Chapter 1

The bow in my hands felt heavier than I’d imagined, its rough wood pressing into my palms, the string cold against my fingers. Each minute tremor in my arms made the bow creak softly like a constant reminder of the task at hand.

The warm soothing air of the forest wrapped around me, mingling with the earthy scent of damp leaves and pine needles underfoot. Occasionally, a stray beam of sunlight pierced the canopy, casting fleeting patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor.

Up ahead, in the clearing, a lone deer stood by a puddle of muddy water, its sleek fur a mix of browns and tans which blended with the surrounding forest. I watched as the deer’s delicate muzzle dipped into the water, the surface rippling slightly with each sip.

Its large, dark eyes were wide and alert, shifting nervously as it scanned its surroundings for any sign of danger. The ears, large and mobile, twitched with every sound—a rustling leaf, a distant birdcall, the subtle creak of the forest.

The deer’s hind legs, strong and poised, shifted slightly as it adjusted its stance to drink more comfortably. The fur on its legs bristled slightly with each movement, the light catching on the soft, fine hairs. The deer’s head bobbed gently as it took slow, measured sips from the muddy puddle, the water displacing small flecks of dirt with each dip.

Its breathing was soft and rhythmic almost like a gentle contrast to the beating in my chest.

“Steady,” a voice broke through the stillness, his tone low, comforting yet quiet despite the gravity of the moment. His hand rested heavily on my shoulder, a solid presence that steadied my shaking arm.

I glanced up at him, noting the rough texture of his familial face—scarred and weathered from years of hardship. His bright grey eyes, sharp and intense, locked onto mine with an unspoken encouragement. Even the stubble on his chin seemed to bristle with the intensity of his focus.

“Aim for the heart,” he instructed, his voice a calming anchor in the tense silence. “Remember what I said, just slightly above its elbow.”

I shifted my gaze back to the deer, trying to steady my breathing as the bowstring pressed into my fingertips. The warmth of the sun on my face mixed with the cool, dampness of the forest, created a situation that seemed to heighten my awareness.

The deer’s ears twitched again, and its eyes widened momentarily, scanning the forest for any hint of movement.

My focus narrowed on the deer’s chest, the gentle rise and fall of its breathing drawing me in. I adjusted my aim, trying to align the arrow with the sweet spot. The bow in my hands felt like a living thing, a suppressed entity waiting to be unleashed.

Drawing the bowstring back, I released the arrow.

It flew through the air with a sharp whistle, but I watched in dismay as it narrowly missed its mark. The arrow struck just below the intended spot, embedding itself in the deer’s side.

Almost instantly, the deer bolted into the bushes, its sudden movement a blur of panic and grace. A trail of dark red blood smeared the ground, marking its frantic escape.

“I missed,” I said, my voice tinged with disappointment, the click of my tongue a reflexive expression of frustration.

Despite that, the presence beside me gave me a reassuring nudge, I noticed that his expression remained calm and unperturbed, completely unshaken by my mistake.

“Come, you must finish it off,” he said, his tone practical yet encouraging.

“Yes, Father,” I replied, my spirits lifting despite the earlier setback.

My father led the way through the forest, his steps deliberate and sure. The trail of blood was faint but unmistakable, a dark streak against the rich greens and browns of the forest floor. The scent of iron mingled with the earthy aroma of damp leaves and soil, guided us deeper into the dense undergrowth.

The cool shade of the forest seemed to press in around us causing the warmth of the sunlight to become a distant memory.

We soon emerged onto a small, grassy knoll where the deer lay collapsed. Its breaths were ragged and uneven, each one a struggle against the inevitable. The arrow, lodged deep in its side, had not hit its heart but inflicted enough damage to seal its fate.

The deer's fur was matted with sweat and blood, and the grass beneath it was stained dark red. The once vibrant eyes of the deer now appeared glazed, reflecting a mix of pain and resignation.

My father approached the deer with a quiet solemnity, kneeling beside its head. His touch was gentle as he stroked the creature’s fur, attempting to offer some comfort in its final moments. The deer’s labored breaths were slow and heavy, each one coming with a painful effort.

Father’s hand moved delicately over the deer's neck, his expression a blend of respect and sadness.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice filled with a calm authority. He beckoned me, his gaze steady and resolute.

“You must end its suffering, come closer.”

My heart pounded in my chest, its heavy weight pressing down upon me. I stepped forward, my steps hesitant as I approached the deer. The short iron knife at my side felt cool and unfamiliar, its weight both reassuring and intimidating. I unsheathed the blade, the metal catching the dappled light which filtered through the canopy.

