The village streets were quiet but alive with a comforting hum of normalcy. Merchants packed up their stalls, their lanterns swaying gently in the breeze, and a few stray children laughed as they chased one another through the square.
The inn's warm glow welcomed them from across the street, and Chris could already smell the familiar aroma of stew simmering on the hearth.
"Home sweet home," Eroll said with a grin, pushing open the wooden door.
Inside, the crackling fire and soft hum of conversation greeted them like an old friend. A few villagers sat around the hearth, exchanging stories over bowls of stew. The innkeeper gave them a curious glance but nodded in welcome.
Chris dug out his remaining coins and slapped them onto the counter. "Two rooms."
The innkeeper scooped up the coins with a grin. "Rough night?"
Chris snorted. "You could say that."
They climbed the narrow stairs, each step groaning under their weight. Chris's muscles protested with every move, but the sight of the simple beds—worn wooden frames with thick wool blankets—was enough to make him feel human again.
Eroll flopped onto his bed with a content sigh. "I could sleep for a week."
Chris sank into his mattress, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. The soft breeze through the open window kissed his skin, and the distant sound of the village settling down for the night lulled him toward sleep.
"We made it," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion.
Kira perched on the windowsill, her feathers ruffling in the night breeze. "Yeah… we made it."
For the first time in a long time, Chris let his guard down.
The scream tore through the night.
Chris shot out of bed, heart pounding, as the sounds of shouting, metal clashing, and crashing wood filled the air. His breath hitched as he realized—the village was under attack.
"Chris! Move!" Kira squawked, her wings flapping wildly from the windowsill.
Eroll was already on his feet, sword drawn. His carefree grin was gone, replaced by the cold focus of a warrior. "Goblins," he growled. "Lots of them."
Chris grabbed his wooden sword and followed Eroll to the window. The village was in chaos.
Lanterns flickered wildly as goblins swarmed the streets—some smaller and snarling, others much larger, with the hulking forms of hobgoblins among them. Fires raged, casting eerie shadows on the walls, and the screams of the villagers echoed through the night.
Chris's heart pounded as he saw goblins dragging people from their homes, their cries muffled beneath the monsters' snarls. Women and children were hauled away, bound in ropes and tossed into crude wooden cages on wagons.
"They're capturing them," Chris whispered, horrified. His stomach churned, a sickening sense of helplessness settling over him.
Eroll's eyes narrowed as he watched a hobgoblin drag a screaming woman into a cage. "They're taking slaves." His knuckles whitened on the hilt of his sword, his voice low with disgust.
"We have to stop this!" Chris exclaimed, gripping his sword tightly.
Eroll shook his head. "We can't fight all of them—not yet." His voice was sharp but calm, as if he'd seen this kind of destruction before. "We'll die here if we charge in without a plan."
Chris felt the weight of those words sink in. His hands trembled. He wasn't ready for this—not for this kind of violence, this kind of loss. But there was no time to think.
Kira flapped to his shoulder. "Focus, Chris! We need to move before they find us."
The door to their room exploded inward with a deafening crash, splinters of wood scattering across the floor. A hulking hobgoblin ducked through the shattered frame, its yellow eyes gleaming with bloodlust. Scarred and armored, it carried a massive, rusted cleaver, already slick with blood.
Chris's body froze—he could barely breathe.
Eroll didn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, he drew his curved sword, the embers around him flaring to life in a glowing arc. "Stay behind me."
The hobgoblin snarled, swinging the cleaver in a wide, brutal arc. Eroll sidestepped smoothly, his sword flashing through the air. The embers followed his blade, trailing in streaks of orange light as he sliced across the goblin's exposed side.
The creature roared in pain, staggering back, but not for long. It raised its cleaver for another attack.
Chris clenched his jaw. He had to help. This wasn't training—this was life or death.
He lunged forward, raising his sword, and struck the hobgoblin's knee. The wooden blade cracked but held, and the beast let out a guttural howl as it stumbled.
"Not bad," Eroll muttered, stepping in to finish the job. His ember-coated sword slashed deep into the creature's neck, and the hobgoblin collapsed in a heap with a sickening thud.
Chris gasped for breath, heart racing. The room was filled with the scent of ash and blood.
"We need to get out of here," Kira urged, her voice sharp. "There's more of them outside."
Chris gave a shaky nod. This wasn't a fight they could win—at least, not tonight.
They hurried down the narrow stairs of the inn, the sounds of shouting and screaming growing louder with every step. Outside, the village was ablaze—homes burning, bodies strewn in the streets, and goblins rounding up survivors.
Chris's heart sank as he saw the villagers who had once welcomed him—the merchant who had offered them quests, the innkeeper who had given them beds—lying motionless on the ground, their lifeless eyes staring into the night.
