The days in Eldston passed in a steady rhythm, though I still felt out of step with the villagers around me. Each morning, I awoke in my modest room at The Worn Hearth, greeted by the warm hum of Glowbug perched on my windowsill. After helping Bertha clean up from breakfast, I spent my mornings exploring the village, sometimes running errands or helping with odd jobs for a few coppers. By evening, I was back in the tavern, weaving through crowded tables with trays of food and drink.

Despite the quiet comfort I had found in this routine, whispers had begun to follow me through the cobblestone streets. Ever since Glowbug healed the boy injured in the street, the story had spread like wildfire. The children of Eldston retold the tale with boundless exaggeration, claiming Glowbug had shone as brightly as the sun, that its magic had not only healed the boy but made him stronger. Adults, overhearing these fanciful accounts, responded with hushed discussions, their tones ranging from curiosity to unease.

I noticed the way villagers watched me now. Greta, the baker, greeted me warmly and slipped me extra pieces of bread, but there was a new hesitance in her smile. Alden, the blacksmith, gave me curt nods but seemed to watch Glowbug with a wary eye whenever it perched on my shoulder. Even the children—normally bold and eager to chatter—sometimes stopped short, staring wide-eyed at Glowbug before scurrying away.

It wasn’t long before the first secret request came. I had just returned to the tavern after fetching water from the well when a knock came at the kitchen door. Bertha, busy stirring a pot of stew, nodded for me to answer it. I opened the door to find a man standing there, twisting his hat in his hands with a strained expression.

“Miss Harriet,” he began, his voice low and trembling. “I heard about what your creature did for young Tam. My wife, she’s been ill for weeks now. Nothing the apothecary’s given her has helped. If there’s any chance...” He trailed off, his gaze flicking nervously toward the street.

My stomach tightened. I glanced back at Glowbug, who chirped softly from its perch near the hearth.

“I… I can try,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But you can’t tell anyone. Please.”

The man nodded fervently, his relief palpable. He led me to his small home on the outskirts of the village, where his wife lay pale and feverish in bed. Glowbug hovered over the woman, and its radiance blossomed like a soft sunrise, a melodic hum weaving through the tense air. I watched in awe as the tension in the woman’s face eased, her ragged gasps steadied, and her colour improved. The man thanked me profusely, pressing a small coin into my hand despite my protests.

That encounter was only the beginning. Over the following days, others sought me out in secret. A farmer with a twisted ankle. A mother with a baby who wouldn’t sleep. Each time, I agreed to help— how could I say no to helping, if there was a chance that I could? Despite knowing it was the right thing to do, the weight of the growing rumors and my own uncertainty pressed heavily on me.

The tension in Eldston reached a breaking point one crisp evening as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the village. I was outside the tavern, splitting logs for the hearth. The rhythmic thunk of the axe striking wood echoed through the quiet air, punctuated by Glowbug’s occasional chirps from its perch on a nearby fencepost.

A sharp, guttural growl shattered the stillness.

I froze, my fingers tightening around the axe handle. Glowbug let out an urgent trill, its light flaring as it darted to my shoulder. From the direction of the forest came the unmistakable sound of heavy, lumbering footsteps. Shouts erupted from the village square, followed by the shrill cries of frightened children.

I ran toward the commotion with the axe still in my hands, my heart pounding. I reached the square just in time to see a massive creature emerge from the shadows, its grotesque form illuminated by the flickering light of torches. It was a hulking, wolf-like beast with matted fur and eyes that glowed a sickly yellow. Its jaws frothed with gobbets of saliva as it growled, lunging toward a group of villagers scrambling to get away.

Creature: Ulvenworg

Danger level: Moderate

Recommendation: Flee

Torrin was already there, his bow in hand. He loosed an arrow that struck the beast’s shoulder, eliciting a furious roar. A second arrow grazed the monster’s cheek as it turned on its assailant, snarling. Torrin barely had time to draw a third arrow before the beast lunged, knocking him to the ground.

“No!” I screamed. Without thinking, I charged.

My grip on the axe was slippery with sweat as I closed the distance to the beast. Torrin was pinned beneath its massive paw, blood seeping from a gash in his side. The monster’s snarling maw snapped dangerously close to his face. He held it’s gnashing jaws at bay with a dagger he had pulled from somewhere, and blood trickled down his muscled forearm as he struggled to avoid it’s razor-sharp teeth.

