In a village nestled at the world’s edge, where the forest hummed with life and the winds carried the songs of nature, a young girl lived a life so unremarkable it felt perfect. The days went by in a steady rhythm of work and laughter. She learnt the delicate technique of baking bread with her mother while the air was always filled with the aroma of herbs and warmth, and she assisted her father in caring for the garden by picking obstinate weeds beneath the golden sun. She spent her afternoons in the forest with her best friend, a boy with a crooked smile, practicing archery with homemade bows and transforming fallen branches into swords.

  As she released an arrow from her tiny bow, the girl's laughter boomed around the clearing. The arrow's shaft stumbled clumsily in mid-flight before thumping into a tree's side. With a triumphant smile, she exclaimed, "Did you see that? I guess you could say I’m finally deadly accurate!”

  Nearby, her best friend,?a boy with tousled blonde hair and a bow much sturdier than her own, sat perched on a rock cracking up, clutching his stomach. “Deadly accurate? You missed the tree,” he joked, pointing to the real target, which was?set up a good twenty feet to the left. “Remind me?to stand behind you next time you’re ‘aiming.’ ”

  “Oh, like you’re such a marksman!” she shot back, planting her hands on her hips. “You couldn’t hit the broad side of the barn if it were painted with glowberries.”

  He arched a brow and drew back an arrow from his quiver with theatrical?flair. “Just sit back and watch,?spider-girl,” he sneered as he readied the bowstring. The arrow soared through the air, perfectly aimed it struck the?bullseye with a satisfying thud.

  The pink haired girl groaned and threw?her hands in the air. “Show-off! One?day, I’m going to whoop you so hard you’ll want to never pick up a bow.”

  “Sure, sure,” he said with a grin, flopping back onto the grass. “That’s what you said last week. And the week before that. And—”

  “Okay, I get it,” she interrupted, plopping down beside him. “You’re the best archer in the village. Happy?”

  “For the time being,” he said, his tone mock-serious as he craned his head back to look into?the canopy of trees above. “Well, until?you actually practice, anyway.”

  They held their silence briefly, comforted by the gentle rustling of the trees around them, and?an occasional bird song. The boy was the first to?break the silence, turning his head to look at her. “You know,” he said, “you’re always saying how you’re not afraid of anything?— except spiders.”

  “Because they’re creepy,” she said, scrunching her?nose up. “I mean, all that skittering around?like they own the place. And their eyes. Ugh. Why do they need so many?eyes?‘”

  He laughed. “So they can keep an eye on you when you’re sleeping.”

  “Don't even joke about that,” she said, playfully shoving him. “If any of those things touched me, I'd probably be dead, right there on the spot. Just—poof—dead.”

  “Well, what about the little ones? Like the ones you can barely see?”

  “Little ones are worse,” she said with a shudder. “They’re sneaky. They’ll get into your hair, or under your shirt, without you even noticing," she said with pure horror written all over her face.

  He stared at her for a moment, his face a mask of mocking horror. “Wait... I think there’s one on your shoulder.”

  The girl screamed and flailed and threw herself onto her side, desperately reaching out and scrubbing at her dress, all the while the boy was weeping with laughter.

  “You’re horrible!” she yelled, her cheeks flushed. “I mean, if I ever do get over this fear, it will be just so I can completely fill a jar with spiders and just chuck them on your head.”

  “Sure, you’ll conquer your fear of spiders just to prank me,” he teased. “Sounds like a solid plan.”

  She crossed her arms, still angry but with a tiny smile forming on her mouth. “What about you, huh? What are you scared of?”

  His expression changed, and for a second he even seemed to be serious. “Losing people", he murmured in a low voice, barely a murmur in the quiet field.

  The weight of his comment fell between the two of them, and she didn't know what to say. But before the moment could turn somber, he grinned and added “And maybe you learning to shoot straight. That’s pretty terrifying, but thankfully almost impossible.”

  She punched him a second time, this one even harder, and he laughed as he landed flat on the grass. “One day,” she said with mock, pointing a finger at him. “One day I’m going to hit the bullseye, and you’re going to eat those words.”

  Her world felt invincible, untouched by anything beyond the endless trees. But peace, as fleeting as a butterfly’s wings, shattered one summer evening.

  They arrived on one random dusk, cycling along the village as the sun painted the sky in deep red, sinking further and further into the night. Knights who were gleaming in their polished steel visited as prophets of… well, more than what the villagers understood. The villagers stood in the square, apprehensive yet optimistic, giving the visitors bread and sweet wine as gifts, and as hopes of scoring good faith with those soldiers.

