Eleven hours ago

"Grandpa, I'm scared!" cried the small voice in Robert's ear.

Locksley, typically shrouded in the quiet darkness of night, was now ablaze, an unnatural illumination reflecting off the slick, rain-drenched streets. Folktales had come alive in the most horrific of ways, as creatures of nightmares clawed their way into reality. Chasing Robert and his grandchild were the goblins, snarling and snapping with an eager anticipation of their prey.

Little Roo, held tight in Robert's grip, trembled against him, each shudder a poignant reminder of their grim situation. The old man wished he could spare the breath to soothe the child's fears, but each gasp was a precious commodity, a lifeline he dare not waste. The goblins, a malicious glint in their eyes, were hot on his trail, their shrieks reverberating off the cobbled lanes, promising pain and a grisly end.

Could I have chosen differently?

The thought gripped Robert as he reflected on his decision to abandon the group of mysterious strangers at the plaza. But, a mental image of the sinister woman emerging from the building sent shivers down his spine, reaffirming his decision. With renewed determination, he shook off the regret and pressed onward. His focus was on survival - his and little Roo's. He wouldn't let the terror of Locksley claim them tonight.

Forgoing contemplation of the past, Robert committed his full focus to the present nightmare. Suddenly spotting monsters emerging from the front as well, his eyes darted to a fairly spacious alley on his right. Clutching the little boy tighter and grinding his teeth in determination, he swiftly maneuvered into the lane.

As he rounded the corner, his blood ran cold. A dead end. Panic bloomed in his chest, prompting him to pound urgently on the lone door to his left, a beacon of potential safety. No matter how desperately he hammered on the cold, unyielding wood, silence greeted him from the other side.

Gods in heaven, have mercy on us.

Robert's silent plea hung in the chilly air, answered only by the shrill cries of the encroaching goblins. Without a glance backwards, he gently placed Roo in the alley's corner before finally daring to confront his grim fate.

The goblins had closed in, a horde of five ghastly green figures grinning grotesquely, crooked teeth on full display. One creature, its eyes gleaming wickedly, drew a menacing dagger, poised to strike the elderly man.

As despair threatened to consume Robert, a glint from the corner of his eye offered a glimmer of hope. A discarded piece of lumber lay nearby. Driven by desperation, the old man seized the makeshift weapon, gripping it with the fierce resolve of a swordsman.

What am I doing?

Robert's hands trembled, his hold on the makeshift weapon tenuous at best. It was apparent to him, as well as the goblin leading the pack, that he could not muster a decent swing. The creature responded with a grotesque laughter, a cacophonous sound of delight at the desperate spectacle unfolding before them. Its cronies joined in, their wicked cackles echoing ominously in Robert's ears.

Gloating over, the lead goblin lunged at Robert, its dagger held high. Fear tightened its grip, freezing Robert in his tracks, his eyes instinctively squeezing shut in anticipation of the impending strike.

As he whispered a last-ditch plea to any deity that might listen, a sudden thought struck him. With no alternatives left, Robert did the only thing he could - he trusted his instincts and opened his mouth.

"Power Strike."

No sooner had he spoken the words than a surge of energy rushed from the core of his being into his hands, and then into the wooden plank. The makeshift weapon began to glow a brilliant blue, startling the charging goblin and leaving Robert himself bewildered.

With an inarticulate cry ripped from the depth of his soul, he swung. His movements were clumsy and graceless, filled with glaring flaws. But raw power needed no finesse.

Robert's now-luminous weapon viciously cleaved through the goblin with raw power alone, tearing skin and sinew alike. The force of his swing ripped through the creature from neck to midriff, laying it open like a roughly-handled doll.

Level up!

The old man's breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. Yet, despite his exhaustion, he was riveted by the fading luminescent screen before him. As the glow disappeared, a rejuvenating energy seemed to replenish his depleted strength.

The sharp edge of his adrenaline-laced focus began to blur, allowing him to register new voices, previously unheard amidst the chaos.

"Charge!"

The command rang out, clear and authoritative, from a young man astride a powerful steed. A squadron of seven knights answered the call, two of them thundering forward on their horses. Their lances, poised for attack, ensured that any goblin fortunate enough to avoid being trampled would face the deadly tip of their weapon.

As Robert's gaze fell upon the young knight sitting atop his horse outside the alley, recognition dawned on him. He knew exactly who this commanding figure was.

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Is that Sir Tristan Ravenwood? What is the prince doing here?

A solemn-faced knight rode up beside the prince, urgency lacing his voice, "Tristan, we must make haste. If we're surrounded by those creatures here, we'll find ourselves in serious trouble."

"We'll move immediately," Prince Tristan responded decisively, his eyes falling upon Robert and the young boy. "But first, we must ensure the safety of these two."

Observing the elderly man and the child huddled in the corner, the knight nodded in agreement, "Indeed. This city has plunged into chaos, and safe havens are few and far between."

With their decision made, Prince Tristan steered his horse towards Robert. Dismounting gracefully, he addressed the older man, "Sir, would you accompany me on my steed? It would be safer than remaining on foot."

Robert was momentarily taken aback by the prince's gracious offer. Stunned, he managed to stammer, "It would be my honor, sir. Ehm, but can I ask you to take little Roo too? He is just a kid."

