The wind howled through the village, carrying whispers of fear and uncertainty. Nara and Elder Varek emerged from Tharion’s cabin, their expressions dark and brooding as they stepped into the night. The rain had started to fall, a light drizzle that dampened the earth but did little to quench the fire burning in their hearts. They lingered at the entrance, their ears straining to catch the fading remnants of the conversation between Zarek and his dying father.
The moment the voices within the cabin fell silent, a cold understanding passed between Nara and Varek. Her eyes, once soft with an illusion of kindness, now gleamed with a cold, merciless light. Her hands clenched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. Pain no longer mattered—only the fierce determination that gripped her. She looked at Varek, who stood tall and unmoved by the storm around them, his blind eyes seeming to pierce through the veil of darkness.
“We must act now,” Nara whispered, her voice low and resolute. “If Zarek escapes, he will return stronger, more dangerous than ever. We must make the village believe that the stars demand a sacrifice, and that sacrifice must be him.”
Varek’s lips curled into a slight, bitter smile. “The boy carries his father’s legacy, and that is something we cannot allow him to reclaim. His existence threatens everything we have built.”
Nara nodded, her expression hardening. “Then we must act quickly. Fear will guide the people to our will. They will follow the path we lay before them, as long as it is paved with survival.”
She motioned to the shadows, where their closest attendants stood waiting. They emerged without a word, their faces cold and impassive, their loyalty unquestionable. “Spread the word,” Nara ordered, her voice cutting through the night like a blade. “Let them know the elders are considering the stars’ will. Fear will spread, and with it, our power.”
The attendants nodded, their expressions unchanged as they melted into the darkness, vanishing like ghosts into the village. But one man remained—Torak, the most cunning and ruthless of them all. His presence lingered, his sharp eyes catching every detail, every movement.
Varek turned to him, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You have a different task.”
…
The village buzzed with hushed whispers. Guards stood at their posts, murmuring to each other about the ominous rumors.
“I heard we might need a sacrifice,” one guard whispered, his voice tinged with fear.
“Yeah, and it might have to be another guardian blood like last time,” another added, glancing nervously around.
Meanwhile, far away, near the village entrance, an old man sitting on the stump of a thick tree was using a sharp dagger. In his hand was a block of wood that he was shaving, sculpting it to his will.
His muscles rippled with each shave, sweat glistening on his brow as he concentrated. A young boy rushed up to him, breathless.
“Master Orin, some of the villagers are saying that the elders want to sacrifice Zarek to quell the stars’ anger!” the boy exclaimed.
A ripple shot through the eyes of the elder, anger slowly building up as he got up. He laid his blade to the side and wiped his forehead. “What a bunch of fools,” he chuckled. “A sacrifice every fifty years for stars that don’t give a damn about us.” He picked up his blade again and resumed striking the wood, now with more force, the sharp sound now echoing through the forest and drifting away.
…
In another part of the village, a middle-aged woman was salting and hanging meat to dry. Her daughter ran up to her, her eyes wide with worry.,
“Mother, the other kids are saying Zarek has to be sacrificed to appease the stars!” she cried.
The woman’s hands froze, the piece of meat slipping from her grasp and falling to the floor. “What? No, that can’t be true,” she whispered, her face paling with shock.
---
Away from the village gossip and its people, there on the village edge stood a sturdy wooden fence and tall archery towers. Beyond the fence lay a flat, rocky field where men trained in groups.
“Duck! Get up! To the right and to the left!” Shouts echoed as the men navigated a series of obstacles, each one designed to test their endurance and agility. The field was dotted with all kinds of obstacles, wooden hurdles, pits filled with mud, and narrow beams that required perfect balance to cross.
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The man issuing the commands was one of the Elders, his full-,, body armor gleaming under the harsh sun.
Despite the weight of his leather armor, he moved effortlessly, not breaking a sweat, his rough and solid voice cutting through the air.
