(Told from the first-person perspective of Daniel, some weeks after his initial recovery in Greylake.)

  I woke to the soft hum of morning in Greylake: the distant bleating of goats, the murmur of villagers stirring, and the gentle rustle of wind among the old oak trees. The air still carried a slight chill, though the season leaned more toward warmth each day. Each sunrise seemed to coax a little more life out of the soil. Vegetables in small gardens showed green shoots, and the river that curved around the village ran clearer than I recalled from just a few weeks before. It was a comforting scene—one I had grown increasingly fond of since Yuna and Ronan first took me in.

  Bracing both hands on the windowsill, I carefully pulled myself upright. I still needed a cane on my rougher days, but I could stand unaided if I moved slowly. My muscles no longer spasmed in violent protest, though the ghostly ache never fully vanished. This daily ritual—pushing my physical limits a fraction at a time—had become my new normal. Gone were the days when I could simply will my body to glide into the sky on wings of cosmic flame. Instead, I measured progress by how many steps I could manage before pain or dizziness forced me to sit.

  I leaned against the rough wood and gazed out at the farmland. Light filtered through thin morning clouds, illuminating rolling fields dotted with scarecrows and tidy rows of crops. Beyond, the gentle hills gave way to a forest’s edge, dark green in the distance. Some farmers were already at work, a pair of them chatting as they headed out with a plow. Chickens scurried at their feet, searching for stray seeds. It was a humble vista. I breathed it in, letting the simple beauty ground me.

  Such was my life now—one of quiet routine, slow recovery, and small acts of usefulness. I turned from the window and forced my legs to carry me across the room, ignoring the stiffness in my knees. My bed, a straw-stuffed mattress on a sturdy wooden frame, was neatly made. Yuna insisted that I maintain my space if I could manage it. She refused to let me wallow in pity or idleness, and I appreciated her relentless encouragement more than I cared to admit.

  At the small table in the corner, I sat with care. My cane leaned against the wall, within easy reach. The first task of the day was to stretch my arms, rotate my shoulders, then begin the careful, methodical exercises Ronan had prescribed. Ronan’s stern instructions echoed in my mind: “Steady now. No sense tearing muscle you just healed.” His voice might have been gruff, but I knew he had only my best interests at heart.

  I started by rolling my neck, counting silently to five. The action pulled at the faint cosmic scars snaking over my collarbones, sending a ripple of discomfort through me. I exhaled, letting the tension roll away. Next, I pressed my palms flat against the table’s surface and lifted slowly, building strength in my trembling arms. The motion burned with that familiar raw ache, but each day the burn felt a hair more tolerable. A month ago, these simple movements had left me drenched in sweat and cursing the mortality thrust upon me by the Godfall. Now, I almost saw them as a quiet victory—proof that I was reclaiming some measure of self-sufficiency.

  Once done, I let my body relax. My breath came in quick, shallow bursts, but I was still upright. I angled my head back, staring at the rafters overhead as I fought a wave of dizziness. It passed more quickly than usual, prompting a flicker of pride in my chest. I’m getting there.

  A soft knock sounded at the doorframe before Yuna peeked her head in. She wore a faded blue scarf around her hair, and a gentle smile spread across her weathered features. “Morning,” she said in her usual cheerful tone. “Feeling all right? Not pushing too hard, I hope.”

  I offered a crooked smile. “I’m alive,” I teased, “which is more than I can say about a month ago.”

  She rolled her eyes in mild exasperation. “You know I worry.” Stepping into the room, she carried a small plate of steaming porridge. The smell of oats and honey teased my senses, and my stomach rumbled in anticipation. “And Ronan worries too, even if he pretends otherwise. He’s out gathering thyme and nettle, so I’m on breakfast duty.”

  I thanked her, accepting the bowl with both hands. My arms still trembled slightly, but I managed without spilling. This alone felt like progress worth celebrating. Yuna pulled a rickety stool next to the table and sat, watching me with maternal concern as I blew gently on a spoonful of hot porridge.

  “How’s your pain today?” she asked softly.

  “Manageable,” I replied, tasting the sweetness of honey on my tongue. “Stiff in the shoulders, but not unbearable.”

  She nodded, relief evident in the tilt of her head. “Good. You’re starting to walk farther each day, too. I saw you venture out behind the cottage last evening to watch the sunset.”

  My lips twitched at the memory. The sky had turned an astonishing mix of pink and gold, reflecting on the river’s surface in a show of subtle splendor. Even the hush of the village settling in for the night felt peaceful, miles away from the grand chaos I once courted. I was about to reply when the front door of the cottage banged open. Startled, Yuna and I traded alarmed looks.

  “Yuna?” came a raised voice from the main room. It was Ronan, sounding more agitated than usual. “Are you here?”

  She stood quickly, beckoning me to follow. I pushed up from the table, ignoring the flare of pain in my thighs, and retrieved my cane. By the time I hobbled into the main space, Ronan was already pacing near the hearth. A young farmer, one of the local men named Jol, stood panting by the threshold. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and a wild look glimmered in his eyes.

  “What happened?” Yuna asked, concern lacing her tone.

  Ronan gestured at Jol. “He just arrived. Says something’s prowling near the old huts on the far side of the Meadow. Some of the outlying fields, you know the ones the Cole family left a few months ago?”

  Jol nodded, gulping air. “Aye, that’s right. We heard strange noises last night, like… like a wail, but deeper. And I found tracks this morning. Big tracks, bigger than any wolf or boar. Almost… lopsided, you might say. Claws the length of my fingers.” He held up a hand for emphasis, and it shook. “Didn’t see the beast itself, but I spooked a half-dozen crows picking at a carcass near the Meadow. It was too dark to tell what it once was, but from the smell, I’d guess a deer or goat. Maybe bigger.”

  Yuna paled slightly, and Ronan swore under his breath. I steadied myself against the doorframe, my pulse quickening. Ever since the Titan War ended, rumors had circulated of lesser monstrosities—remnants of Titan spawn or mutated beasts twisted by cosmic fallout—lurking in the realm’s darker corners. Greylake had thus far avoided any serious incidents, but it seemed that might be changing.

  “Is anyone hurt?” Yuna asked gently, stepping closer to offer Jol a ladle of water from the bucket near the wall.

  “Not yet,” he said, swallowing nervously. “But if it’s creeping closer to farmland, it might start attacking livestock… or worse.” He darted a glance at me, then back to Ronan. “We need to do something, but we don’t have a real militia here, not like bigger towns do. William the huntsman is out of the village, and we’re short-handed.”

  I felt a twinge at the mention of William. He was one of the few around here with real combat experience, an ex-soldier rumored to be quite capable with a bow. If he’d been present, perhaps this wouldn’t be such an immediate crisis. A wave of determination coursed through me, pushing aside the weakness in my limbs. I might not be the demigod of old, but I couldn’t stand idle while something monstrous prowled at the outskirts, threatening innocent lives.

  “I’ll go,” I said quietly. My voice surprised even me, strong and clear in the hush of the room.

