Lorian was still reeling from the shock of that vision.

‘Why does that vision feel so familiar, yet I have no memory of such an incident?’ he couldn't help but ask himself.

He stared blankly at the man in front of him, nodding mechanically.

“If you’re all right, then we must move immediately,” said the man urgently. “The village is about to be under attack. Let's hurry.”

With that, the man took off, sprinting through the dense forest. Lorian hesitated for a fraction of a second before forcing his legs into motion, chasing after him. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of an impending sense of doom pressing down on him.

‘What is this feeling?’ he wondered as he stumbled over roots and ducked under low branches. ‘Why am I so scared?’

His heart pounded violently in his chest, each beat reverberating in his ears. His breath came in ragged gasps, the cold air burning his lungs. He pushed his legs to move faster, though they screamed in protest, muscles ablaze with fatigue.

“Wait…!" huff… huff… "wait up,” he called out to the man, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper.

“We’re almost there,” the man shouted over his shoulder, his pace relentless.

The trees ahead began to thin, hinting at a clearing. Lorian pushed himself harder, his vision narrowing to the man’s back as the forest rushed by in a blur.

Finally, the trees gave way to open space, and Lorian staggered into the clearing, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. The man had stopped, waiting for him at the edge. Lorian bent over, hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath. His whole body trembled, cold sweat mingling with the dirt and grime on his skin, trickling down his face.

He straightened slowly, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, and looked up. There, not far off, stood the village.

Even from this distance, Lorian could see the grand wall of logs and spikes encircling the settlement, imposing and foreboding. As they drew nearer, the details of the village’s defenses came into sharper focus, and Lorian couldn’t help but marvel at their intricacy.

The walls were not just simple barriers of wood and stone; they were a tapestry of interwoven branches and stones, etched with ancient symbols that seemed to hum with a protective energy. Towers loomed at regular intervals along the wall, each crowned with a torch wrapped in scrolls. The flames flickered in the dusk, casting an ethereal light that seemed to cut through the uncertainty of the encroaching night. The scrolls, filled with both ancient and contemporary knowledge, seemed to burn with a wisdom that Lorian felt even at a distance.

Lorian’s eyes were soon caught by a brightly glowing stone, its light a soft, ethereal white. Shaped like small bricks, they were seamlessly embedded in the wall, the stone pulsed gently, casting a serene glow that pushed back the shadows. Its smooth, polished surface reflected subtle patterns, and intricate inscriptions channeled its energy into a protective barrier. The stone's warmth and light created a comforting presence, a beacon of tranquility amidst the encroaching darkness.

“Luminous stones,” the man explained noticing Lorian’s gaze, “they keep the darkness at bay, prevent it from consuming us. Without them, the shadows from the Behemoth of Darkness would overrun the village.”

Lorian glanced at the towers, each crowned with a torch wrapped in scrolls, "What about those?" He asked.

“Those torches,” the man continued, “are our beacons of knowledge. The scrolls wrapped around them contain both ancient and contemporary wisdom. The light they emit pierces through the unknown, dissolving the uncertainty that constantly threatens to overwhelm us. They protect the village from the Behemoths of the Unknown. The monster that attacked you before.”

As they approached the village, Lorian’s eyes were drawn to the statues strategically placed around the settlement. Each one was a tribute to a hero or a moment of triumph, carved with such meticulous detail that they seemed almost alive. These silent sentinels radiated an aura of confidence and resolve, lifting the spirits of those who passed by.

One statue, in particular, caught their attention. The man stopped abruptly in front of it, his eyes welling up. He bowed respectfully, his movements slow and deliberate, as if weighed down by the gravity of his emotions. Lorian stood silent, feeling the heavy air between them, then followed suit and bowed as well.

The man's voice wavered as he stood before the statue, his words barely audible above the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. "My father..." he murmured, the syllables catching in his throat like fragile whispers. His eyes glistened with tears, yet his brows were lowered and knit, his jaws clenched as though harboring a tempest of unresolved fury within.

Lorian studied the statue closely, the face stirring a distant memory. His gaze fell upon the engraved name below.

'Aspiron.

The One Who Fended The Great Calamity.

The Savior of the Village.

A Loving Husband to Mehenati.

A Caring Father to Perseus.'

