That night, I stood on a field of bone, the ground littered with the skeletal remains of the fallen. The air hung heavy with the stench of decay and the acrid bite of smoke. The moon, a monstrous white orb in the sky, cast long, dancing shadows across the battlefield. A sense of familiarity washed over me, a feeling I couldn't quite place. After all, I knew this story.
I turned, searching for the figure I knew I should see, the one who should be standing there beside me. But the scarecrow, with his electric blue eyes and the hellfire chains that burned along his pale, skeletal form, was nowhere to be found.
Yet, I felt his presence, a hum of power that resonated around me. I was here, but not here. I was powerful, yet fearful of the dream folding around me. I looked around, the nightmarish scene unfolding before my eyes. Houses and inns were engulfed in flames, set ablaze by fire arrows shot from the castle walls by the royal archers. The un-dead, their skeletal forms twisted and contorted, were burning, their mournful cries echoing through the night. But more kept coming, a relentless tide of death and decay, pouring in from the eastern outskirts of the kingdom. They didn't want it, yet the will that forced them was someone else.
The castle walls, a line of defiance against the encroaching darkness, were a fortress against the monstrous swarm. I saw through the eyes of a god, the moonlight revealing all. The terrified faces of refugees huddled within temples and makeshift shelters, the royal family watching from the palace balconies, their expressions etched with worry and fear.
My gaze fell upon the young queen as the princess, her fiery hair a beacon in the darkness. I wanted to call out to her, to reassure her that she was going to win, but my voice, a terrifying echo of the scarecrow's, was not my own.
"Little witch, little witch, little witch," the voice rasped, "Seven nights you serve the seven lords of hell, so seven nights I shall wait until you return with what is promised."
My hands moved on their own accord, reaching out, casting a spell. A pulse of silver energy shot from my fingertips, striking the undead, severing the opposing necromancer's web of command. As the connection took hold, I saw them, some of the undead already past the walls, crawling through a labyrinthine maze beneath the castle. But something else was there, an unseen force that was squeezing the undead, forcing them to writhe and recoil. The maze was shifting, constricting, like the belly of a serpent, its coils tightening around the undead. The power was undeniable, a raw earth magic that pulsed with a life of its own. It was a force that was powerful enough to stop the encroaching hordes.
Who was it? Was it a friend of the princess, a protector? A defender of the kingdom? Or was it something else entirely?
I didn't have time to ponder. It didn't matter. It was over. The tide had turned.
Serving the bond was like snapping a twig, a fleeting moment of power, a stolen glance into a world I was not meant to see. I was human, a boy living in a world of stone and hearth and fire, a world where magic was a whisper in the wind, not a reality I could control.
But I felt the ground beneath me shift, the landscape changing, becoming more real, more familiar. But something was different. The power, the moonlight, the fear... they were all still there. The world was still bathed in the silver glow of the moon, the air thick with the scent of decay and smoke.
And then, the voice spoke again, a chilling echo in my mind.
"You're in my head, boy," the voice rasped, a chilling whisper.
The warmth of the bed beneath me, the familiar scent of my blanket, the sound of my brother's gentle snores in the next room, all came rushing back. The dream, the nightmare, faded, leaving me drenched in a cold sweat. The fear was gone, but the memory, the image of the battlefield, the silver web, the maze... they were still there, etched into my mind.
And in that memory, I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that I was going to have to face my own destiny. The world was changing, and the whispers of the past were about to become a roar.
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The first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and rose, and a gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers through my open window. It was Monday, a day that always started the same way for Grandma Gwen: a trip to the village temple with her weekly offerings.
My room, tucked away in the corner of a long corridor, looked out onto a muddy road that snaked its way from the fields surrounding the kingdom's outer wall, through our village, and eventually disappeared into the looming mountains to the east. Beyond those mountains, according to the stories, lay the Kingdom of the East. No one from the West dared venture there, not since they branded us heathens, pagans who worshiped nature instead of the God of Light.
The sound of a pan flute drifted through the air, a gentle melody that signaled the rising sun and the start of prayers at the temple. It was a beautiful sound, a reminder of our connection to the earth, a reminder of the ancient god we worshiped, Pan, the god of lush green fields and playful spirits. Grandma Gwen always said he once was her secret crush when she was a teenager.
