The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the village of Windfall. The small town nestled in a valley surrounded by dense forests and rolling hills, where the whispers of the ancient trees mingled with the cheerful bustle of the townsfolk. The annual Harvest Festival was in full swing, with colorful banners fluttering in the breeze and the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread filling the air. Children chased each other around stalls laden with trinkets, while elders swapped stories of old, their eyes twinkling with nostalgia.
Aric, a young man of seventeen with tousled brown hair and bright blue eyes, weaved through the crowds, a smile on his face. His hands were full, carrying a basket of fresh apples and a small loaf of bread for his father. He nodded to the villagers he passed, exchanging greetings with the warmth of someone who had known these people his entire life. Windfall was his home, and though it was small and unremarkable to outsiders, it was where his heart lay.
Reaching the outskirts of the village, Aric made his way to a modest cottage that stood at the edge of the forest. The structure was simple, made of sturdy wood and stone, with a thatched roof that had seen better days. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, a sign that his father was likely inside, tending to the hearth.
"Father, I'm back!" Aric called as he pushed open the door with his shoulder.
Inside, the cottage was warm and cozy, filled with the scent of herbs and the crackling of the fire. On one side of the room, a large oak table was covered with tools, gears, and half-finished projects—remnants of his father's days as a tinker. The walls were adorned with old maps, faded and worn, depicting lands far beyond Windfall's borders.
Aric's father, Garrick, sat in a wooden chair by the fire, a blanket draped over his legs. He was a broad-shouldered man with a weathered face, his hair streaked with gray, and his eyes sharp despite the years. A faint smile crossed his lips as Aric entered, but there was a weariness to him that had grown more pronounced in recent months.
"Ah, there you are," Garrick said, his voice roughened by age. "What have you brought me this time?"
"Just the usual," Aric replied, setting the basket on the table. "Apples from Mrs. Hallow's orchard and a fresh loaf from the bakery. The festival's lively this year—more visitors than usual."
Garrick nodded, though his gaze drifted to the fire. "It's good to see the village thriving. I remember when the festival was a much smaller affair, just a handful of us gathered around a bonfire."
Aric smiled as he sat down across from his father, but he noticed the faraway look in Garrick's eyes. "You're thinking about the old days again, aren't you?"
Garrick chuckled softly. "I suppose I am. It's hard not to when the leaves start turning, and the air grows crisp. Reminds me of the times when I was young, chasing adventure and dreams."
"Tell me another story," Aric said, leaning forward with a grin. "You've got a thousand of them, and I've heard most, but they never get old."
"Another story, hm?" Garrick rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Very well. Let me think… Ah, how about the time I ventured into the Darkwood Forest, searching for the lost ruins of the First King?"
Aric's eyes widened. He had heard bits and pieces of this tale, but never the full account. "The First King? The one who united the lands of Veridor?"
"The very same," Garrick replied, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. "Legend has it that deep within the Darkwood, hidden from time and memory, lies the tomb of the First King, guarded by ancient magics and creatures of shadow. It was said that his crown held a fragment of the Worldstone, a relic of immense power."
Aric listened intently, captivated by his father's words. "Did you find it? The crown?"
Garrick shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "I found the ruins, but not the crown. What I found instead was a warning—carved into the very stone walls of the tomb. It spoke of a time when the Worldstone would be shattered, and darkness would once again rise to claim Veridor. A warning for future generations, perhaps, or a prophecy of things yet to come."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Aric felt a chill run down his spine, though he tried to shrug it off. "It's just a legend, right? A tale to keep adventurers on their toes?"
"Perhaps," Garrick said, though his eyes betrayed a hint of concern. "Or perhaps there's more truth to it than we realize. The world is full of mysteries, Aric, and not all of them are meant to be understood."
Before Aric could respond, a sudden knock echoed through the cottage. The door creaked open, and a tall, hooded figure stepped inside. The man's face was obscured by shadow, but his presence filled the room with an unnatural chill. Garrick stiffened, his hand instinctively moving toward the small dagger he kept at his side.
"Can I help you?" Garrick asked, his tone cautious.
The stranger remained silent for a moment before speaking in a voice as cold as ice. "I am here for the medallion."
Aric exchanged a confused glance with his father. "Medallion? What medallion?"
Garrick's eyes narrowed. "You have the wrong house, stranger. There's no medallion here."
The man's gaze shifted to Aric, and for a brief moment, the boy felt as though he were being stripped bare, his thoughts laid open for the intruder to see. "Do not play games with me, old man. The medallion is here, and I will have it—whether you surrender it willingly or not."
The air grew tense, and Garrick slowly rose from his chair, his hand gripping the dagger tightly. "Leave this place," he warned. "You're not welcome here."
The stranger's response was swift. He raised a hand, and from beneath his cloak, a dark, swirling mist began to gather. Aric's heart raced as the shadows coalesced into the form of a monstrous hound, its eyes glowing with a malevolent light. The creature snarled, its fangs bared, and lunged toward Garrick.
"Father!" Aric shouted, but before he could move, Garrick pushed him aside, thrusting the dagger toward the hound. The blade met its mark, but the creature seemed unfazed, its body dissipating into mist only to reform moments later. With a single swipe of its clawed paw, the hound sent Garrick crashing into the wall, the force of the blow knocking the breath from his lungs.
"Run, Aric!" Garrick gasped, blood trickling from his lips. "Get out of here!"
Aric's mind raced, panic threatening to overwhelm him. But he couldn't leave his father—not like this. Ignoring the fear gnawing at his insides, he grabbed a poker from the hearth and charged at the hound, swinging with all his might. The creature snarled as the metal struck its side, but it was like striking smoke. The hound's form shifted, and it turned on Aric, its jaws snapping inches from his face.
Suddenly, a burst of light filled the room, and the hound recoiled with a howl of pain. Garrick had managed to raise his hand, holding a small, glowing medallion that shimmered with a pale blue light. The creature hesitated, as if recognizing the object, and then dissolved into shadows, retreating back into the cloak of the stranger.
The hooded man's voice was laced with fury. "You will regret this, old man. The medallion will be mine, and when it is, there will be nowhere left for you or your son to hide."
With that, the stranger turned and vanished into the night, leaving behind an eerie silence.
Aric rushed to his father's side, his hands trembling as he tried to lift Garrick. "Father, you're hurt! We need to get help!"
Garrick shook his head weakly. "No… no time, Aric. Listen to me… the medallion… it's more than just a trinket. It's the key… to everything…"
Aric stared at the medallion in his father's hand, its light dimming as Garrick's strength faded. "What do you mean? What is it?"
Garrick's eyes met his son's, filled with a mixture of sorrow and urgency. "You must leave… leave Windfall… find the others… the ones who can help… The world depends on it…"
Tears welled up in Aric's eyes as he clutched his father's hand. "I don't understand! What am I supposed to do?"
"You'll find the way," Garrick whispered. "You're stronger… than you know…"
With those final words, Garrick's hand went limp, the light in his eyes fading. Aric sat there in stunned silence, the weight of his father's loss crashing down on him. The warmth of the fire seemed distant, the once-cozy cottage now cold and empty.