  The knights mentioned a prophecy about a potential Liberator of the "Angel" class who was selected by fate and whose influence will affect the course of history. Their year-long quest for a savior predicted by folklore had taken them across lands. With their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, as though to remind everyone of their might, they gazed at the villagers with a mixture of impatience and anticipation.

  Simple folk with friendly faces and modest lives, those were the villagers, who could offer nothing else but their kindness. None among them fit the grandeur of the prophecy that was presented out of nowhere to them.

  When the sun began to set behind the trees and its long rays fell on the village, the knights' vexation turned into an unremitting anger. A knight, in tarnished silver plate stained with a year spent searching for nothing, sneered, "A year spent, and what for exactly? For these cowards to hide the Angel from us?” His gauntleted fist struck a nearby wooden post, splintering it.

  His captain moved towards them, the color of his robe was a shade of deep dark crimson, trailing after him in the shape of a blood puddle. His armor was shining, its black ironwork adorned with threatening runes which throbbed with power. His eyes were as white as moonlight and they emitted an otherworldly feeling of cold. His voice was booming, every word was piercing the heavy atmosphere like a knife trough a cake “A prophecy does not lie," he said, emotionless, utterly disconcerting, but so sure. “If the Angel is not on the scene, then these people have defied the heavens. Such insolence deserves no mercy.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  His hand made an unhurried, even languorous movement, but the consequence was immediate. Their kindred faces, contorted by fervour and hate, flowed onwards as an avalanche of iron and rage. Daggers shimmered, lanterns flared, and the tranquil night of the village turned into a scene of pandemonium and howls.

  The first cries split the evening like a blade, sharp and jagged, as swords unsheathed and torches were thrust into thatched roofs. Flames erupted, consuming homes with an almost predatory hunger. Chaos swept through the village as the knights moved with methodical cruelty, cutting down anyone in their path.

  The?girl with pink hair laughed and twirled in the garden, the soft perfume of flower petals surrounding her. Her father knelt next to?the vegetable patch, pretending to be a monster that was chasing her.

  “You’ll never escape me!” he playfully roared, his?face alight with a smile. She squealed with?joy, running around him in circles. But after that, the?laughter instantly ended.

  It was the?screams that reached them first — shrieks ripping through the quiet evening. The girl stopped spinning in?her tracks, her eyes snapping to the direction of the sound in the distance. A beat later, an?unnatural orange glow billowed over the treetops, tongues of flame disappearing into the thickening night sky. Her father sat up suddenly,?the color in his face draining.

  “Get inside,” he said, his tone so different from just?moments ago that it turned her little chest tight. But she couldn’t move. Her feet?felt as if buried into the earth, her small body shaking as the noise escalated.

  “Run!” her father barked, squeezing her arm so tightly?it hurt. He tugged her toward?the house, his steps both urgent and unsteady. She tripped after him, her eyes unable to leave the?sky, her mind fighting to process the horror around her. Inside, her mother was a mess, stuffing clothes and knickknacks into?a small satchel with trembling fingers. Her face was gray?and her breathing grew labored.

  “What’s happening?” the girl’s voice cracked as she finally found the courage to speak, though the words were barely above a whisper.

  “They’re killing everybody,” her father said, his voice breaking in a way?that dropped her stomach. She had never heard him sound like?this — so afraid, so human.

  Her mother froze for a moment, the reality of his words hitting her like a wave. But then, her resolve returned, and she spun toward the girl. “We have to hide you.” She crouched, her trembling hands gripping the girl’s shoulders firmly as she guided her toward the attic ladder.

  “Why?” the girl whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to her mother’s arms. “I don’t want to go up there! I want to stay with you!”

  “Listen to me, my love. You do have to remain silent, regardless?of what you hear. No matter what happens.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she swallowed the sob quickly, hiding her fear with an?almost desperate determination.

  “I don’t want to leave you!” the little girl cried, but her cries were ignored as but her father went back to the window and whipped his head trough the window, hearing the shouting?and footsteps came closer. “Lily,” he said, turning to his wife?without breaking his gaze from the approaching danger. “They’re coming.”

  Her mother kissed her on the forehead, the lips lingering?a minute longer than normal. “I love you, always.” Then she hoisted the girl up?toward the ladder.

  “Go!” Her father scrambled to the rescue, his hands steady even as terror?carved lines in his face.

  “Climb, sweetheart. As fast as you can. And?remember what your mother told you.”