“Get away from him!” I shouted, raising the axe high. I swung with a desperate cry, the blade biting into the creature’s flank. The beast howled in pain, staggering back and releasing Torrin.

It turned its yellow eyes on me, lips curling back to reveal jagged teeth. My heart thundered in my chest, but I held my ground, gripping the axe tightly. The creature lunged at me, and I struck again, this time striking its neck. The blow wasn’t deep enough to kill, but it sent the beast reeling.

Glowbug, perched on a nearby lamppost, let out a high-pitched hum. The creature faltered, its head jerking erratically, blinded by Glowbug’s piercing light. I seized the moment, raising the axe over my head for a final swing, and aimed a desperate, log-splitting blow at its skull. The blade connected with the beast’s skull with a sickening crunch, and it collapsed with a heavy thud.

I stood over the motionless creature, chest heaving, hands shaking with adrenaline and horror. The axe slipped from my trembling grip, the weight of its bloodied blade dragging down any fragile sense of triumph. Around me, the villagers stared in open-mouthed silence.

You have defeated: Ulvenworg

You have gained 160 Experience Points.

You have gained a Level.

Prerequisites met: You may now select a Class.

Available classes: [Apprentice], [Explorer], [Novice Fighter], [Novice Healer], [Survivor]

You have been awarded 5 Attribute Points.

Distribute points to adjust your Physical, Mental, or Social Attributes.

I dismissed the notification, my attention snapping back to Torrin, who lay groaning on the ground. Glowbug flitted to his side, its light intensifying as it began to hum. The wounds on Torrin’s side slowly knit together, and the slices into his arms closed, the bleeding staunched.

Torrin’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting me. “You’ve saved my life,” he rasped. “By my honor, I’ll protect yours. Whatever comes, you’ve got me at your side.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion. I wasn’t sure what to do with this sudden oath of loyalty. Was he serious, or did he just mean I could count on him for a favour?

Deciding to worry about all of that later, I helped Torrin to his feet as the villagers began to gather around them, their faces a mix of awe and fear.

“She killed it,” someone murmured.

“And that creature of hers… it healed Torrin,” another whispered.

The whispers grew louder, dividing into murmurs of gratitude and accusations of danger. I felt the weight of their stares, the flickering torchlight casting their faces in sharp relief.

Bertha stepped forward, her voice cutting through the din. “Enough! The girl probably saved our hides tonight. Show some respect. Haven’t you all got laundry to be doing or something? Clear off.”

The crowd fell silent, though the tension remained palpable. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my mind racing. I had survived the forest, and earned my place in the village, and now a new challenge was laid before me—navigating the fragile balance between hero and outcast.

As I supported Torrin to limp toward The Worn Hearth, I couldn’t help but glance at the system prompt hovering faintly in the corner of my vision. The decision loomed over me. Whatever class I chose, it would shape not just my future, but my place in this unpredictable, perilous world.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Name: Harriet Price

Age: 24

Type: Human (Level 1)

Titles(0/1): None

Classes(0/1): None [Class choice available]

Professions(0/1): None

Talents(5/10): Basic Identify, Basic Survival Instincts, Basic Crafting, Sense Magic, Basic Endurance

Condition: Normal

Attributes:

Vitality: 54/54

Physical: 12

Mental: 14

Social: 8

Luck: 10

Available Attribute Points: 5

Experience: 60/100

The twang of a bowstring cut through the still evening air, followed by the thud of an arrow striking its target. I flinched slightly at the sound, my grip tightening on the borrowed bow in my hands. Torrin stood beside me, his weathered face calm as he appraised the shot he’d just taken. The arrow quivered in the center of the target, a tightly bound bundle of hay placed several paces away.

“Now, your turn,” Torrin said, stepping back and gesturing to the bow I held.

My fingers brushed the smooth wood. “Are you sure? I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s the point,” Torrin replied, his tone gruff but patient. “You’re not going to learn by staring at it. Go on, nock the arrow.”

Inhaling deeply, I fumbled to fit the arrow to the string. My movements were clumsy, and the arrow slipped from my fingers twice before I managed to secure it.

