"It was dark, so dark that you won't able to see anything, but only the silhouette of trees and bushes that were barely touched by the moon's light barely passing on the thick leaves of the trees. With no torch I walked steady while aimlessly treading the path I am on. It felt like I'm a blind person that doesn't know where I'm going. All I have in me was fear, yet I mustered all the courage in me not to cower. I continued to walk."

"Suddenly, a low growl pierces the silence, freezing me in my tracks. The sound resonates through the night, signaling the presence of a lurking danger nearby. Heart pounding, I brace myself for the imminent threat."

"With each passing moment, the growl grows louder, closer. Panic sets in me as I realized that the beast is closing in, its menacing presence palpable in the air. In a desperate bid for survival, I drew all my courage and run fast."

"As I cautiously moved forward, my senses heightened, alert for any other sign of danger lurking in the shadows. I saw the light of the moon filtering through the thick canopy above me getting brighter, giving me a slight glimmer of hope of getting closer to the end of the forest."

"Soon enough, to my surprise I saw from the distance the tavern. At last, I felt a moment of relief knowing I'm close to the edge of the forest."

"However, that relief I felt soon vanished because my senses kept telling me that the beast is chasing me again. So I run so fast as I can to reach the end while changing directions and paths to mislead it then..."

The narrator paused his words and took a long draught of ale from the flagon in his hand. He was a middle-aged man, with the weathered look of one who had seen many seasons.

"And then what?" piped up a boy, barely into his teens, who was listening intently to the man's tale. His wide eyes reflected the flickering firelight from the hearth of the tavern.

"Then..." the man began, leaning closer to his eager audience, "I made my way to a fine tavern, much like this one, to quench my thirst with a good stout ale."

"But what of the beast?" interrupted the boy, his curiosity unquenched. "Did you see it? What did it look like?"

Before the man could respond, a hearty laugh erupted from a nearby table. A man in farmer's garb, his face ruddy from drink, spoke up. "Pay no heed to Phil! The tale he tells is naught but a tale of how he sneaks away from his wife to find a pint here at the tavern!" His laughter was infectious, spreading among the patrons.

"Does that mean the beast was really your wife?" another boy chimed in, his eyes wide with mischief.

"That's corr—" Phil started, but before he could finish, a stout woman, clearly the farmer's wife, grabbed him by the ear and yanked him towards the door.

"So you see your wife as a beast?!" his wife interjected sharply, her voice cutting through the laughter of the children.

Amidst the amusement, Phil's voice rose in protest, stammering, "H...honey, no! You're not a beast... you're the loveliest woman I've ever known!"

Despite his words, his wife's stern gaze didn't softened, she still held his ear firmly in her grasp.

The shouts and protests faded as the pair disappeared into the night, their voices muffled by the heavy oaken door of the inn.

"Well, that was unexpected, wasn't it, Astria?" the boy asked his friend, who sat across the table, nursing a mug of cider.

Astria, a boy with black hair and sharp brown eyes, shrugged, a wry smile on his lips. "Not really. Old Phil spins that same yarn every time the young ones gather here."

"Really? I've not been allowed to stay up this late before," the boy confessed, glancing around the warm, dimly lit room where the shadows danced on the walls, driven by the crackling fire. "With the festival coming, Mother let me stay out later."

"It's just Phil's way of having a bit of fun, scaring kids– the likes of you Albert," Astria teased, leaning back in his chair.

"We're the same age with only three months difference, you know," Albert countered, feigning offense.

"Not for long," Astria shot back with a grin. "In five days, when the festival starts, I'll be a year older than you."

Albert rolled his eyes. "That's true, but it's not exactly how age works."

"Close enough," Astria replied with a playful smirk.

"Astria!" came a voice from the kitchen, rich with the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread. "Take this parcel to old Meri near the gates. It's from your grandfather's hunt earlier today."

Astria's mother, Elara, appeared in the doorway, she has a flaxen hair and brown eyes that are warmly looking at the boy while holding a basket in her hands. "Off with you now."

"Yes, Mother," Astria replied, rising from his seat. He turned to his friend. "Wait here, I'll be back shortly."

"I'll come with you," Albert offered eagerly.

Astria nodded, grabbing his cloak. "It's just close to the village gate, but the company's welcome."

The two stepped out into the cool night, leaving behind the warm bustle of the tavern, the murmur of voices and the clink of tankards fading as the heavy door swung shut behind them.

"It's colder than ever out here," Albert remarked, his breath visible in the chilly air as he blew on his hands to warm them.

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"Yeah, this winter feels even harsher than the last," Astria agreed, adjusting the basket he carried on his arm.

"What's in the basket, anyway?" Albert inquired, peering curiously at its contents.

