"Hey, old man, so where are you from?" Eamon asked as the moon disappeared behind the clouds, leaving the bonfire as the only source of light and heat, where fish were being cooked.
I am Baltar and I was born in the countryside, in a village called Hearth. Until I was fourteen, my parents worked on their farms, raising cattle, and we lived a simple, normal life. Then the climate changed, and came the Long Night . Blizzards became common, food turned into a luxury, and people died like flies.
The entire continent of Lugh became uninhabitable. Blizzards grew frequent and relentless, forcing the people to migrate. The trade route between Lugh and Vele turned into a path of mass exodus.
Yet, more than half of the migrants perished. Some starved, some were swallowed by the blizzards, and others were hunted down. Most, however, were killed by the creatures lurking in the darkness.
Most of my family died along the way. First, my four-year-old brother. Then my mother. Later, my last remaining brother. Only my father and I survived the journey.
We had set out as a group of approximately twenty-eight thousand people. By the time we reached our destination, only seven thousand remained alive. We came from the deepest regions of the Lugh continent, which made the journey even more unforgiving.
The entire continent of Lugh became uninhabitable. Blizzards grew frequent and relentless, forcing the people to migrate. The trade route between Lugh and Vele turned into a path of mass exodus.
Yet, more than half of the migrants perished. Some starved, some were swallowed by the blizzards, and others were hunted down. Most, however, were killed by the creatures lurking in the darkness.
Most of my family died along the way. First, my four-year-old brother. Then my mother. Later, my last remaining brother. Only my father and I survived the journey.
We had set out as a group of approximately twenty-eight thousand people. By the time we reached our destination, only eight thousand remained alive. We came from the deepest regions of the Lugh continent, which made the journey even more unforgiving.
When we reached Vele, we felt fortunate—safe, at least for a moment. That illusion shattered quickly. The natives began to discriminate against us. We could not speak their language, and we looked different. Hatred took root soon after. Those who could do nothing with their own lives found it easiest to blame us.
Lugh had once been a paradise, densely populated and thriving. Nearly seventy million people migrated when it fell. Vele, however, was a barren and broken continent, incapable of growing sufficient crops. Thus began the Age of Starvation.
Food prices soared, and Vele became a brutal, competitive land. The ruling lords failed to find a solution, and the continent descended into civil war. We arrived too late—every fertile region and stable city had already closed its gates to migrants. With no other choice, we took refuge in the rural town of Sion.
The civil war claimed millions of lives once again. We considered migrating yet again, but the other continents had sealed their borders. Only the lords and nobles of Lugh were granted passage. Vele was abandoned to chaos and became a lawless land.
People formed gangs and began to loot whatever they could find. Women were captured and turned into sex slaves. We survived by relying solely on hunting.
Slowly, hatred toward migrants faded—not because people accepted us, but because death had become universal. When death roams freely, everyone is equal. We became animals—hunting to survive, eating to live.
Most regions of Vele slowly stabilized as the population declined. We became farmers once again—claiming land, sowing crops, and waiting for the harvest. Nature was neither kind nor cruel; it was simply just. We no longer had to eat rabbits or mice, nor hunt in the darkness to survive. People began raising cattle, and Vele finally became livable again.
The year was 0001197 After the Great War. I was around twenty years old when Vele began to flourish. That was when the neighboring country of Zeo launched its invasion. They started seizing counties—not for survival, but for taxes. They knew that if they waited any longer, the other continents would strike first. Sion was captured as well.
To survive, I joined the army. After years of starvation and civil war, Vele was nearly united again. I fought for ten years. Eventually, the state could no longer feed its massive armies, and large portions of the soldiers were dismissed. I was among the unfortunate ones. The wages we had been promised were never paid.
With nothing left, I left Vele. The female population was low, and most women preferred to become the fifth or sixth wife of a noble. Others were forced into prostitution. Lonely men think with their dicks instead of their minds, spending their hard-earned money on whores and wine. Vele lacked clean water sources, so we relied on cheap alcohol to survive.
I wanted to start a family—to raise children of my own. But no woman wanted a man like me: someone without land, without a farm, unable to guarantee food.
Most of my friends died in battle, yet I survived. When the wars ended, I was left without purpose. Then I found my true love—not in a woman, not in a family, but in wandering. I became a traveler.
I took on odd jobs wherever I went—cleaning, working on farms, sometimes even scrubbing public latrines. I worked, earned, ate, and moved on. I survived what people would call nightmares. I saw myths with my own eyes, things once believed to exist only in stories.
The journey never ended. In time, I stopped doing menial labor and became a merchant-traveler. This is my fourth continent out of twelve. I am now sixty-four years old. I have tried to retire many times. I have more than enough money to live out my remaining days in comfort—yet here I am again.
I once wanted to die on the road. Perhaps part of me still does. But I suppose I am a stubborn bastard—too hard to kill.
Old man, what about Lugh? Is it still unlivable? Have you ever gone back? asked Alric.