“Right here,” my father instructed, his voice gentle but firm. He demonstrated with a soft caress of the deer’s neck, his fingers tracing the area where the blade should be applied. “Aim for the base, just above the shoulder. It needs to be quick and merciful.”

I knelt beside the deer, its large, dark eyes meeting mine with a final, pleading look. The sight of its suffering tugged at my heart, filling me with a deep, unfounded sorrow. My hands began to tremble as I gripped the knife, the weighty task pressing heavily on my conscience.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed the blade against the base of the deer’s neck. My fingers felt clumsy and unsure, the knife cold and alien.

With a swift and deliberate motion, I drew the blade across the deer's neck.

For a couple of moments, time seemed to stretch, the world narrowing to the sharp edge of the knife and the soft, warm blood that slowly swelled around.

The deer’s body tensed momentarily like a final shudder of life, before it grew still. Its labored breathing ceased, leaving only the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds.

I stepped back, the knife still in my hand, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The enormity of the act weighed heavily on me, the reality of the circle of life stark and surreal.

My father placed a steady hand on my shoulder, his touch a reassuring presence amidst the gravity of the moment. “Good,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a quiet respect.

“You’ve done what needs be. It is not an easy thing, but it’s a necessary part of being a hunter. Understand that you must always treat a wounded creature with equal humility and that you must always follow through; ending its suffering, quickly and merciful.”

I looked at the lifeless form of the deer, feeling a form of sadness mingled with a tainted sense of accomplishment. Around us, the forest seemed to exhale, the peacefulness returning naturally as the cycle churned and continued without pause.

“Yes father, I understand.”

Soon after, I watched as he took out a rough cloth from his satchel. Watching in silence as he pressed the cloth into the wound on the deer’s neck, the once vibrant animal now motionless, its life fully spent. His movements were firm, pushing the fabric deep into the gash to stem the bleeding.

Then, without a hint of struggle, he stood and—grasping the deer by its legs—heaved the entire creature up and onto his broad shoulder. The sheer ease with which he did it left me wide-eyed, awe tightening in my chest. The deer hung limp against him, its full weight effortlessly carried as if it were nothing more than a sack of feathers.

“When will I be able to lift a deer like that?” I asked, trying to imagine myself doing the same but it almost seemed impossible.

“Keep doing the meditations,” he said without looking back, already beginning to walk through the trees again. “Diligently.”

I followed, watching the sway of the deer as it draped across his shoulder. The forest definitely felt different now, quieter. I thought about the meditations he’d taught me, the way he’d insisted on them since I was small. Sitting still, breathing in rhythm, imagining… what, exactly?

“Why do we do the meditations?” I asked, stepping over a tree root, my curiosity now getting the better of me. It had been on my mind for a while, especially with how much he emphasized it. “What does it really do?”

My father’s pace didn’t change, but he glanced back at me, his expression thoughtful. “It helps the body become attuned to the natural forces of the world,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the forest air. “To cultivate power beyond imagination.”

I frowned at that. “But I've been doing the meditations for years now… and I don’t feel any different. I can’t lift the deer like you can. Why?” I looked at his broad frame, at the ease with which he carried the heavy creature, and it didn’t make sense. No matter how hard I tried to do what he taught, I was still just… me.

“Patience,” my father said simply, his voice calm, almost cryptic. “Power will come in time.”

I wanted to ask more, to press him on it, but the words didn’t come. The meditations always felt like sitting and breathing, nothing special. Maybe I was doing something wrong. My legs moved automatically as I fell into step beside him, still looking at the deer’s limp body, its fur now dull and streaked with blood. The deer's size now seemed small compared to my father’s strength.

I reached out and brushed my hand over the deer's hind leg, its muscles still taut but lifeless now, like a statue that had crumbled under its own weight. How could something so strong, so full of life, fall so easily? How could I, with all the meditations and teachings, still feel so far from being like him?

I followed closely behind, my feet crunched over the forest floor, soon I noticed the direction we were heading in. The path, I realized, was leading towards the village.

I squinted up at my father. "Are we going to see Old Man Nogg?" I asked, already knowing the answer. I hadn’t seen the old man in a while, and the thought of visiting him brought a smile to my face.

"Are we selling the deer to him?"

My father nodded, his pace steady as ever. "He asked me for a deer a couple of days ago. Thought we’d deliver this one to him."

A flutter of excitement sparked in my chest. It wasn’t often we went to the village. In fact, I was only ever allowed to go when my father was with me. I never really questioned it; the village was a long trek, and the forest always felt more like home. But now, the idea of visiting the village stirred something inside me. I couldn’t help but feel elated.

I grinned. "It’s been so long since we last went to the village," I said, trying to hide my eagerness. My father didn’t look back, but I could feel his eyes on me.

"It has," he said.

