Ash and Echoes

They rode back toward Greenwood in a heavy silence, the wind carrying the lingering smell of smoke from the ruined farmstead behind them. Even the horses seemed subdued, their ears flicking anxiously at every stray sound on the road. Taron Emberfall couldn't get the image of the blackened barn out of his head—or the memory of those strange clawed footprints. The thought that real people had once worked that land, only to vanish in a single night of horror, twisted his stomach into knots.

Sir Aldren rode at a steady pace beside Captain Eliana, the two of them murmuring in low tones. Occasionally, they'd pause to exchange a glance that Taron guessed meant: Yes, it's that bad. Meanwhile, Minna kept her bow across her lap, scanning the distant treeline as though expecting monstrous shapes to lunge at them at any moment.

Taron clutched Emberlight under its burlap wrap, feeling the sword's subtle warmth. Each bounce in the saddle reminded him of how unprepared he felt, despite Aldren's training. Even if he were the most skilled swordsman alive, the horrifying truth was that these creatures could appear anywhere, leaving only ash and echoes in their wake.

By the time Greenwood's patched walls came into sight, the sun had crested overhead, washing the landscape in bright light that seemed almost at odds with the group's grim mood. The gate guards spotted Captain Eliana's party at a distance and raised the doors, letting them slip back inside the town. Taron noticed more wooden spikes being erected along the perimeter—crude but necessary defenses against whatever lurked out there.

Eliana reined her horse near the main square. "We'll meet at the town hall in half an hour. I need to inform the mayor about what we saw."

Aldren, rubbing his sore knee, nodded. "I'll join you once I see to my horse." He glanced at Taron. "Get some rest, boy, then find me. No doubt we'll have more training to do."

Minna dismounted, releasing a weary sigh. "I'll check on my father—he's been staying with a friend near the south gate. Meet you later?"

"Sure," Taron answered, sliding off his saddle. "Stay safe."

She gave a brief wave, eyes clouded with worry, then disappeared into the scattering crowd. The group parted ways, each heading to their own errands. Taron inhaled, forcing his racing thoughts to settle. Alright. Report, rest, then regroup. That seemed to be the pattern these days.

Uneasy News

Taron's first stop was the makeshift shelter in the old town hall, where he'd last seen his mother helping displaced families. He found her kneeling beside a pair of frightened children, coaxing them to take sips of water. She glanced up when he approached, relief momentarily flickering in her expression.

"You're back." Lorena rose, wiping her hands on her apron. "What happened?"

He hesitated, not wanting to upset the children. Lowering his voice, he said, "Another farm destroyed. No survivors. We suspect it was the same creatures."

Lorena's face paled, a tremor running through her shoulders. "Oh, Taron…"

He set a gentle hand on her arm. "I'm okay. Sir Aldren came too. But it's bad out there, Mom. These things are spreading terror, like they know exactly how to strike where folks feel safest."

She glanced at the children, who were now playing quietly with a chipped wooden toy. "Give me a moment to finish here, then I'll speak with you outside." She handed the water bucket to another volunteer and led Taron into the hall's corridor, which was quieter, though still filled with anxious whispers from scattered families.

Once they had some privacy, Taron recounted everything: the claw marks, the burn patterns, the footprints in the ash. Lorena's hands balled into fists at her sides, but she forced herself to listen, nodding tightly.

"It's happening too often," she said. "And so close to Greenwood. This might not be just random raids."

"I don't think it is," Taron agreed. "Eliana's calling a meeting with the mayor right now. They'll probably plan more patrols, or maybe an evacuation. But I'm not sure that's enough."

Lorena's gaze lingered on the burlap at Taron's hip. "Then we might need to do more than just hide behind walls. If Emberlight truly is a key to this, maybe we have to look for solutions outside Greenwood. Perhaps find a way to repair the sword or track these monsters to their source."

Taron's pulse fluttered. "I've been thinking the same, but Aldren says dwarven forges or mage-smiths might be the only ones who can fix a blade like this, and they're far from here. Traveling that far seems impossible with these attacks."

