The morning had started calmly enough. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting a golden glow over the rooftops of Greenhollow. Harris stood in his garden, his fingers brushing over the leaves of a stubborn weed. But there was something wrong in the air—something he couldn’t ignore any longer. The corruption had spread. It was as if the very earth had begun to rot beneath his feet.

Liam rushed up to him, panting and red-faced. “Harris! It’s happening. The forest—the corruption is spreading into the village.” He doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

Harris looked past him, to the treetops in the distance, where a dark mist seemed to pulse, inching closer like a malevolent tide. He could feel it—a familiar darkness calling to him, and with it, the temptation he feared most.

“Get the villagers inside,” Harris said, his voice calm despite the turmoil inside him. “Gather them in the meeting hall. Don’t let anyone come out until I say it’s safe.”

Liam nodded, and with a final glance at Harris, he sprinted back toward the village square. Harris straightened, taking a deep breath as he turned toward the forest. The corruption had come to claim Greenhollow, and there was only one person who could stop it.

“Alright, Malakar,” Harris muttered to himself. “Time to see if you’ve still got it.” He paused, then frowned. “Or maybe let’s not see if you’ve still got it. Just… deal with this without becoming a lunatic, alright?” He shook his head and headed toward the advancing mist.

As he reached the edge of the forest, the air grew cold, the sunlight fading as the dark mist thickened. He could feel the corruption—a sickening familiarity that made his stomach twist. It was like looking into a mirror of his past, all the darkness he’d left behind.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the mist. Cloaked and hooded, the presence felt like a void, sucking the warmth out of the air. The Hooded Figure. Harris could see the faint glow of magic crackling at the figure's fingertips—power that was corrupting everything it touched.

“You should have stayed in hiding, Malakar,” the Hooded Figure said, his voice echoing unnaturally through the mist. “This village will fall, just like all the others. You can’t change what you are.”

Harris clenched his jaw, stepping forward. “I’m not Malakar anymore,” he said. “And this village isn’t going anywhere. I won’t let you destroy it.”

The Hooded Figure laughed, a cold, hollow sound. “You really think you can protect them? Without using the power that destroyed everything before?”

Harris didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his hand, summoning the magic he’d tried so hard to bury. Dark tendrils of energy swirled around his fingers, and he could feel the pull, the rush of power that threatened to consume him. He had to keep it under control—had to use it without becoming it.

The battle began in a blur. Harris sent out a wave of dark energy, pushing back the corruption, while the Hooded Figure countered with magic of his own, tendrils of darkness clashing in midair. The ground beneath them shook, and the trees twisted as the corruption spread.

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Harris could feel it—the darkness whispering to him, promising him power, control. He fought it, focusing on the village, on Liam, on Martha. He couldn’t lose himself—not now.

“Harris!” Liam’s voice cut through the chaos. Harris glanced back, seeing Liam standing at the edge of the clearing, a sword in his hand, his face set with determination. “We’re with you!”

Behind Liam, Harris saw villagers—dozens of them, armed with whatever they could find. Pitchforks, kitchen knives, even a broom. Martha stood among them, her face pale but resolute. They weren’t warriors, but they were ready to fight for their home. A mix of pride and fear surged through Harris.

“Stay back!” Harris shouted, his voice rough. “I can handle this!”

“We’re not leaving you!” Liam called back. He ran forward, slashing at a tendril of corruption that had snaked its way toward the village. The villagers followed, their shouts echoing through the clearing.

Harris gritted his teeth, turning back to the Hooded Figure. He had to end this—now. He summoned all the power he could muster, feeling it surge through him, the darkness swirling around his body. He could feel the edge of it—the line he couldn’t cross. He took a deep breath, focusing on the faces of the villagers, on Liam’s determined gaze.

With a roar, Harris unleashed the energy, a wave of dark magic crashing into the Hooded Figure. The force of it sent the figure stumbling back, the corruption beginning to recede. The mist thinned, the cold lifting as sunlight broke through the darkness.

The Hooded Figure fell to one knee, his hood slipping back to reveal hollow eyes filled with fury. “This isn’t over,” he hissed, his form beginning to dissipate as the magic unraveled. “You can’t escape what you are, Malakar.”

Harris didn’t respond. He raised his hand one last time, sending a final pulse of magic that shattered the figure’s form, the corruption vanishing with him. The clearing fell silent, the dark mist fading away, leaving only the rustle of leaves and the soft murmur of the villagers.

Harris stumbled, the exhaustion hitting him all at once. He felt Liam’s hand on his arm, steadying him. “You did it,” Liam said, his voice filled with awe.

Harris managed a tired smile. “We did it,” he corrected, looking at the villagers, at Martha, who had tears in her eyes. They had all fought for this village, for each other. And maybe—just maybe—he had found something worth protecting, something that could anchor him against the darkness.

“Let’s get back,” Harris said, his voice hoarse. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

As they made their way back to the village, the villagers gathered around, offering Harris their thanks. He could see the gratitude in their eyes, the trust they were placing in him. It was a heavy weight, but it was also a promise—one that he intended to keep.

Liam walked beside him, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he said, a hint of a smile playing at his lips, “if you keep saving the village like this, people might actually start liking you.”

Harris snorted, shaking his head. “Let’s not get carried away.” He glanced back at the forest, the corruption gone but the memory of it still fresh. He knew this wasn’t over—that there were still battles to fight, both within and without. But for now, he had bought them peace, and that was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to be more than what he had been—to be Harris, the gardener, the protector of Greenhollow.

“Come on,” he said, nudging Liam. “I think I’ve earned myself some of Martha’s bread. And maybe a nap.”

Liam grinned. “You’ve definitely earned it.”

As they walked back into the village, Harris felt a warmth in his chest—a sense of belonging that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He wasn’t Malakar anymore. He was Harris. And maybe that was enough.