The invisible force suddenly clamped around William's throat, cutting off his breath in an instant. Instinctively, he raised his hands to grasp at his neck, but he could only feel his own skin. The force was like air—impossible to touch.
William thrashed desperately, his legs kicking wildly against the bed as he tried to rid himself of the suffocating sensation. His hands flailed in the darkness, but they hit nothing. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead, and his breathing became increasingly strained, as though an invisible hand was tightening its grip.
"Let... go..." William managed to croak out the words, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible. His vision blurred, and dizziness overwhelmed him as his brain screamed for oxygen. Then, he felt something cold and slimy slowly approaching the back of his head. The chilling sensation made his whole body shiver.
On the brink of death, William's mind became unusually clear. He stopped struggling blindly and forced himself to stay calm. The threat of death seemed to awaken a primal instinct within him, and his fear disappeared in that moment.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, fast and urgent, growing louder as they approached. William's consciousness began to fade, but he could still sense the cold, slimy thing drawing nearer to his scar.
Suddenly, the door burst open. A bright beam of light flooded the room, and the force strangling him instantly weakened.
William's flailing hand struck something solid, and the next moment, he vaguely heard a faint, almost inaudible howl. The oppressive force vanished completely.
He coughed violently, greedily gulping in fresh air.
"William! Are you okay?" a gentle but aged voice called out.
William looked up to see a thin, elderly man standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a loose, gray robe and held a worn-out oil lamp in his hand. The man's face was lined with deep wrinkles, his expression concerned, but there was something unreadable hidden in the depths of his eyes.
"I'm... I'm fine," William said between gasps, his throat burning painfully.
The old man hurried to the bedside, placing the oil lamp on the nightstand. Its light illuminated his rough, calloused hands.
After scanning the room and confirming there was no longer any danger, the old man rested a reassuring hand on William's shoulder. "I heard the noise and came as fast as I could. This place isn't very safe, but don't worry too much—it's gone now."
"Who are you?" William asked tentatively. He noticed the old man's robe carried a strong, almost overwhelming scent of herbs, so pungent it made him cough.
"I'm Baker Hendler—your teacher and foster father," the old man replied kindly, though his voice held a note of hesitation. "You've lost your memory, haven't you? That's normal. Surviving such a serious injury is already a miracle..."
William noticed Baker's rough hands trembling slightly as he twisted them together. In the dim light, the calloused fingers cast flickering shadows that seemed to echo an unspoken emotion.
Baker's gaze shifted to the back of William's head. "When I treated you, the wound was fatal. It should have been impossible to save you, but somehow, by the grace of the heavens, you survived. That's all that matters—you're alive." He took a deep breath, as if steadying himself. His hand reached toward William's scar but stopped mid-air, hesitating.
Instinctively, William touched the scar on the back of his head. A dull ache radiated from it. "What was that thing just now? Why did it attack me?"
Baker sighed and picked up the worn oil lamp, its light casting deep shadows across his aged face. "That was a Shadow Wraith—a creature that lurks in darkness. They target the weak, especially those who've suffered severe injuries like you."
"And how did you chase it away?"
"See this lamp?" Baker held up the old oil lamp, its faint yellow glow flickering. William noticed strange runes etched onto its surface, faintly shimmering in the lamplight. "It may look worn, but it's inscribed with Lightfire Runes. These runes repel creatures of darkness."
The moment William saw the runes, he couldn't look away. Their twisted patterns seemed to draw him in, as though they held a magnetic pull on his vision.
Then, something strange happened—the warped lines appeared to writhe, like tiny red worms crawling across the dark surface of the lamp.
"Am I imagining this?" William thought, but even so, he couldn't bring himself to blink.
Suddenly, a large hand blocked his vision.
"If you keep staring, you'll go blind," Baker warned firmly, withdrawing his hand. "Looks like you've forgotten far too much."