The village, with its cobble stone streets, stalls, and people, was so different from our quiet life deep into the forest. It was always so full of life, and there was always something new to see. My mind drifted to the last time we were there, trying to remember all the odd and wonderful things I’d come across.

"Father," I asked as I quickened my pace to match his, "what new things do you think we’ll see in the village?"

He let out a quiet sigh, as if considering the question. "They should be preparing for a festival."

A festival?

I stopped in my tracks, the realization hitting me like a gust of wind. I’d heard about the festivals, the songs and dances, the food and colours, but I’d never actually been to one. I’d always been told about them afterward, always a step removed, never a part of it.

But now... could I actually get to see it?

I hurried to catch up, practically bouncing on my feet. "Can we stay for the festival this time?" I asked, my voice a little too eager.

"Please? I’ve never seen one before."

My father glanced down at me, and for a brief moment, I caught a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was something in his eyes, something that looked almost guilty.

He nodded slowly. "This time," he said, "we’ll stay. You can see the festival."

I blinked, barely able to process what he said. "Really?" I asked, my heart racing with excitement. "We’re staying?"

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made my chest heave. "Yes, really."

The excitement inside me boiled, and I couldn’t help but break into a wide grin. The village, the festival, everything felt like an adventure waiting just ahead.

"What’s the festival for?" I asked, curious now.

"It’s a celebration," he explained, shifting the deer on his shoulder as we walked. "A blessing for the village, hoping for a good season. Successful harvests, healthy animals, that sort of thing."

"Will it be fun?"

My father laughed again, a sound that made me feel light on my feet. "Yes," he said, "it’ll be fun. You’ll see."

I couldn’t contain my excitement. The village, the festival, the promise of something new—it was all too much. My thoughts raced ahead to what the night might hold, the sights and sounds, the people and their laughter.

For once, I was going to see it all.

...

The village gates loomed ahead, towering above the path. Even from a distance, I could see the thick wooden planks of the double doors, held together by iron bands that seemed as old as the village itself. Surrounding the gates were the tall palisades, jagged wooden stakes thrust into the earth, forming a barrier around the entire settlement.

It was always a sight that filled me with awe.

I remembered asking father about them a long time ago. He had said the walls were a must, built to keep out the monsters that roamed the forest beyond. A necessary structure, he called it, because the forest wasn’t exactly a safe place, especially at night.

And I believed him; even though we hadn’t run into many monsters during our hunts, the few we did encounter... well, father always handled them. Thinking back, I realized I had never fought one by myself. He always made sure our home stayed safe, always handled the danger before it ever reached me.

As we approached the gates, two guards stood at the forefront. Their armor was a far cry from the stories of shining knights and noble warriors. Rough leather, old and fraying at the edges, clung to their bodies. It looked like they hadn’t replaced it in years.

Their spears, tipped with dull metal, leaned against their shoulders with little vigor. One of them, a young man, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking bored. But the other, an older man with greying hair, squinted toward us, a look of recognition dawning in his eyes.

It was him who spoke first. "Well, well, I see you've brought me a fine deer this time," he said, voice gruff but friendly. He stepped forward with a slow but practiced gait, leaning on his spear for support. His eyes flicked toward me, and I nodded back, trying to remember his name.

Bob, I thought. Yeah, Bob. I’d seen him on my previous visits.

"Good haul today, eh?" Bob said, nudging his spear toward the deer on father’s shoulder. Father gave a short nod in reply, not one for many words.

Bob glanced at me again, giving me a quick smile before turning back to the gate. “Well go on in.” With a wave of his hand, the younger guard moved to pull the doors open, the creaking of wood breaking the silence. Father walked through without hesitation, and I scurried after him, eager to step into the village.

As soon as I passed through the gates, my breath was immediately caught in my throat.

The village was alive.

Everywhere I looked, buildings were draped in bright-colored petals and bundles of flowers, the air thick with the scent of blooms. The decorations seemed to glow in the afternoon sun, vivid yellows, reds, and blues, scattered like confetti along the streets.

The villagers themselves were just as festive. Men, women, and children alike wore pressed flowers pinned to their simple clothes, the petals woven into their shirts and dresses. Even the youngest children, running barefoot along the dusty road, had garlands of flowers hanging around their necks.

I stood still, taking it all in, trying to memorize every detail. The laughter of the children, the sound of feet shuffling through the dirt, the smell of flowers mixed with the earthy scent of the village. It was... perfect. More alive than I ever remembered it.

Father's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Come along," he called from up ahead.

I blinked and snapped out of my reverie, quickly falling in step beside him. My eyes were still wandering though, drawn to the vibrant colors and the joyous faces around me. I had never seen the village like this, and I wasn’t about to miss a second of it.

