Obscuritas -

The air in the village of Oakhaven didn’t just turn cold; it turned heavy, like water filling a pair of lungs. They called it the —a creeping, ink-black fog that swallowed the valley once every century.

As the first tendrils of the Obscuritas touched the village well, the sound changed. It wasn’t a roar or a hiss; it was a . The color drained from the world. The red of the clay pots turned to slate gray; the gold of the wheat became ash. Even the flame in her lantern didn't just dim—it grew pale, its heat stolen by the encroaching void. Obscuritas

She realized then that the Obscuritas didn't fear light; it feared . It was a vacuum that could only be filled by the weight of a soul. She began to sing—not a hymn, but a loud, discordant folk song from her childhood. The air in the village of Oakhaven didn’t