Snapping back to reality, William rubbed his eyes and his still-burning throat. Frowning, he asked, "You said I'm your apprentice? You're a doctor, then? So I'm studying medicine under you?"
"That's right," Baker said, setting the lamp down on a nearby wooden chair. His fingers traced a worn patch on his robe. "After your parents passed, I took you in. You're bright and hardworking—a natural for medicine. We got along well… until that day." His voice faltered. "I went to treat old Mrs. Horne in the next village. When I returned, I found you collapsed at the doorstep, with a terrible wound on the back of your head. I didn't know what had happened, but I did everything I could to save you."
"Thank you for saving me," William said sincerely.
Baker waved a hand dismissively. "You should rest. I need to check on the Smiths' son—he's running a fever. They're just next door. If anything unusual happens, call for me or… make some noise. This house isn't very soundproof; I'll come right away."
He turned to leave but paused at the doorway. "Oh, and keep this lamp by your side. It'll protect you."
"Thank you," William said, nodding as he watched Baker disappear into the hallway. The lamp's gentle light flickered in the darkness, offering a small sense of security.
William watched as Baker's figure disappeared into the hallway. The room fell silent, save for the faint flicker of the oil lamp and the occasional whisper of the wind. His hand unconsciously moved to the scar on the back of his head. The dull ache lingered, a constant reminder of the earlier attack and its chilling reality.
"This old man's got some nerve," William muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with exasperation. "Just got attacked by some monster, and he's fine leaving me here alone? Talking about how the house isn't soundproof—as if I'd even get a chance to yell if that thing came back."
Leaning back against the headboard, his gaze fell on the worn oil lamp. The grime and oil stains on its glass cover stood out starkly in the dim light, yet the carvings on its base drew his attention. He reached out, lifting the lamp closer to examine it.
"This thing looks like it's been through hell," he muttered, running his fingers along the edge of the lamp. He could feel the rough, gritty texture of accumulated dirt. "Still, Baker said it can ward off those creatures, so it's not just any ordinary lamp."
His eyes shifted to the inside of the glass cover, where faint, intricate symbols were etched. They appeared to form a complex pattern, intertwining with an almost hypnotic symmetry.
"So these are the Lightfire Runes?" William whispered to himself, studying the symbols closely. Their precise, interwoven lines carried a strange allure, a beauty that was both mechanical and organic.
He tapped the lamp lightly, producing a crisp sound. "How do they even carve something like this? Did they use a knife? Or maybe… some special tool?"
Placing the lamp back on the nightstand, his mind replayed Baker's earlier words. "'Lightfire Runes repel creatures of darkness…'" William murmured, a curious tone creeping into his voice. "How does it work? Is it the runes themselves, or do they need some kind of energy to activate?"
Once again, his gaze settled on the symbols etched into the lamp. He tried to commit their intricate shapes to memory, but they were too complex, their overlapping lines dizzying.
"Guess I'd need to draw these a dozen times just to get them right," William muttered, frowning slightly.
Leaning back against the headboard, his thoughts drifted to the lamp's creation. "These runes must've been made by someone, right? If that's the case, whoever carved them must be incredibly skilled. And Baker said this lamp is expensive. I bet the materials and process to make it aren't simple."
He stroked his chin thoughtfully, murmuring to himself, "If I could learn how to make these runes, I might be able to protect myself in the future. But… something tells me this isn't the kind of skill just anyone can pick up. I wonder where Baker got it."
"Whatever. No point overthinking it." Shaking his head, William pushed the lamp slightly farther away. His eyes swept across the dim room, noting the shadows in the corners. Though they remained deep and foreboding under the flickering light, the earlier oppressive presence was nowhere to be felt.
"At least for now, this lamp gives me a bit of peace," he said softly, a wry smile on his lips. "I just hope it actually works. Otherwise, I'm not sleeping tonight."
Exhaustion soon overtook him, and William fell into a deep sleep.