Baltar sighed. "Young man, Lugh is cursed—cursed because of Weimar, the fifth son of the king. It will remain the same for centuries. Our sins do not go unpunished. That land will not be inhabitable again for a very long time."
Alric frowned. "But how is that possible?"
Baltar leaned closer. "Then listen. Let me tell you the story of Prince Weimar."
That fool was our prince a hundred years ago. His mother was suffering from Alter, a disease for which no cure existed at the time. Her death was inevitable. The king, however, was busy with his maidens and concubines. He had several wives and cared little if one of them died.
But Weimar had only one mother. He refused to accept her fate. He tried everything.
The Maesters said that Alter corrupted the blood and slowly rotted the body. They believed that the tooth of a Hinos could purify the blood. But they also warned him—if the decay had spread too far, then even purified blood would not save her."
Hinos were already extinct in Lugh, but they still lived on some of the western islands. They roamed vast grasslands—massive creatures, quadrupeds, slow-moving, and not overly aggressive.
And so, Weimar began his journey to save his dying mother.
The voyage became a nightmare. Their ship was caught in a violent storm. After a brutal struggle between men and nature, the ship was torn apart and sank to the bottom of the sea. Only five men and Weimar survived.
The Arinian Sea was merciless. Their small boat was no match for it. One by one, three men died. Weimar tried to catch fish, but the waters were infested with sea monsters. Any attempt to move risked drawing their attention—and death.
They drifted helplessly. By the second night, Weimar and the remaining two men were on the verge of death. Weimar collapsed and lost consciousness.
It was then the men spotted an island. Believing Weimar to be dead, they dragged him ashore. Yet on that desolate land, he awoke.
They found fresh water—but no animals, no signs of life. Only a few wild berries kept them alive.
After a week, they decided to turn back. They had only one boat and barely enough water to carry, but they still clung to the hope of returning home. Weimar was burdened by the knowledge that he had failed his dying mother. Yet he longed to be with her in her final moments, for he knew his father would not care for her.
And so he ordered the men to sail.
Weimar was a strong man—trained from childhood to be the best. But the sea is not bound by human laws or mercy. When it wishes to kill, it simply does. A massive thunderstorm rose in their path. The wind screamed, and the air moved so violently that the boat began to tremble beneath them.
Then, at the edge of death, Weimar saw something beautiful—something otherworldly. He knew what it was the moment his eyes met it. A mermaid.
She drifted upon the waves, wordless, yet calling to him all the same. Weimar was hypnotized by her beauty. Without a single thought, he leapt into the ocean—into waters filled with creatures capable of devouring him in seconds. He was no longer in his senses. He chased something he believed he must have, something he thought he loved.
The guards shouted after him, cursing his name. Their cries were filled with rage, disbelief, and terror—but Weimar could not hear them. Unhinged by the spell upon him, he followed the direction of the mermaid.
She vanished from sight.
Still, Weimar thrashed through the water like a madman. His mind had stopped working as a man's should. At last, his strength failed him. He began to drown, sinking slowly toward the dark depths below—unable to think of anything but her.
Yet on his face a warm smile was present like he was not sad like he found a missing piece of himself like a starving men find a piece of bread or young men finds a beauty of his dream or miserable men finds hope something like that was happening with the young prince
Wait—what?" Eamon blurted out, his wild curiosity. Even if he found a mermaid, how would he fuck her? Do mermaids even have vaginas?.
Alric and two other strangers burst into laughter, gnawing on roasted fish with alcohol sloshing in their hands. Baltar didn't seem bothered by the question in the slightest.
Alric shouted through his laughter, "She'd at least have boobs, you virgin bastard!"
The laughter echoed around the fire.
Then Alric leaned forward, wiping his mouth. "So tell me—did Weimar die?
Baltar shook his head. "Quite the opposite. The young prince lived."
As he was sinking, he sensed a touch—so warm that he forgot the freezing water around him. He felt something close, yet impossibly distant at the same time. Then darkness took him.
When Weimar awoke, he was lying on the shore of a village inhabited by Fishmen, surrounded by their families. Somehow, he had been brought back to Lugh.
Only one thing remained clear in his memory. A voice. Soft, distant, yet undeniable.
Come to me. I will be waiting for you follow you heart you will find me.
Weimar sought out their lord… and then he returned to the castle. Upon returning, Weimar went straight to his mother's chamber. The Maesters told him to be strong. His mother had passed the initial stages of Alter; she had less than half a month left to live. The disease had progressed too far—there was no cure anymore.
They had known this even before the journey began, but they had chosen not to anger Weimar with the truth.
At last, Weimar accepted her fate. He watched the only person who had ever truly cared for him slowly fade away. He knew that once she died, he would be utterly alone in that wretched place.
He had no real brothers or sisters—only half-brothers and half-sisters. They were stepping stones to one another, not family. They did not even like each other. His only true sister had died two months after her birth. Weimar had been eleven then, and it was the moment he truly understood what kind of man his father was.
Soon, as expected, Weimar's mother died. Patients of Alter could neither be burned nor buried; their bodies had to be cast into the sea.