  All eyes turned to me, Yuna’s in particular widening in alarm. “Daniel, you can barely—”

  “I can walk,” I interjected, resting my weight on the cane. “And I can fight, at least enough to help. Maybe not with cosmic might, but I’ve faced far worse than a single beast.” My heart hammered. A swirl of conflicting emotions rose in me: the old arrogance that demanded I be the one to face threats, and the new humility that recognized just how frail I had become.

  “But your injuries…” Yuna began, voice trembling with worry.

  Ronan cleared his throat. “He has a point, though,” he said, somewhat reluctantly. “There’s no one else in the village with real battlefield experience, except for one or two older men who’d sooner wave pitchforks around than handle a real threat.”

  I felt Yuna’s gaze bore into me. “You’re still healing,” she whispered. “It’s too dangerous.”

  I met her eyes gently. “I won’t charge headlong into trouble, I promise. But we can’t ignore this. If it’s a stray Titan spawn, it could do terrible damage. Better to find out sooner rather than later.”

  Jol exhaled, relief creeping into his expression. He looked at me as though I might truly be their best hope, battered though I was. “I… thank you,” he said. “I can guide you to where I found the tracks.”

  “And you’ll take someone else from the village,” Yuna insisted, turning to Ronan. “He shouldn’t go alone. Or… or with just one other person.”

  I nodded. “Yes, of course.” Secretly, I was relieved. Even in my prime, I’d have appreciated backup. Now, it was essential. “Is there anyone available who’s good with a bow? Or who can handle a spear without freezing in fear?”

  Ronan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We can gather a small party. Let’s see who’s around.” He shot a glance at Yuna, half-apologetic. “We can’t let this fester. If it’s a monstrous leftover from the war, it won’t go away on its own.”

  Yuna’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine,” she said softly, then turned to me. “But promise me you’ll be cautious. No heroic stunts. If it’s too big or too fierce, you run.”

  I gave a small nod, though part of me bristled at the notion of running from a lesser beast. Still, caution was wise—I had no illusions about my current limits. “I promise,” I said simply.

  Jol sighed, looking suddenly weary, as though his own words had finally cemented the reality. “I’ll wait outside,” he told me. “Take your time, gather who you need. But sooner is better. That thing… it smelled foul, like rot. I don’t want it prowling near my home for another night.”

  We watched him depart, his boots clomping on the cottage’s threshold. Ronan bustled into action, muttering about retrieving a spear or two from storage. Yuna remained still, staring at me with troubled eyes. I reached out to rest a hand on her forearm. “I’ll be all right,” I said, summoning what reassurance I could. “Thank you for worrying.”

  She nodded, blinking back a sheen of tears. “Just… come back safe. We need you here.”

  Her words stirred something deep in my chest, an unexpected warmth. I gave her arm a gentle squeeze before letting go. Then, with my cane in hand, I moved to gather what little gear I possessed.

  --

  Within an hour, a small band of five of us stood near the edge of the village. Aside from me and Jol, there was Esten—a lanky farmhand who’d once served in a local lord’s guard. He carried a short sword that looked well-used, if not especially fine. Next to him was Kora, a middle-aged woman with braided hair and a stern face. She’d lost her husband in the war, and from what I heard, she learned to handle a bow for hunting. She gripped the weapon with white-knuckled tension, but her eyes were sharp. The last member of our motley group was Daron, a quiet young man who preferred to let his spear speak for him. He had the build of a laborer and the cautious gait of someone who’d had more scuffles with stray beasts than he cared to remember.

  Ronan fussed over me as we made final preparations. He tried to give me a battered chainmail vest—an heirloom from some older conflict—but I found it too heavy for my weakened frame. Instead, I accepted a sturdy leather jerkin. It fit well enough, though it rubbed painfully against the cosmic scars on my chest. Yuna hovered behind him, offering me a small satchel of herbs and bandages. “In case someone’s wounded,” she explained, voice tense.

  I nodded gratefully, slinging the satchel across my shoulder. The strap dug into my scarred flesh, reminding me just how mortal I was now. But I squared my shoulders, turned to Yuna, and mustered a faint smile. “We’ll be back soon.”

  She said nothing, only reached out and cupped my cheek for the briefest moment—a maternal gesture that needed no words. Then I stepped away, cane in hand, following the others out of the village.

  We walked along a dirt path that cut through fields turning green in the spring weather. My footsteps kicked up small clouds of dust, and the wooden cane tapped a slow, steady rhythm. I tried not to think about how short my stride was compared to the man I used to be. Instead, I focused on the wind against my face, the warm sun on my back, the sense of shared purpose that kept our little party moving forward.

  Kora broke the silence first. “Jol, show us these tracks you found,” she said, her voice carrying the authority of someone used to giving orders on a farm. “We’ll see if we can follow them deeper into the woods.”

  Jol nodded and pointed ahead. “We cross the Meadow, then past the old huts. Another quarter mile, and you’ll see a clearing. That’s where I found them.”

  “Any sign of footprints or droppings leading away from that clearing?” Esten asked, scanning the horizon with an ex-guard’s vigilance.

  Jol shrugged helplessly. “It was still dark. I followed them a little ways, but I turned back when I smelled something foul. Thought it best not to go alone.”

  We trudged on in subdued conversation. I occasionally asked them about local wildlife—wolves, boars, the odd stray bear. None of that quite fit the description of claw marks longer than a man’s fingers. My mind was already whirling with memories of Titan abominations I had once fought: creatures spliced with cosmic energies, half-fused with demonic armor, or sprouting glowing veins that hissed with an otherworldly hum. In my prime, I would’ve incinerated such beasts with a mere flicker of cosmic fire. Now, the possibility of facing one made my throat tighten in trepidation. Best to rely on cunning, I told myself. And on the skill of these villagers. I might have more experience in monstrous battles, but they knew the lay of the land and their own limitations well.

  As we crossed into the Meadow, the sweet smell of budding apple blossoms mingled with the heavier odor of decomposing leaves. Rows of gnarled trees stretched around us, branches still bare in some places, while others flaunted new growth. My cane sunk slightly into damp soil, and I steadied myself. Kora slowed to walk beside me, glancing at my cane with concern.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” she asked quietly, not unkindly.

  “I have to be,” I said, managing a small, wry grin. “We can’t let something monstrous roam free. But if you see me faltering, don’t hesitate to drag me back.”

  She gave a curt nod. “Deal. And… thanks. You’re new here, but we all appreciate what you did for that boy Jacob.”

  Warmth touched my cheeks. “I couldn’t just stand by,” I said.

  We emerged from the Meadow into a gently sloping field, where a cluster of dilapidated huts stood. Jol explained that a family named Cole once farmed here but moved closer to the village center after the father died in an accident last season. The huts, left untended, slumped like weary sentinels. One roof had caved in, showing rotten beams and a nest of twigs that might belong to crows or squirrels.

