The dim light of a single lamp illuminated the modest office, its flickering flame casting shadows on the walls. Maps and reports were spread across the heavy table, their edges frayed from use.

  Behind the desk sat Brenn, his shield never leaving his side, hunched as he studied the latest casualty reports. His right sleeve was pinned neatly just below the right elbow.

  The door creaked as Darryl entered, his chainmail softly clinking. “He’s here,” he said, baffled. “I can't believe you. An emissary of house Collendrau... all the way here?"

  Brenn didn’t look up immediately. He set down the quill he’d been using, wiping his remaining hand on a cloth. For a brief moment, a flicker of disdain crossed his face. He spoke. “You'd rather I crawled to their estates and begged?”

  “Wouldn't suit you. Though, I finished talking with the people...” Darryl said. “ Seventy-three of the trained guards survived and we got three new sign-ups.”

  Brenn looked up at him. He knew that tone all too well. “Out with it, Darryl.”

  The younger man smirked. “Twelve are traumatised or maimed and want to resign.”

  Brenn clenched his teeth and nodded. Nothing I can do about that.

  Rising slowly, Brenn adjusted his tunic and squared his shoulders. “Let’s not keep our esteemed patronage waiting."

  The emissary sat just outside, in the best, and only, waiting room in Grainwick.

  His polished boots were too clean for the muddy grounds. He was young, barely older than a squire, with sharp features and a crisp, immaculate uniform that seemed more suited for a ballroom than a battlefield.

  His expression was one of practiced composure, though his eyes betrayed a hint of unease being so far away from the courts. He shifted at the sight of the living legend, now a weathered village commander, walking up to him.

  Brenn stepped forward, his gait steady despite his missing arm.

  “Welcome,” he said, his voice even, though his eyes assessed the emissary with cold calculation. “You must be Sir Berthold of house Collendrau. I heard much about you." He emphasized his empty words with a deep, if stiff, bow.

  “Sir Brenn,” the emissary replied, his tone matching his slight blush. He offered a shallow bow in response. “I came at once to represent our house in your hour of need."

  Brenn continued the charade “We’re grateful for the consideration.” he said, his tone steady but layered with subtle weight. “The village stands, for now. But the predator, as we dubbed it, is unlike anything we’ve encountered before.”

  The emissary raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “A predator, you say?”

  “Yes.” Brenn stepped closer, letting his presence fill the space. “Its strikes are calculated. Precise. It’s not just hunting—it’s learning. This was its first appearance, and we already came a step away from being overwhelmed." He paused, letting the silence stretch, before adding, “And it’s yet a juvenile.”

  The word hung in the air, an unspoken question onto itself – A youngling doing so much damage?

  The emissary’s smirk faded as he pulled out a small notebook and began scribbling.

  Brenn pressed on. “With its sheer strength and resilience, I wouldn’t wager on surviving another eclipse without significant reinforcements. A handful of seasoned knights, at least, and additional supplies could turn the tide.”

  “The noble houses have many fronts to consider across the frontier. With the mountain regions suffering too, resources are stretched thin.” The emissary frowned, his pen stilling briefly. "Have you asked the Kiras? It's their land, technically."

  “I prefer not to deal with the devil.” Brenn said, towering over the emissary, but his tone softening. “Your house carries great burdens. I know it better than anyone. I wouldn’t ask unless it were vital.”

  The emissary smirked. “If anybody told me I'd live to see Sir Brenn, the lineholder, tremble from a single unique I'd laugh at them until I hit the floor." He paused, his voice growing somber as he looked toward Brenn's missing arm "though, I doubt you lost that just to make a joke."

  The uncomfortable silence was answer enough.

  The emissary awkwardly shifted, then stood up. "Ummm… My condolences Sir Brenn, and…” He wrestled with the stammer for a moment “I will relay your request."

  Brenn kept staring.

  "With utmost urgency." The young emissary added, caving under the pressure. "By her grace." He bowed and left the room, more quickly than the etiquette would suggest.