The statue of Aspiron was majestic, capturing the essence of a man both fierce and gentle. His stance was one of readiness, a sword held loosely in one hand, his other arm extended as if trying to pluck out a star from the sky. The fine lines of his furrowed brow, the determined set of his jaw, and the deep, wise eyes that seemed to follow you were rendered with astonishing precision. Every fold of his cloak, every texture of his armor, spoke of the sculptor's dedication.

The delicately crafted face bore the marks of countless battles, each scar telling a story of sacrifice and resilience. His eyes, though carved from stone, conveyed a depth of ambition and an unwavering will to achieve greatness. The sword he held was not merely a weapon but a symbol of his relentless pursuit of a better future for his people.

As Lorian gazed upon the statue, a nagging sense of familiarity tugged at the edges of his consciousness. "His face... it's even more familiar..." he thought, his brow furrowing in a struggle to recall. Each feature seemed to stir a distant memory, yet the details remained elusive, dancing just beyond the reach of his mind's grasp.

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Misunderstanding Lorian’s pondering stance, the man spoke up.

“These statues,” the man said, his voice softening, “they remind us of our successes, our strengths. Whenever doubt and failure whisper in our ears, these figures stand tall, giving us the resolve to push forward..." His expression suddenly went blank. "...Forward... forward,.... always forwards..." he murmured. Abruptly, he straightened. "Let us move!" He said. With that the man suddenly started walking towards the village.

"Huh?" Although surprised by the prompt change of moods, Lorian began running after the man.

The man began breathing heavily as he walked, his eyes fixed on the village with an intensity that spoke volumes. His jaw clenched tight, a muscle twitching visibly as he surveyed the scene. He wiped his palms on his trousers, the gesture quick and almost involuntary, betraying his attempt to maintain composure.

He started forward, motioning for Lorian to follow. His steps, once swift, were now measured and deliberate, as if he were trying to control the growing anxiety within him. His hands flexed open and closed as he moved.

As they neared the village walls, the man's gaze darted around, noting every detail—the positions of the towers, the gates, the distant movement of villagers preparing for defense. 'Something isn't right,' the man thought, his brows furrowing. 'The defenses... they have been tampered with,' his eyes widened as he came to this realization.

There were multiple guards patrolling the vicinity of the village entrance. The uniforms of the guards, once gleaming with pride, now appeared dull and lifeless, their armor lacking the usual polish. Their movements were stiff, almost robotic, as if they were mere puppets manipulated by unseen strings.

"Halt!" one of the guards shouted as they got close to the entrance.

"Uncle Linden!" Perseus exclaimed with a hint of joy, recognizing the approaching guard. But the response was cold, completely devoid of emotion.

"Perseus, the deserter" the guard called out, "You are not to take a step further." His weapon was drawn, his stance resolved, ready to strike if Perseus moved an inch closer.

Perseus stood still, the calm in his voice masking the turmoil in his thoughts. "The village will be under attack soon."

The words echoed, triggering a cascade of memories.

"Relax, child," a younger Linden's voice echoed in his mind, loving and warm, as he knelt before a young Perseus. "Your father died a hero. He may not be here, but I will always be here for you... Son."

Perseus, a just child then, gazed up at the man exuding strength and love, the warmth of his gaze instilling hope and courage.

The memory blended seamlessly with the present, the loving face morphing into the cold, detached eyes of the guard before him. The juxtaposition was jarring, a gut-wrenching twist that sent Perseus's heart into a frantic rhythm.

'What happened?... Uncle Linden... what happened to the village while I was gone?' Perseus's mind screamed, desperately trying to bridge the gap between the past and the stark reality before him.

"I saw a horde of Behemoths coming this way," Perseus added, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "The village's defenses aren't strong enough. We need to call all the warriors to face them."

"Denied," Linden replied without a flicker of emotion. "As per the Priest's orders, to protect the village from any potential Archetypes, outsiders are to be arrested and locked until no threat is verified."

The robotic tone cut through Perseus like a knife, each word a reminder of the stark transformation. The man who once promised to protect him now stood as an unfeeling sentinel, an embodiment of the village's lost soul. Perseus's heart ached, the realization of how much had changed tightening like a vice around his chest, the urgency of the impending attack overshadowed by the personal betrayal.

Suddenly, the guards in the vicinity converged on Perseus and Lorian, their movements mechanical and unyielding.