  “Tracks are this way,” Jol muttered, leading us past the huts. Sure enough, beyond a spindly fence sat the clearing he had described. We advanced, the hush settling over us like a cloud. Even the birdsong seemed muted, as if nature itself sensed an ill presence.

  My heart thudded as I eyed the soil. Within seconds, I saw them: footprints so large that one imprint could have easily swallowed half my foot. The shape was elongated, each toe capped with a deep gouge in the dirt—a claw mark. Some prints were deeper on one side, suggesting a limp or a malformed leg. The stench of decay hung faintly in the air. Kora knelt to examine the track. She reached out, brushing her fingertips along the edges. “Fresh,” she observed grimly, wrinkling her nose at the odor. “Whatever made this, it’s big and it’s close.”

  Esten, drawing his short sword, glanced around warily. “How close do you reckon?”

  Jol pointed beyond the clearing, where a thin line of trees beckoned. “From here, it wanders into that patch of forest. That’s where I lost my nerve.”

  I exchanged a look with Daron, who gripped his spear in both hands. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He gave me a nervous grin, as if to say I’m with you, but I’m terrified. I returned a reassuring nod, though my own stomach churned with unease. Carefully, I reached into the recesses of my mind for any trace of cosmic sense that might warn me of an otherworldly creature. That once-keen demigod perception was dulled now, nearly silent. I felt only the faintest flicker, not enough to confirm anything except the prickling of my own fear.

  “We move cautiously,” I said, stepping forward with my cane. My words carried more confidence than I truly felt. “Kora, keep your bow ready. Esten and Daron, you’re our front line if it charges. Jol, stay near me. We’ll watch the flanks. If we see or hear it, we take formation. Don’t chase it blindly.”

  They all nodded, tension visible in the set of their shoulders. With that, we followed the tracks into the forest’s edge. The canopy thickened overhead, filtering the late morning light into a greenish gloom. The ground was uneven, strewn with dead leaves, half-rotten branches, and patches of damp moss. Each of us moved carefully to avoid snapping twigs, but every so often a crack cut the silence, causing us to freeze in alarm.

  I found myself panting slightly from the exertion. My body had not fully adapted to these longer treks, especially with the constant adrenaline spike. Still, I forced myself onward, leaning on the cane while scanning the undergrowth for any sign of movement. The stench of decay grew stronger, stirring my memory of Titan War battlefields strewn with rotting gore. A wave of nausea threatened; I swallowed it down.

  Kora hissed softly, signaling us to stop. She raised a hand, then pointed to a spot just beyond a thick cluster of ferns. A partial skeleton lay there—likely a deer, the antlers partially intact. The ribcage looked as if something had pried it open and feasted from the inside. Flies buzzed in a macabre dance around the remains. I grimaced, remembering monstrous hounds bred by Titan cultists that once roamed no-man’s lands, devouring anything unfortunate enough to cross their path.

  Esten nudged the carcass with his boot, nearly gagging at the stench. “What the hell did this?” he muttered. “No natural beast leaves a kill half-eaten and scattered like this.”

  “Something savage,” I whispered. “We need to keep going.”

  The prints continued onward, deeper into the forest. Our progress slowed as branches grew thicker and the underbrush denser. The canopy above cast us in shifting shadows, as though the forest itself tried to hide what lurked within. My every sense was on edge. If the creature was near, we could be ambushed at any moment. Stay calm, I urged myself. Coordinate with the others. You’re not alone.

  Suddenly, Daron halted in front, one hand raised. “Shh,” he murmured. We all froze. I strained my ears, hearing only the hush of wind. But then came a low, guttural growl—a sound that vibrated through my chest, primal and menacing. My heart raced. From behind a cluster of thorny bushes, something large moved. The brush shook, and twigs snapped under heavy weight.

  Kora readied an arrow, drawing it against her bowstring. Esten lifted his sword. I clenched my cane, half-wishing it were a spear. A part of me recalled how easily I once conjured cosmic blades from raw starlight. Now, I was left with a chunk of wood. Focus on what you have, I scolded myself. The others have real weapons, and you still have your wits.

  The growl echoed again. Slowly, the monstrous figure emerged—a shape of warped muscle and matted fur, easily the size of a horse. Its hind legs seemed twisted, the right one bearing more weight than the left. A hunched back supported powerful forelimbs tipped with cruel claws, each the length of a dagger. The creature’s head was vaguely wolf-like but broader, studded with bony protrusions along the jaw. Dark drool dripped from its maw, and its eyes glowed faintly with that malignant sheen I recognized all too well: residual Titan corruption.

  We all stared, momentarily transfixed by the horror. Then the beast bared a row of jagged teeth and roared—an unholy sound that set every nerve on edge.

  “Fall back!” I ordered instinctively, motioning for a tighter formation. Kora fired her arrow in a flash of movement. It struck the creature’s flank, burying itself halfway but seeming to do little more than provoke a furious snarl. Daron and Esten positioned themselves in front, weapons at the ready, while Jol hung behind them, gripping a crude axe he’d brought along.

  I tried to edge to the side, cane in one hand, my free hand already tingling with the meager cosmic spark that occasionally surfaced. Please let me have enough, I prayed silently, even if it’s just a distraction. My body thrummed with adrenaline, but also with the memory of every limitation.

  The creature charged with startling speed for its size. Daron jabbed his spear, catching it along the shoulder. A spray of blackish blood erupted, and the beast howled. Rather than retreat, it swung a massive claw. The blow collided with Daron’s spear, snapping the wooden shaft and sending him sprawling. Kora fired another arrow, striking near its neck, but the monster seemed too enraged to register pain.

  Esten shouted, slashing at the beast’s side, only to have his blade glance off a patch of hardened flesh near its ribcage. The impact nearly wrenched the sword from his grip. The creature twisted, slavering jaws snapping at him. He lurched back, barely avoiding a grisly bite.

  My heart pounded as I saw Daron prone on the ground, scrambling away from the beast’s thrashing hind legs. Jol rushed forward in a brave but reckless attempt to distract it, swinging his axe and yelling, “Over here, you brute!”

  The creature roared, turning partially toward Jol. That gave me a second to limp closer, leaning heavily on my cane. I could practically taste the rancid stench of its breath. My scars burned, as though the cosmic corruption radiating from the beast resonated with the remains of my own cosmic link. Steady, I urged myself.

  Kora launched a third arrow, this time embedding it deep into the beast’s shoulder. It roared in fury, half-lunging for her. Sensing the opening, Esten lunged in from the side, driving his sword at what looked like a gap in the creature’s thick hide. He struck a blow that caused a gush of black blood. The monstrous spawn staggered, hobbling on its malformed leg, but refused to go down. With a savage swipe of its claws, it knocked Esten aside, sending him crashing into a tangle of roots.

  Hefting my cane like a cudgel, I advanced on the beast. It was madness, but I couldn’t stand by while it tore my companions apart. “Hey!” I shouted, voice ragged. “Here!”