She pressed her lips together, considering. "If the threat grows worse, we might have no choice."

They stood in tense silence until a cry from the main hall drew Lorena back to her duties, leaving Taron's mind swirling with possibilities. Journey beyond Greenwood—the idea both thrilled and terrified him. He knew one thing for sure: staying put without a plan would only buy them a little time.

An Unexpected Offer

Outside, in Greenwood's sunlit square, Taron spotted a tall figure beckoning to him from near a boarded-up storefront. It was none other than Borus, the blacksmith, his face streaked with soot. He waved Taron over, eyebrows raised.

"I hear you found another farm in ruins," Borus said bluntly. "Word travels fast in a place like this."

Taron nodded. "Yeah, it's bad. No one survived."

Borus clicked his tongue. "I've been forging day and night for these volunteers. Problem is, half of them don't know a sword from a shovel. At least you're training with Aldren—if he vouches for you, I'll give you better gear."

Taron blinked in surprise. "Aldren doesn't exactly 'vouch' for me, but he's teaching me. Are you offering me new equipment?"

Borus wiped his brow with a rag, leaving a smudge of black on his temple. "I'm offering you a chance to test something I've been working on. My normal forging's fine for pitchfork-wielders, but I've hammered out a few experimental pieces with sturdier steel. If we're going to face unnatural beasts, we need weapons that won't snap at the first sign of claws."

He gestured for Taron to follow. They walked a short distance to Borus's workshop—a partially open-air structure with multiple anvils and roaring furnaces. The clang of hammers was constant, apprentices scurrying about with tongs and raw metal.

In a corner, Borus pointed to a half-finished longsword lying on a wooden bench. "This here is my attempt at forging a stronger, denser blade. Not magical, mind you, but better than standard iron. If you want, I can finish it for you. But you'll need to help me test it. The question is, do you see yourself fighting with a full-size sword, or do you trust that half-broken one you carry around?"

Taron's hand drifted to Emberlight, feeling the steady warmth. "I can't abandon Emberlight—it's… special. But having a secondary blade could be helpful."

Borus nodded, as if that was all the answer he needed. "Give me a day or two to finalize the forging. Check back, and I'll see what I can do about a shield or better armor. Not that flimsy leather you're wearing."

A flicker of gratitude brightened Taron's chest. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

The blacksmith shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Don't thank me until you've tested it on a monster. For now, keep your wits about you. I'd prefer not to forge your funeral pyre."

Taron managed a shaky grin at Borus's dark humor. "Understood. I'll see you in a couple of days."

He left the forge feeling a bit lighter. With or without actual magic, better equipment might mean the difference between life and death. Maybe this is progress, he thought, heading for Aldren's cottage.

Whispers of the Past

Aldren lived at the base of the old watchtower, and as Taron arrived, he noticed the fence was empty—no sign of the old knight waiting with a practice sword. A pang of worry shot through him. He knocked on the cottage door, only to find it slightly ajar. Easing it open, he stepped inside.

"Aldren?" Taron called softly. The interior was dim, the shutters half-closed. A few motes of dust swirled in the lantern light.

"In here," came the knight's voice from a back room.

Taron followed the sound to a cramped study. Aldren sat at a small table piled high with rolled scrolls and yellowed parchments. He glanced up, face creased in a grimace that might have been mild annoyance. "Close the door."

Taron obeyed, curiosity piqued by the swirling calligraphy on the nearest scroll. "Is this more about the Knights of Ember?"

Aldren exhaled, nodding. "Some of it. I've been combing through old records, hoping to find details on these creatures we're facing. Patterns, weaknesses, anything your father and I might've documented from our campaigns."

Taron took a step closer, hesitant. "And… anything useful so far?"