A wagon filled with captured women and children rumbled down the road, driven by a cackling goblin. Chris clenched his fists, every fiber of his being screaming to act—but Eroll's hand landed on his shoulder, grounding him.
"We'll save them," Eroll said quietly. "But not now."
Chris swallowed the rage building in his chest, the reality of their situation settling like a weight on his soul. He wasn't strong enough—not yet.
"We'll follow them," Kira added. "Find where they're taking the prisoners. Then we'll strike."
Chris nodded reluctantly. It felt like a failure, leaving the villagers to their fate—but he knew Eroll was right. Charging in now would get them all killed.
They slipped through the shadows, dodging patrols as the goblins continued their rampage. Chris's legs felt heavy, every step dragging with guilt. He wanted to scream, to fight, to stop this—but all he could do was run.
They reached the edge of the forest, the fires from the village still glowing in the distance, a haunting reminder of everything they'd lost. Chris collapsed against a tree, his breath ragged and uneven. Tears burned at the edges of his vision, but he refused to let them fall.
"We'll make this right," Eroll said softly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic seriousness. The embers around him dimmed, flickering faintly in the night breeze. "But first… we survive."
Chris nodded, wiping his face with the back of his hand. The rage and sorrow boiled inside him, mixing into a volatile storm of emotions. This wasn't just about survival anymore—this was personal.
Kira fluttered onto his shoulder, her feathers brushing his cheek in silent comfort. "We'll get them back, Chris. I promise."
He stared at the distant flames, his fists clenched tightly. He would find those goblins. He would train, grow stronger—and when the time came, he would make them pay.
For now, all they could do was move forward.
The three of them stumbled into the forest, the fires of the village still burning behind them. Chris leaned against a tree, his chest heaving as the weight of everything crashed down on him.
Everyone was gone. The people he'd spoken to, laughed with—the children playing in the streets, the innkeeper who gave him a bed—they were either dead or captured. Their faces swam in his mind, twisted in agony, bloodied, lifeless.
His hands trembled. Hot tears welled up, but not from sorrow—from rage. Rage that boiled and churned deep in his chest, threatening to consume him. He slammed his fist into the tree beside him, the rough bark tearing at his skin.
"This is my fault!" Chris snarled, his voice raw and broken. "I wasn't strong enough—I didn't stop them!"
"Chris—" Kira started, but he cut her off.
"Don't!" His voice cracked with fury. "They killed everyone… or worse. They took them. They're going to use them as slaves, and I couldn't do anything to stop it!"
His heart pounded painfully in his chest, each beat hammering against the cage of guilt and fury that threatened to break him.
Eroll stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression unusually grim. The embers swirling around him flickered in short, angry bursts, reflecting his own quiet rage. "We survived," he said, his voice low. "That's not nothing."
Chris whirled on him, fists clenched. "Survived? For what? To let those monsters take everything?" His chest heaved, his breathing uneven. "What good is surviving if we're too weak to fight back?"
Eroll didn't flinch. His calm, focused demeanor was gone, replaced by something darker—a quiet, simmering fury.
"Don't act like I'm not pissed too," Eroll muttered, his eyes cold. "But you want to run back there right now? Get killed like the rest of them? Be my guest."
Chris stood there, shaking, his hands bloodied from punching the tree. He wanted to scream, to fight, to destroy something. But Eroll was right—they weren't strong enough. Not yet.
Kira landed on his shoulder, her voice softer this time. "We'll get them back, Chris. But we need to be smart about this."
Chris stared at the embers flickering in Eroll's hands, at Kira's steady gaze, and then back toward the burning village in the distance. His body trembled with rage, but beneath that, there was something else—a dark, dangerous resolve.
"They're going to pay," Chris whispered, his voice low and full of venom. "I swear… I'll kill every single one of them."
Eroll gave a grim nod. "Good. Use that anger. Let it fuel you." The embers around him glowed brighter, swirling faster as if responding to his words. "But you can't win with just rage, kid. You need control."
Chris clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. Every instinct told him to go back and fight—but that wouldn't bring the villagers back. That wouldn't save the ones who were still alive.
"We follow them," Chris growled. "We track them down and make them pay. Every single one of them."
Kira ruffled her feathers, her beak clicking softly. "And we make sure they never take anyone else."
Chris wiped his face with the back of his hand, anger simmering beneath the surface like a storm waiting to break.
"Fine," he muttered, forcing himself to stand. "But I need to get stronger. We all do."
Eroll's grin returned—a sharp, dangerous grin, full of promise. "You're finally getting it."
The path ahead was dark—full of blood, pain, and vengeance—but Chris didn't care. He'd train, fight, and kill if he had to. Whatever it took to get the prisoners back… and to make the goblins suffer for what they'd done.