We walked along the cobblestone paths, weaving through the crowds of villagers as they bustled between stalls. The festival had brought out merchants from all over—food, tools, trinkets, and other odds and ends lined the wooden tables.

I watched the villagers haggle and chat, their laughter mixing with the smells of roasting meats and freshly baked bread. Every stall seemed to have something unique, something colorful, but what really caught my attention was a small booth off to the side.

Pressed flowers.

They were laid out on a simple cloth, a vibrant display of colors—yellows, purples, and reds, each one neatly pinned or tied into intricate patterns. I stared for a moment at the flowers, then glanced down at my chest, where the empty space on my simple hide tunic seemed to stand out. All the villagers wore the flowers, part of the festival spirit. It made them look... complete.

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I tugged lightly at my clothes, feeling the bare, undecorated leather under my fingers. I wanted one—just a small piece, something to feel like I belonged here too.

But I quickly shook my head and turned back to follow father, reminding myself that we had work to do. This wasn’t the time for such things.

We walked further until we reached the far end of the village, where Old Man Nogg's house sat. The structure was as plain as I remembered it—modest, with a thatched roof that sagged slightly in the middle, and a few small windows set into the walls. Smoke billowed lazily from the chimney, curling up into the sky.

Behind the house, a small open smithy jutted out, its forge cold for now, the tools neatly arranged along the wall. Nogg was the village blacksmith, and though his workshop wasn’t grand, it was well-kept and just large enough for him to work alone.

On the front porch, I spotted old Nogg himself, slouched in his old rocking chair. He was wearing that same straw hat, the one that always seemed to hide his face, and the chair creaked with each slow sway as he slept. The man barely moved, even with the noise of the festival surrounding him.

I almost wondered if he was dead, but then I caught the slight rise and fall of his chest.

Father walked ahead of me and stopped at the edge of the porch, clearing his throat before calling out, “Old man Nogg.”

The creaking stopped. Nogg stirred, slowly lifting his hand to push up the brim of his hat. His eyes, clouded with age and laziness, squinted toward us, taking a moment to recognize who stood before him. "Ah... so it's you," he rasped, voice slow like he hadn’t fully woken up. He sat up straighter in the chair, looking over at the deer slung over father's shoulder.

“Well, I see you’ve brought me my request,” Nogg said, tipping his hat back as he stretched out his legs and stood up with a groan. He walked down the steps of the porch with a slow, deliberate pace, the creaking of his joints almost as loud as the chair had been.

I stood a little behind father, watching as Nogg approached. The old man didn’t move fast, but there was something steady about him, like he’d been doing this for longer than anyone in the village could remember. His eyes shifted to me for a brief moment, the same lazy gaze he always gave me.

Father nodded once, shifting the weight of the deer on his shoulder. “As you asked.”

Nogg scratched at his chin, then lazily gestured toward the deer. “Bring it round the back. We’ll get it sorted.”

Father nodded again and moved toward the side of the house, and I followed closely behind, casting one last glance back at the festive village square.

The back of the house felt cooler, away from the bustle of the village. I watched as father laid the deer down by the drying rack. Nogg moved a little slower than before, his joints creaking as he knelt by the deer, running his calloused hands along its side.

“Hang it up over here,” Nogg said, gesturing to the rack. "Gotta let it bleed out into the bucket.”

Father didn’t hesitate, easily lifting the deer up by its hind legs and hooking them onto the rack. I marveled again at how effortless he made it look, barely a grunt or groan as the full weight of the animal dangled in the air, suspended over the old, battered bucket that sat below it.

Nogg approached the deer with a knife in hand, the blade gleaming even in the dull light. With slow, practiced movements, he widened the wound that I had made. The cloth that had been lodged into the neck to stem the bleeding was soaked red. Nogg tugged it free, wringing out the cloth into another bucket this one filled with water.

“Clean that up, kid,” father said, nodding to me as he and Nogg started talking.

I took the bucket and cloth and walked over to the side. Dunking the cloth in and out, I scrubbed it repeatedly, watching the water turn a light pink as the blood drained from the fabric. I thought back to how many times I’d done this before.

The cloth was always used after a kill, something father insisted on every time we hunted. It kept the blood from trailing, made sure no other predators could follow us back. It was practical, something I never questioned. As I washed, I could hear the low murmur of father’s conversation with Nogg in the background, their words breaking the stillness of the forest around us.

“The festival preparations are coming along, then?” father asked, his voice steady.

“Aye,” Nogg replied, his tone casual as he knelt by the bucket, dipping his knife in to clean it. “Been busy as always this time of year. The village is buzzing like it always does. But there's more to it this year. Things feel... different.”

Father’s brow furrowed. “How so?”