"Rest assured, sir. I will take the child," responded the previously solemn knight, moving to scoop up Roo and secure him safely in front of him on his horse.

Despite their kindness, Robert still wore a look of surprise. Prince Tristan offered him reassurance, "Do not worry. Oswald will protect your grandson with his life, I swear it."

With a bewildered nod, Robert found himself astride the horse beside the young prince. If encountering a sentient, white-furred creature was a surreal nightmare, the current turn of events had an uncanny resemblance to a dream.

Tristan Ravenwood and Oswald Strongheart? I'd heard the rumors, but to see them in action...

The group navigated the chaotic streets, with Tristan and Oswald anchoring the formation, protected by the other knights. On occasion, a creature would break through their defenses, but the duo, despite guarding an elderly man and a small child, dispatched them with practiced ease.

"We must secure the mansion," Oswald counseled. "Once it's safe, we can coordinate rescue efforts."

With his hand stroking his chin in thought, Tristan agreed, "You're correct. Our efforts need structure. Haphazard actions won't do us any good."

Yet, as he spoke, he turned to Robert, his voice gentle with curiosity, "If you'll pardon my question, sir, how did you manage to defeat that monster? I distinctly remember seeing that piece of wood in your hand glowing blue."

Startled, Robert stammered before responding, "To be honest, I can't quite explain it myself. It was almost like... magic?"

"Magic?" Tristan's eyebrows furrowed, skepticism shadowing his features. "In what way?"

Robert glanced downward, gathering his thoughts before launching into his explanation, "We were at the plaza with my grandson around midnight when the earth quaked, and these enormous statues suddenly appeared. When I touched one, I...received this magic spell."

His explanation was tentative, and he was acutely aware of how fantastical it sounded. However, Prince Tristan listened attentively, his eyes never leaving Robert's face. Once the old man finished his account, Tristan turned to Oswald and stated decisively, "We need to change our plans. First, we will visit this plaza and investigate."

"I had a feeling you would say that," Oswald replied with a grin. "Perhaps we might find some answers there, determine whether the gods truly have abandoned us."

With their new course charted, the group – comprised of nine knights and two civilians – spurred their horses towards the plaza. Their encounters with the monstrous goblins were frequent, their numbers staggering. Yet, the skilled knights dispatched smaller groups with ease. When faced with larger hordes, they chose discretion over valor, skirting around the threat.

Upon reaching the plaza, the veracity of Robert's account was impossible to ignore. The four giant statues were a commanding presence, catching everyone's attention - some gazed in wonder, while others shrank back in fear.

"Oh, if it isn't our esteemed knights. Welcome, welcome." A new voice joined the scene.

The familiar voice caused a shiver to ripple down Robert's spine. Looking past Tristan, he saw Nalia, the woman in green, emerging from the center of the plaza with her entourage. As their eyes locked, Robert immediately averted his gaze.

"Oh, if it isn't dear Robert as well. I was so concerned when you vanished earlier. I feared the worst," she chimed, her voice dripping with false concern.

"Do you know her?" Tristan whispered, his voice barely audible to Robert alone.

"Not really," the old man responded, shaking his head. "She was simply another person in the plaza with her group at midnight. When everything went into chaos, I ran away with little Roo, leaving them behind."

Robert was about to end his explanation there, but after a pause, he added, "I didn't want to stay near them. There was something...unsettling about them."

Tristan nodded solemnly before urging his horse forward. "I've heard tell of magical happenings in this area," he began, his voice filled with feigned cheer. He gestured to the towering statues, "Are these colossi a divine gift, perhaps?"

"Indeed, they are a gift from the gods," Nalia responded, her eyes reflecting the grandeur of the statues. Her gaze swept across the plaza before settling back on Tristan. "However, once these divine gifts descend to earth, they become mankind's property."

Tristan's eyes frosted over at her words, but her smile never wavered. Before he could reply, she added an intriguing proposition, "Your lordship, might you accept a gift from me? It could grant you power beyond your wildest dreams, enough to protect all whom you hold dear."

Tristan studied Nalia intently for several silent moments before responding, "And what if I decline your gift?"

"Ah, but my Lord Tristan," Nadia began, her tone as gentle as before but carrying an underlying threat. "In our world, where gods bestow gifts and monsters roam free, can we truly afford to refuse an opportunity for strength? Declining a gift isn't just a rejection of power, but perhaps... an acceptance of weakness, and all the dangers it implies."

"Insolence!" One of the knights bellowed, breaking the tense silence. "How dare you speak such words before the prince! Your tongue should be severed for this transgression!"

Just as the knight was about to lunge forward, Tristan stayed him with a hand. "Calm yourself, Sir John. Her words have caused me no offense."

Yet the prince's frosty tone contradicted his words, piquing Robert's curiosity. As he surveyed Nalia's group and the crowd beyond, he noted a throng of people filling the plaza. However, contrary to the fear and uncertainty one might expect in such a post-apocalyptic landscape, their eyes reflected an unwavering conviction.

Am I imagining things?

What truly startled Robert, making him question his own senses, was the eerie red glint that shimmered in the eyes of these men and women.