The shattered staff lay in the dirt at Alaric's feet, its faint glow flickering like the dying embers of a fire. The runes on the blackened wood had faded, leaving only a faint trace of the power it once held. Alaric stared at it, his mind racing.
"The harbingers are his servants," the voice said, its tone heavy with caution. "But they are not his true strength. You must prepare."
"The master," Alaric muttered, kneeling to inspect the staff. "What is he? Why is he after me?"
The voice hesitated. For the first time, it felt… uncertain.
"He is the one who bound your bloodline, long before you were born. He fears what you could become."
Alaric frowned, his fingers brushing the fractured wood. "So this is about fear?" He stood, his grip tightening on the hatchet. "Good. Let's give him something to be afraid of."
The journey back to Eldrin's Edge felt longer this time. The weight of the system's revelation pressed heavily on Alaric's mind, and the faint hum of his newfound power was a constant reminder of the responsibility he now bore. His body felt different, stronger, but the golden lines on his arms were brighter now, harder to conceal.
As the village gate came into view, he slowed, bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation. He had barely stepped through the gate when the first shout rang out.
"There he is!"
Tarin, of course. The blacksmith's son stormed toward him, flanked by several others. Their faces were twisted with anger and fear, and Alaric could see the glint of weapons in their hands.
"You think you can just wander off and come back like nothing happened?" Tarin growled, pointing a thick finger at Alaric. "We heard the noise in the woods last night. You're bringing something down on us."
Alaric raised an eyebrow, his voice cold. "You're welcome for the part where I kept it from reaching the village."
Tarin's scowl deepened. "We don't need your help, freak. What we need is for you to leave."
The crowd behind him murmured in agreement. Alaric scanned their faces, noting the fear that lingered in their eyes. They didn't see him as a protector. They saw him as a threat.
"I'm not going anywhere," Alaric said, his voice calm but firm. "You need me, whether you admit it or not. Those things—whatever they are—they're not done. And without me, you don't stand a chance."
Tarin sneered. "Big words for someone who's spent his whole life being nothing."
The golden lines on Alaric's arms pulsed faintly, and for a moment, the air around him seemed to ripple. He stepped closer, his gaze locked on Tarin's.
"Try me," he said quietly.
Tarin hesitated, his bravado faltering under Alaric's unwavering stare. He stepped back, muttering curses under his breath, and the crowd began to disperse.
But their whispers lingered, sharp and cutting.
That night, Alaric sat on the edge of the village, staring at the distant tree line. The voice returned, softer this time.
"You cannot stay here much longer."
"I know," Alaric muttered. "They hate me. They'll always hate me."
"It is not hate. It is fear. They see what you are becoming, but they do not understand it."
"And do I?" Alaric asked, his tone bitter. "Because it feels like I'm stumbling in the dark, hoping I don't fall."
The voice was silent for a moment before replying. "You are not stumbling. You are rising. Step by step, you are becoming what you were meant to be."
Alaric exhaled, his gaze shifting to the sky. The stars seemed brighter tonight, their light cutting through the darkness like tiny flames.
"What's next?" he asked. "What do you need me to do?"
The text appeared before him, faint but resolute:
New Objective: Seek the Oracle.
Location: The Silent Peaks, three days' journey north of Eldrin's Edge.
Reward: Knowledge of the Master's Plan.
"The Oracle," Alaric muttered. "That sounds… ominous."
"She knows more than anyone. But the journey will not be easy. The master will not let you reach her without a fight."
"Of course not," Alaric said, standing. "Nothing's ever easy with you, is it?"
"Growth never is."
The next morning, Alaric slipped out of the village before dawn. He left no note, no explanation. There was no point. The villagers wouldn't understand, and the fewer questions they asked, the better.
The Silent Peaks were far, but the system's map guided him, marking the safest paths and warning of potential dangers. The journey was grueling—steep inclines, biting winds, and the ever-present tension of being watched.
On the second night, as he camped beneath the twisted branches of a dead tree, the harbingers found him.
They came in greater numbers this time, their skeletal forms flickering like shadows in the firelight. Alaric counted six, their glowing eyes fixed on him with cold malice.
"Persistent," he muttered, gripping the hatchet. The golden lines on his arms flared to life, the energy within him surging in response to the threat.
The harbingers attacked as one, their movements eerily coordinated. Alaric dodged and countered, the hatchet flashing in the firelight. The battle was chaotic and brutal, each strike draining him of energy.
But he was stronger now. Faster. The defensive aura that the system had granted him deflected the worst of their blows, and his energy projection turned the hatchet into a weapon of devastating power.
When the last harbinger fell, dissolving into ash, Alaric collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving. The forest was silent once more, save for the crackling of the dying fire.
The text appeared before him:
Encounter Complete.
Abilities Enhanced: Energy Efficiency, Reflexive Barrier.
He stared at the glowing words, his exhaustion giving way to grim determination. The master wasn't giving up, and neither was he.
The Silent Peaks awaited.