"Plenty about the past, not much about the future," Aldren muttered, tapping a scroll with a knuckle. "Your father believed these beasts were part of a larger force—what he called the Devouring Night. A term referencing ancient texts that speak of a sentient darkness feeding on fear. If it's truly the same threat, we're dealing with something old, cunning, and patient."

A cold chill seeped into Taron's bones. "Sentient darkness? That sounds like something out of a nightmare."

"It was," Aldren replied. "Or so we thought. But nightmares can become real enough if given form. He and I used to suspect a single entity directed these monsters, forging them into an army. We never found proof—just rumors and half-clues. Then your father disappeared before we could dig deeper."

Taron swallowed, voice low. "So if it's coming back, we might see more organized attacks. Not just random raids."

Aldren's eyes flicked to Emberlight, still wrapped at Taron's side. "Possibly. This is why your sword's awakening is crucial. Emberlight was forged in an era when kings allied with dragons, or so the legend goes. If it resonates with you, it might be the one thing these creatures fear."

Taron set a hand on the burlap hilt, feeling the comforting hum. "Then let's figure out how to use it. I'm willing to keep training, but if there's more… advanced knowledge I need, I'd rather learn it sooner than later."

The knight gave a weary chuckle. "That's the tricky part. Magic-laden swords don't come with instruction manuals, boy. Your best teacher is the blade itself. Maybe the more you wield it, the more it'll reveal. Your father sometimes spoke of dream-visions guiding him. Could be you'll have them, too."

A flicker of memory made Taron recall the nightmares he'd had at home, images of fields aflame and monstrous silhouettes lurking in swirling embers. Were those just nightmares or something more? He decided not to mention it yet. Instead, he gave a small nod. "Let's keep training. I'm ready."

Aldren pushed to his feet, using the edge of the table to steady himself. "Fine. We'll continue. But if Captain Eliana has new patrols scheduled, we'll have to work around them."

Taron followed the old knight out into the yard, heart heavy with revelations. The idea of a controlling force behind these abominations felt disturbingly plausible. If that was true, he couldn't rest until he'd either repaired Emberlight or discovered how to unleash its full power.

Clashing Steel

Training that afternoon was brutal. Aldren wasted no time drilling Taron in rapid sequences, parry after parry, strike after strike. Taron's muscles screamed in protest. Every misstep or slow reaction drew a barked reprimand from the knight. Yet Taron persevered, fueled by the memory of that ruined farm. If he had to sweat and bleed to protect others from sharing that fate, so be it.

"Don't rely solely on the sword's magic," Aldren warned, blocking Taron's overhead strike with a wooden practice blade. "It won't do all the work for you."

"I know," Taron gasped, shifting to dodge a sudden counterattack. He tried to pivot, then thrust forward. The blow almost caught Aldren off-guard, but the old knight twisted away just in time.

"Good," Aldren said, surprising Taron with a grunt of approval. "You're learning to watch my stance, not just my blade."

They clashed a few more times. Finally, Aldren stepped back, raising a hand for a halt. Taron dropped to his knees, panting hard, sweat trickling into his eyes. Emberlight remained wrapped at the yard's edge—Aldren had insisted Taron use a practice blade for these drills, to refine technique. The broken sword glimmered faintly in the afternoon sun, as though longing to be wielded.

Aldren placed the tip of his wooden sword on the ground, leaning against it. "That's enough for now. Go hydrate."

Taron staggered to the small well behind the tower and drew up a bucket of cool water. He splashed some on his face and drank greedily. Every muscle in his body felt like a coiled wire. Exhaustion warred with a flicker of pride. He'd held his own better than before.

As he rested, he spotted a figure at the fence—Minna, arms folded. "You look like you're about to collapse," she teased gently.

He forced a grin. "I feel like I've been battered by a pack of wild boars. You need something?"

Minna shook her head, stepping forward. "Captain Eliana posted new patrol schedules. She wants you on the next dusk shift for the walls. I'm on the same rotation."

Taron nodded, shoulders sagging a bit at the thought of more patrol duty. "All right. Thanks for letting me know."

