The sun was just beginning to rise over the rolling hills, casting long shadows across the quiet village of Elridan. The morning was still, save for the occasional flutter of wings from birds darting between rooftops. Elian, barely fifteen, stood just outside his family's small home, his breath visible in the crisp morning air. The scent of freshly baked bread from the bakery down the road filled his nose, mingling with the familiar earthy scent of his village.
Today, his mind was miles away, filled with visions of bustling city streets, towering stone buildings, and the grand markets he’d heard so much about but never seen. Today was the day he would finally visit the city.
“Are you ready for your adventure, boy?” His father’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned to see the older man leaning on the doorframe, a teasing grin on his face. His father was tall, with strong hands weathered by years of work, yet his eyes were always gentle.
Elian smirked, adjusting the pack slung over his shoulder. "It's not an adventure, Father. I'm just going to the market."
His father chuckled, stepping forward to ruffle Elian’s hair. "Not an adventure? When I was your age, it felt like one. You’ll see things there that will make you feel like a hero from one of those old stories. Maybe you’ll even come back with a tale to tell."
“Careful, Hal,” a voice called out from across the street. Mira, the village baker, stood outside her shop, wiping flour from her hands. “You’ll fill the boy’s head with stories. He’ll come back thinking he can slay monsters.”
Elian’s father smiled and gave a wave. “What’s life without a little excitement?”
Elian grinned, feeling the warmth of his village around him. He could almost imagine what it would be like to return from the city with grand tales. His mother’s voice interrupted his thoughts as she called from inside the house.
“Don’t let your curiosity get the better of you,” she said, her voice warm yet firm. “The city isn’t all adventure and excitement. Keep your wits about you.”
“I’ll be fine, Mother. I’m just going to grab supplies, nothing more,” Elian replied, though he couldn’t suppress the rush of excitement that ran through him. He'd been waiting for this day for months—a chance to glimpse the world beyond the quiet confines of Elridan.
As he said his goodbyes, a faint sense of unease tugged at the back of his mind, a feeling he quickly dismissed as nothing more than pre-adventure nerves. The village felt safe, after all. It always had been.
.
.
The road to the city was long but uneventful. Elian traveled light, the sun steadily climbing overhead as he walked the familiar dirt path. He passed a few villagers along the way, people he had known his whole life.
Old Marus, the village carpenter, was fixing the wheel of a cart. He gave Elian a nod. "Heading to the city, eh, lad? Watch yourself out there. Not all’s right with the world these days."
"I'll be careful," Elian replied with a smile, though his mind was already far beyond the village.
He passed Leda, a village girl around his age, carrying a basket of apples. She waved, giving him a playful smile. "Don't get lost in the city, Elian. We might not see you again!"
"I'll be back before you know it," he called back, laughing. But as the village receded behind him, his thoughts drifted toward the excitement of the city. His heart raced with the thought of seeing the great stone walls, the towering spires, and the bustling markets. Elian barely had time to wonder about the dangers some of the traders had spoken of—wild beasts, creatures in the night, and all the things that lurked in the world beyond the safety of his village.
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As the city came into view, Elian’s heart raced. Towering stone walls surrounded it, with tall spires rising above the skyline. Even from a distance, he could hear the faint hum of life—voices, the clattering of carts, the sounds of a busy marketplace. It was everything he had imagined and more.
He stepped through the gate, barely able to contain his excitement. The market was bustling, filled with people of all kinds. Merchants called out, displaying their wares, and the smell of roasting meats and spices filled the air. Elian wandered from stall to stall, wide-eyed, absorbing every detail. The city felt alive in a way that the village never had, and for a moment, he felt free—untethered from the routines of his quiet life.
Yet, in the midst of the chaos, something caught his eye. A group of men in silver armor stood near the center of the square, bearing the emblem of the Church—twelve stars arranged in a perfect circle. They weren’t shouting or enforcing anything, merely standing watch over the marketplace, offering a sense of order and security.
One of the guards caught Elian’s eye and offered a nod. The gesture was polite, maybe even protective. Elian nodded back, feeling a small sense of reassurance as he turned his gaze back to the bustling crowd.
"They're just keeping things safe," Elian thought, the moment passing quickly as he moved on to inspect another stall.
.
.
It was late afternoon by the time Elian finished gathering the supplies his family had sent him for. With his pack full and his heart still racing from the day’s excitement, he made his way back toward the village, the sun beginning its slow descent toward the horizon.
His thoughts drifted back to home—his father’s teasing grin, his mother’s worried voice, the familiar warmth of their small house. He imagined the smile on his father’s face when he told him about the city, and his mother’s frown when he admitted he might have stayed a bit longer than necessary.
But as he approached the outskirts of the village, something was wrong.
The air felt heavy, almost suffocating. Thick plumes of smoke rose from beyond the trees, curling into the sky like dark serpents. The world seemed to slow, each step feeling harder than the last. Elian’s heart dropped, and his stomach twisted with fear. He broke into a sprint, his legs moving faster than his mind could process. This couldn’t be real.
When he reached the village, the sight that greeted him froze him in place.
The village of Elridan, his home, was gone. Buildings were reduced to rubble, charred and broken. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, lifeless, their faces twisted in horror. The familiar warmth of his village was replaced by the stench of smoke, ash, and something worse—blood.
"No… no..." Elian whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the still-burning fires.
His legs moved without thought, carrying him toward his home. His house was gone, the wooden beams collapsed, flames still licking at the foundation. He stumbled into the wreckage, frantically searching for any sign of his family.
He called out—"Father! Mother!"—but there was no answer. He dug through the ashes with trembling hands, only to find charred remains and burning debris.
As he ran, desperate for any survivor, a foul stench filled the air. It was suffocating—thick and unnatural. The once familiar scent of home was replaced with something rotten and wrong. The very air seemed to vibrate with malice, and Elian felt a sudden pressure in his chest, as though the weight of the world had descended upon him.
A sharp crack of a branch echoed nearby. Elian whipped his head around, his heart pounding in his chest. Emerging from the shadows of the forest were creatures he had only heard about in stories—twisted forms of monsters, their bodies a vile mockery of life. Their skin was slick and wet, covered in patches of scales and boils, oozing with filth. The air around them seemed to ripple with a foul, sickening aura, making Elian’s stomach churn.
Their eyes glowed, but not with life. They held a dull, unearthly light, as if something dark and corrupted lay within, void of any soul. The ground beneath them seemed to blacken with each step they took, and the air became thick, hard to breathe, as if the creatures themselves were tainting the very atmosphere.
Elian could feel the weight of their presence pressing down on him, making him shudder. His skin prickled, and his chest tightened. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move.
He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t a warrior, he wasn’t a hero. He was just a boy.
Before the monsters could reach him, a shadow moved swiftly behind him. A voice, calm and commanding, whispered in his ear.
“Stay back.”