  The girl clung to the rungs, sobbing as she climbed into the attic. Her small hands trembled so badly that she almost lost her grip, but her mother’s pleading eyes gave her the strength to keep going.

  As she reached the top, she looked down one last time. Her father and mother stood together, holding hands, their backs straight despite the despair that filled the room. “Don’t look back,” her mother whispered.

  The attic door shut beneath her, plunging her into darkness. She pressed her ear to the floorboards, her tiny hands muffling her cries. Below, the sounds of violence grew louder—the crash of the door, her parents shouting, the clatter of metal against metal, and then... silence.

  The silence was worse than the screams.

  She crept towards the attic window, utterly frozen with terror. Looking through the broken panes, she saw the devastation beneath. The village was a different place, a complete shadow pf its former self, its streets littered with the dead, its air filled with smoke and death. She saw her best friend’s lifeless form sprawled in the dirt, his bow snapped in two beside him. And like that, something inside her broke.

  With her legs limp under her and her chest heaving as though the air itself had become liquid, the girl staggered back into the attic. She felt as though the walls surrounding her, which had once been comfortable and reassuring, were closing in on her and denying her life. Her wide eyes darted to the wooden door that hardly dampened the sound of boots thudding on the stairs as she trembled and gripped her knees to her chest. They were on their way. She felt her life come closer and closer to its end.

  Her spirit, once so full of life, had been obliterated. She sat there, a hollow shell, unable to summon the strength to run or even cry. What was the point? There was no escape. No hope. Only an inevitable, brutal end.

  This time, her eyes flickered over the chaos of the attic around her, hunting desperately for something — for anything — to anchor her, to fasten her to something?tangible in this terrible moment. And then she saw it: the spider. It clung to the wall in the far corner, its long legs moving with deliberate grace as it spun its web.

  It was such a small thing — a creature that only a day before, had once terrified her to the?point of panic. Nights of being paralyzed with fear of one creeping across her wall came?rushing back to her.

  How trifling those fears?felt now. A bitter laugh rose in the?girl’s throat and wouldn’t come out. Instead, she?was staring at the spider, a weird calm coming over her.

  For the first time,?the creature didn’t frighten her. It was somehow noble in its?simplicity, its purpose steadfast even amid chaos. As her?world was unraveling, it was spinning its delicate strands, meekly unaware of the destruction below.

  The footsteps echoed, the steps creaking as?they bore the weight of the knights’ assessment. They were seconds away from finding her. The girl’s breath hitched. Tears of numbing disbelief blurred her vision, and a force greater than anything she had ever?known surged through her and tensed her body. From the shattered remnant of her soul, it emerged––ancient?and inexorable. It demanded release.

  One word crystallised in her mind, heavy and final,?as if it had always existed there, waiting for the right moment. It wasn’t simply a word; it was a?command, a name, a fact. It was the burden of everything she had lost, everything she had endured. And it was?the only thing that she had remaining.

  “Origin,” she whispered…

  And the world obeyed.

  The air around her erupted with a soundless roar, vibrating with a power so immense it seemed to tear reality apart. Shadows poured from her like an everlasting?tide, flooding the room with a darkness so deep it swallowed the light. The spider, her quiet?witness, started to transform. Its legs grew and multiplied;?its body bloated as countless others crept out of the darkness and scuttled with an unnatural speed.

  Suddenly, the door flew open, and the knights charged in, with blades drawn. But they didn’t find a?scared girl slumped in the corner. It was something they could not comprehend, an incarnation of grief and rage. The girl’s pink hair misted in the dark around her, a vibrant spot of color against the hullabaloo of black tendrils going wild around her. Her tear-streaked face was expressionless, yet her eyes burned with an otherworldly hatred that didn’t seem human at all.

  The knights charged, but the room itself seemed to rebel against them. Threads of shadow shot forward, ensnaring them like prey. The first knight screamed as a web tightened around his throat, silencing him in an instant. Another swung his blade, only for it to shatter as tendrils of darkness coiled around his arm, snapping it like a twig.

  The?attic gave way around her, the floorboards cracking as the nightmare spread. The knights gazed up in horror as the?shadowy figure swooped down and devoured them whole. The colorful and lively village was transformed into a land?of terror. Flames faded, replaced by webs that spread across the ground like veins, alive with?the flickering pulse of a sick light.

  She stepped out into the ruins, the earth cracking beneath her feet as if it, too, was bowing to her. The bodies of the villagers lay scattered, and for a moment, the girl faltered. This was her home. These were her people. And now it was all gone.