The sun was high. The hours were draining away swiftly. The sun shone on two corpses inside two graves - marked. An Adventurer team was out on a quest to slay goblins that had been harassing a small patch of the countryside. Two porters died in the process, neither knowing when it was time to run or stay in place and shiver in fear.

“Guild Worm,” Terak spat, “Get them monster parts in the wagon. Ain’t got all day.” Terak was a big man with muscles, scars too, scars that displayed how ferocious he was on the inside to the world outside.

The “Guild Worm,” or Banst as his real name was, was the opposite in build - thin and easily pushed over with not much force. Skin unhealthy, black hair unkempt, gray eyes bagged, Banst wasn’t in the best shape. However, the young man still had his pride.

“My name’s Banst,” Banst snapped. He pointed at the monster parts. “That’s a porter’s job. I’m a member of the Adventurers’ Guild the same as you, Terak.”

Terak stepped up to Banst. There wasn’t much height difference between them, Banst somewhat tall in actuality, yet Terak seemed all the more vicious with the muscles bulging from his thick frame.

“Guild Worm, don’t make me get violent,” Terak whispered menacingly. “I’ve got two strikes against me already for putting other Guild Worms in their place. Don’t make me have to get three.”

“What’s going on here?” Harl asked, approaching them with furrowed brows. The leader of this team of Adventurers had come to keep the peace.

“Terak is demanding I do porter work, Harl,” Banst replied, still nose to nose with Terak, eyes still locked together. “I’m an Adventurer, not a porter.”

“Please, Banst. We need a porter.”

Banst turned on their leader with a look of disbelief, a mocking grin growing on Terak’s scarred face.

Harl was known for his firm but just leadership. Among the guild members, his name was spoken with respect. He even gave someone as weak as Banst, someone known as the “Weakest Adventurer,” a chance to join his team on this quest. His leadership and reputation was without question.

Banst’s eyes fell to the ground. “I understand…” he relented.

A smile appeared on Harl’s face. “It’ll be a lot better with you than the those two that perished. You have a gift.”

Banst's true knack lay in the role of a porter, a talent undisputed among his peers. The oddity lay in his choice not to pursue that path further, a decision rooted in the stubbornness that pride often instills. Born into the lineage of B-Rank Adventurers, a notable rank in the backwater Kingdom of Marlinen, Banst, an orphan from childhood, harbored a desire to honor their memory and make them proud, even though they had passed away before he could utter his first words.

“This is your future, Guild Worm,” Terak sneered in passing, Banst bending to pick up the monster pieces.

“Find a porcupine and mate with it, Terak,” Banst spat back.

Terak only grinned in response. Another member of the team, Hana, the mage of the group, passed by snickering.

“If you have something to say, then say it, Hana,” Banst demanded. She merely walked on without looking back. There wasn’t much anyone could do against those of higher status that enjoyed looking down those who were lower. Kildan, a swordsman, neared and went without reaction as if he were passing by a stone or flower. The silence was telling.

Banst’s work was quick and efficient - in alignment with his reputation as a phenomenal porter. Once everything had been packed away in their wagon, an announcement was made for everyone to move out. The quest continued, goblins remained that needed to be killed.

Six Adventurers walked along a dirt road through lush green fields, their team in alignment with what the guild advised for each team to be composed of - one Defender, someone to act as a “frontline” in a sense, a human blockade to keep the team safe. Two Slayers, each capable of killing efficiently enough to lessen the Defender’s burdens enough to keep properly defending. One Healer, the person who keeps the team alive and breathing. Finally, one Support, a role that supplements the others in what their roles were.

Their Defender: Harl, Slayers: Kildan, Terak, Hana, Healer: Jolk, and both their Support and now porter: Banst. The added slayer had been an insurance against Banst in case he didn’t add enough to the team with his role, which he didn’t.

The goblin clan that the quest demanded the lives of had retreated to cliffs near a recently burned down village. There hadn’t been clues to what was behind the village’s destruction with the only guess being the goblins that were being hunted.

The Adventurers and their wagon stopped in the middle of the charred village buildings, the grass around them just as black.

“We’ll leave Banst and the wagon here,” Harl ordered, “and then go up to the cliffs.”

While everyone began to move, Banst stepped forward, arguing, “A moment, Harl. Why am I being left behind?”

“With the death of two porters, it wouldn’t look good to the guild if we lost a third.”

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“I’m a guild member!”

Harl snapped, “Dammit, Banst. Just stay with the wagon! We’ll be back shortly.”

Banst muttered “But..”

Harl had a review coming up with the guild and deaths, whether porter or guild member, was a mark against him. He wanted an up-ranking. Currently he was a Rank C as both a guild member and a party leader. Banst was the lowest ranking of the team, Rank D.

The other Adventurers passed Banst by without a word as if he had become a part of the scenery, all but Terak, whose snickering could be felt. Soon, Banst was the only living thing in sight, all other forms of life gone or reduced to cinders. Time would pass as Banst’s had done, without noticing him and without stopping to look back.

The lonely wind broke away ash from the burned village and swirled it all around. Banst wiped at his eyes as the wind brushed against him. Hours had gone by already. The sun had already began to fall. The rest of the team should be heading back.