“Well...” Nogg continued, his voice low. “Been getting word of visitors. Strangers. Not your typical festival-goers, either. Some of them were armed.”

I stopped scrubbing for a second, my ears pricking up at that. Armed? My eyes darted toward the two men, but I kept my hands busy, squeezing the cloth between my fingers.

“Armed?” father repeated, sounding more curious than concerned.

Nogg chuckled softly, his hand tightening on the knife. “Not the usual rabble with sticks, mind you. Proper weapons. Swords and the like. Fine craftsmanship. I saw some of them yesterday. Passed through the village like ghosts, didn’t speak much. But their weapons… those blades were something else.”

Father remained quiet for a moment, thinking. “You think they’re here for the festival?”

Nogg shrugged, his lazy eyes scanning the deer. “Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to say. They could be travelers just passing through, but…” He trailed off, squinting at father. “You’ve been hunting deeper into the forest lately. Seen anything strange? Anything that might draw attention?”

Father shook his head. “The usual. Monsters, wolves, the occasional predator. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Makes sense...but,” Nogg muttered, wiping his hands on his apron. “Just be careful. There’s a feeling in the air. I can’t place it, but something’s off.”

I wrung out the last of the blood from the cloth, glancing over at father as he exchanged a knowing look with Nogg. The talk of armed strangers made me uneasy, though I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way Nogg spoke, or the way father’s face remained so calm, despite the news.

Father turned to me then, his voice cutting through the tension. “How’s that cloth coming along?”

I held it up, wrung clean. “Done.”

“Good.” He nodded, his expression softening just a bit. “Let’s finish up here.”

As the last of the blood dripped into the bucket, Nogg wiped his hands on his apron and turned toward me, his face creasing into a smile that pushed the straw hat back on his head. His eyes, though lazy, held a warmth that always made me feel at ease.

"How’ve you been, kid?" Nogg asked, his voice slow and gravelly like a rock tumbling down a hill. "Still keeping your father busy?"

I wiped my hands on my trousers and nodded. “Yeah, we’ve been hunting a lot. I’m getting better,” I said with confidence pointing towards my bow.

Nogg chuckled softly, the lines around his eyes deepening. “Good, good. You know, I could use a hand in the forge again if you’re up for it. You did a fine job last time, and I could teach you more if you’re interested perhaps even improve that bow of yours.”

The offer piqued my interest. I remembered the last time I’d worked in the forge, the heat radiating off the anvil, the way the iron glowed like embers under Nogg’s hammer. It was exhausting, but there was something satisfying about shaping metal with my own hands. I opened my mouth to respond but was cut off by father’s deep voice.

“Another time, perhaps,” father said, his tone polite but firm. “We’ve got other things to do. But we’ll keep your offer in mind.”

Nogg scratched his chin, his eyes flicking between us. “Fair enough. Just thought I’d offer.”

I nodded in agreement, though part of me was disappointed. Working the forge was different from hunting. There was a kind of permanence to it—like you were leaving a mark on something that would last longer than a single day.

Still, I knew father had other plans.

After a few moments, Nogg ambled over to a small stash by his forge, rummaging through it before pulling out a roped bundle. He walked back over and handed it to father with a nod. “For the deer, as promised. Fresh iron-tipped arrows, an axe, and a spare hide. Already processed, so you won’t have to worry about it.”

Father inspected the bundle, running his hand over the materials, before giving Nogg a nod of approval. “This will do nicely. Thanks old man.”

Nogg waved it off with a lazy hand. “Always happy to trade, you know that.”

With the deal done, father hefted the bundle over his shoulder, and we began to make our way back toward the village. As we stepped back onto the cobblestone streets, the festival was already in full swing. The atmosphere was alive with sound and colour, pulling me in like a magnet.

The first thing that caught my eye was the large bonfire in the center of the village square. It was towering, flames licking the orange sky, sending sparks spiraling upward into the atmosphere. Around it, villagers danced in circles, their faces lit up with joy as the fire cast long shadows on the cobblestones.

Men, women, and children moved in rhythm to the beat of drums and flutes, their feet tapping, their arms swaying. I could hear the thrum of the drums in my chest, feel the vibration in the air, and it made me want to join in.

Father caught my expression and gave me a slight nod. “Go ahead. Enjoy the festival. Just stay close.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. Grinning, I rushed toward the square, weaving through the crowd of villagers, my eyes wide with excitement. The smell of roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the sweet scent of honey cakes being sold at one of the stalls. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since our hunt earlier that day.

Near the bonfire, I spotted a group of kids tossing a leather ball to each other, laughing and running as they tried to keep it from hitting the ground. One of the boys noticed me watching and waved me over.