She tilted her head, observing the battered wooden swords, Taron's bruises, and Aldren's stoic posture. "I think it's good you're practicing. A lot of folks here talk about fighting, but you're actually doing it. Let me know if you ever need a second set of eyes or if you want to practice with a bow."

A faint warmth of camaraderie sparked in Taron's chest. "Thanks. I might take you up on that. My short-range fighting is improving, but my archery's… lacking."

She smiled, tapping the fence post. "We'll fix that someday. Stay safe until then."

Minna left as quietly as she'd arrived, slipping back into Greenwood's bustle. Taron returned to Aldren, who was busy tidying the practice blades. The old knight cast him a sidelong glance.

"You've got a friend there, boy. Don't let that slip away. The ones who stand by you in times like these matter more than gold or titles."

Taron nodded. "I'm grateful. People like Minna, my mother, you… I wouldn't stand a chance alone."

Aldren let out a noncommittal grunt, stashing the wooden swords in a barrel. "Go on, get some rest before your shift tonight. We'll resume tomorrow. And Taron—" He paused, meeting Taron's gaze. "Keep your sword close. I sense trouble brewing faster than we can prepare for."

Taron's spine prickled at the warning. He wasn't sure if it was just Aldren's paranoia or a genuine omen, but either way, he intended to heed it.

A Thief in the Night

Night fell gently, the sky painted in deep purples and blues. Taron took his place on Greenwood's western wall once again, Minna at his side. This time, fewer volunteers patrolled—perhaps some had lost heart. The earlier sense of quiet dread returned, the torches casting long shadows across the battlements.

"Keep your eyes open," Emric, their squad leader, said, voice echoing in the stillness. "We don't need any more surprises."

An hour passed without incident, then two. Taron fought off yawns, scanning the moonlit fields. The orchard line beyond the farmland looked eerie and still. Occasionally, he imagined movement, only to realize it was a stray gust rippling the grass.

Suddenly, a muffled clang from below jerked him upright. Minna tensed, drawing an arrow. "Down there," she hissed, pointing to a dark shape near a storage shed on Greenwood's west side—inside the walls.

"How'd someone get past the guards?" Taron muttered, adrenaline spiking.

Emric spotted it too. "You two, come with me. The rest, keep watching the perimeter."

They hurried down a wooden ladder, boots thudding on the packed earth. The storage shed in question was used to keep surplus grain and seeds—vital supplies for the town. The clang repeated, as if someone was rummaging or prying open crates.

Taron and Minna flanked the door, while Emric raised his short spear. With a sudden shove, Emric pushed the door open, torchlight flooding the interior. A hunched figure froze, caught in the act of prying open a small chest.

"What the—?" Minna blurted.

The intruder spun, revealing a pale face smudged with dirt, eyes wide with equal parts fear and desperation. This was no monstrous creature—just a skinny young man, perhaps a couple of years older than Taron. He clutched a makeshift pry bar, trembling.

Emric barked, "Drop that and step away!"

The man's gaze flicked to a side window. Clearly, he considered running. But Minna leveled her bow, arrow nocked. Taron planted himself in front of the door, hand resting on his short sword's hilt.

"Easy," Taron said, trying to keep his voice calm. "We're not going to hurt you if you come quietly."

Tears welled in the intruder's eyes. "I—I'm sorry," he stammered. "I needed food. My family's starving in the slums near the south gate. We lost our farm. The guard wouldn't let us take extra rations—"

Emric's stern expression cracked a fraction. He lowered his spear. "Stealing from the storehouse is a crime, but… let's talk it out."

Minna relaxed her bowstring, though her posture remained guarded. "Why didn't you just ask? People are giving out supplies to refugees."

The thief shook his head bitterly. "They don't have enough to go around. My mother's sick, my younger brother can't walk. I was desperate."

Taron's chest tightened. He recalled how the orchard had once fed them, and how they'd left it behind to come here, uncertain of the future. "No one should have to steal just to live," he murmured.

