Chapter 2

Almost 2 years had past since Xeran vanished from the village. Towards the setting sun, he ran, into the mountains. There he was hidden by the craggy rocks and mountainous dunes of the desert.

In time, the village started to forget all about Xeran. He was as real and important to them as a shadow. Noone ever spoke of him. Children were raised in ignorance of him or heard a ghost story told by hateful parents who distorted his image and turned him into a monster.

Even those who Xeran regarded as parents began to turn their minds to more important things and forget him.

Steadily, he faded out of memory. He had become a phantom, a dream, but to some, a nightmare. When strange or unsuspected things happened in the village, as a joke, people would begin to blame the accidents on him. A roasted pig left over the fire to long and burnt, strange foot prints at night, sudden gusts of cold night air, or an unnatural silence; all was "Xeran's doing."

Those who did remember him however were convinced that he had fled to far off lands. Some even insisted that he was dead. They would laugh at the thought of him being eaten by Horn-Demons or starving to death in the wilderness.

But no matter who it was, whether they remembered him or not, or whether or not they knew of him, none would go into the mountains into which he fled. Few remained out after sunset. And to those who believed him dead, they couldn't shake the feeling of eyes watching them, constantly, from the shadows. Something was out there, something was comming.

And they were right.