Order Report; Horde

[Rook]

To the Order, or to whoever still reads these things.

This isn’t going to be neat. I’ll try to make it useful.

The Horde… they’ve changed.

They’re still them… still in there, behind their eyes. But they’ve moved beyond people. Beyond monsters. They’re not just devouring magic anymore. They’re eating everything.

Weapons. Wood. Earth.

One took a bite out of a stone wall and smiled at me like it could taste the history.

I don’t know how else to say it:

They’re starving, and it’s not physical. It’s like something hollowed them out and left the hunger behind. Not just a symptom of corruption. A new ecosystem. An invasive force, maybe. A parasite. And we’re the ones who opened the door. Or closed it, as it were. Trapped it here in Astrel with no ventilation to breathe.

They aren’t feral. They think. They wait. One of them recognized me. Another asked me not to come closer, said they didn’t want to hurt me.
And then they lunged anyway.

So no, they’re not gone. They know. But knowing doesn’t stop the Hunger. It just makes them scream inside while they obey it. You can see it when they hesitate—when their hands shake right before they tear into something that used to matter to them.

It’s not mindless.
It’s worse.

I’m scared.

I’ll just say that. I don’t know how many of us will admit it.

I’m afraid. And not just of what’s out there.

I’m afraid that could be me.

Portal-folk. Fae-blooded. Magic-laced in ways I barely understand, and still I use it because it’s who I am. Because it’s how I listen. Because it’s always answered.

But now, something’s… different.

The magic still reaches back, but it’s fainter. Hesitant. Like it’s holding its breath. Like even the old stones and deep roots are second-guessing whether I can be trusted to carry their voices anymore.

And I don’t know what terrifies me more…
That I might fall to this hunger too,
or that when I do, the magic won’t come for me.

Not out of cruelty.
But out of fear.

And if Mab – Mab, who bends chaos like it’s string – can’t keep it from seeping in… what hope do the rest of us have?

I’ve seen her. She’s changing. She’s aware of it. She’s trying to hold the seams closed. But she’s bleeding hunger now. Slowly, carefully. Like it’s learning from her.

And I’m not her. I don’t have her strength. What if I tip too far? I don’t think anyone will notice until I’m gnawing through something sacred.

I’ve been thinking… There has to be a way to interrupt the hunger. Not cure it, I’m not naïve. But maybe something alchemical. A suppressant. An elixir. Even temporary relief could mean something. Especially if it gives us a chance to speak to the ones still holding on.

Or maybe a place. A warded zone, layered in stabilizing magic, old music, silence, anything that mutes the need. A containment. Not a prison, but a pause.

If we could build something like that… I don’t know. Maybe we could give them a moment of themselves back. Maybe that’s all they need. Or maybe we’re already too late.

But if we don’t try… I don’t think there’ll be anyone left to tell the difference between who we were and what we become.

I’ll keep listening. The stones still talk. So do the bones. So do the ones who shouldn’t.

And when they fall silent?

Then I’ll worry.

—Rook
The Only Whispersage of Meadowmere
Portal-born. Fae-blooded. Still fighting.

[Author]

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