“Move faster! Stay low!” he barked, his breath steady despite his constant movement.
As the men continued their grueling training, a guard sprinted across the field, urgently whispering something into Alaric’s ear. Though his expression was hidden by his helmet, his abrupt halt and his following command revealed the gravity of the message. “Stop!” he yelled, calling his right-hand man. “Brannik, take over the training,” he ordered before hurrying away, leaving the men to continue under Branning's stern guidance.
…
Far away from this training ground, on the other side of the village stood a building made entirely from bricks, with only the roof covered and made from wood. This was the smith where Jorim worked. The fire burned brightly, and people rushed around. Men threw rocks into the furnace to melt before taking them out and starting to forge.
Despite his apprentices carrying hammers, they were allowed to fully forge anything without Jorim’s help and assistance. Their jobs for now were only to help him.
The smith was busy like usual, with men rushing to bring in carts of rocks that needed to be filtered, men filtering the rocks, men throwing wood to keep the furnace hot, and men rushing to get water to replace the water Jorim was using to cool the hot metal.
In the midst of all this, a young girl came rushing over, calling for her grandfather.
Doting over this, his granddaughter, Jorim, ordered everyone to stop, no longer caring about the thing he was forging.
The girl rushed over with fear in her eyes and hugged her grandfather, both confusing and startling him.
“What happened?” Jorim said lovingly.
The girl didn’t answer; instead, she burst into tears, snot, and teardrops, soon smudging her face.
She leaned over her grandfather’s ear and whispered something that only he heard. Immediately, his face darkened, and he briefly shivered despite the smith being extremely hot.
“Continue without me!” He screamed and carrying his granddaughter, he left the smith with her in his arms.
…
Hidden beneath a seemingly normal pit that was neither too close to the outskirts nor too near the center of the village was a cave. In this concealed sanctuary, an old woman sat at a desk made of rocks.
She crushed a piece of chalk, storing the powder in a rock bowl containing a little water. Taking a long pine needle, she mixed the concoction before dipping it. Nimbly, she grabbed a piece of leather parchment, ready to write.
Just as the first drop touched the parchment, a young man barged in. “Grandma, there is an emergency,” he blurted out, causing her to shift her whole body to look at him, smearing the chalk all over the leather parchment.
…
Clouds hovered above, casting a serene yet foreboding shadow over the village.
Away from the village and its problems, hidden in the depths of nowhere, with only trees surrounding it, an unusual clearing could be found. There, a wooden shrine was erected.
Water rushed down a nearby stream, occasional bird whistles filled the air, and the tall grass moved gently with the wind as they concealed the place.
Sitting in the middle of the shrine was a man in a meditative pose. He hummed quietly. Even with his eyes closed, he could vividly see far into the forest.
He quietly listened, using his other senses to perceive the world around him.
He saw a large bear with its cubs hunting huge fish in the river; the bear’s fur was a deep, rich brown. The fish splashed in the clear water, their scales glinting in the sunlight.
Nearby, a fox stealthily approached a bird, each of its steps calculated and silent.
In the sky, a huge eagle with wings spread wide swooped down, catching a snake hidden in a tree. The snake slithered through the branches, its scales shimmering, as the eagle’s talons closed around it.
As all this unfolded in his mind, a sudden knock on the wood door snapped him out of his trance. “Come in,” he said calmly.
Ten men appeared seemingly from nowhere, as if they were ghosts, each bowing respectfully. “Elder, your prediction has come true.”
Aren’s eye opened, his face darkened, and he stood up, his imposing figure casting a long shadow. “I’m smelling something—something rotten,” he muttered, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.
…
Trouble was brewing, and unaware of the events unfolding around him, Zarek moved swiftly through the village, clutching the three golden keys tightly. He didn’t know why, but it felt as if he was running out of time.
The future is paved with dangers lying ahead, and the role he will play in the fate of the village is yet to be known. Questions are many, yet answers are few.