"It's deer meat. I can smell it," Astria replied, a hint of excitement in his voice.

"What's it like in the forest when you're with your grandpa?" Albert asked, genuinely curious.

"It's thrilling, actually. I've hunted five deer now!" Astria exclaimed proudly.

"Wow, really? Did you use a bow or something?" Albert asked, impressed.

"Well... I can use a bow, but I'm still not great at it. Pulling the strings is tough. But I'm good at making traps. Grandpa taught me well," Astria explained.

"You must have week muscles!" Albert said while flexing his right biceps muscles, making it bulge up by pressing it with his left hand. "You can't pull the strings? Look at my muscles, honed to perfection by hammering metal in the forge."

Albert, the son of the village blacksmith, was eager to showcase his strength, much like Astria was proud of his hunting skills.

"What a talk. I can use a bow, okay? It's just that I always miss," Astria retorted. "And besides hunting, I'm learning swordsmanship.”

"Swordsmanship?" Albert echoed, intrigued.

"Yeah, hunting's fine, but I prefer the sword," Astria admitted.

"Is that why you asked my father to make you a sword? But isn't hunting more about using a bow than a sword?" Albert questioned.

"Hmm, well, I won't necessarily use the sword for hunting. I want to use it to fight monsters and other people," Astria explained.

"A swordsman, huh? That's quite ambitious. I'm content with being a blacksmith. I really enjoy it," Albert remarked.

As they walked and talked, leaving a trail of footprints in the snow, they soon arrived at the small house of Old Meri.

Astria approached the door and knocked three times. After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing Old Meri, a weathered man in his seventies.

"Good evening, sir Meri. I'm here to deliver this, as my mother requested. She said it's from my grandfather's hunt earlier today," Astria explained politely.

"Come on in, it's cold outside," Old Meri invited them warmly.

"Thank you sir," the two replied.

As they stepped inside, the warmth of Old Meri's home enveloped them, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. The flickering fire cast a cozy glow over the well-worn furniture, and the scent of woodsmoke and herbs filled the air.

"Warm yourselves by the fire for a while," Old Meri said, gesturing to a pair of sturdy chairs near the hearth.

Astria handed the basket to Old Meri, who inspected its contents with a smile. "It's great, young lad. This is the deer mutton I've reserved from your grandpa. He's quite the hunter."

"Yeah, he is," Astria agreed with a nod.

"Do you still go hunting with your grandpa in the forest?" Old Meri inquired, his eyes twinkling with interest.

"Yes sir, I really like hunting with my gramps whenever I can," Astria replied, a fond smile crossing his face at the thought of their adventures together.

Old Meri settled into his chair, the basket of deer meat at his side. "Tell me, Astria," he began, eyes twinkling with curiosity, "what draws you to the hunt? Is it just the thrill, or something deeper?"

Astria paused, considering his words carefully. "It's more than just the thrill. I think... there's a sense of purpose in it. It's about learning from my grandfather and the feeling of contributing something meaningful."

Old Meri nodded thoughtfully. "Purpose indeed. Speaking of which," he said, leaning forward with a smile, "with the festival approaching, there's talk of a competition in the village. They're looking for skilled hunters and strong hands. I hear there's a division for lads your age. Have you thought about entering, Astria? And you, Albert?"

Astria's eyes lit up with excitement. "I hadn't thought about it, but it sounds thrilling. I've heard folks in the tavern mention it. It seems like there will be a lot of competitors. What about you, Albert? Fancy showing off those blacksmith muscles?"

Albert grinned, puffing out his chest. "Yeah! I could probably beat all the kids in the arm wrestling contest!"

"Hah! You? In your dreams. I'll beat you easily," Astria retorted, a playful glint in his eye.

"You'll compete in that? I thought you were going for the hunting competition?" Albert said, eyebrows raised.

"Who says I can't do both? I plan on winning everything," Astria replied confidently.

"Then bring it on! I'll definitely win, just look at these." Albert flexed his biceps, trying to look formidable.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll see about that," Astria laughed.

Old Meri chuckled, watching their banter with amusement. "You lads are full of spirit, as always. It warms an old man's heart to see such energy. Reminds me of my younger days."

Just as they were getting comfortable, a distant, eerie howl pierced the night, sending a shiver down their spines.

Old Meri's face turned grave. "That's not a wolf," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the door. "There have been whispers of strange beasts in the woods lately."

"Beast?" Astria and Albert exchanged uneasy glances.

"Yes," Old Meri continued, "I'm sure your grandfather, Henri, knows something about it."

"I've heard rumors, but no one seems to know what it looks like. Even Grandpa isn't sure," Astria said, frowning.

"Maybe it's just a made-up tale, like Mr. Phil's story earlier?" Albert suggested.

