair, fell to my knees, and cried shameful tears. The sounds of feeding resumed once the zombie understood it wasn't getting out. With enough feeding, a zombie could grow strong enough to break down a door.

I froze as a new thought occurred to me. Up on the side of the house, there was water damage, and the wood had long rotted. With my sister's Yellow , no one wanted me near them in town, and they refused my business. I wasn't able to get the planks needed to fix the roof. When

Food and time were all that was needed for a zombie to rank up into a revenant with the strength to rip doors off their hinges and invade. Adventurers weren't coming; that's why there were monsters to begin with.

The village sheriff was a retired soldier and probably saw far worse than newly arisen zombies. If I hurried he should be able to put my sister to rest before she regained her sanity. After she came back, I wasn't sure if I had the will to find help.

I left the windowless two-room shack behind me as I ran through the old animal path up the spider-lily-covered hill. The deadly flower grew more prevalent than any weed around here, and no amount of herbalist-bought weed killer would do them in. I felt sick seeing them so close, red like the color of blood. Monsters were sighted in the woods near the village, so I decided to use the hill to see my route.

Something was charging the village. The old oak on the hill greeted me like an old friend with a familiar climb; tall and reliable, it was the perfect vantage point. I recognized what I saw from an old story called the body thief. White mist flowed through the forest faster than the wind.

Rational thought left me as I ran downhill, knowing I would never reach the village in time. For a moment, it seemed that I was gaining progress, but that was my delusion. The mist entered the village.

I stopped between a village soon to be turned into a hive body for a mist elemental overmind and the undead in the only home I ever knew. At 14, I had no prospects save my ability to read. More than likely, the moment I entered another town, I would be conscripted into the militia. 14 was a good age to be trained, but when my body had a choice of fight or flight, I calmly locked the door. What did that say about me? I still wasn't terrified like the stories said I should be.

Oh, my options weren't limited to the roads leading to Fort Rykers or Anders Town. There was a forest filled with all manner of new and interesting things that couldn't wait to kill me. All I had to do was take a chance, and I knew for sure my would be unique.

I felt like I should be terrified, but all I felt was numbness. Was that why the monsters hadn't gotten to me? Was my numbness not tasty enough for them?

A wasp stung my sister when she was happy playing around our house while Mother was gone. It wanted to turn that happiness into dread. Monsters fed on fear; the dread of our inevitable demise was a delicacy to them. Maybe if I had been more afraid, the wasp wouldn't have stung my sister. Everyone knew that defiant and brave men always fell to monsters.

Was that how the Cathedral of Sabbath planned to save us? With their tales of our deserved torment, an afterlife full of pleasures and delight, it was tempting to let the fear in. If I gave into the nihilism and blackness, maybe I would be spared.

No terror filled me; I pushed it down because there was no time for fear.

The mist parted around the Sabbath Church in the distance, and the sun glinted off the thorned collar atop the church. Pain led to fear, and fear led to purity, was the saying of the church.