Weimar was present for the rituals. She had been a Mazino, a follower of an ancient faith practiced in southern Lugh. A statue was raised in her memory near Dellyn Lake—it may still stand there," Baltar said.
Not long after, the young prince wished to leave the castle. Yet he could find no way to do so. His faction noticed his complete lack of interest in the line of succession, and this alarmed them. Such indifference could prove deadly—not only for Weimar, but for those aligned with him.
They sent word to the king, claiming the prince was deeply depressed and barely eating. At last, this stirred some concern. The king did not wish to lose a capable son—not out of love, but because Weimar was still his blood.
Out of mere courtesy, the king went to speak with him. Son, I know your mother has died. I am saddened by her fate as well. I understand how you feel. But the world does not stop for anyone. We must go on living.
"The people need us. Their fate depends on us. I know how deeply you loved her—I watched you grow beneath her shadow. But now you must walk the path of a king, the path of strength.
"If you hesitate, even for a moment, your head will end up on a spike or your kingdom will fall in a losing war. Everything will be taken from you for even the smallest mistake.
"Our ancestors fought and bled so that we could rule. If you lack courage, you will not survive in this world.
The king turned to leave.
"I don't want to rule," Weimar said. "I will be leaving the castle soon."
The king stopped, his expression puzzled. "Where do you intend to go? The world beyond these walls is ruthless and competitive. I know you are strong, but a single lion cannot stand against a hundred wolves.
"You may be living in a fantasy, but you have not seen what happens out there every day. We are no different from beasts. The only thing that separates us is our minds—nothing more. We still need food, water, and shelter to survive. Strip that away, and you are nothing but prey."
"I know," Weimar replied. "But I cannot live here. I simply can't. I love someone."
"Who?" the king asked, curiosity breaking through his hardened tone.
The prince told him what had happened during his journey.
The king's expression changed—calm, almost accepting. At last, he spoke. "I cannot stop someone who does not wish to be stopped. Go. I have nothing more to say."
The prince set out once more—alone, with nothing but a small boat. It was as if he already knew where to go. He followed his heart. Places he had never visited felt strangely familiar, and he sailed through storms as though he were a sailor a century old.
At last, he saw an island. The moment he laid eyes on it, a sense of home washed over him, as if he had lived there for decades. It felt like heaven on earth—the most breathtaking place he had ever seen.
Then he noticed a ship trailing him. A man he recognized stood upon its deck—the von Erlach commander of Lugh's navy.
The commander captured him without effort, threw him into a cell, and spoke calmly. "Do not worry, Prince. When we are finished here, we will allow you to find your love—if she survives."
Soon after, three warships moved in and surrounded the island.
They began capturing the mermaids and mermen, fully aware of how valuable they were. The mermen were slaughtered without hesitation, but the beautiful mermaids were spared—at least at first. Soon, the ships were filled with them.
Then the killing began. Not out of necessity, but for amusement. Children were slaughtered alongside their elders.
Before the ships set sail, the merfolk were confused. This had never happened before. Their island was not meant to be found by humans. But soon they understood what must have occurred, and terror spread among them. They had always known of human greed—now they were facing it.
The commander was pleased. He imagined himself becoming one of the richest men in the world. Kings and nobles would pay obscene sums for such creatures. He would never need to fight again—mercenaries could fight in his place. With enough gold, even kings and lords could be bought.
"Commander Erlach," someone said, "the human-fish are dead."
"What?"
He looked again. Not a single one of them still lived. Confusion twisted into fury. His anger burned deep.
"Who was the caretaker?" he demanded.
The caretaker stepped forward. Erlach raised his sword and brought it down in a single stroke, cutting the man from shoulder to stomach.
He died where he stood.
Not long after, a storm rose from nowhere. There was no warning—no darkening horizon, no gradual wind. The sea itself seemed to turn against them. Waves towered like mountains, and the wind howled as if alive. The warships were crushed beneath the fury of the ocean, sinking like stones.
Not a single soul survived.
The sailors died. The commander died. And the prince died with them.
That very night, the king was struck by a dream so vivid it felt like waking life. He saw the Sea God, weeping. His tears fell into the ocean, and with each tear the waters grew darker. The god mourned the mermaids and mermen above all other beings, for they were his most beloved children.
You have slaughtered what I cherished most, the god said. And now all of Lugh shall pay.
The king awoke in terror, his body drenched in sweat. At dawn, he summoned his advisors and told them everything—the storm, the slaughter, the god's wrath. They dismissed his words as grief and fear, telling him he had merely dreamed a nightmare brought on by loss. They urged him to calm himself.
But the curse had already begun
One by one, the royal family descended into madness. Whispers from the sea haunted their thoughts, sleep abandoned them, and reason slowly slipped away. Trust shattered, fear ruled their hearts, and none among them remained untouched.
And slowly, Lugh died.
The blizzards came. The land froze. Crops failed. The sea swallowed ports and cities alike. The people fled or perished, until nothing remained.
And now," the old man said, "no one remains in Lugh.