Thorn's eyes fluttered open, the world around him a blur of colors and shapes. His body ached, every muscle protesting as he tried to move. He lay on the cold, hard ground, the remnants of the battle still fresh in his mind. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood, a grim reminder of the monster wave that had ravaged his village.

He took a deep breath, the pain in his chest sharp and unrelenting. Memories of the battle flooded his mind—the monstrous creatures, their gnashing teeth and razor-sharp claws, the screams of his fellow villagers as they fought for their lives. Thorn had fought with everything he had, his battle hammer a blur of steel as he crushed one monster after another. But in the end, the sheer number of enemies had overwhelmed him.

As he lay there, Thorn felt a strange sensation coursing through his veins. It was as if a warm, golden light was pulsing within him, filling him with a sense of strength and purpose. He looked down at his hands, seeing the faint glow that seemed to emanate from his very being. Confusion washed over him. He had no idea what was happening or why he felt this way.

Thorn's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and curiosity. He had heard stories of magical artifacts and ancient powers, but he had never imagined that he would encounter such a thing. The realization brought a surge of emotions—hope, determination, and a deep sense of responsibility.

He struggled to his feet, his legs trembling with the effort. The world around him slowly came into focus, the familiar landscape of his village coming into view. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the fields and houses. Thorn felt a pang of relief as he saw the village gates, the sight of home giving him the strength to take a step forward.

As he walked, Thorn's mind raced with questions. What had happened to him? What was this strange power he felt within? He remembered the moment he had found the shard, a small, unassuming piece of crystal that he had stumbled upon . He had picked it up without thinking, tucking it into his pocket as he was living everyday life . Now, it seemed that the shard had somehow changed him.

The cold northern air bit at his skin, the chill seeping through his clothes. The ground was covered in a thin layer of frost, the remnants of the battle scattered around him. Thorn's eyes scanned the scene, taking in the sight of fallen monsters and humans alike. Bodies lay strewn across the battlefield, a grim testament to the ferocity of the fight.

Stolen novel; please report.

Thorn felt a pang of sorrow as he looked at the faces of his fallen comrades. They had fought bravely, giving their lives to protect the village. He whispered a silent prayer, thanking the unknown god or fate that had brought him back to life. He knew that he had been given a second chance, and he was determined to make the most of it.

As he continued to walk, Thorn noticed something strange on his hands. The shard was gone, but in its place was a black and golden tattoo, intricate and beautiful. The design seemed to pulse with energy, a constant reminder of the power that now flowed through him. Thorn felt a mix of awe and confusion. He had no idea what this tattoo meant or how it had come to be, but he knew that it was connected to the shard.

Thorn also remembered the soul realm, a place of ethereal beauty and profound connections. He had met others there, their souls intertwined in a dance of light and shadow. The memories were hazy, but he recalled a sense of unity and purpose, a feeling that they were all part of something greater. The realization brought a sense of comfort, knowing that he was not alone in this journey.

The village elders, a group of wise and weathered men and women, stood at the entrance, their eyes scanning Thorn for any signs of injury. Thorn smiled and flexed his muscles, showing off his strength. "Don't worry about me," he said, his voice filled with confidence. "I'm alright."

The villagers burst into laughter, their tension easing at the sight of Thorn's bravado. They had survived another day, another monster wave, and that was cause for celebration.

Later that night, the village came alive with the sounds of music and laughter. A large bonfire crackled in the center of the village square, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the gathered villagers. They danced and sang, celebrating their survival and the bravery of their warriors.

Thorn sat with his friends, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the camaraderie of his people. The monster waves came every month, a relentless reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the village walls. But tonight, they celebrated their victory, grateful for another day of life.

Thorn's heart swelled with pride as he looked around at the faces of his friends and family. These were the people he fought for, the ones who made every battle worth it. He felt a deep sense of responsibility to protect them, to ensure their safety in a world filled with danger.

As the night wore on, the villagers began to discuss the practical matters that needed to be addressed. They gathered around the bonfire, their faces serious as they talked about dividing the hides of the fallen monsters and burying the bodies of their fallen comrades.

"We need to make sure everyone gets their fair share," said one of the elders, his voice steady and calm. "The hides will be useful for making clothes and armor. We should also bury our dead with honor, giving them the respect they deserve."

Thorn nodded in agreement. "I'll help with the burials," he said, his voice filled with determination. "They fought bravely, and they deserve a proper resting place."

The villagers murmured their agreement, their faces reflecting a mix of sorrow and resolve. They knew that this was a necessary task, one that would help them move forward and honor the memory of those they had lost.

As they continued to talk, Thorn felt a sense of unity and purpose. He knew that they were all in this together, and that they would support each other through the challenges that lay ahead. The bond between them was strong, forged in the fires of battle and strengt

hened by their shared experiences.

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