The morning after the battle, Eldrin's Edge was unusually quiet. The villagers moved through the square in hushed whispers, their gazes darting toward the outskirts where Alaric had faced the lieutenant. The ground was still scorched from the energy pulses, and the faint stench of ash lingered in the air.
Alaric stood near the remains of the battlefield, his hatchet resting at his side. His body ached, the golden lines on his arms dim from the effort of the fight. He felt the weight of the villagers' eyes on him, a mixture of fear, curiosity, and something new: respect.
The headman approached cautiously, his expression unreadable. "We owe you thanks," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "Without you, we wouldn't have survived last night."
Alaric didn't respond immediately. He stared at the treeline, the shadows dancing like living things. "It's not over," he said finally. "That thing wasn't the end. The master is still coming."
The headman frowned, his shoulders slumping slightly. "What do we do?"
Alaric turned to face him, his gaze steady. "We stop waiting for someone to save us. We stand and fight."
Over the next few days, the village transformed. Where there had once been fear and hesitation, there was now determination. Alaric trained those willing to fight, teaching them how to use the weapons they had and prepare for the battles to come.
Tarin became an unlikely ally, his brute strength and natural talent with a blade making him a valuable asset. Though the two rarely spoke outside of training, there was a growing sense of mutual respect between them.
But not everyone shared their determination. Many villagers still avoided Alaric, their fear of his power outweighing their gratitude for his efforts. Whispers followed him wherever he went, and more than once, he caught the word curse muttered under someone's breath.
"You're wasting your time," the voice said one night as Alaric sharpened his hatchet by the dying fire. "These people will never truly stand with you."
"Maybe not," Alaric replied, his tone firm. "But I'm not doing this for their approval. I'm doing it because it's right."
The voice was silent for a moment before replying. "The bloodline is strong in you. Perhaps stronger than I anticipated."
The harbingers returned on the third night. This time, the villagers were ready.
Alaric stood at the forefront of the defense, his golden scars blazing as he led the charge. The harbingers swarmed the village, their skeletal forms moving with deadly precision. But the villagers fought back with a ferocity born of desperation, their weapons striking true.
Tarin's blade flashed as he cut through one of the creatures, his movements guided by the training Alaric had given him. Others followed his lead, their strikes coordinated and precise. The traps set around the village proved effective, ensnaring several harbingers and giving the defenders the advantage.
Alaric moved like a force of nature, his energy projection cutting through the darkness like a beacon. The harbingers seemed to focus on him, their attacks relentless, but his kinetic shield deflected their strikes. For every one he felled, two more took its place, but he didn't falter.
The battle raged for hours, the village square lit by the golden light of Alaric's power. When the last harbinger fell, dissolving into ash, the defenders let out a cheer, their voices echoing through the night.
For the first time in weeks, Eldrin's Edge felt a glimmer of hope.
The victory was hard-won, but it came at a cost. Several villagers were injured, and the defenses had taken a beating. Alaric knew they couldn't withstand another attack of that scale—not without something more.
He sat with the headman and a small group of elders the next morning, his expression grim. "We need more than traps and weapons," he said. "We need allies."
The headman frowned. "There's no one left to call on. We're isolated out here."
"There's always someone," Alaric said. He glanced at the map spread out on the table, his finger tracing the surrounding regions. "There are other villages
Alaric's finger hovered over a cluster of settlements marked on the faded map. "There are other villages," he said, his voice steady. "We're not the only ones dealing with the master's forces. If we work together, we might have a chance."
The headman's frown deepened. "And if they don't believe us? If they think we're bringing trouble to their doors?"
"Then we show them what we're fighting," Alaric replied, leaning back in his chair. "The harbingers are coming for everyone eventually. The sooner they realize that, the better."
One of the elders, a frail woman named Mara, spoke up, her voice trembling. "Even if we convince them, how do we reach these villages? The Blackwood is dangerous, and the roads are worse."
Alaric's gaze hardened. "I'll go."
The room fell silent. The headman stared at him, his expression unreadable. "Alone?"
"Yes," Alaric said. "I move faster on my own. And I can handle whatever's out there."