  The monster’s gaze locked on me—a smaller, weaker target, but easy prey. I felt dread coil in my stomach. Yet I also felt that flicker of cosmic potential, like an ember in a dying fire. As it barreled toward me, drool flying from its maw, I braced myself. My left hand came up, trembling, focusing on that tiny spark.

  The moment we collided, I released a pulse of energy—no mighty cosmic blast, merely a jolt strong enough to stagger it. It was like a flash of light and heat erupting from my palm, accompanied by a piercing ache in my chest. The creature yelped, rearing back, as though scalded. The recoil was enough for me to sidestep, though I stumbled on my weak leg and toppled, barely managing to keep my cane in hand.

  Pain shot through my entire body. Spots danced in my vision. For an instant, I was sure I’d black out, as I had before. But I clung to consciousness, gasping for air. The monster was disoriented, shaking its broad head, scorched fur smoking where my cosmic spark had struck. Now, while it’s stunned!

  “Hit it!” I rasped, struggling to sit upright.

  Kora, bless her, already had an arrow nocked. She loosed a shot that thudded into the beast’s exposed flank, near the ribcage. Esten, bruised but undaunted, rushed from the side, driving his sword again into the same wound he’d opened moments earlier. With a sickening crunch, the blade sank deep. The creature let out a strangled roar, thrashing in its death throes. In a final burst of fury, it swung wildly at Esten, knocking him aside a second time. Then it staggered and collapsed, dark blood pooling on the forest floor.

  Panting, I forced myself onto my knees. My ribs screamed in protest, and I felt my pulse pounding in my ears. The creature lay unmoving, its glowing eyes dimming as the last vestiges of life fled. The faint reek of Titan corruption still hung in the air, but the immediate threat was vanquished.

  Kora rushed to Daron’s side, helping him stand. He clutched his chest, breath ragged, but waved off her concern. “Just… the wind knocked out of me,” he managed. Esten sat up with a groan, rubbing the back of his head. His sword was still embedded in the beast’s corpse, and he eyed the hilt warily, as though half-expecting the monster to rise again.

  Jol stood near the remains, axe in hand, breathing in sharp gasps. “Is it… is it dead?” he asked, voice trembling.

  “Dead,” Esten confirmed, mustering a grim nod. He grasped the hilt of his sword and wrenched it free with a nauseating squelch.

  I leaned heavily on my cane, my body trembling from the surge of cosmic effort. My vision wavered. A creeping weakness spread through my limbs, threatening to floor me. Kora noticed my distress and hurried over, hooking an arm under my shoulder. “Easy,” she said, guiding me back until I rested against a mossy trunk. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “Used… too much,” I rasped, trying to steady my breathing. “Just… need a moment.”

  Esten stumbled over, wiping sweat from his brow. “You did something back there,” he said, eyes wide with a mix of awe and confusion. “Like a flash of light. I saw it. The beast recoiled.”

  I swallowed hard, not entirely sure how to explain. “An old trick,” I said vaguely. “It’s mostly gone, but I can still muster a spark.” My head throbbed, and the world tilted.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Daron sank to one knee nearby, still cradling the shards of his broken spear. “We’re alive,” he whispered, almost disbelieving. “Gods, that was close.”

  Kora squeezed my shoulder. “If you hadn’t distracted it, at least one of us might not be standing right now.”

  I closed my eyes, letting her words sink in. Yes, we’d prevailed. Yet my chest churned with conflicting emotions. The fight was not nearly as grand or as lethal as the battles I once waged, but it nearly bested us. I’d poured everything into a single, meager pulse of energy that left me gasping in the dirt. If there are more of these creatures out there, how will I keep up?

  After a pause, I forced my eyes open. “Check the body,” I said hoarsely, nodding toward the monstrous corpse. “I want to see if there’s any sign of direct Titan tampering or if it’s just a feral leftover.”

  Esten made a face but obliged. Carefully, he prodded the beast’s hide with the tip of his sword. Up close, the creature’s malformed bones and dark veins were even more unsettling. Its flesh had a faint, unnatural gleam, as if infused with cosmic residue. Grimacing, Esten shook his head. “Hard to say. It’s definitely unnatural. You can see how the hide looks more like thick scales in some areas, but the rest is bare muscle. Like something didn’t finish shaping it.”

  A chill ran through me. I recalled how Titan spawn could come in countless twisted variations, each born of cosmic energies merged with earthly matter. Sometimes those energies were harnessed by cultists, other times by random phenomena leftover from the war. If this thing was just a random leftover, it suggested the region was still littered with possible horrors. If a cult had purposely made or nurtured it… that was far worse.

  “Let’s mark the site,” I said, swallowing hard. “Once we have the strength, we’ll return with a cart or something to burn the carcass. We can’t leave it to rot and spread corruption.”

  The group murmured agreement. Daron limped around, helping gather scattered gear. Kora kept a watchful eye on the forest, as though expecting a second abomination to appear. Jol approached me, concern etched in his features. “You saved my life. That thing could have shredded me.”

  I tried to shrug, but my shoulders felt too heavy. “We did what we had to,” I replied quietly, gesturing at the others. “All of us.”

  He nodded, glancing at my trembling hands. “You sure you can make it back on your feet?”

  “I have to,” I said with a weary half-smile. “Better than camping here with that carcass.” Even speaking the words left me breathless. The wave of fatigue from that single cosmic outburst was nearly overwhelming. My heart pounded erratically, and my skin felt clammy under the damp forest air.

  With Kora’s assistance, I pulled myself upright, leaning heavily on my cane. Daron and Esten did a final check of the area, confirming no additional beasts lurked nearby. We turned back the way we came, moving slowly. The monstrous corpse lay behind us, a grim reminder that the war’s shadows still lingered.

  --

  The journey back to Greylake was an arduous march, especially for me. Each step jarred my aching joints. My vision blurred at the edges from time to time, forcing me to pause and catch my breath. The others carried themselves with only slightly more ease—our entire party was bruised, exhausted, and haunted by what we’d just faced. We didn’t speak much, letting the forest’s hush envelop us.

  By the time we reached the Meadow, the sun had climbed high, casting the branches in a warm midday glow. I marveled at the stark contrast between the Meadow’s peaceful beauty and the blood-soaked chaos we’d left behind. Such is the realm now, I thought, where pockets of horror lie mere steps from ordinary life.

  Finally, the village rooftops came into view. I let out a trembling exhale, grateful that we were still on our feet. As we approached the outskirts, a knot of villagers rushed out to meet us—led, of course, by Yuna and Ronan. Their expressions ranged from anxious to outright terrified.

  Ronan’s gaze flicked over each of us, checking for injuries. “You look battered,” he said gruffly. “Did you find the beast?”

  “Yes,” Esten replied, grim satisfaction in his voice. “It’s dead. Some monstrous leftover. We’ll need to burn the carcass. But we’re alive.”

  Relief cascaded through the onlookers, though murmurs of alarm flickered at the mention of a monstrous leftover. Yuna practically flew to my side, her eyes roaming over my trembling form. “Daniel, you’re shaking. Sit, please.”