“Hey! Want to join?”

I hesitated for a second, glancing back to see if father was watching. He stood at the edge of the square, talking to one of the villagers, his back to me. Feeling a surge of excitement, I nodded and joined the game. The ball was soft in my hands, worn from use, and I found myself running and laughing with the other kids, the thrill of the festival wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

As the day wore on, more activities filled the village square. A pair of performers dressed in vibrant clothes stood on stilts, juggling flaming torches, their movements precise and daring. I watched, mesmerized, as they tossed the torches back and forth, the fire reflecting in their grinning faces. The crowd cheered as one of them flipped a torch into the air and caught it behind his back.

A little later, I wandered through the market stalls, looking at the different trinkets and tools for sale. One stall had carved wooden animals, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. Another displayed colourful ribbons and cloth, which the women of the village were already pinning to their dresses.

But it was the flowers that caught my eye again—the pressed flowers that the villagers wore on their clothes, vibrant and delicate.

I paused by the stall selling them, staring down at the blooms. My hand twitched, wanting to reach out and take one. But I thought of father and how we hadn’t come here for such things. I shook my head once more and turned away, following the path back toward the square where the bonfire roared.

As I arrived back near the fire, I found father waiting for me, his face illuminated by the flickering flames. He gave me a small smile, a rare expression for him, and motioned for me to sit beside him on one of the benches lining the square.

“Did you enjoy the festival?” he asked, his tone lighter than usual.

I nodded, still feeling the heat of the fire on my skin and the sound of the drums echoing in my ears. “Yeah… it’s amazing.”

Father leaned back, watching the dancers for a moment. “It’s good for you to see these things. Life isn’t all about hunting I suppose”, he paused looking at the sky.

“It’s getting late”, he continued softly, “We...need to return.”

There was a hint of thoughtfulness in his tone as if there was something on his mind but I shrugged it off, I knew I couldn’t stay in the village for long, “I understand, let’s go father” I said with consideration.

With that, we exited the village.

As the last echoes of the festival faded into the distance, father and I made our way back into the forest. The crickets’ persistent chirping filled the air, blending with the rustle of leaves underfoot. The howl of distant wolves sent a shiver down my spine, though I tried not to show it.

Father’s presence had always been enough to quell my fears, but as the last traces of twilight slipped away and the forest was bathed in deepening shadow, I felt the weight of the wilderness pressing in.

Father lit a wooden torch, the small flame danced as it fought against the encroaching night. The flickering light cast jagged shadows across the path, making the familiar woods seem more menacing than usual.

I kept close to him, watching the light sway with every step. The comforting sounds of the village’s celebration faded completely now, replaced only by the hooting of an owl somewhere in the distance and the whispering wind through the branches above.

After what felt like an eternity, we finally reached the clearing where our house sat. The decrepit wooden lodge was perched on the small hill, its silhouette dark and foreboding against the night sky. The familiar sight usually brought a sense of relief—a return to safety.

But tonight, something felt different.

Father suddenly stopped in his tracks, so abruptly that I bumped into him, my nose colliding with his back. “Ow…” I muttered, rubbing my nose in confusion.

“What…?”

I glanced past his waist, squinting into the darkness ahead. Our home stood silent, the windows black and empty, no light flickering from within. There was no sound of the fire crackling inside, no warmth waiting to greet us. The torch in father’s hand barely illuminated the front of the house, casting weak light on the weathered wood.

“There’s nothing there…” I mumbled, more to myself than to him. But something was wrong—father was tense. I could see it in the way he held himself, his entire body poised like a coiled spring. His eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows around the house with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, but before I could say a word, a sharp whistle pierced the air.

In a blur of motion, father lunged to the side, throwing out his hand. A sudden pain shot through my chest as I felt something fly past my face—an arrow. I barely had time to register it before blood spattered across my cheeks, warm and thick. I gasped in shock, freezing in place as I looked up at father’s outstretched arm.

The arrow had buried itself deep into his hand, the shaft trembling from the force of the impact. His fingers clenched around it, blood pouring from the wound in thick rivulets, staining the ground below. For a second, I could only stare, my mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

"Father!" I gasped, stepping back instinctively, my heart racing. My voice came out in a panicked whisper, my eyes wide as I saw the blood dripping from his wound.

But father didn’t flinch. His face remained cold, his body still as stone as he slowly lowered his arm, keeping me shielded behind him. His eyes were fixed ahead, locked on the darkness around the house.

Then, from the shadows, a voice slithered out, mocking and malicious.

“Oh, you caught that?”

The voice was laced with cruel amusement. Two figures emerged from the darkness, just barely visible in the flickering torchlight. Both were clad in dark, loose-fitting robes, their faces partially obscured by hoods, but their expressions were unmistakable—sickeningly confident.