Emric exhaled, glancing at Taron and Minna. "We'll need to bring him to the guardhouse. The mayor decides if he faces punishment or gets a warning. At least it's not one of those creatures. That's some relief."

Reluctantly, they escorted the thief out, ignoring his tearful pleas. Taron's mind whirled. Even within the supposedly safe walls, people were at each other's throats over dwindling resources. The monstrous threat outside only magnified the desperation within. Is Greenwood on the verge of collapsing from the inside, too?

He grimaced, thinking how powerless he felt to solve every problem. Still, the most immediate danger was the lurking evil beyond the walls. If they didn't deal with that, none of these refugees—and thieves—would have a chance at rebuilding their lives.

Glimpse of Tomorrow

Dawn broke on another day of tension. After the excitement with the thief, Taron had barely managed a couple hours of sleep at the inn. His muscles groaned from the previous day's training, and his mind buzzed with the knowledge that Greenwood was cracking under pressure.

Lorena caught him at the breakfast area, handing him a bowl of thin porridge. Her eyes looked tired, but she forced a gentle smile. "Morning. Are you off to train again?"

He nodded, gulping down a spoonful. "Aldren wants me there at sunrise. I think he senses something big is coming."

She squeezed his shoulder. "Be careful, Taron."

He gave a small nod, finishing the meal. Then he slung Emberlight's burlap wrap over his back and stepped outside. The streets were calmer than at night, but tension still simmered. He spotted Minna in the distance, headed toward the southern gate, probably for more scouting. Their gazes met for an instant, exchanging a silent wish of luck.

At the watchtower courtyard, Aldren stood with arms folded, scanning the sky. A faint breeze blew from the west, carrying the hint of smoke or ash Taron couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Ready?" Aldren asked, turning with a grim half-smile. "We're going to practice defensive maneuvers. If you ever find yourself surrounded, you'll need to fend off attacks from multiple angles."

Taron swallowed hard. "I'm ready."

They began, Taron's wooden sword sweeping in arcs as Aldren circled him with surprising speed for a man of his years. Taron tried to keep track of each feint, each lunge. Now and then, he felt Emberlight's presence thrumming from where it lay near the fence, like it was cheering him on.

After an intense series of drills, Taron slumped against the fence, panting. Aldren retrieved a waterskin, tossing it to him. "You've improved, boy," he said, voice rough. "But it may not be enough."

Taron wiped sweat from his brow. "What do you mean?"

Aldren's eyes flicked toward the horizon. "Word is, more farms in the east are going silent. No travelers come from that direction anymore. If we're facing a coordinated push, Greenwood might be hit from all sides soon."

Fear skittered through Taron's chest. So many silent farms… how many families are gone? He thought of his orchard, now deserted, but at least they'd left by choice. Others hadn't been so lucky.

He stood, determination hardening. "Then we'll be ready—or we'll go out and meet them before they swarm us. We can't let these creatures pick us off one farm at a time."

Aldren regarded him with a mix of approval and concern. "A bold plan, but you'd need more than a handful of volunteers. A real force. And Captain Eliana might not risk leaving the walls."

Taron balled his fists. "Then I'll do it alone if I have to."

To his surprise, Aldren's expression softened. "Your father said something similar in a time like this. But trust me, you'll need allies. Don't rush into a death trap."

Before Taron could reply, a bell clanged from somewhere near the main square—sharp, insistent. Both of them froze. The bell was different from the usual shift change or meeting call. It screamed emergency.

Aldren cursed under his breath. "Sounds like trouble."

Taron grabbed Emberlight, the faint glow flaring at his touch. He felt a jolt of anticipation and fear. Another attack? He and Aldren exchanged a grim look, then started toward town at a hurried pace.

Whatever awaited them, Taron knew the next step would define Greenwood's fate. And with Emberlight pulsing in his grip, he felt a spark of hope that, despite the ruin and terror spreading across the kingdom, they might still be able to stand against the darkness—together.