  Without protest, I allowed her to guide me onto a nearby bench. The rest of the party sprawled on the ground or leaned against fences, each grateful to be off their feet. Ronan knelt in front of me, feeling for my pulse. He frowned. “Your heart’s racing. Did you… use that power again?”

  “Only a little,” I rasped, mouth dry. “It was enough to stun it.”

  He scowled, but there was concern rather than anger in his eyes. “We’ll get you some water,” he said, calling for one of the bystanders to fetch a ladle.

  Kora recounted the battle in clipped, precise words, describing the size of the beast, how it fought, and how we managed to bring it down. As she spoke, more villagers gathered, exclaiming softly in shock at the details. The presence of a Titan spawn—no matter how small or random—clearly rattled them. They had hoped that the war’s end meant no more nightmares in the shadows.

  Eventually, Yuna handed me a cup of water. I sipped it slowly, forcing my heartbeat to calm. The sense of exhaustion pressed on me like a damp blanket, but I fought to stay present, to answer the villagers’ questions. I explained the location, how we saw the tracks, the half-eaten carcass. I was careful not to dwell too long on my cosmic spark, giving only a vague mention that I’d “distracted” the beast. Most of the villagers accepted that as a stroke of luck or a small skill. I wasn’t keen to proclaim that I still wielded tattered pieces of demigod power.

  Ronan stood and cleared his throat. “We’ll need a couple able-bodied folk to go back and burn the remains,” he announced. “I’d do it myself, but I need to tend the injuries here. Maybe tomorrow, if the body’s still there.”

  “We’ll go,” offered two younger men from the crowd, exchanging determined looks. “We’ll bring a cart of firewood and torches. If we move quick, we can be there before dusk.”

  Ronan nodded, satisfied. Then he turned back to me, his voice gentler. “Let’s get you home. You need rest.”

  My gaze flitted over the battered party—Esten cradling his bruised ribs, Daron nursing a cut on his arm from the creature’s claws, Kora breathing heavily in the shade. Jol was the least injured, only a few scrapes, but he still wore a haunted look. We’d all endured a brush with death that morning, reminding us how fragile peace truly was.

  With Yuna’s help, I forced myself upright, leaning on my cane. A throng of villagers parted to let us pass. Some murmured thanks. Others reached out to pat our shoulders, offering words of gratitude. A few children stared at me wide-eyed, perhaps reminded of the rumors that I’d once healed Jacob with a strange power. The communal appreciation warmed my heart, though it did little to ease my fatigue.

  As we made our way back to Ronan’s cottage, I caught snatches of conversation behind us. Word of the monstrous beast’s existence spread rapidly—fearful speculation about whether there were more like it, about whether the war’s horrors would ever truly fade. My own thoughts echoed those worries. If one creature found its way here, it’s possible others roam the outskirts of Arcadia, I mused. We can’t assume this was an isolated incident.

  Yuna led me inside, helping me remove the leather jerkin. My tunic underneath was damp with sweat and smeared with grime. She clicked her tongue in dismay at the bruises forming along my ribs. “Sit,” she ordered firmly, nudging me onto the straw bed in the small side room. “I’ll bring a damp cloth.”

  I sank onto the mattress with a groan, my cane clattering to the floor. My head spun from the combined effects of exertion and adrenaline crash. The moment I stopped moving, the full weight of exhaustion hit me like a hammer. Yet we won, I reminded myself. The beast is dead. But that victory felt strangely hollow. If a single lesser Titan spawn nearly overwhelmed five of us, how could we handle more formidable threats?

  Ronan stepped in, rummaging through his herbal satchel. He found a small jar of salve and moved to kneel beside me. “Lift your shirt,” he muttered, matter-of-fact. “I’ll check for bruised ribs or worse.”

  I obeyed, wincing as I pulled the fabric up. My torso felt like a tapestry of old scars and new contusions. His fingertips probed gently, prompting jolts of pain here and there. At last, he grunted. “Nothing broken, but you’ll be sore for days. This salve will help with the swelling.” He began applying it, a pungent mix that made my eyes water.

  Yuna returned with a cloth, patting my forehead and arms. She said nothing for a moment, her brow knit in worry. At length, she spoke softly, voice quavering. “I’m glad you’re back in one piece.”

  I managed a faint smile. “I couldn’t let it prowl so close to the village.”

  She nodded, biting her lip. “I know. It’s just… you nearly died once before. I can’t help but worry that you’ll push yourself too far.”

  My mind flashed to the monstrous jaws snapping inches from my face. I swallowed. “I promised I’d be cautious,” I said, voice trembling with fatigue. “And we had a group. We fought together.”

  She finished wiping away the grime, then placed the cloth aside with trembling hands. “I’m proud of you, you know,” she whispered. “We all are. You protected our home, even though you’re still healing. But please, promise me again you’ll never do something reckless.”

  “I promise,” I said, reaching up to take her hand. Our eyes met, and the mutual relief in her gaze struck me. This quiet, unassuming caretaker had become a pivotal figure in my life, showing me kindness I hadn’t known in centuries. I squeezed her hand gently, and she smiled through tears.

  Ronan cleared his throat, as though uncomfortable with the display of emotion. “We’ll keep an eye on you for the next day or two,” he said. “That flash of magic you did—did it drain you more than usual?”

  I nodded, exhaling slowly. “It felt… heavier. Maybe because I was already tired. Or because the beast had Titan energy that clashed with mine. I’m not entirely sure. But it was a risk.”

  He absorbed that in silence, then set down the salve. “Well, you’ve done enough for one day. Try to rest. We’ll handle the rest of the immediate tasks, like burning that carcass and setting some watchmen around the perimeter.” He stood, a paternal worry softening his eyes. “We’ll talk strategy once you’ve recovered a bit.”

  I murmured my thanks and let Yuna help me lie back against the pillows. My chest still rose and fell with ragged breaths. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of the beast’s twisted visage, black drool and glaring eyes. I forced the memory aside, focusing instead on the friendly warmth of the cottage, the soft glow of daylight filtering in through the window. One battle down, I thought, but how many more to come?

  --

  That evening, I drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. Dreams of cosmic nightmares swirled behind my eyelids, interspersed with half-lucid moments of hearing villagers bustling outside. At one point, I thought I heard men loading a cart, presumably to dispose of the beast’s remains. Another time, Yuna’s voice lulled me with a gentle lullaby, though I couldn’t be sure if it was real or a dream.

  When I finally awoke in the deeper hush of night, I felt a dull ache throughout my body, but my head was clearer. A single lantern glowed on the table, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The cottage was mostly quiet. I guessed that Yuna and Ronan had gone to bed, or at least stepped away to rest. Pushing aside the thin blanket, I carefully swung my legs off the mattress, feeling the coolness of the floor under my feet. The pain made me wince, but I gritted my teeth. I can’t stay in bed forever.