"Catching that was a bad idea, you know," one of them sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

The taller of the two, with a face as sharp and narrow as a rat’s, twirled his dagger lazily between his fingers. "But what do I know? The kid would've been dead if you hadn't." His eyes gleamed as they flicked to me, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I’m more surprised you caught an arrow like that. I guess what they say is true—skills never leave you, even if you’re disabled."

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the weight of the situation crashing down on me. Disabled? My eyes flicked up to father’s face, but he was as stoic as ever, his expression unreadable as he stared down the two men. Blood still dripped steadily from the wound in his hand, but he didn’t show a hint of pain.

The other man, broader and more imposing, took a step forward, his boots crunching against the dry leaves scattered on the ground. His hood shadowed most of his face, but I could make out the gleam of his eyes as they glared at us. "You’ve been hiding out here for too long. Think you can just ignore your past forever?" His voice was deep, gravelly, as if it had been dragged through stone.

The torchlight flickered against father’s sharp features. I could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. My pulse quickened as I struggled to make sense of what was happening. Father’s past? What were they talking about?

“You know you can’t hide forever. The past has caught up to you."

Father said nothing, but I could see the subtle shift in his posture—ready, tense. His free hand went to his side, where the newly gifted axe from Nogg was strapped to his belt. The two men exchanged glances, their sneers fading as they realized what he was about to do.

With a sudden, sharp movement, father tossed the torch aside, plunging the clearing into near darkness. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves in the wind and the distant crackling of the torch as it smoldered on the ground.

Father wasted no time. He pulled the axe free with a sharp, metallic ring, gripping it tightly in his uninjured hand. The weapon looked heavy, but he swung it with ease, his breath steady despite the tension in the air.

The tall man sneered, stepping forward. “Think you can fight us off with that? You're not who you used to be, old man.”

Without warning, the broad man lunged at father, his blade flashing in the darkness. Father sidestepped the attack, bringing the axe down with brutal force. The broad man barely managed to block it, his weapon clashing against the iron edge of the axe with a deafening clang. Sparks flew from the impact, but the force of the blow knocked the man off balance.

Father pressed forward, swinging the axe again, aiming for the broad man’s midsection. The man grunted, trying to fend off the relentless strikes, but father was faster—stronger. For a moment, it seemed like he had the upper hand, his movements sharp and precise despite the injury to his hand.

But the tall man didn’t stand idle. As father focused on his opponent, the second man darted in from the side, his dagger slashing toward father’s exposed back. Father twisted at the last second, but the blade bit deep into his side, a flash of blood spraying into the night.

I gasped, my heart lurching as I watched the crimson streak arc through the air. Father staggered, gritting his teeth as he swung the axe wildly in the direction of his new attacker, but the tall man was already retreating, smirking as he wiped the blood from his blade.

“You’re getting slow, old man,” he taunted, circling around father like a predator stalking its prey. “Not so fearsome anymore, are you?”

Father’s breathing was heavy now, his movements slower as the wound in his side bled freely, staining his clothes a dark, glistening red. Still, he didn’t retreat. He held his ground, swinging the axe in wide arcs to keep both men at bay.

But they were relentless.

The broad man rushed him again, his weapon aimed at father’s legs. Father blocked it with the axe, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling backward. The tall man took the opportunity to strike again, his dagger slicing across father’s arm, leaving another deep gash. Blood dripped from father’s fingertips, soaking the handle of the axe.

Panic surged through me as I watched them overpower him, blow after blow wearing him down. Father grunted in pain, his breathing ragged as he tried to fend off their attacks. But they were faster, stronger, and there were two of them.

Then, in a sickening moment, it happened.

The broad man swung his weapon low, catching father off guard. The blade bit into his leg, and he collapsed to one knee with a sharp cry of pain. The tall man was on him in an instant, his dagger slashing down. Father raised the axe to block it, but the blade slipped past, slicing deep into his arm—too deep.

There was a wet, sickening sound as the blade cut through flesh and bone, and then, in a horrifying instant, father’s arm was gone. Blood sprayed into the air, splattering the ground as father cried out, his voice filled with pain and rage. The axe slipped from his hand, clattering uselessly to the ground.

"No!" I screamed, my voice breaking as I watched in horror, my body frozen in place. Father clutched at the bloody stump where his arm had been, his face pale and twisted in agony.

The tall man stepped back, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and exhilaration. "Didn’t expect that, did you?" he sneered, wiping the blood from his blade.

Father, bleeding and broken, looked up at me, his eyes filled with pain—but also with something else. Desperation.

"Run," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "Run, and don’t look back."

