A Glimpse from the Past 2

Ithri's plan, if one could even really call it that, began with a weapon. A weapon made all things possible or at least gave him a fighting chance against the chaos about to unleash. Without this, well, he might as well lay down and accept his fate

Where would he find such a thing? The village old leader's house came to mind. The choice was dicey, but Ithri couldn't think of a better one. It was a place where the leader's widow still lived, an old woman given to tantrums like a storm. Not a lot of danger but quite sufficient to know who might be nosing into her territory. Perfect. Just the kind of complication Ithri needed to make his day.

As he approached the house, memories fluttered in his mind-faint images of him and the other children daring each other to sneak onto the property. 

 The widow was outside, fussing over two scrawny cows while chickens wandered aimlessly around her feet.

"Oh, great," Ithri thought, 'an audience of farm animals. Just what I needed as witnesses for this daring heist.'

He knew there was no way he could sneak past her. That wooden door creaked and groaned at even the slightest touch.

Instead, he moved forward with caution, staying in the shadows and dodging behind a corner. A chicken pecked at the ground a few feet away, heedless.

He reached out and snatched the bird. It squawked in protest as he threw it at her.

"Puuuk!" The chicken let out an indignant cry, flapping wildly as it flew through the air.

It struck the woman square on the back of her head. She yelped, stumbling backward, then unleashed a stream of curses. "You little wretch!" she growled, grabbing the dazed chicken.

Clucking softly in her grasp, the poor bird seemed destined for a grim fate Ithri had no doubt it would be dinner soon.

Ithri suppressed a smile. Well, that was easier than expected, he thought,

she took the bird and go away from the place

With the coast clear, Ithri slipped into the house. 

He sprinted in, his eyes scanning the cluttered room; rusted tools, chipped pottery, and a haphazard collection of trinkets which might have been of value decades ago. None of it mattered.

He was searching for one thing: the red ring.

His gaze locked onto a small pedestal in the corner. There it was, just as he'd hoped a crimson ring, etched with strange markings that seemed to shift in the faint light.

Ithri hesitated for only a moment before snatching it. The metal was cool against his skin, sending a faint shiver through his fingers.

"Perfect," slipping the ring onto his finger, where it fits snugly without issue.

----------

About 10 minutes later.

Ithri stood at the top of the mountain, the world spread out below him. The village sat cradled in a U-shaped hollow in the earth, protected from the embracing arms of the river. A perfect refuge. A perfect trap.

He could not help but scan the scene before him.The four-star symbol had yet to appear.

Below, the soldiers approached. Twenty-five of them, in a tight formation of steel and discipline. Their shields caught the sun's glare, transforming them into a line of marching swords. In their midst, the flagbearer rode a tall steed, his banner cracking in the breeze.

A two-headed lion, its twin mouths open in an eternal roar, ruled the blood-red cloth.

Ithri squinted into the distance.

His fingers traced the rough, uneven surface of a massive boulder. It was heavy. Dangerous. Enough to break their ranks if he could move it.

The enemy rode in from the east, along the bend of the river. Sun stains on the water, children played in it and splashed. Their laughter rose upwards, unconscious of the silent menace that approached them.

There was no guard in sight. No alarms sounded.

Anger was tinged in Ithri's clutched fists, confusing him. Why did they slaughter this place? What would they have wanted?

These questions danced on, begging an answer.

He exhaled sharply. The answers didn't matter not now.

Then that thought returned again to his mind: why was he emotional? This much could be an after-effect of the dream.

He looked back at the riverbank. Time hung in the balance.

He pressed his palm to the rock, feeling the latent energy pulsing through it, the potential waiting to be unleashed. The ring pulsed on his finger, a heartbeat of raw power.

If I burned the stone's energy, he reasoned, I could push it down. But that wouldn't be enough. Not for what I wanted.

The pain in his chest grew. I couldn't save them in the real world. But here maybe I can.

'I become emotional, this is wrong. This isn't me!'

He clenched his fist and planted his feet.

The rock resisted.

He pushed harder. Magic flowed from the ring and flooded his limbs. His arms trembled, and the stone groaned and shifted against his weight. Dust rose as he moved forward.

More.

With a final surge, the rock flipped over.

It began to fall slowly at first, then faster.

It picked up speed as it rolled down the hill, eliminating everything that dared to get in its path. Trees snapped like twigs; the ground erupted into fountains of dirt. The boulder boomed, unstoppable.

Ithri wasn't trying to squash the soldiers but to scatter them and buy himself some time.

The ground shook when the boulder finally fell on the road.

Dust rose.

The horses reared up. Their hooves pounded the air.

The soldiers screamed, their voices rising in fear and confusion.

One of the knights stumbled, landing hard among the stones. Others spun their horses, their once-pure formation transformed into a mess of stumbling limbs and terrified beasts.

Perfect chaos.

For a moment, the dust was thick, a veil between chaos and calm.

Then it broke.

As the dust settled, the leader appeared. A young man with golden hair and blood-red iron armor.

"Attack!" He shouted .

The word split through the air, sharp as the sound of a bone breaking.

The soldiers gathered their strength.

Ithri prepared for what was to come next.