Chapter 9: Ghosts Of Greenhaven

Kael crouched in the damp undergrowth, eyeing Greenhaven’s charred outline against the gray dawn. Smoke no longer rose from the town, but he could smell it, sharp and acrid on the morning breeze—a thick reminder of everything that had been ripped from him. From his vantage point at the forest's edge, he could see the main gate still standing, but blackened and hanging crooked on its hinges, framed by the scorched walls.

Before he dared enter the streets, Kael mentally ran through his list. He’d need supplies—more than he could easily carry, but he didn’t have the luxury of choice.

Two packs, at least. He’d need a place to store the few belongings he’d salvaged, as well as whatever he could carry back from his house. A pouch, for whatever he can gather on the way—small herbs, dry foods, anything storable. Then food, enough for at least a few days if he wanted to stay hidden from whatever creatures still roamed the deeper parts of the forest.

Water was another necessity, two canteens if he could find them, along with normal string to restring his crossbow. Bolts, he reminded himself, as many as I can carry. With luck, he’d find some in the guardhouse, but Greenhaven’s defenses had failed so utterly that he wasn’t holding his breath.

And, finally, the most difficult items: a proper toolset for rune carving, some armor, and the Codex of Common Runes from the library. If he could find the codex in the ashes, he might stand a chance of increasing his survival odds. But a heavy doubt settled in his gut at the thought of the library—like every other place, it was probably in ruins. And armor, he thought with a grim smile, if I find any that’ll actually fit. He’d rather not have to loot armor off the dead. Not yet, anyway.

Kael shifted his weight, listening. The forest felt tense, as if even the trees sensed what had happened to Greenhaven. Most of the monsters had moved on, their scent trails and deep gouges in the soil leading toward other villages or deeper into the hills. Still, he couldn’t afford to be careless; the ruins might still harbor lingering threats.

He rose, creeping closer to the town’s outskirts. The bodies of guards lay scattered along the front gate, twisted and broken. Kael's stomach twisted at the sight of bodies scattered across the road, armor half-melted and limbs splayed in unnatural angles. The guards who’d once watched over the gates lay strewn like broken toys, their faces frozen in expressions of horror. He forced himself to look away, feeling bile rise in his throat.

Some of these men had known him as a child, had laughed at his clumsy sword forms or watched over him with a wary eye when he’d skulked near the training fields. He stopped over one of the corpses, recognizing the insignia. It was Alder, one of the night guards, a man with a quiet smile. Kael felt a familiar pang of guilt claw at his insides.

At his feet lay a rusted sword, half-buried under Alder’s stiff hand. Kael bent down, grasping the hilt and pulling it free from the dirt. It was heavier than his own blade had been, its balance unfamiliar, but it would do. He gave it an experimental swing, but the stiffness of his makeshift breastplate made movement awkward. He cursed under his breath, realizing it would be a hindrance in a fight—a lesson he knew he’d pay for sooner or later.

He moved carefully past the gate, weaving between the broken remains of the guardhouse and a small, abandoned cart. In the streets, lay broken open, doors smashed or torn clean off their hinges. Some walls bore claw marks, thick gouges that tore through wood and plaster like paper. Bodies lay within the rubble—residents. He forced himself not to look too closely. Recognizing anyone would only slow him down.

The people of Greenhaven had long gotten used to fending off monster attacks, and it showed in the way they had died. Most of the bodies Kael encountered clutched swords, crossbows, or clubs or some other weapon. They had fought to protect their loved ones and their town, but it had come at a terrible cost. Every body Kael found was marred by some gruesome injury, a limb torn away or a gaping wound. All he could hope was that they had managed to take one of their monstrous attackers with them.

As Kael ventured deeper into the town, his eyes flicking between the darkened alleys and ruined doorways. He’d memorized these paths in a peaceful town, but now every shadow held potential death.

In the distance, Kael heard a low growl—a broken sound like two stones grinding together. A faint scuttling sound froze him in place. He pressed himself against a crumbled wall, peering around the corner to see the creature in the road, to see a creature half-shrouded in mist, its body a grotesque fusion of deer and hound, its skin pale and stretched taut over sharp bones that jutted unnaturally.

Kael held his breath as the creature sniffed the air, its nostrils flaring as it picked up his scent. Its eyes, empty and white, roamed sightlessly but with purpose. He tightened his grip on his sword, inching back slowly, careful not to disturb the debris scattered across the ground.