  As the emissary departed, Darryl stepped closer, his voice low. “That was quite a performance,” he said, a note of admiration in his tone. “You’re really that scared of the predator threat, huh? What’s the angle?”

  Brenn’s expression hardened. He turned to face the map on the table, his fingers brushing over the inked lines. “It's a hatchling, still." he scoffed. “It’s young. Inexperienced. It makes mistakes and plays with its kills. But it learns, Darryl. Every skirmish, every fight, it gets stronger.”

  He straightened, his gaze distant. “Its base power is monstrous, but its instincts are still running wild. If we don’t eliminate it now, while it’s still arrogant and indulgent, I foresee a lot of villages in this region will be evacuated or dead within 5 years. It's an illness that festers until it's unstoppable.”

  Darryl shifted uneasily. “And what if the knights don’t send enough?"

  Brenn’s jaw tightened. “Then we do it ourselves. Time is not on our side, and I won’t gamble Grainwick’s survival on their timetable."

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Darryl clasped his hands, though his unease was evident. “Well then, Let’s hope you haven't lost your pull, old man."

  Brenn said nothing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He rested his hand on the top of his artifact shield, the weight of command settling heavily on his shoulders.

  As Darryl left, Brenn muttered to himself, his voice low and bitter:

  "Since it was smart enough to disengage, it might already be too late.." He paused, tapping his fingers on the metal frame. “Still, not too late to try.”

  Days later, David sat beside Aura, the worn wooden table between them, his fingers drumming idly against the book’s rough leather cover.

  The pages smelled of ink and dust, carrying the weight of time. This was his first time reading something real. Not just letters and short phrases, but a book; a collection of stories. He would be reading “The glory of Min” - Sounded tacky, but well… You couldn’t have everything.

  Aura had carefully turned the first few pages, making him practice aloud before they delved into the actual contents. He had stumbled over the words at first, but the struggle was invigorating – so much so, he could almost forget the pain wracking his bicep. Each deciphered sentence felt like carving a piece of understanding from the unknown.

  He traced his finger along the text, his lips moving silently before speaking the words out loud:

  Once upon a time, humanity lived in a perfect world. A place of wonder and amezemen, bursting with mana so richly, that any human could easily learn to use it.

  Aura was half listening to him, focused on her notebook, but looked up as he finished. She reached over and tapped the page. “A-maze-ment.” She corrected him gently, tapping the word. “It means something incredible.”

  David frowned. “Then why not just say ‘much wonder’?”

  “Because that would be boring.” She grinned.

  David covertly rolled his eyes, cleared his throat and continued:

  Magical arts flourished, and humanity reigned supreme. But one day, a cataclysm, brought upon the world by disgraceful inferior races, threatened to ruin everything. Humanity faced extinction.

  He hesitated, his brow furrowing. The way it was worded felt… off. Inferior races? The phrasing irked him. He glanced up at Aura. It took her a second to realize he had stopped, but she looked up.

  "Something wrong?" she asked.

  David tapped the page. “Why only humanity? If it was a cataclysm, wouldn’t it have affected everything else too?"

  Aura blinked, then gave a small, thoughtful smile. “Well, I suppose it did. But I don’t think the author cared much for it. Maybe that’s why?”

  A diplomatic answer. One that glossed over the parts they weren’t meant to question. David didn’t push it. Instead, he kept reading:

  During our darkest hour a goddess, Min, appeared in the human capital and promised salvation. She would lead the people to the promised land. In a great show of will, everyone threw aside their misgivings and worked to help her.

  Soon, she tore open the fabric of space and created a portal into a fertile land of a different plane.

  David pressed his lips together. Everyone working together in a crisis? A fairytale; another truth that didn’t quite sit right. But he filed the knowledge away, choosing to return to the book.

  He read on:

  While humans reaped the reward for their efforts and peacefully crossed over, the inferior races got wind of the portal and unlawfully forced their way through as well.