  My cane leaned against the wall within arm’s reach. I grasped it and rose gingerly, ignoring the pounding in my ribs. Every muscle protested, yet I sensed a stubborn determination stirring within me. If we were to face more monstrosities, I had to get stronger. The question was how. My cosmic link was tenuous at best, and my physical condition left much to be desired. But I can still learn to fight as a mortal does, I reminded myself. Train with sword or spear, rely on cunning and allies…

  Crossing the room with slow, measured steps, I neared the window. Moonlight spilled through, illuminating the farmland outside in silvery hues. The quiet beauty felt surreal after the chaos of the morning. Even from here, I could see the faint outlines of watch fires along the village perimeter—Ronans’s new precaution, no doubt. The idea that we needed watch fires in peaceful Greylake hammered home the new reality: the realm wasn’t free of Titan shadows. Not yet.

  Behind me, I heard the floor creak. Turning, I saw Yuna in the doorway, wearing a simple nightgown, her hair down around her shoulders. She carried a small candle, the warm glow dancing across her worried features. “Couldn’t sleep?” she asked softly, stepping inside.

  I shook my head. “Too many thoughts,” I admitted, leaning on the windowsill. “After what happened, I’m… uneasy.”

  She moved closer, setting the candle on the table. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I understand. The entire village is uneasy, to be honest. But we’re grateful you stepped in.”

  I sighed, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window. “I wish I could do more.”

  Yuna touched my shoulder gently. “You’ve done enough. More than enough, considering your condition. Don’t blame yourself.”

  My throat felt tight. “It’s not blame, exactly. It’s this sense that I was meant to do more, that I used to be able to do more. And now every fight is… so hard.”

  She nodded, her expression pained. “I can’t imagine what it must be like, losing the power you once had. But, Daniel… you’re still here. And that counts for something. You’re not just a weapon. You’re part of this community now. We’ll face what comes together.”

  Her words resonated in my chest, bringing a lump to my throat. Slowly, I turned back, letting my gaze linger on her gentle face. In that moment, I felt a wave of gratitude so profound it nearly brought tears. Together. A concept that, in my centuries as a demigod, had seemed almost foreign. We might have had allies and armies, but I’d always believed I stood above them, separate, an unstoppable force commanding the tide of war. Now, I was forced to stand alongside these mortals, reliant on them as they relied on me.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, forcing a small smile. “I should rest.”

  She slipped an arm around my back, guiding me away from the window. “Lean on me. Let’s get you lying down again.” Her presence was comforting, as though she carried a bit of the warmth that nurtured the entire village.

  I let her help me back to bed. Once under the blanket, I felt exhaustion tug at me again. Yuna lingered, adjusting the pillow. “Try to sleep, Daniel. Tomorrow, we’ll see about healing up your bruises and discussing a plan for the village’s defense.”

  I closed my eyes, listening to the soft hush of her footsteps as she left. My mind drifted to the dead monstrosity in the woods and the possibility that more roamed beyond. I won’t let them terrorize this land, I vowed silently. Even if I have to fight like a mortal, I’ll do it. The vow pulsed through me, and, oddly enough, it lulled me to a deeper, calmer sleep than I’d had all day.

  --

  Morning arrived with a hush broken only by the usual stir of village life. I woke feeling marginally better, though still sore enough that every movement was an exercise in willpower. After dressing in a clean tunic—one Yuna had sewn to accommodate my scarring—I ventured out into the cottage’s main room, cane in hand. Ronan was there, rummaging through a collection of herbal bundles spread across the table. He looked up as I approached, relief briefly flashing in his eyes.

  “Good,” he said. “You’re up and moving.”

  I smiled. “Stiff as a board, but yes.”

  He pointed to a small bowl of steaming water. “I’m mixing a tea that’ll help with soreness and bruising. Not a miracle cure, but it’ll ease the pain.”

  I nodded gratefully, taking a seat near the hearth. The coals from the night’s fire still glowed, offering a gentle warmth. “How are the others?” I asked.

  “Recovering. Daron’s got a nasty bruise, but nothing broken. Esten’s sore as well, though he refused any bed rest—claims he’s used to a few bumps from his guard days.” Ronan shrugged. “Kora’s fine, but shaken.”

  “And the beast’s remains?”

  Ronan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “A party went out late yesterday to burn it. I hear it took longer than expected to drag it away from the dense brush. They set it ablaze by nightfall. The smell was awful, apparently.”

  I swallowed, imagining the stench. “At least it’s done.”

  “For now,” Ronan said, a dark note creeping into his voice. He selected a bundle of dried leaves, crumbled some into the steaming bowl, then stirred. “We’re worried there might be more. That one was too big to ignore, and the fact that it wandered so close to farmland suggests it’s either starving or bold. Neither scenario is good.”

  I massaged my temples, feeling a headache threaten. “Agreed. We need to prepare.”

  Ronan brought the bowl to me, the aroma pungent and herbal. “Drink,” he ordered. “Then we’ll talk.”

  I wrapped my hands around the bowl’s warmth, sipping gingerly. The taste was bitter, but I recognized notes of mint, maybe dandelion root, and a hint of something tangy I couldn’t identify. It steadied my nerves, though, a soothing warmth blooming in my chest. After a few sips, I set the bowl aside, clearing my throat. “Greylake might need a militia. Even a small one.”

  Ronan snorted softly. “We’re farmers and tradesfolk, mostly. But some have bits of experience. If the Titan War taught us anything, it’s that everyone should know how to handle a blade or bow, at least. We’ve been complacent, because the region’s been quiet since the war ended.”

  “Complacency might cost us dearly now,” I said, trying not to sound too grim. “I’m not advocating turning the village into a fortress, but we should gather volunteers, set up regular patrols, and train them in basic defense. We can’t rely solely on chance.”

  Ronan gave me a calculating look, then nodded. “I’ll bring it up with the council—well, the few elders we have. See if they’ll back the idea. Might need you to speak on the matter, too.”

  I swallowed. My old arrogance would’ve seized the chance to stand in front of a crowd and command. Now, I felt a pang of discomfort. “If it’ll help,” I said. “Though I’m hardly the shining example of a warrior these days.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Ronan replied firmly. “You have experience. Folks saw how you stood up to that monstrosity. They’ll listen to you.”

  His confidence warmed me, though doubt still gnawed at my edges. Can I truly lead them when I’m so weak? But I pushed that doubt aside, focusing on the practical needs. In times of danger, there was little room for self-pity. “All right,” I said, sipping more of the herbal tea. “Let’s do it.”

  --

  By midday, word spread that Ronan and I were calling a small gathering at the village’s modest community hall—a large barn-like structure near the central well. Outside, a makeshift dais had been set up, a few benches arranged for seating. The notion of me addressing them felt surreal, but if it helped them take the threat seriously, so be it.

  As I made my way there, cane in hand, I saw about three dozen people assembled. Yuna stood near the front, a reassuring presence. Daron and Esten lingered by the dais, each wearing a fresh bandage or bruise from yesterday’s skirmish. Kora, arms folded, watched from the side, bow slung over her shoulder. Even the baker, Bess, was there, along with Jacob—the boy I had healed weeks ago. He offered me a shy wave, which I returned.