"What tale?" Old Meri asked.

"The one where he was being chased by a beast in the forest but it turns out it was just a made up tale of his escape from his wife." Albert said while enduring not to burst into laugh.

Old Meri's eyes twinkled with mirth. "Oh, that tale! Phil and his fanciful stories. He loves scaring the children. No, that's not the same. This is something people have genuinely seen, though none can describe it clearly."

As the conversation drew to a close, Astria and Albert stood, bracing themselves for the cold night outside.

"Thank you for your hospitality, sir Meri," Astria said, shaking the old man's hand warmly.

"You two best be careful on your way back," Old Meri cautioned, a serious note in his voice.

"We will, thank you," Albert nodded.

The two walked in quick steps, taking into mind the caution Old Meri said. Soon Astria and Albert return to the tavern faster than when they went to Old Meri. The tavern has lively atmosphere, a stark contrast to the serene chill outside.

"Hey, I should head home," Albert said, stretching and glancing out at the darkening sky. "It's getting late, and I've got a lot to do at the smithy tomorrow. I'd rather not get another scolding from my father for oversleeping," he added with a chuckle.

Astria nodded, understanding. "That's fair enough. See you tomorrow, then." They exchanged a friendly fist bump before Al turned to leave.

Astria pushed through the door. The warmth and light inside enveloped him, a lively buzz of conversation and laughter filling the air. At one corner, a bard strummed a lute, his voice weaving tales of far-off lands and daring heroes. The crackling fire cast a welcoming glow, and the smell of hearty stew and spiced ale made the tavern feel like a world apart from the cold night outside.

Astria found himself drawn to the bard's corner, his tales capturing the imaginations of the patrons gathered around. "Tell us more about the warrior who bested the dragon in the northern hills!" one listener urged. The bard nodded, a knowing smile on his lips. "Ah, Aelric with a sword forged from starlight and courage as his shield, he ventured into the beast's lair and…" The bard's voice faded into a hushed tone as he spun the tale, his audience hanging on every word. Astria, eyes wide, edged closer, captivated by the unfolding story.

As he look at the children listening intensely to what the bard was telling, he see his past self. Nevertheless, it's the same as now– a boy wanting to become someone like those tales.

Meanwhile, at a nearby table, the conversation had shifted to the war, its shadow reaching even the most distant villages. "They say the eastern front is holding, but just barely," murmured a man in a merchant's cloak, his voice hushed and grave. "And have you heard of Captain Valeria? She's become a legend, turning the tide in battle after battle," another added, his tone laced with awe.

Astria, passing by with a tray in hand, noticed the empty mugs left behind by patrons. Clearing the tables and gathering the mugs was one of his many tasks as the son of the tavern owner. As he wiped the table clean and collected the mugs, he couldn't help but catch snippets of the conversation. The names and events painted a vivid picture of a world embroiled in conflict.

"Astria, back so soon? Where's Albert?" called Elara, the tavern keeper, bustling behind the bar with her usual energy. "And how was Old Meri?"

Astria placed the tray down and shrugged. "Albert said that he needs to head home after returning back here. And Old Meri was doing fine. He seemed pleased with the deer meat."

"That's wonderful, dear. Thank you for handling those errands as always," Elara said warmly.

"It was no trouble at all mother hehe," Astria replied with a blush.

A rugged man walked out from the tavern kitchen, he has black hair and brown eyes similar to Astria, it was Astria's father, Beren. He then leaned over the bar and said, "Hey there, boy. What've you been up to?"

Astria chuckled. "Just the usual errands, father. It's been dull not being able to hunt with Grandpa because of the winter."

Beren nodded, his expression softening. "It makes sense, you know? Winter's harsh on everyone out there."

"Yes, but I really want to go.” Astria said, his eyes shining with determination.

Beren smiled, pride evident in his gaze. "You've got a real knack for hunting, lad. Stick with it. Knowing your way around the woods could be vital someday. Your grandfather has the final say, but your mother and I support you."

"Only if you promise to be careful and always heed your grandfather's advice," Elara interjected firmly, pausing her work to give Astria a pointed look.

"I always do, Mother," Astria assured her, meeting her gaze.

"Well then," Beren said, "try asking your grandfather again tomorrow. Maybe he'll agree to take you along."

"I will! I'll definitely ask him," Astria said, a grin spreading across his face.

"Good luck, kid," Beren said, giving him an encouraging nod.

As the evening wore on, Astria found a quiet spot by the fire, the bard's melodies floating softly in the background. He stared into the flickering flames, his thoughts a whirl of heroic tales and whispered war accounts. Could he one day carve his own path as those legendary figures had done? The possibility both excited and daunted him, filling his young heart with a mixture of ambition and wonder.