“Relax,” Torrin said, his voice softer. “It’s not going anywhere until you tell it to.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Easy for you to say.” I raised the bow, my arms trembling slightly as I tried to pull the string back. The tension in the bowstring resisted my efforts, and I struggled to draw it fully.

“You’re fighting the bow,” Torrin said, stepping closer. He placed a hand lightly on my arm to adjust my angle. “Use your back and shoulders, not just your arms. And keep your grip firm but not too tight. Like this.”

I adjusted my stance, following his guidance. I managed to draw the string back a little further, though my muscles burned with the effort.

“Good,” Torrin said with a nod. “Now, aim for the target and release.” The arrow flew wildly off course. It soared past the target and landed somewhere in the grass beyond. I groaned, lowering the bow as my arms ached. “Not bad for a first shot. We’ll need to work on your strength, though. Keep practicing, and you’ll get there.”

“If my arms don’t fall off first,” I muttered, shaking them out.

Torrin chuckled. “That’s why you’re here. Strength doesn’t come overnight. You’ll need it if you ever plan to fend off another Ulvenworg or anything worse. There’s a lot of strange things out there, and most of them are dangerous.”

As we retrieved my stray arrow, I mentioned my time in the forest. “Talking of strange things, You asked me a while back if I had any information about the forest. I uh… found these fruits once,” I said, glancing at Torrin. “Glowfruits. They’re sweet, and they… well, they glow.”

Torrin’s brow furrowed with interest. “Glowfruits? I’ve heard stories about them. Useful for traveling at night or even bartering in some places. Where did you find them?”

I hesitated. “Farther into the forest than I should have been,” I admitted. “Further than anyone should be. Not near the stones.”

Torrin’s expression turned serious. “Farther in? You’re lucky you didn’t run into anything bad. That place gets more dangerous the deeper you go. Stay closer to the village if you’re ever out there again.”

“Believe me, I’m in no rush to go back,” I said with a shiver.

Torrin nodded. His curiosity seemed to linger as he added, “If you ever do, let me know. I’d be interested in seeing one of those fruits myself if you remember where they are. Anyway, I’ll see you later, don’t you want to go to enjoy the festivities? They’ll be starting up soon.”

On returning to the centre of Eldston, the atmosphere was almost overwhelming as I wandered through the hustle and bustle. Lanterns hung from poles and trees, their warm glow casting a festive light over the village. Laughter and music echoed around me, and children darted between stalls laden with baked goods, handcrafted trinkets, and colourful ribbons.

“It’s quite the event, isn’t it?” Bertha said, appearing at my side. She carried a tray of pastries, her face alight with a rare smile. “You should enjoy yourself, lass. You’ve earned a night off to let your hair down.”

I nodded, though my nerves fluttered. I’d never been fond of crowds, and the lively atmosphere was both inviting and overwhelming. Still, I allowed myself to be drawn into the festivities, sampling Greta’s cakes and watching a troupe of performers juggle flaming torches.

“Hattie!” A cheerful voice called out. I turned to see the boy that Glowbug had healed, whose name I later learned was Tam, waving me over. “Come dance with us!”

Before I could protest, Tam and another child grabbed my hands, pulling me into the center of the square. A group of villagers had formed a circle, clapping and stamping their feet in time with the music. I stumbled at first, my movements awkward and hesitant, but the infectious rhythm soon carried me along.

For the first time in what must have been years, laughter bubbled up from my belly, unbidden and bright like a forgotten song breaking free. The festival’s music drowned out the shadows of the forest, if only for a while. As the dance ended, I found myself breathless and flushed, my earlier anxieties momentarily forgotten.

“You’ve got some moves, lass,” Torrin said, appearing beside me with a tankard of cider. His grin was wide, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the festivities. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Neither did I,” I admitted, my heart still racing. I accepted the cider he offered, savoring the crisp, spiced flavor. The village was alive with joy and camaraderie. For me, it was a moment of connection, a glimpse of belonging I hadn’t dared hope for.

I lingered near the edge of the festival square, a tankard of spiced cider warming my hands against the cool night air. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, their warm glow casting flickering patterns over the cobblestones. The smoky tang of roasted meat and the sharp sweetness of spiced cider filled the air, mingling with the rhythmic clap of boots on cobblestones and bursts of laughter.