  Once everyone settled, Ronan stepped up. He explained the monstrous threat, describing the beast we’d killed. Whispers and gasps rippled through the crowd. Many stared at me as though I personally wrestled the creature to death, which I hastened to correct when Ronan motioned me forward.

  Taking a breath, I addressed them. My voice quavered at first, but I steadied it. “Friends, neighbors… The beast we faced was a Titan spawn, or at least a mutated creature left over from the war’s corruption. It was large and powerful enough to threaten any lone farmer or traveler. We can’t assume it’s the only one.”

  A wave of uneasy muttering swept through them. I raised a hand gently. “I don’t say this to spread panic, but to emphasize preparedness. If more roam the outskirts, we must be ready. That means forming a small defensive unit—no more than a few volunteers trained with bows, spears, or swords, who can respond quickly if we see tracks or hear strange noises.”

  A middle-aged man I recognized as a woodcutter frowned. “We have so few able-bodied folks,” he protested. “We’re barely making ends meet with the fields and livestock.”

  “I understand,” I said. “But if these beasts devour your livestock or attack you in the fields, we’ll lose far more than a few hours of training. It’s better to invest the time now than to grieve later.”

  Jacob’s aunt, Bess, piped up, “He’s right. And if Daniel can stand against these monsters even in his condition, the least we can do is learn to fight.”

  Her words brought a flush of warmth to my cheeks. “I’ll help train whoever volunteers,” I offered. “We’ll keep it simple: basic formation, how to handle your weapon safely, how to coordinate during an attack. We’ll set up a schedule for a few watchers to patrol at dawn and dusk.”

  Ronan nodded in agreement. “I can pitch in on the medical side, teach a couple of you basic wound treatment. Yuna can help, too. That way, if anyone’s hurt, we won’t be caught unprepared.”

  A murmur of acceptance passed through the crowd. Some nodded in reluctant agreement, while others looked worried but resolute. I could sense the tension—these people were farmers, not soldiers. Many had lived through the Titan War or lost loved ones to it. Their war-weariness was palpable. But they also knew ignoring the danger wouldn’t make it vanish.

  Kora raised a hand. “I’m with you,” she said simply, stepping forward. “If Daniel needs help instructing archery, I can do that.”

  Esten, leaning on the dais, grinned ruefully. “I’ll volunteer. Might as well put my old guard training to use.”

  Gradually, others raised their hands or voiced support. Daron, even in his battered state, offered to do what he could. A handful more joined, uncertain but determined. Within minutes, we had a list of about fifteen who were willing to rotate shifts. That was a solid start for a village this size.

  The meeting wound down, and people dispersed with a sense of nervous purpose. Yuna approached me, relief mingled with anxiety on her face. “So that’s it? We’re forming a militia?”

  “A small one,” I said, leaning on my cane. “But it’s better than nothing.” My body felt drained from the simple act of public speaking and standing so long. The bruises ached under my tunic. Still, a tiny spark of accomplishment flickered in my chest. I might not be a demigod, but I can still protect them in my own way.

  She offered a gentle smile. “I’ll support you however I can.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.” Then, to hide the sudden swell of emotion, I coughed and turned to greet a couple of volunteers who lingered nearby. They asked questions about what gear to bring or how often they’d meet. I answered as best I could, promising to schedule a time for group drills.

  Eventually, the midday sun blazed overhead, and most folks returned to their work. I found myself leaning against a wooden post, knees shaking from fatigue. Ronan came up beside me, brow creased with worry. “Enough heroics for one day,” he said. “Get some rest.”

  I cast him a sidelong glance. “You say that a lot.”

  His lips quirked in a half-smile. “That’s because you need it a lot. Don’t forget, you’re still healing.”

  “True,” I admitted with a weary chuckle.

  He steered me toward the cottage, not quite dragging me but close enough. As we walked, my thoughts whirled with concerns: training schedules, watch rotations, the possibility of multiple beasts. Even if we managed to secure Greylake, what about the nearby hamlets? Could we unify them under a common defense? My mind spun with the complexities. Yet beneath it all, I felt a grim satisfaction. At least we’re doing something. We’re not waiting to be devoured.

  Back in the cottage, Yuna prepared a simple meal of bread and vegetable stew. I ate slowly, each bite fueling the swirling storm of plans in my mind. After lunch, I borrowed parchment and charcoal from Ronan, sketching out a rough map of the village and its surroundings. I marked possible vantage points for watchers, routes for patrols, and the Meadow where we’d confronted the beast. My scribbles were clumsy compared to the grand tactics I once employed, but it was a start.

  Yuna hovered, occasionally pointing out details: “Here’s a path that leads to a small meadow. Shepherds sometimes graze their sheep there. If we could keep an eye on it, we’d avoid surprise attacks.”

  I nodded, making a note. “Good idea.”

  The hours passed in a haze of planning. By early evening, we had a workable blueprint for setting up a minimal defense. My body protested the entire time, but my mind buzzed with renewed purpose. This is the path forward, I thought. Mortal resilience, communal effort, and a hint of cosmic spark if absolutely necessary.

  As dusk settled, turning the sky a mix of orange and pink, a subtle tension fell over the village. People gazed at the horizon with newfound vigilance. The watchfires were lit again, and two volunteers with spears strolled the perimeter. I stood with Yuna near the edge of the field, watching them. Wind stirred the tall grass, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers. Despite the calm, a coil of anxiety lingered in my gut. Would another beast strike tonight? Were we truly ready?

  Yuna seemed to sense my worries. She rested a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” she murmured. “We’ll keep watch, and if anything happens, we have a plan.”

  I glanced down at her hand, then back at the gentle fields. The setting sun cast a golden glow on everything, as if defying the horrors that lurked beyond. “I wish I had your confidence,” I said quietly. “But I know how easily monsters can slip past defenses.”

  She squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “We’ll learn, adapt. We’re not facing this alone anymore. There’s you, me, Ronan, and the rest. We’ll stand together.”

  “Together,” I echoed, letting the word steady my heartbeat.

  As night finally claimed the sky, we returned to the cottage. Ronan prepared more of his herbal concoction for me, ensuring I’d be able to rest despite the day’s stress. After sipping it, I settled into bed, bone-tired but oddly hopeful. A single monstrous spawn had nearly cost us dearly, but it also galvanized the village into action. If more come, I thought, we’ll be more prepared next time.

  --

  Days turned to a week, and the impromptu militia took shape. Under Kora’s guidance, half a dozen villagers practiced archery in a makeshift range behind the Meadow, using hay bales as targets. Esten and I worked with those willing to wield spears and short swords, focusing on basic stances, how to form a loose line when threatened, and how to avoid panicking. My own limitations forced me to rely more on instruction than demonstration, but I managed some slow, careful moves to illustrate technique.

