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Amidst the Waves [Wuthering Waves]

Auteur: UnOwen

Prologue

In the infinite expanse of the cosmos, there lay Sol-III, a celestial gem, the third jewel in its solar embrace. This world, a marvel of divine artistry, was once a harmonious abode where beings of diverse nature thrived in unison amid verdant forests, placid rivers, and towering mountains.

Here, humanity and Beastmen dwelled together in a fragile balance, their differences a harmonious melody in a shared existence. For a time, peace was the planet's most cherished gift, a promise that seemed to stretch eternally towards the horizon.

Yet, this veneer of tranquillity was as fragile as morning dew beneath the relentless blaze of the sun. Beneath its serene exterior, the discord had stealthily rooted itself, its insidious tendrils weaving a tapestry of impending doom.

And then, on a fateful day, the delicate calm shattered into a cataclysmic upheaval… and the one to instigate this chaos... were the Beastmen.

Amid the Beastmen, Princess Luceria of the Goat Tribe harboured an ambition too fiery to be restrained by any treaty.

Contrary to her kin, she had no desire for harmony or the balance her people had long revered. She aspired to possess the world, to mould it in her likeness, and to govern as its sole sovereign.

And so, driven by that ambition, she set into motion events that could not be undone. The fragile peace between the humans and the Beastmen crumbled beneath the weight of her will, and the world was plunged into chaos...

It was twilight; the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, casting a blood-red hue that stained the world in an eerie light. The dream of peace lay in ruins, its fragments scattered across a landscape marred by the ravages of conflict.

The once-pristine earth was now heaped with the slain, mountains of bodies rising from the blood-soaked soil. The air was thick with the foul stench of decay, a grim reminder of the carnage.

Rivers, once symbols of life, flowed as molten crimson, their corrosive paths scarifying the land, erasing the vestiges of what was once revered.

Amidst this hellish tableau of devastation, a lone figure traversed the scorched earth, his presence a stark contrast to the surrounding chaos. His footsteps echoed softly, a rhythmic—*tap-tap*—against the sodden ground, each step sinking into the wet, blood-stained sand.

The man, cloaked in tattered raiments, seemed a spectral being amidst the ruin. His bare feet, unprotected and vulnerable, connected with the earth, while his spirit absorbed the anguished cries of the fallen.

His journey was enshrouded in uncertainty, but within the depths of his eyes, a vision emerged—a silhouette of a kneeling figure etched against the backdrop of desolation.

The silhouette was that of a woman, her form a unique amalgamation of human and arcane. Though predominantly human, she bore the distinct features of a goat: spiralling horns upon her brow and a restless tail.

Her hair was black, cut into a short bob in the front, with a long, tied section trailing elegantly behind her, billowing in the wind. Her sharp, golden eyes were striking, imparting a fierce and resolute look that enhanced her authoritative presence, yet now... they were but empty hollow husks.

In her grasp, she held a sword, its blade catching the dim light of the dying sun. The weapon was both a support and a symbol, anchoring her amidst the chaos, a silent sentinel in a world rent asunder by discord.

The woman's gaze was distant, reflecting a sorrowful regret as her mind grappled with the enormity of the devastation. 'What grievous fate has led to this lamentable end? ' she pondered, her thoughts, a whirl of confusion and despair.

But, before her thoughts could crystallize into clarity, a new sound pierced the clamour—a rhythmic—*tap-tap*—of footsteps advancing behind her.

Her gaze fell, and she beheld the encroaching shadow of a figure, towering at least eight feet tall. His formidable silhouette was menacing, the colossal scythe he wielded casting a dark omen that loomed over him.

The woman's face hardened into a mask of resignation, her eyes remaining fixed on the horizon as she spoke, her voice imbued with defiant sorrow. "If you intend to end my life, then proceed with your act... O Shepherd!" she spat, her voice a bitter edge of finality.

The man, whom the woman addressed as the Shepherd, halted, his scythe casting a long shadow across the ruined land. His voice sliced through the air with a chilling clarity.