  Unlawfully? David’s grip on the book tightened slightly. That’s a strange way to phrase it. Like humans owned the portal. And everyone else was just supposed to… die?

  Aura didn’t seem bothered. She simply smoothed the page she was reading herself and nodded for him to continue.

  Guided by our goddess, we spread around the new world, in which we reside to this day. We were faced with various mindless monsters, but with our superior strategy, began eradicating them. Until the Monster King, infuriated with his loss, cursed the world.

  David slowed again, tapping the word. “Eradicating,” he echoed. “Not… fighting. Not defending.” The wake after the eclipse didn’t exactly scream ‘eradicating’ to me…

  Aura hummed in mild interest. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Humans are good at tactics even in smaller numbers.”

  He didn’t respond. He kept reading, but his mind was still dissecting the words. This was a story, crafted to paint a picture.

  The Goddess Min gave all her strength to stop the curse, but it was too strong even for her. She sacrificed herself to contain it, giving up her mortal body.

  Though most of the curse’s power vanished, an echo remains to this day. Once a month, when Velmara covers the sun, a long night comes. The goddess’s watchful eyes close and she loses her strength.

  David paled, cold sweat dripping down his face as he trembled. So, it happens once a month?

  The curse returns, imbuing the world with tremendous mana. The monsters, enraged and empowered, run amok, mindlessly charging to kill humans.

  The words held weight and filled his mind with flashbacks. Claws breaking through the stone ceiling, shattering the illusion of safety. David’s fingers trembled.

  But with the crimson dawn, the goddess’s rest ends, and she wrestles back control of the world, sending the monsters back into disarray. Even if she no longer walks among us, her love for us still lives – We are her children and we are proud to be human.

  The final paragraph sent a shiver down David’s spine, though for different reasons.

  “Goddess’s Rest.” Aura murmured, rubbing her arms. “Usually, we pull through just fine, but the last one… It was a tragedy.”

  Even more memories slammed into him. The terrifying screech. The cold dagger, thrown aside. The certainty of death.

  David’s eyes filled with tears and his breath grew shallow. Turning to look at his feet was all he could do to try and hide his weakness.

  He didn’t have much time to grow stronger, but despairing wouldn’t help him prepare. He had to refocus.

  Well, he had already learnt to read the common tongue, so at least there was that. A simple question entered his mind.

  “Mommy, what’s a Velmara?” David asked, his eyes still on the ground.

  “It means ‘the mother of shadows’ in the ancient... Sorry, cursed tongue. It’s just a fancy name for the moon, Marco.” She replied.

  He nodded. Cursed tongue… something from their first lesson came back to him.

  “But... if each race has its own tongue, and for magic you use runes, then what is the cursed language?” He asked.

  Aura paused for a while and considered. “That’s the language of monsters and their kings.” She gauged his reaction carefully. “Why do you ask?”

  David knit his brows, noticing a mismatch. “But aren’t monsters mindless? How would they write?” He made sure he wasn’t crying and looked Aura in the eyes.

  She smiled at him as she answered. “A clever observation, Marco!” She playfully touched a finger to her mouth as she considered how to explain it. “You could say that not everything people write is true.”

  “Do you know it?” He asked, unable to hold back his curiosity any longer. “The cursed language?”

  Aura paused. Her brows creased and she seemed to be thinking hard. Eventually, she responded. “I do.”

  “Will you teach me?” David asked.

  To his surprise, Aura didn’t instantly reject the idea.

  She nodded instead, with a sigh. “Well, since there’s no school for you here, I might as well.”

  David was floored. Usually he had to push a lot to get more ‘adult’ lessons. Did she finally notice his developed mind? Before he could respond, Aura continued.

  “But don’t talk about it to anyone, alright? Only nobles are allowed to learn the ancient language. And only some of them.”

  Secret knowledge? He was getting excited… But would that help him survive? Well, if he found any ancient magic books laying around, maybe.

  The soreness in his muscles kept reminding him of what was truly important. Training. Physical growth. He had less than a month until the monsters returned.