  In truth, it was exhausting. My body ached relentlessly, and more than once I had to excuse myself to rest. But each time I felt the urge to quit, I remembered the rotting deer carcass, the savage roar of that twisted beast, and the terrified faces of the villagers. They need this, I told myself, pushing past the pain.

  We scouted the perimeter daily. Jol, still shaken from his close call, proved surprisingly adept at spotting fresh tracks or droppings near the forest edge. Thankfully, no new signs of monstrous presence appeared. The Meadow remained quiet, and the farmland unmolested. Part of me worried that we were simply waiting for a second shoe to drop, but each peaceful sunrise felt like a small victory.

  One afternoon, while Ronan and I inventoried the cottage’s supplies, a messenger from a nearby hamlet arrived. He carried tales of strange noises in their woods, though no direct sightings of a beast. My chest tightened as I listened, suspecting it could be a similar spawn or a lesser Titan leftover. The messenger pleaded for assistance, but the hamlet was two days’ journey away, and our resources were stretched thin.

  I conferred with Yuna, Ronan, and the village elders. We decided to send a pair of scouts from our budding militia to investigate—just enough to gather intelligence. If the hamlet truly faced a threat, we’d figure out a way to help. Even as I made that decision, I felt the weight of responsibility settle on me. Is this my life now—coordinating mortal defenses against the lingering horrors I once considered trivial?

  In quieter moments, I reflected on the irony. I used to be a demigod, forging cosmic destruction across battlefields. Now, I was leading a handful of farmers and huntsmen in slow, methodical drills. And yet, there was a sense of fulfillment here that I’d never fully felt in my divine days. These people looked to me not with blind awe, but with trust, respect, and maybe even companionship.

  Late one evening, after the day’s drills, I sat on a simple wooden bench outside the cottage. My cane rested against my knee, and the sky overhead was painted with stars. The watchfires flickered at the perimeter, where two volunteers stood guard, chatting softly to stay alert. The night air felt cool on my face, and I relished the gentle breeze.

  Footsteps approached, and I turned to see Yuna. She carried two mugs of warm tea, offering one to me before settling beside me on the bench. We sipped in companionable silence for a while, watching the stars and listening to the hum of crickets.

  “Things have been calmer this week,” she said eventually, voice thoughtful.

  I nodded. “Yes. I hope it lasts.”

  She studied me over the rim of her mug. “You’ve been pushing yourself. Are you holding up okay?”

  I shrugged, swirling the tea. “I’m tired and sore, but I’ll manage. The villagers are learning quickly, though. They surprise me.”

  A smile touched her lips. “They’re good people. Once they realize the stakes, they put their hearts into it.”

  I sighed. “I just wish we didn’t need to do any of this. That the war’s remnants would vanish, that the realm could finally know real peace.”

  Her hand found mine, a warm, comforting presence in the cool night. “Maybe we can help it get there,” she said softly.

  A lump rose in my throat. For a moment, I recalled the cosmic vantage I once possessed, glimpses of the entire realm shimmering with divine potential. Back then, I believed I could single-handedly shape fate. Now, I was just a man with a cane, guiding a small village against lurking monsters. Yet, in Yuna’s words, I heard a quiet optimism that reignited my resolve. Perhaps real peace is built in small steps, across countless villages, by people caring for each other and refusing to let fear rule them.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. She smiled in return, and we let the silence of the night envelop us again.

  --

  But if I thought we were free of danger, I was mistaken. Another morning dawned bright and mild, with no sign of trouble until midday. Jol came racing into the village square, sweat dripping from his brow, panting heavily. He’d gone out with a couple of watchers to check a field near the river. As soon as I saw him, my stomach sank—his expression was all too familiar: fear.

  “They found more tracks,” he gasped, hands braced on his knees. “Another big set, leading from the river toward the foothills. Possibly bigger than the last beast. And… it looked fresh.”

  A hush fell. A few villagers passing by froze, eyes widening. My heart kicked into overdrive. So it begins again. I limped forward, cane tapping the ground. “Where did you see them exactly?”

  He inhaled shakily. “A mile west of the Meadow, near that old shrine by the river fork.”

  I grimaced. The presence of an old shrine so close to monstrous tracks made my blood run cold—shrines sometimes served as focal points for leftover cosmic energies, especially if they were associated with the old pantheon. “You said possibly bigger than the last creature?”

  He nodded, swallowing. “Hard to be sure, but the prints looked deeper. The watchers didn’t linger to measure them. They hurried back to tell me, and I came straight here.”

  My mind spun. If it was truly another spawn—larger this time—then we had a serious problem. Our group had struggled mightily against the previous monster, and that was with an element of surprise. Do we risk direct confrontation again? Wait for it to come to us? Could we set traps?

  Esten, who’d been helping haul supplies nearby, overheard and approached. “We should gather the militia,” he said. “If it’s prowling near the river, that’s not too far from some farmland. And there are children who play around that area.”

  Fear lanced my chest. The image of a monstrous spawn catching unsuspecting kids by the river was too awful. “Agreed,” I said. “But I can’t lead a big fight in my condition. We’ll need to plan carefully, maybe set an ambush if possible.”

  Jol’s eyes flicked between us anxiously. “What do I do?”

  “Round up the volunteers,” I instructed. “Meet at the Meadow’s edge. We’ll decide our approach there.”

  He nodded and sprinted off. I caught Yuna’s gaze across the square, where she stood listening. She pressed her lips together, face etched with worry. This time, she didn’t try to stop me. She only mouthed, Be careful. I answered with a faint nod, turning to assemble what gear I could.

  Though my limbs still felt heavy and my bruises throbbed, I steeled myself. Another threat. Another chance to protect these people. If I’d lost the cosmic might to vaporize these beasts, I would rely on strategy and the bravery of mortal allies. A swirl of anxiety mingled with determination in my gut. One step at a time, I reminded myself, echoing the slow, steady approach I used for healing. One step, one fight, until Arcadia truly knows peace.

  --

  And so, the stage was set for yet another confrontation with the monstrous remnants of the Titan War. Standing in the village square, cane in hand, I watched the volunteers gather with anxious faces and determined hearts. We would soon march once more into the wilderness, uncertain if we could overcome what lay ahead. Yet I felt that flicker of hope—hope that, through unity and courage, we might drive away these shadows of a broken past.

  As the midday sun bathed Greylake in a golden glow, I couldn’t help reflecting on how far I’d come: from a bedridden husk of a fallen demigod to a mortal champion, however frail, determined to shield the innocent from lingering horrors. The path forward would not be easy. But I would walk it, however unsteadily, guided by the unwavering conviction that these quiet fields and kind souls were worth every ounce of my diminished strength.

  With that resolution burning in my chest, I led the volunteers toward the Meadow, leaving the safety of Greylake behind once more. The memory of our last battle flashed through my mind, mingling with apprehension for what awaited us this time. Whatever we find, I vowed silently, we will stand against it together. And so we marched, forging a new kind of courage with each determined footstep—fragile yet unbreakable, like the resolve of mortals who refuse to surrender to darkness.