"Princess Luceria of the Beastmen tribe," he intoned, his tone cold and distant, "You are of noble lineage, esteemed as the daughter of the Goat King, Christiano. Yet your deeds have brought dishonour to his name."

"My sire's name," Luceria retorted, her voice sharp and full of scorn, "is not something you can utter with such levity, Shepherd of the Crimson Valley."

In a swift, fierce motion, Luceria spun, her sword slicing through the air with lethal precision. But the Crimson Shepherd met her attack with effortless grace, his scythe forming an impenetrable barrier that turned aside her strike.

"All this sorrow is of your making," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. "You were present… You had the choice to remain aloof… yet you allied with the humans and—"

"And?" the Shepherd inquired, causing Luceria to falter.

Her words stumbled as she struck again, but once more, her blade found no purchase. Tears of frustration streaked down her cheeks as she gritted her teeth, her voice cracking under the weight of her anguish. "You are nothing but a stranger from the realms beyond. An outsider, an anomaly, an eldritch."

The Shepherd paused, a contemplative expression fleeting across his veiled visage. "A stranger from beyond, you say?" he mused, the term slipping from his lips with disquieting calm.

"Indeed," he continued, "I am nothing but a spirit who grants wishes, never truly part of this realm. The title of Shepherd, ascribed to me, merely reflects my former duty of tending to cattle," he explained as Luceria continued her relentless attacks.

"But Luceria…" the Shepherd's voice rumbled, each word bearing intense weight as he grasped her sword with unyielding force. Luceria struggled in vain to reclaim her weapon against his strength.

With a decisive sweep, the Shepherd sent her body hurtling through the air. She crashed into a mountain of corpses, the impact causing a violent upheaval of dead flesh and blood, mingling with the surrounding devastation.

As she lay amid the slaughter, her gaze remained fixed on the approaching figure. The Shepherd's silhouette loomed over her like an embodiment of death, his presence palpable, drawing the very life from the air. The ground seemed to shudder beneath his weight, recoiling from his dark aura.

"No soul has ever escaped their destined fate, and you are no exception. You shall atone for your transgressions," he declared, his voice eerily calm yet brimming with barely contained fury. The gravity of his pronouncement pressed heavily upon the atmosphere, each syllable resonating with the promise of retribution.

Luceria's gaze was unwavering, her eyes blazing with defiant fire as they met the crimson backdrop of the world in chaos. "I fear you not, O Crimson Shepherd," she declared, her voice a venomous hiss. "Strike me down, if you dare."

The Crimson Shepherd's lips curled into a grim smile, a chilling blend of disdain and dark amusement. "No, Luceria. For you, death alone is not a punishment but a form of salvation. It is a reprieve from the suffering you have so rightfully earned."

He advanced with deliberate steps, each movement radiating an oppressive aura that made the earth recoil from his presence.

"Look around you," Shepherd's voice reverberated with a thunderous authority, causing Luceria to recoil as she beheld the unfolding cataclysm.

"What—What is this?" she gasped, her eyes wide with terror as the very fabric of the land was torn asunder. The once-blooded earth had given way to a desolate expanse, a land withered under some divine wrath.

Grotesque spikes erupted from the earth, their jagged forms piercing the sky. Enormous fissures split open, exuding a sickly, pale yellow luminescence, streaking upward and casting a spectral glow across the heavens. This was accompanied by a peculiar rain that, defying gravity, ascended back to the heavens.

Luceria's gaze was drawn skyward, her horror magnified as she beheld a sight both wondrous and terrible. The sky, once crimson with the blood of conflict, had been replaced by an eerie reflection of an inverted ocean's surface. Yet this vision was but a fragment of the earth's lament.

'A Lament of the earth…' Luceria pondered, her thoughts darkened by despair. The land itself seemed to weep in a mournful dirge, each tremor a cry from the very heart of creation.

'This—this is my fault? ' Luceria thought, her heart sinking as she clenched her fists in anguish. "I—I only sought to guide the world," she said, her voice trembling with remorse.

