Morning arrived quietly, slipping into the world with a soft, pale glow that crept across the inn's wooden floorboards. Aleric woke before the sun had fully risen, the faint sounds of movement from downstairs blending with the muted warmth of dawn. He sat up slowly, his joints cracking and popping from the previous day's exhaustion, letting the last traces of sleep melt away.
After getting ready he stepped out his room only to see Athena step out her room the same moment he did.
She stepped out already wearing her armor. Her shield was strapped securely to her arm, and her spear rested against her shoulder as she fastened the final strap of her cuirass. She looked ready for whatever came her way.
"You're early," Aleric said, his voice still thick with sleep.
"I can say the same of you," she replied.
Her tone was even, but she walked half a step closer to him as they descended the stairs. It was subtle—barely noticeable—but even Aleric noticed. Her closeness was different. Before it was about her providing protection. Now it felt like she simply wanted to remain present by his side.
Fenrir padded beside him, silver fur catching the dim morning light. The wolf's ears flicked at every sound, alert even in the calm. He looked like a ghost haunting the hallway.
The common room smelled of porridge and sizzling bacon. The innkeeper's wife wiped her hands on her apron as she saw the three approach the counter. "Porridge is two bronze. Eggs for one more bronze and if you want sausages as well, it adds to five bronze total."
"We will take three plates of everything," Aleric ordered, his mind automatically subtracting from his pouch. "We will also take sausages for him." He said pointing at Fenrir.
She nodded toward Fenrir without flinching. "That will be seventeen bronze please."
Aleric paid, the coins clinking softly as he placed it into her hand.
Fafnir appeared just as the food arrived, stretching as though he had woken up from hibernation, his red hair a mess of defiant tangles.
"You ordered without me," he said mildly.
"You were asleep," Aleric replied.
"You could have woken me."
"You would have complained."
Fafnir smirked. "True."
They ate quickly. Aleric's mind was already on the day ahead. "First thing on the agenda, head to the guild," he said.
Athena nodded. Fafnir tore into his breakfast with casual enthusiasm. "Let's see what quests we can find in this region."
+++++
The Mercenary Guild
The Mercenary Guild stood apart from the surrounding buildings—not larger, but heavier. Thick stone blocks formed its walls, scarred by old impacts and patched cracks. A wide wooden sign hung above the door, carved with a crossed sword and spear over a coin scale. The symbols for steel and gold.
Inside, the hall smelled of oil, leather, and old iron. Mercenaries filled the space—armored veterans, mismatched sellswords, archers comparing arrowheads, a lone woman sharpening twin blades. Conversations dipped briefly as Aleric, Athena, Fenrir, and Fafnir entered. The air grew thick with the weight of professional curiosity.
Every gaze sent their way was filled with veiled assessment.
Fenrir drew the most attention. The wolf's presence shifted the room's energy, but no one challenged them. They weren't stupid; they could feel the power around the group.
Aleric moved toward the contract board. Athena scanned over his shoulder. Fafnir leaned against a support beam, watching the room instead of the board. The board was made of thick oak. On it, one could see it layered with contracts. Some crisp and new. Others curled and ignored.
Aleric read each carefully.
- Kobold nest extermination—intermediate risk, pays 10 silver.
- Resource gathering—low danger, pays 1 silver
- Scouting monster movements— intermediate to high danger, pays 20 silver
- Merchant Caravan Escort—Rellmere to High Valmere, three day trip, intermediate to high danger, pays 50 silver.
Aleric stepped back. "If we choose the Extermination quest we'd be stuck hunting the kobolds underground."
"I think scouting is too time consuming for the amount it pays," Athena remarked.
"Resource gathering is beneath me," Fafnir harrumphed.
"The Escort quest it is then," Aleric finished.
Athena met his gaze. "Yes."
Fafnir pushed off the pillar. "Lets get to it then."
Fenrir huffed once in agreement. Aleric removed the contract from the board. "Then lets go to the counter and accept it."