I stretched, pushing myself out of bed. The familiar creak of the wooden floorboards was like a comforting melody. The door to Lucian's room, directly across from mine, was slightly ajar, a sure sign of his latest secret routine. He was still a bit of a wild one, my brother Lucian. Always trying to push boundaries, always looking for adventure. I knew he was up to something, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. Lucian was my brother, after all, and I loved him, even if I sometimes wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled.
I started down the staircase, the flames in the hearth dancing merrily, a clear sign of Rosemary's arrival. She was our maid, a cheerful and kind-hearted girl with bright, blue eyes, a smattering of freckles across her nose, and blonde hair that always seemed to be escaping from its braids. She always wore a long white gown, tied at the waist with a black apron.
Suddenly, Greybeard, our ancient tabby cat, let out a high-pitched meow and shot out of the kitchen, darting beneath my legs and rubbing against me. I could hear Rosemary's giggles from the kitchen.
"Damn that cat, always nosing into other people's business," Lucian grumbled.
It was true. Greybeard was a nosy cat, a little too curious for his own good. He had a knack for finding himself in the middle of things, always watching, always listening. He used to spy for Grandma Gwen when we were little, or so the story goes. It was a shame, really, because Greybeard was named after an ancient druid, powerful and wise, who according to grandma, loved to stay in the form of a cat.
Knowing what was going on in the kitchen, I slowly made my way towards the dining table, trying to ignore the scene unfolding in my mind. I couldn't help but see Lucian kissing Rosemary near the back door. She was holding a broom, a hint of mischief in her eyes. Lucian was in his pajamas, his face flushed with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment.
"Have some decency, brother," I thought to myself, a twinge of annoying twisting in my gut.
Rosemary spotted me and quickly pushed Lucian away.
"Come on, Ash, I told you not to come down for another hour. Why are you so eager to wake up this early? Don't expect me to believe that you have a beautiful girlfriend like Rose waiting for you somewhere in a bookhole."
I sighed. Lucian was always bragging, always trying to show off. He was a good boy, really, but he could be a bit of a jerk sometimes. He was hopelessly in love with Rosemary, and I knew she loved him back. But I couldn't help but worry for her. What would happen when he met a young noblewoman from inside the kingdom walls, a girl who was everything Rosemary wasn't: wealthy, well-bred, beautiful?
I hoped Rosemary was cunning enough to keep Lucian on a leash. She was a good girl, a strong girl, but she was also kind. She had a heart of gold. And I am afraid that heart was going to be hurt one day.
"Don't be an arse, Lucian," Rosemary said, coming to my aid. "Come here, Ash. Why don't you eat something you like while I make you some hot milk." She gave Lucian a playful slap on the head.
But Lucian just scowled at me. "Thank you, Rose," I said, grabbing a piece of bread and some cheese from the table. "But I'm going fishing today, so I'll take my meal with me."
"Then take this fruit wine I made, at least. But don't tell Grandma I gave you it, I have enough to worry with your brother. I don't want to hear her saying that I corrupted two Stonefell brothers", Rosemary said smiling while handing me a small clay bottle.
"Thanks, Rose," I said, knowing full well I was going to give it to someone else.
"So, Ash," Lucian said, suddenly settling down at the table. "I know you're not going fishing every Monday. In fact, Rose told me she saw you riding that old drunk's carriage toward the wall a few weeks ago."
I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. I caught Rose giving me an apologetic look. Women were women; they always spilled the beans.
I glanced at Lucian, then snatched the bottle of wine and dashed towards the back door. "Keep it secret, Lucian, or I'll keep yours," I shouted, my voice a mixture of fear and defiance.
I heard Lucian threatening to tell Grandma, but I didn't stop running. I knew he wouldn't want their relationship until they were both seventeen. It was a bit of a game they played, a dance of secrecy and unspoken promises.
I sprinted through the gate, the fresh morning air filling my lungs. I didn't look back, but I knew that somewhere behind me, Lucian was watching me go, his expression a mixture of concern and annoyance.