"Did you not hear me? The village is going to be attacked!" Perseus screamed, his voice a mix of rage and desperation. The guards continued their advance, indifferent to his pleas. One of them seized Lorian, dragging him towards a nearby cage with a rough, iron grip.

"Let go of me!" Lorian shouted, his voice tinged with panic. Normally, he would have complied, but the sudden aggression triggered a surge of fear and anger. Memories of past traumas flashed through his mind, overwhelming his rationality. His head suddenly felt like it was going to burst, as though a thousand needles were gnawing his mind. Blood trickled down his nostrils while his eyes bulged out.

"Let go!" Lorian’s struggle intensified, his shouts growing louder and more frantic. "Let go!!"

The guards' faces remained impassive, their grips unrelenting. Lorian’s resistance only seemed to fuel their determination. His eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape, but there was none. The cold, unyielding metal of the cage loomed closer, a stark symbol of their imprisonment.

Perseus's heart pounded in his chest. He had brought Lorian here. He felt responsible for Lorian’s fate! Lorian’s distressed shouts and pleas, added fuel to his own fury. He lunged at the guard holding Lorian, trying to pry him loose, but another guard intercepted him, shoving him back with a force that knocked the wind out of him.

"Stop this madness!" Perseus roared, struggling to regain his footing. The guard's expression didn't change, his eyes hollow, devoid of any humanity. It was like fighting against statues, their movements precise and unfeeling.

Lorian’s screams pierced the air, a raw and desperate sound that echoed in Perseus's ears. He watched helplessly as his friend was forced into the cage, the door slamming shut with a resounding clang. The guards turned their attention back to Perseus, advancing with the same mechanical precision.

Desperation clawed at Perseus's chest. He had to make them understand, had to break through whatever had turned them into these emotionless enforcers.

"Listen to me!" he shouted, his voice cracking with urgency. "The Behemoths will destroy everything! We need to prepare!"

But the guards moved in unison, their steps synchronized, as if driven by a single mind. Perseus could see the cold determination in their eyes, the same lifeless resolve that had replaced the warmth in Linden's gaze.

In a last-ditch effort, Perseus dropped to his knees, looking up at Linden with a mix of anger and pleading in his eyes. "Uncle Linden, please. You know me. You know I'm telling the truth. The village needs us."

For a brief moment, something flickered in Linden's eyes, a hint of recognition, a spark of the man he once was. But it was quickly snuffed out, replaced by the same cold, robotic stare.

"You are under arrest, Perseus," Linden said, his voice flat and unyielding. "For the safety of the village."

As the guards moved to restrain him, Perseus felt a crushing sense of defeat. The realization that the village he once knew was gone, replaced by this twisted semblance of order, hit him like a blow to the gut. Despair gnawed at him, threatening to swallow him whole. But amidst the despair, a steely resolve began to form. He couldn't give up. He wouldn't let the village fall, not to the Behemoths, and not to whatever had turned his people into these hollow shells.

"Let go!!" Lorian’s persistent shouts reached Perseus's ears one final time, a desperate plea that cut through the chaos and ignited something deep within him.

Suddenly, a surge of power coursed through Perseus's veins. His eyes glowed a vivid purple. The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, an aura of raw, untamed power.

"Let him go," Perseus commanded Uncle Linden, his voice now imbued with an unmistakable authority that echoed through the silent night.

The transformation was immediate and dramatic. The guards, including Uncle Linden, halted their actions mid-stride, their expressions shifting from cold indifference to stunned reverence as they all looked at Perseus' neck.

"That...." Uncle Linden was too shocked to react as his eyes caught sight of the purple locket that had re-materialized around Perseus' neck. His face drained of color, and his hands began to tremble.

Thud.

In perfect unison, the guards dropped to their knees and bowed deeply towards Perseus.

"Yes, Sir!" they shouted, their voices trembling with newfound respect and fear.

Perseus stepped forward, his presence now commanding and unyielding. He removed his shirt and tossed it to Lorian. "Cover yourself up," he said, his tone softer but still carrying the weight of his authority.

Lorian quickly fashioned the large sleeveless shirt into a makeshift skirt, his mind reeling from the sudden shift in the situation. As he did, his eyes fell on Perseus's bare back, and his breath caught in his throat. There, emblazoned on Perseus's skin, was a tattoo—a symbol he recognized all too well.

"That... isn't that..." Lorian’s eyes widened as he took in the intricate design.