The creature let out a low, eerie howl, a sound that sent a chill through Kael’s bones. It was joined by another howl, distant but close enough to unnerve him. Kael gripped the crossbow at his side, mentally running through his options. The creature’s heavy body looked slow, but the distance was short. He crouched lower, waiting for a lull in its shuffling pace, then darted across the street, keeping his steps silent. His heart hammered as he slid into the open doorway of a nearby house, ducking behind a broken cabinet.

The monster’s heavy snorts echoed outside as it continued down the road. Kael held his breath, waiting, feeling his pulse thrumming painfully in his ears. When he finally heard its footsteps recede, he let out a slow exhale, wiping the sweat from his brow. He wasn’t alone in the town—not by a long shot.

He made his way to the first house on his mental list—a small, modest home he vaguely remembered belonged to an old weaver. The door had been torn off, lying splintered against the wall. He stepped over it cautiously, his gaze sweeping the interior. Inside, the destruction was even worse: chairs overturned, a table smashed to pieces, and cloth strewn everywhere. He moved quickly, grabbing a roll of string from the corner and a small, empty pouch from a broken shelf.

Water, food. The basics. He moved from room to room, collecting what he could carry, avoiding the sight of the body crumpled near the doorway. Once he was sure he’d gathered enough, he slipped back into the street, hugging the walls as he made his way toward the center of town.

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Kael continued through the town, entering house after house with quiet efficiency, gathering supplies from any place still intact. In one house, he found a spool of coarse string that might work for his crossbow if he could reinforce it, along with a few other odds and ends—a length of rope, a small chisel, a hammer. Each time he crouched to retrieve something, his makeshift armor dug into his ribs. He knew he’d need to modify it somehow. In the heat of battle, it could mean the difference between life and death.

Eventually, he worked his way towards his old house. There, he hoped to retrieve his tools, and from there, to the library, where the codex might still lie hidden among the ruins. As he approached, his eyes scanned the street, his heart heavy as he recognized more bodies.

A sudden movement caught his eye. Just down the street, a beast stalked through the rubble, its form unrecognizable in its twisted mutation. It had the lean body of a panther, but its back bristled with quills, and its head was elongated like a serpent’s, with fangs that gleamed even in the dim light. Kael backed away slowly, his steps silent as he pressed himself against the nearest wall. He couldn’t risk an encounter, not with the gear he had now.

But as he rounded the corner, his foot snagged on a loose stone, sending it clattering down the alleyway. The beast’s head whipped around, its yellow eyes narrowing in his direction. Kael didn’t wait—he turned and sprinted, the sound of claws scraping against stone as it chased him. He ducked into another building, his breath harsh as he heard the creature’s growl, low and hungry.

It slammed into the wall just as Kael dropped to the floor, its claws raking through the doorway above him. One sharp quill sliced across his arm, drawing blood, but he ignored the pain, scrambling further inside, where it couldn’t fit. He felt his heart pounding, sweat cold on his skin as he listened to the monster snarl, scratching at the doorway. It eventually gave up, slinking away, but he stayed hidden for a few moments, clutching his bleeding arm.

Gritting his teeth, he tore a strip from his cloak, wrapping the wound. The pain throbbed, but he forced himself to keep moving. He was close now—just a few more yards to his home.

Finally, he reached his house, still standing but barely, the walls charred and windows shattered. Inside, the once-familiar rooms were a mess, furniture overturned, shards of glass littering the floor. His heart sank as he called out, “Father?” but there was only silence.

He moved cautiously, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of his father. His heart racing, he pushed open the door to his father’s old workroom, and his worst fears were confirmed. His father’s body lay slumped over the workbench, a sword still clutched in his hand. Kael’s eyes welled up with tears as he took in the sight of his father's lifeless body. He felt a wave of grief wash over him, but he forced himself to take a step closer.

As he approached his father's body, he saw that he had died fighting, a look of determination etched on his face. Kael's thoughts drifted to the past, remembering how his father had struggled with his crippled leg, a constant reminder of the monster attack that had crushed the bones in his right leg early in his life. His mother, a skilled duelist, had tried to teach his father the forms that could have saved his life, but no matter how hard she tried, his father's disability had made it impossible for him to master them.