The Shepherd shook his head solemnly, his gaze stern. "You misunderstand, Luceria. The world is not yours to dominate. It is a sanctuary to be preserved."

Luceria's voice wavered with desperation as she asked, "Then... what is my punishment?"

The Shepherd surveyed the mourning world, his heart heavy with sorrow. A mocking smile touched his lips as he spoke, "It's kind of ironic, isn't it? Someone like me—an outsider—harbours a deep affection for this land, even though it is not my native home."

"Luceria," he continued, his tone softened with a semblance of pity, "you were the catalyst for this calamity, and thus, you shall be the one to mend it."

The Shepherd drew a deep breath, the gravity of his words palpable in the heavy silence. "I am the Shepherd, chosen by this world, and I must protect it against unsolvable calamities. Hence, I shall relinquish my life and seal away the souls of the departed," he declared, his resolve unshaken, as he prepared for his final, irrevocable act of sacrifice.

Luceria's eyes widened, desperation lacing her voice. "C-Can you truly do that?"

His gaze darkened, heavy with sorrow. "I can only seal them," he replied.

Luceria pushed herself to her feet, her exhaustion overshadowed by a growing determination. "What will happen... if the seal is broken?" she asked, her voice edged with apprehension.

The Shepherd's tone turned grave. "Should the seal shatter, these cursed souls will return as the Thernodians, beings of unrelenting malice. They will unleash untold devastation upon the world once more, bringing back this Lament."

Luceria's confusion and frustration flared. "And what role do I play in this?" she demanded, her voice taut with emotion.

The Shepherd's expression remained inscrutable, his words carefully measured. "I am no more than a vessel... a Shepherd exists only because the world demands it. For as long as the world endures, it will always require a Shepherd." His voice carried an ancient weight, as though bound to the very fabric of existence itself.

He paused, his gaze unwavering as it fixed upon Luceria, heavy with judgment. "From henceforth, I declare you the Black Sheep," he intoned, his voice low but resonant, "...the one who defied the simple law of this world: to preserve peace. You chose ambition over harmony, and for that, I curse you."

"You, Luceria, shall bear the weight of your ambition for eternity. You will be cast into the new world at its bleakest hour. And you―" he whispered, leaning closer, his voice a deep, resonant murmur, "must guide the fragile souls who arise amidst the chaos you created."

The Shepherd halted just before her, his gaze icy and unforgiving. "But your punishment requires more. Your crimes are too great, and your path must be harsher."

Luceria's eyes narrowed in apprehension. "What more?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"It is simple," the Shepherd replied, his tone almost casual. Without warning, his hand shot out, seizing her horns in an unrelenting grip, and his foot pressed down on her tail with merciless force. Luceria's eyes widened, her breath hitching in her throat as sharp, unbearable pain shot through her.

"You despised humans for their weakness," the Shepherd said coldly, his voice devoid of compassion. "Then in your next life, you shall become one—weak, mortal—and face these calamities as they rise."

With a swift, brutal motion, he wrenched her horns from her head and tore her tail from her body. A primal scream of anguish erupted from Luceria's throat, her body convulsing as the searing agony of the curse overtook her, and her cries echoed through the desolate wasteland.

"AAAHHH!"

The Shepred looked at Luceria writhing with pain, her body lying among the slain, clenched her fists, her breath ragged. "Will I ever be able to redeem myself? O Shepherd... I just wanted to lead." Her voice was but a whisper drowned in the chaos around her.

The Shepherd's gaze softened, if only for a moment. "Leadership born from ambition, without compassion, is doomed to destroy. Learn this, Luceria. Only then might you find redemption."

As the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, the Shepherd fixed his gaze in a certain direction, a look of resolve and finality etched on his face. He stepped forward, once again reminding Luceria of her curse as he departed the area, his final words echoing in the air: "You are the Black Sheep. Bear your curse."

Prologue: The Shepherd and the Black Sheep