At the center of it all sat the storyteller, perched on an upturned barrel. His long, weathered cloak billowed slightly as he gestured grandly with a crooked staff, the firelight dancing in his eyes. Around him, a group of children sat cross-legged on the ground, their faces alight with a mixture of awe and mischief. Glowbug nestled in my hood, its soft hum vibrating against my neck, as I edged closer to listen.

“And so it was,” the storyteller intoned, his voice low and full of gravitas, “that the Tyrant King—whose name I dare not speak—transformed himself into a monster. Not just in heart, but in body. His limbs stretched, his eyes burned with an unholy light, and his mouth was filled with teeth sharper than a butcher’s cleaver!”

He bared his own teeth dramatically, leaning toward the children. A few gasped, while one bold boy in the front row piped up, “Bet he had bad breath, too!”

The storyteller paused, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh, you’d best believe it, lad. They say his breath could wilt flowers and curdle milk from a mile away!” The children erupted into giggles, and the storyteller leaned back with a grin before continuing.

“This king—no, this Beast—hungered for power, but it was not enough. His hunger grew and grew until he began to devour entire towns. Villages disappeared overnight, leaving nothing but silence and the faint stink of his foul breath.”

He mimed a great beast stomping through a village, one hand held high like a claw and the other swiping at invisible houses. One of the younger girls whimpered and clutched her friend’s arm. “But… but someone stopped him, right?”

“Ah, yes!” The storyteller straightened, tapping his staff on the ground for emphasis. “The Twelve! Twelve mighty wizards, each one more powerful than the last, who stood against the Tyrant King. Together, they were the greatest force of magic the world has ever known.”

He swept his staff through the air as though casting a spell, his voice rising with excitement. “Fire that could melt stone! Water that could drown mountains! Light to banish the deepest shadows! The Twelve stood united against the Beast.”

A boy with freckles raised his hand. “What about the other magics? Like… sneaky magic? Or magic that makes you really lucky?”

The storyteller chuckled. “Aye, lad, they had that too. One of them, I heard, was so lucky that he dodged the Beast’s claws a dozen times, even when they came from every direction!” He winked, and the boy beamed.

“But even with their combined might,” the storyteller continued, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “the Twelve could not destroy him. His power was too great. So they hatched a daring plan—a plan to seal the Tyrant King away forever.”

He crouched low, drawing the children closer with his whispered words. “They lured him to the great rift, a chasm so deep and dark that even the bravest souls would tremble to look upon it. There, they wove a spell—a spell so powerful it would chain the Tyrant King in the depths of the earth.”

The storyteller straightened abruptly, slamming the butt of his staff into the ground. The children jumped, their eyes wide.

“But such magic demanded a price. The Twelve vanished as the spell was cast. What became of them, no one knows. Perhaps they perished, their very souls burned away to power the seal. Perhaps their magic was stripped from them, leaving only husks behind. Or…” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “some say they were cast into the rift themselves, sent to a far, faraway world, never to return.”

“Could they be ghosts?” one girl whispered, her voice trembling.

“Not ghosts,” the storyteller said solemnly, “but maybe something close. Some say that their spirits are bound to the magic they created, their magic echoes still in the power of the standing stones.”

He gestured toward the edge of the square, where the faint glow of the festival’s central standing stone shimmered in the distance. The children followed his gaze, their faces a mixture of reverence and fear.

“Even now,” the storyteller said, “the Beast Beneath stirs in his prison. He whispers to the greedy, to the desperate, tempting them with promises of power. And should the standing stones ever falter, should their light fade… he will rise again.”

A gust of wind swept through the square, making the lanterns flicker. The children shivered, huddling closer together.

“But not tonight!” The storyteller’s voice broke the tension, warm and bright. “Tonight, we honor the Twelve. We celebrate their courage and their sacrifice. So light your lanterns, children, and let their glow keep the darkness at bay.”

The children leapt to their feet, chattering excitedly as they rushed to the festival stalls, where lanterns of all colors and shapes awaited. I lingered a moment longer, watching as the storyteller leaned back on his barrel, a satisfied smile on his face.

Glowbug hummed softly in my hood, and I touched its side, my thoughts swirling. The tale of the Tyrant King was just a story… wasn’t it? Yet the weight of the standing stones’ light, and the whispers in the dark, felt all too real.