A horrifying scream in the distant caused Banst to jolt. Silence then followed, despite Banst waiting for another sound. Danger could only follow abrupt noises of fear and shock. Banst knew this and headed for the largest structure still standing with walls that could hide a worried Adventurer. Along stairs Banst climbed, higher to reach a more open view of the village, careful not to step on wood seemingly vulnerable to give way.

A window his face appeared in to peer through toward what lay outside. The blackened village stared back at him with only silence. Even the wind had subsided. But in silence came only possibility and with possibility, there was a chance of dangerous change.

A figure appeared in the distance draped in a long black cloak, resembling a vampire bat wrapped in its own wings. Soft white hair, reminiscent of wolf fur, cascaded down the figure’s shoulders. The skin was pale, tinged with a bluish hue. Banst could see that the newcomer appeared as a slender yet tall silhouette, like the shadow of a pole. The angular, gaunt face was adorned with a white skull, resembling a ghostly mask, which accentuated the figure’s golden predatory eyes.

Breath left Banst once the figure had arrived, seeing the truth of what the figure was - an elf. A male elf in human lands was not considered normal. Laws in both human and elf realms prohibited the opposing race from ever entering their domains. What made matters worse was that this elf within this crumbling human village had blood stains on his black cloak.

The elf sniffed about the wagon left in the middle of the village, scouring through the items left, seemingly searching for something. He went rigid as if he had discovered what he had been searching for.

Banst saw the elf turn toward the house he was in.

Like a raving lunatic, Banst scrambled frantically in search of place to hide, almost stumbling in his hurry. Most of the furniture held no possibility for him to hide in with their damaged state, with most rooms sharing the same conditions. Even doors hung too loosely to risk using as cover.

Creaking steps upon burned wood crept into Banst’s ear, notifying he was no longer alone in the house.

A treasure chest lay before him, of an odd make with its warped sides and top adorned with golden horns - the chest’s design speaking of a creation not quite human. Stranger still was that, unlike the charred wood and stone that surrounded it, the chest seemed unmarred by the fire that had swept through this place. There was no time to deliberate. Careful steps were already nearing the stairs below, the elf stalking prey, easing himself bit by bit in case his presence was found out too early.

Banst slid quietly into the strange chest, the possibility of going unnoticed not likely. However, to die easily is to die cowardly. Having lived for twenty-eight years, Banst would've croaked already if he had decided that death was preferable to living. Not a grand life, but a life nonetheless, and he would cling to it like a baby to his mother’s teat.

Meanwhile, the elf halted his movements. He had been pursuing the scent of a human in need of killing when the trail suddenly disappeared. Like lightning, he moved to each and every room to check, making sure to listen to the sounds outside in case escaping steps could be heard. Yet, nothing came from his listening nor from his search. A chest of ancient make, the year of which he did not know, had been found in one room. Its lock had survived the fire and was sealed, so tightly that the elf could not break through it, as if magic was at work.

There was no time to linger. Death had been wrought by his hands against Adventurers of the esteemed Adventurers’ Guild. Even in elf lands, the guild’s fame echoed, reaching their ears with tales of heroic humans and grand adventures.

The elf spat. If the Adventurers were so skilled, why had they died to him so easily? The elf had caught them killing its lower brethren - the goblins. Even if they were lower, that did not give the humans the right to slay them. So what if goblins raided human stores and killed a few of them? That gave the humans no right to eliminate them so completely. It was why the elf had wiped out this village the week prior and burned it to the ground. They had taken too many goblin lives.

The elf crashed through the window to land gracefully outside like a puma, rushing toward the wagon and breaking it into pieces with a single hit, a grin forming on his face as he ran off. The elf had killed Adventurers; one of them had a strange device that glowed, threatening the elf that more of their kind were on their way.

But the elf didn’t care for or fear the overblown and overpraised Adventurers and what they might possibly do to him. He was not a normal elf, no. He was a Ghastly Specter, guardian of elven culture. What truly caused him to flee in haste was the elven government. Those bureaucrats and their ways of speaking honey while doing nothing about encroaching human expansion left nothing but vitriol and dissatisfaction in elves like him.

No matter, he had killed humans today. He had killed the village before that, and he will keep killing until humanity learned their lesson.

Banst heard the crash of the window as the elf leapt from the house, as well as the obliteration of the wagon outside, letting him know that the elf had finally departed. The chest he hid in had been found, yet the elf hadn’t been able to open it. A worrying revelation given that he was stuck inside, but a welcome one since he had been able to survive.

“Heed me,” a hollow voice demanded, sounding far away.

There shouldn’t have been talking since Banst hadn’t spoken, and he was alone inside the chest. That didn’t stop beads of sweat from forming on Banst's forehead. A sudden specter of transparent and glowing violet flashed before him, eyes black, mouth black - its focus, however, despite its hollowed eyes, was completely on Banst.

“Heed me!” the apparition hissed, its voice multiplying into several.

A coldness crept into the chest that surrounded Banst, along with a penetrating force that bore into Banst’s being, his color draining. What felt like a clawed hand clutched his mind and ripped his consciousness into a depth of darkness where no light could breach.

Endlessly, Banst fell; no foothold nor helping hand could be felt - only darkness. Eternity seemed to pass when a voice, this one not as hollow as the specter but just as haunting, spoke to Banst, its voice reverberating throughout the dark surroundings.

“I am Kandz the Puppeteer…” the voice said.