For a moment, Kael allowed himself to wonder if things could have been different. Maybe if his father’s leg had still functioned, he could have survived the attack. But the thought was fleeting, and Kael quickly dismissed it. The reality was that their home had been overrun by beasts, and no one could have survived for long. The place would have been crawling with monsters, and even the most skilled fighter would have eventually fallen.

As Kael gazed at his father’s lifeless body, a pang of regret washed over him. He had often hated his father, resented the harsh training and brutal lessons he had forced upon him. His father's methods had been extreme, pushing Kael to his limits, testing his endurance and willpower.

Kael’s eyes filled with tears as he thought about all the times he had rebelled against his father, all the times he had hated him for pushing him so hard. But now, he saw that it had all been worth it. His father’s training had given him the skills he needed to survive, to fight back against the monsters that had taken everything from him. Left him alone in this world.

Kael knelt beside his father, gently prying the sword from his hand, and then began to sort through the tool chest, finding what he needed: a finer chisel, a larger blade for etching runes, and a few other items. Tears streamed down his face as he worked, but he knew he had to keep moving, for his father's sake as much as his own. He would honor his father's memory by surviving, by using the skills he had taught him to make a difference in a world that desperately needed it.

As he turned to leave, he spotted something familiar—a small, battered sketch of Aria’s parents, pinned to the wall among his notes. It was a crude drawing, hastily done, but he’d sketched it one night after they’d let him train with Aria in the garden. He reached up and tugged it free, sliding it into his pocket.

A rustling sound from the hallway snapped him back to the present, and he gripped the hilt of his sword, heart pounding. In the dim light, he saw a shadow moving toward him, slow and unsteady. He braced himself, ready to fight—until he realized it was a man, limping, his face pale and gaunt. Recognition struck like a hammer. It was Jaron, the baker from down the street.

“Kael…” Jaron’s voice was hoarse, his eyes glassy as he clutched his side, where blood had soaked through his shirt. “They took… my wife… my son…”

Kael swallowed hard, unable to look away from the man’s haunted gaze. “Jaron,” he whispered, the name tasting bitter on his tongue. There was nothing he could do for him, no way to ease the pain that gnawed at him. Kael nodded once, a silent promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. But as Jaron collapsed against the wall, the life draining from his eyes, Kael forced himself to move. He left the man behind, like so many others in this broken town, and stepped back out into the desolation.

The final stop was the library. The air here felt heavy, still thick with the memory of smoke and flame. The door was splintered, and inside, the familiar scent of leather-bound books and old wood was overpowered by the acrid bite of burnt paper. Shelves lay toppled, and the few remaining books were scattered on the floor, many too charred to be of any use.

He moved through the debris carefully, his eyes scanning the shelves. And then, by some miracle, he found it—the codex, wedged between two fallen beams, its leather cover scorched but intact. He reached out and pulled it free, his fingers brushing the cracked spine. This book contained every basic rune he’d studied, every hint of magic that might help him survive this world.

As he turned to leave, a faint shuffling sound made him freeze. He turned slowly, spotting a creature lurking at the far end of the library. It was tall, gaunt, with too-long arms and a face split by a jagged mouth that dripped black ichor. Kael gripped his sword, backing away, his mind racing. Deflect and dodge, he told himself. Aria’s parents had drilled it into him relentlessly—blocking a stronger foe would shatter every bone in his arm.

The creature lunged, and Kael sidestepped, swinging the sword in a wide arc. The blade glanced off the creature’s arm, but it was enough to send it stumbling. It turned, snarling, and lunged again, one clawed hand reaching for him. Kael ducked, feeling the claws graze his breastplate but holding firm.

But as he moved to sidestep again, he felt the tightness of his makeshift breastplate pinning him in place. The creature’s arm came down in a wide sweep, and he threw himself backward, feeling the belt on his armor snap as it tore free, the beast’s claws cutting through belt. He hit the floor, gasping, the weight of the armor now gone, but he didn’t stop—he rolled to his feet, his sword held in a ready stance.

In a quick, final strike, he drove his blade into the creature’s throat, watching as it staggered back, clutching at its neck, before collapsing into a twitching heap on the floor.

Breathless, Kael took a step back, clutching his broken armor to his chest. The codex was still safe, tucked under his arm. He exhaled slowly, looking around at the destroyed library, and whispered a silent vow to keep moving, to survive. This town, his home, was gone. But he wasn’t. Not yet.