The headman shook his head. "You've already done more than enough for this village. This isn't your fight."
"It is now," Alaric said, his tone firm. "If I don't go, none of us stand a chance."
That night, Alaric prepared for the journey. He packed light: his hatchet, a few provisions, and a rough sketch of the map. The golden lines on his arms pulsed faintly in the dim light, a constant reminder of the power and responsibility he carried.
Tarin approached him as he stood near the gate, his sword strapped across his back. "You're really doing this?"
"Someone has to," Alaric replied without looking at him.
Tarin hesitated, then sighed. "You know, I always thought you were just some unlucky kid. But now… I don't know what you are."
Alaric glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Neither do I."
Tarin nodded, his expression serious. "Just… don't get yourself killed out there."
"I'll try," Alaric said, stepping through the gate and into the dark forest beyond.
The Blackwood was as treacherous as ever, its twisted roots and dense canopy creating a labyrinth of shadows. But Alaric moved with purpose, his senses sharper than before. The golden energy within him seemed to guide his steps, alerting him to dangers before they appeared.
It wasn't long before he encountered them.
The harbingers emerged from the shadows, their skeletal forms glowing faintly in the moonlight. Alaric didn't hesitate. His hatchet flashed, golden energy arcing through the air as he cut them down one by one. The battles were quick and brutal, each one leaving him more certain of the master's growing influence.
By the time he reached the first village, the sun was beginning to rise. The settlement was small, its wooden walls battered and scorched. Alaric could see the signs of recent battles—collapsed buildings, bloodstains on the ground—but no sign of life.
He pushed open the gates cautiously, his grip tightening on the hatchet. The village was eerily quiet, the air thick with tension.
"Hello?" he called, his voice echoing through the empty streets.
A moment later, a figure emerged from one of the buildings. It was a woman, her face gaunt and her eyes hollow. She carried a spear that looked hastily made, but her hands were steady.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice sharp.
"Alaric," he said, lowering his weapon slightly. "I came from Eldrin's Edge. I'm looking for allies."
The woman frowned, her grip on the spear tightening. "Allies? For what?"
"For this," Alaric said, gesturing to the golden lines on his arms. "You've seen them, haven't you? The harbingers."
Her expression shifted, fear flashing in her eyes. "You've fought them?"
"Yes," Alaric said. "And I know what's coming. We can't fight them alone. But together—"
"We barely survived the last attack," she interrupted. "Half our people are gone. The rest… they're not fighters."
"Then let me help you," Alaric said, stepping closer. "We can fortify your defenses, train your people. But if we don't work together, the harbingers will destroy us all."
The woman hesitated, then sighed. "Follow me. The others need to hear this."
The meeting in the village hall was tense. The villagers were suspicious of Alaric, their fear of the harbingers outweighing their trust in a stranger. But as he spoke—describing the battles he'd fought, the power he carried, and the master's looming threat—he could see their resolve hardening.
"If we don't fight back now," Alaric said, his voice steady, "there won't be anything left to fight for."
The room fell silent. Then the woman, who had introduced herself as Lera, stood. "He's right. We've been running for too long. It's time to stand."
One by one, the villagers nodded, their fear giving way to determination.
Alaric spent the next few days helping the villagers fortify their defenses, much as he had done in Eldrin's Edge. He trained them in basic combat, showing them how to exploit the harbingers' weaknesses. Lera proved to be a capable leader, her sharp mind and quick reflexes making her invaluable.
But the harbingers didn't wait.
They attacked on the second night, their forces smaller than what Alaric had faced before but no less deadly. Alaric fought alongside the villagers, his powers blazing as he cut through the enemy. The villagers followed his lead, their strikes more confident and coordinated.
When the battle was over, the villagers cheered, their spirits lifted by the victory. For the first time, Alaric felt a glimmer of hope. They could fight back. They could win.
But as he stood at the edge of the battlefield, staring into the shadows, the voice returned.
"This is only the beginning. The master will not allow this alliance to grow."
Alaric clenched his fists, the golden lines on his arms flaring. "Let him come."