I hesitated, my body trembling with fear and confusion. How could I leave him like this? How could I run while he was dying?

"GO!" he shouted, his voice hoarse but filled with authority.

But I couldn’t leave him. Not like this.

I fumbled for the bow I had carried from the hunt, my hands shaking as I nocked an arrow. The bowstring felt alien in my grip, my fingers slipping over the string, but I forced myself to focus. My father had taught me how to hunt, how to aim. I had to use that now, even if I was no expert.

With trembling hands, I drew the bowstring back, the muscles in my arms straining against the tension. The bow felt heavy, unyielding, but I kept my aim steady, trying to focus on the figures ahead. The broad man was advancing on my father, his weapon gleaming in the scant light. Meanwhile, the tall man was sneering, enjoying the suffering he had caused.

I took a deep breath and released the arrow, watching it sail through the air. It was an awkward shot, my aim unsteady, but it struck the broad man in the shoulder with a dull thud. He let out a shout of pain and surprise, his hand flying to the wound. Enraged, he turned towards me, his eyes blazing with fury.

“You little fool!” he roared, charging towards me with murderous intent.

I froze, panic clawing at my chest. The bow was still in my hands, but I had no idea how to defend myself against a man of such strength and skill.

In that moment of sheer terror, I saw my father’s face. Despite the agony etched on his features, there was a fierce determination in his eyes. He looked at me with a mix of regret and fierce love, his body struggling to hold on.

“Run!” he bellowed, his voice strained but filled with unyielding authority. “Run now! Don’t worry about me! Go!”

But I couldn’t move. My legs felt like lead, paralyzed by fear. The broad man was getting closer, and the tall man’s sinister grin was burning into my soul.

Then, something extraordinary happened.

Father’s face twisted with a sudden, intense effort. He gritted his teeth, and his eyes glowed with an unnatural light. I watched in awe and horror as metal began to ripple from his body, forming chains and shackles that seemed to pulse with a dark energy. The chains writhed and lashed out, wrapping around the attackers and pulling them back with a force that seemed to drain the very life from my father.

The broad man let out a cry of shock as the metal chains wrapped around his arms and legs, their grip like iron bands tightening around him. The tall man fared no better, his own movements constricted as the chains dug into his wounds, causing him to scream in pain.

Father's body was shaking violently, his face pale as the metal continued to lash out, sparking and crackling with dark energy. It was a final, desperate act, a last burst of power fueled by sacrifice. He was using a power he had kept suppressed, a last measure that was draining his life force with every second.

“GO NOW!” Father’s voice was a strained roar, filled with both authority and anguish. “Don’t look back! Just go!”

As I stood frozen in the shadows, the world around me seemed to implode into chaos. Just when I thought I was about to take a step, another figure emerged from the darkness. His presence was almost supernatural, as though he had materialized from the very night itself.

He said a single word.

“Insolence,” he boomed with a voice like ice, his tone dripping with contempt.

I barely had time to react before he moved. With a swift, fluid motion, he extended his hand downward, and from the void of nothingness, a massive black sword materialized, its edge gleaming ominously in the dim light. The blade was impossibly large, forged from shadows and darkness.

The man ordered the sword with ease, bringing it down with terrifying precision. It sliced through the air and struck my father with a sickening thud. The sword impaled him into the ground, pinning him with a force that sent shockwaves through the clearing. My father’s body was pinned upright against the blade, his form trembling violently from the impact.

The metal shackles, which had been restraining the two attackers, shattered and fell away, the power of the sword overriding the last vestiges of Father’s desperate defense. The two attackers, momentarily freed, staggered back, their faces a mixture of pain and rage.

I watched in sheer horror, my heart pounding in my chest as my father’s gaze locked onto mine. His expression was one of unbearable pain and unspoken resolve. Yet despite the brutal injury, he did not cry out.

His lips moved silently, forming a single word.

It was as if time had stopped. The agony etched across my father's face was a silent scream that filled my soul with despair. His eyes, however, were resolute, pleading with me to escape even as he suffered.

A surge of terror and sorrow hit me like a tidal wave. My legs felt like they were frozen to the ground, but his command pierced through my shock.

He wanted me to flee. I had to obey.

In a daze, I turned and fled, the sounds of battle and my father’s silent suffering fading behind me. My eyes were blurred with tears stifled only by the rage boiling in my veins, the darkness of the forest swallowing me whole as I stumbled through the underbrush, my breath coming in ragged desperation.

The forest seemed endless, the branches clawing at me as I ran blindly, guided only by sheer instinct and the overwhelming need to escape. The sounds of the night were drowned out by the weight of what I had left behind.

I ran even as exhaustion claimed me, I did not stop, my mind repeated the echoes of his final command.

“Run.”