The sun hung low in the sky, casting its golden rays across the vast expanse of the forest. The sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds—filled the air, as Edwin, a young man of above-average build, made his way down the narrow, well-worn path. His short black hair fell into his eyes, a few strands stubbornly brushing against his forehead. Despite his humble appearance, there was an undeniable rugged charm about him, a youthful handsomeness that stood out in a town full of commoners.
His worn boots crunched over the forest floor as he moved, a large satchel swinging from his shoulder, filled to the brim with freshly foraged herbs and roots. The day had been spent deep in the woods, collecting what the earth had offered him—plants that could heal, that could ease pain or settle stomachs. As he walked, he absentmindedly brushed dirt from his hands, the faint, earthy smell lingering in the air.
Edwin had always lived a simple life. He had no family to speak of, just his own name and his ability to live off the land. The village he called home was small, tucked away at the edge of the forest, and its people were hardworking, scraping by with whatever they could. His job as a forager kept him busy, and while he might not have been rich, he had never known hunger.
As the edge of the forest appeared in the distance, Edwin's steps quickened. He could see the small town beyond, its wooden buildings poking up over the treeline. The hustle and bustle of the village were always a stark contrast to the peaceful quiet of the forest, and though he enjoyed his solitude, he looked forward to the brief moments of interaction with the townspeople.
As Edwin emerged from the forest and onto the dirt road leading into the town, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Edwin!"
He turned to see Maeve, the middle-aged herbalist who ran a stall in the town square. She had always been kind to him, ever since he'd first started foraging. Her silver hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her smile was warm as she beckoned him over.
"Afternoon, Maeve," Edwin greeted, walking over to her stall.
"Well, well, if it isn't the best forager in town," Maeve said, her tone teasing but affectionate. She leaned over the counter to inspect the contents of his satchel. "You've outdone yourself today."
"Figured I'd take a bit more time to gather the rarer herbs this morning," he replied with a grin. "How's the shop doing?"
"Same as always. People coming in, needing their tinctures and poultices," Maeve said, nodding as she expertly sorted through the herbs he'd gathered. She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "You always pick the cleanest ones, you know that? You sure you're not selling me the best of the batch?"
Edwin chuckled. "If I were, I'd be charging you double."
Maeve laughed, a hearty sound that filled the air. She dug into her pocket and handed him a small pouch of coins. It was more than he had expected, but she always paid fairly.
"Here, for your efforts," she said. "And for the bread, too," she added, reaching under her counter and pulling out a freshly baked loaf, still warm from the oven.
"Thanks, Maeve. You're too kind," Edwin said, accepting the coin and the bread with a grateful smile. He tucked the loaf under his arm and moved to walk away.
"Don't spend it all in one place!" Maeve called after him, a playful glint in her eyes.
Edwin waved over his shoulder as he made his way back toward his small cottage on the edge of town. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the dirt road. The evening air was cool, and he welcomed the breeze as it tugged at his shirt, carrying the scent of the pine trees from the forest.
His cottage was simple—modest, even—but it was his home. It stood at the far edge of town, close enough for him to sell his herbs, but far enough that he could enjoy the peace and quiet of the forest. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately greeted by the smell of wood and earth. His small kitchen was well-kept, and a low fire burned in the hearth, crackling softly.
He set the bread on the table and began to prepare a simple meal—bread with a bit of dried meat, herbs for flavor. It was nothing extravagant, but it was enough. As he sat down to eat, his mind wandered. The rhythmic crackling of the fire was soothing, and he allowed himself a moment of calm, far from the chaos of the town.
But even in the quiet, unease lingered at the edges of his thoughts. The dream he had the night before still haunted him. The fire. The soldiers. The screams. He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. It was just a bad dream. Nothing more.
He finished his meal in silence, the last of the bread disappearing with a small sigh of satisfaction. He cleaned up quickly and settled into his cot, the warmth of the fire seeping into his bones. Sleep came easily, but it was not peaceful.
A sharp, gut-wrenching scream tore him from his sleep. He shot up in bed, his heart pounding in his chest. The stench of smoke filled his nostrils, thick and suffocating.
"What—"
Before he could finish the thought, he heard the unmistakable sound of marching boots, the crunch of heavy steps over dirt and wood.
Edwin scrambled out of bed, his heart racing. He rushed to the window and pulled back the curtain.
His blood turned to ice.
The town was on fire. Flames danced on rooftops, casting eerie, flickering light over the streets. Soldiers—no, they weren't soldiers, not in the way Edwin understood them—marched through the town, cutting down anyone who was still in their beds or trying to flee.
Screams rang out through the night, sharp and desperate. The sound of burning wood crackling added to the chaos. Edwin's breath caught in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribcage as he realized the horror unfolding before him.
Panic gripped him. He grabbed his knife from the table, stuffing a small pouch of food and herbs into his satchel before running out the door. The night air was cold against his skin, and he felt the weight of his fear settle in his gut.
He didn't know who these soldiers were or what they wanted, but one thing was clear: he couldn't stay.
His feet pounded the dirt path as he ran toward the forest. The flames of the town grew dimmer behind him, but the sound of destruction followed closely. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as he forced himself to run faster, the distance between him and the chaos growing larger.
But even in the forest, he wasn't safe.
The rustle of leaves gave way to the heavy crunch of boots on the forest floor. Edwin's heart raced as he looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide with fear.
"There!" a voice shouted.
It was too late.
They were closing in on him. He ducked and weaved through the trees, desperate, but the soldiers were relentless. He could hear them gaining ground, their footsteps growing louder.
In a final act of desperation, Edwin turned to face them. His grip tightened around his knife, but he knew it wouldn't be enough.
The soldiers surrounded him. One stepped forward, a cruel sneer on his face.
"End it," the soldier barked.
Edwin didn't even have time to react. The knife slid across his throat before he could even take a breath. Blood poured from the wound, warm and thick, and the world around him blurred.
Edwin awoke with a start. He gasped for air, his hand instinctively clutching his neck, expecting to feel the cold trickle of blood.
But there was nothing.
He was in his bed. The fire, the soldiers, the death—it had all been a nightmare.
He sat up, breathing heavily, his heart racing.
But the unease hadn't left him. The vividness of the dream still clung to him.
A soft breeze stirred the curtains of his window. He forced himself out of bed and, with a shaking hand, pulled on his boots.
"I'll head to the forest early today," he muttered to himself. "Clear my head."
The forest was calm, the birds greeting the dawn with their song. As Edwin walked deeper into the woods, his mind raced, trying to shake off the remnants of his dream.
But as he bent down to gather some herbs, a sound broke through the stillness.
Footsteps.
Not the usual sounds of animals or travelers.
Voices, too, drifting through the trees.
Edwin's stomach dropped.
He peered through the foliage, his pulse quickening.
The figures were moving silently, their dark uniforms blending into the shadows of the forest.
They were soldiers—just like the ones from his nightmare.
End of Chapter-1