Part 33: The Curse of the Woven Clay
Acacia died. The mysterious little girl vanished, leaving behind a silence thick with primal magic. Acacia's body, though lifeless, was not decaying. It was preserved by the ancient seal, containing the monumental, residual rage and trauma of a betrayed warrior.
But the name of that preserved soul, bound to the mortal thread, lived on through generations of women.....
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"Hind!" a voice boomed across the smoky haze of The Rusty Mug.
"Hind! Stop lazing around, get something to do!"
The Rusty Mug was a sanctuary. Since the unspecified apocalypse, it had been a haven where all beings—mutants, augmented humans, and scavengers—found brief respite. No one judged here. They could fight, they could hate, but within the Mug's rough-hewn walls, they were just weary souls, stopping to forget the sorrows outside.
The current proprietor was Rashidat. She was the physical embodiment of the Mug's gentle spirit: bulky, muscular, tall, and huge, with a rigid exoskeleton and the body of a giant warrior. She was the exact opposite of her kind and warm heart, as soft as wool beneath her formidable shell. Rashidat was never violent or harsh; she was always ready to laugh at a joke and listen patiently to every sob story, cheering up the broken.
Rashidat had inherited the Mug from her mother, who had inherited it from her mother before her, a lineage passed down through women since the apocalypse. But long before The apocalypse There was a lineage shrouded in an ancient tale. It spoke of a generation of women who never lay with men but mysteriously always became pregnant. They carried their babies for thirteen months before giving birth. The myth claimed they were cursed by a demon whose sons and priests they killed in an act of greed.
After the settlement of the apocalypse and the rusty mug came to be,The people deduced and believed this legend applied to the owners of The Rusty Mug, a perpetual mother-daughter line. This belief, however, missed the true horror.
The women of the Mug were not cursed by a demon. They were a lineage of Acacia's recurring rebirths. Every child born was Acacia, and Acacia was every child. With each respawn, the ancient rage and pain were slightly diluted, forcing her soul to become a little more compassionate, a little more human—until the birth of Hind.
Hind was the true anomaly. She was the very opposite of her gentle lineage but the exact clay of the First Acacia's body. She was an embodiment of beauty, loved by all, a playful child who had grown up showering the patrons of the Mug with affection, embodying the kindness of her mother, Rashidat though they got new names, the original soul remained Acacia
On a faithful, warm evening, Rashidat and her daughter Hind were walking back to their haven after a long day of shopping. They decided to rest by the glowing river—a beautiful, irradiated waterway left by the destruction. As Rashidat rested, Hind, playful and curious, caught sight of a stray Ekunolf cub, a wolflion-like creature, mutated and fierce.
Hind, delighted, began to play with the cub. Unbeknownst to her, the mother Ekunolf was close by, its senses heightened by the will of a protective Mother. The cub, excited and rough, bit Hind!
As the pain crept in, a terrifying reaction occurred. A flicker of dark smoke and embers of fire flashed in Hind's eyes, a chaotic, subconscious memory of her past life and the danger was instantly sensed by the mother Ekunolf, who pounced to protect its cub. Rashidat, seeing the beast launch toward her daughter, rushed to save her, but the creature was faster.
Fear mixed with a flash of righteous anger she wasn't at fault for getting bit and Hind instantly unlocked the power hidden since the binding of Acacia's first clay: Rage!!
A whirlwind of dark, solid smoke filled with fire cracks like burning embers erupted from Hind, enveloping the mother Ekunolf and the cub. The rage was an absolute force, consuming and annihilating them instantly. It happened so fast that the rage dissipated quickly, leaving no trace but ash and a stunned silence.
Rashidat saw the terror. She saw the dark smoke, the burning embers, and she was terrified. She knew exactly what had happened, she knew of the dangerous curse had been passed down through their generations, and the dark consequences that would follow.
The original rage of old, the dread of gods... She's returned
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Deep in some far eastern territories, in a place covered with unnerving devastation, lay a desolate, ancient courtyard. At its center, a growing, massive tree had naturally carved in to form a throne. Surrounding the base of the tree-throne was a pool of still, unmoving pitch-black water, a mirror of concentrated sorrow.
Seated on the tree-throne, frail and hunched, was Primus.
His head, still hidden beneath the oversized robe, snapped up. His ancient, grating voice was laced with a chilling realization.
"She's back."