The silence that followed Grennyn's explanation was suffocating, thick with unspoken fears. Arnolt, struggling to process the gravity of what he had just heard, finally broke the quiet.
"Father, Grennyn," he began, frustration edging his voice, "why didn't you tell us about the Omens before? If we had known earlier, we might have been better prepared. This information—it's crucial."
Grennyn lowered his gaze, regret etched into his features. "You're right, kid. I should have told you both sooner. I thought it would be better for you to learn about the Omens once you were officially part of the guild, when you were ready. But I see now how wrong I was."
Arwolt, looking weary and burdened, spoke softly, his voice trembling with emotion. "I, too, have my regrets. My past with the Omens is a trauma I didn't want to burden you with. I hoped you and Xiona would never have to face them. I wanted to shield you from the fear and despair that still haunts me. I'm truly sorry for keeping this from you."
Arnolt took a deep breath, his anger slowly subsiding as he looked into his father's troubled eyes. "I understand why you did it, Dad. It's just... frustrating. But we need to focus on what comes next. We have to protect the village."
Grennyn nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. "Our priority is the village's safety. Here's the plan: I'll ride back to the sub-guild and return with a handful of adventurers. Meanwhile, you need to prepare the village. Warn the villagers, fortify the defenses—barricade doors, raise a palisade, and be ready to evacuate if it comes to that."
Xiona's eyes sparkled with determination. "I want to help. I've been training for this, and now it's time to put that training to use. I'm ready to protect the village."
Grennyn's expression softened as he placed a reassuring hand on Xiona's shoulder. "Your eagerness is commendable, Xiona. That confidence you're showing—that's exactly what we need right now. Ha! Confidence in the face of danger!" Grennyn chuckled, his laughter a brief respite from the tension.
But Arnolt, ever practical, pressed on. "Before you leave, Grennyn, tell us—what exactly do these Omens look like? And what are their weaknesses?"
Grennyn's demeanor shifted, turning serious. "They come in many forms, but the most common resemble oversized insects. They're fast, and their bodies are protected by an armored exoskeleton. They range in size from as large as a swine to three times that size. They're big, Arnolt."
"Exoskeletons?" Arnolt muttered, frustration creeping back. "Our weapons aren't suited for that."
"Don't worry," Grennyn reassured him. "I wouldn't have taught Xiona to use a crossbow or let you train with a spear if they weren't effective. Their weak spots are their eyes—some have only one—and the gaps in their exoskeletons. Their bodies are soft underneath. Aim for the eyes to stagger them, then strike through the chinks in their armor, and they'll crumble into dust."
"Any other weaknesses, like their mouths? Do they fly?" Arnolt asked, still probing for more.
"They may resemble bugs but surprisingly, no flying Omens has ever been recorded. They have mouths, but not for eating—mostly just shrieking, and they can be inconsistent. Most of their mouths are covered by the exoskeleton, so it's better to just focus on their eyes," Grennyn explained.
The Omens are beings made of pure magical substance known as Magicule. Their origin remains unknown, but the guild knows they appear across the world to wreak havoc. Upon death, they revert to Magicule, dissipating into the air.
Arnolt sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "That's still going to be tough," he admitted, his gaze falling. "I'm not sure I can pull it off."
"Come on, Arnolt," Xiona said, her voice full of encouragement. "You always said training was exhausting, but the way you handle a spear is almost mythical. You're gifted, and I know you can do this."
"You really think so?" Arnolt asked, glancing at her.
Xiona nodded enthusiastically, and Arwolt chimed in. "She's right, son. Your skill with the spear far surpasses what I was capable of, even when you first started. I only taught you the basics—you've become an exceptional warrior on your own."
Arnolt stood in silence, processing their words. He had never imagined that someone as lazy as himself could become who he was now. But here he was, with a family that believed in him. His heart swelled with gratitude and resolve. With his head held high, he spoke a single word: "Thanks."
As the group began to formulate their plan, the village hummed with urgent activity. Grennyn prepared to set out, heading to the stable where his horse awaited, while the Yorgirs made their way to the village chief's house to warn him of the impending threat.
But even with careful planning, they could not foresee every event. Unbeknownst to them, a lone village woodcutter, unaware of the danger lurking in the forest, had stumbled upon the Omen's nest. His discovery would bring unimaginable terror upon himself—and the village.