+++++
Once the group accepted the quest, they were told to meet with the merchant at the western gate. As they arrived to the gate, the merchant, whose name was Orlan Heth, could be seen going over his inventory. He was round, well-dressed, and once he laid eyes on the group, visibly nervous. "You... are you my escort from the guild?"
"Yes," Aleric said calmly, his hand resting on his hilt.
"Even the wolf?" he inquired. "That is correct."
Fenrir just stared, his silver eyes unblinking.
"…Very well."
Once Orlan finished his wagon inspection and had the caravan depart, it was already mid-morning. The road wound through light woodland and rolling hills. Athena walked next to Aleric—close, but not hovering. Fenrir padded silently at his side and Fafnir walked behind them, humming tunelessly.
The first attack came before noon. Athena felt it first—a wrongness in the quiet. The forest was empty of sound. No birdsong could be heard and it felt like the wind held its breath. The whole forest had gone unnaturally still.
"Stop the wagons," she ordered.
As soon as her shout was heard, the first arrow struck the lead wagon with a violent thunk. Then another. Then six more. The tree line erupted. Goblins poured out—twenty, maybe twenty-five. Arrows rained from up the tree branches. Spears and rusted blades glinted in the dim light.
"Defend the caravan!" Athena commanded.
Arrows hammered against her shield. Aleric drew steel, heart pounding once before instinct took over. The "Gamer" in him was ecstatic to see real goblins; the "Man" in him felt the fear.
Fenrir lunged first, crashing into the nearest goblins with bone-breaking force. Aleric moved to the right flank—and nearly took a blade across the ribs before Athena intercepted it.
"Stay close" she said.
Three goblins rushed her. She killed two. Aleric cut down the third before it could hamstring her. As he began to fight, he began to notice changes. He felt sharper, his reflexes were faster. He began to become more aware of his surroundings. The fear he felt was still there, but it was being eclipsed by this feeling of improvement.
Fafnir didn't need a weapon. A goblin struck his arm—the blade shattered. Fafnir seized the creature by the face and slammed it into the dirt. Another stabbed at him; the dagger bent uselessly against his scales. He just walked from one goblin to the other, no urgency in his step, like he had all the time in the world.
Aleric charged the tree line. He noticed two goblins that had dropped from the branches. He parried one as it slashed at him, and missed the second—pain flared as a chipped sword sliced his thigh. He adjusted. He lower his stance, ignoring the pain in his leg. As he swung his sword, his cuts became cleaner, more precise. Soon one fell then the second.
Something inside him began to awaken. As he fought, Athena moved with him, watching his back. Fenrir just tore through the ones furthest from the caravan. Fafnir had just caught an arrow mid-flight and snapped it before carrying on to punching through a goblin's chest.
Minutes passed like hours. When the last goblin tried to flee, Fenrir ran it down.
Silence fell. Aleric wiped the blood from his blade, his hands surprisingly steady. His breathing steadied faster than before. His stepped were more confident. The battle hadn't overwhelmed him. It had tempered him.
The rest of the day went without any more incident and the caravan only stopped at a clearing near a river as the last rays of the sun fell over the forest.
+++++
The second day began not with silence, but with laughter. It drifted across the road in uneven waves—low at first, then rising into a layered chorus that raised the hair at the back of Aleric's neck. It sounded like hyena laughter. It sounded too close. and the laughs drowning one another were too many.
Athena stood up instantly. Fenrir's fur rose along his spine, and Fafnir tilted his head slightly, listening with a faint, almost curious expression.
Then the gnolls appeared.
It wasn't the size of a wandering pack but they also weren't a handful of strays. Ten of them crested the low hills ahead, their lean, powerful bodies wrapped in hardened leather and scraps of iron. They moved with a discipline that contradicted every tavern tale Aleric had ever heard. Their shoulders hunched forward as they advanced, long limbs coiled with coiled strength. Yellow eyes studied the road with unsettling patience.
They did not charge. They spread outward instead, forming a practiced arc that tightened around the wagons without ever leaving any opening.
Orlan's voice trembled behind them. "That's… that's not normal…"
"No," Athena said quietly. "It isn't."
The gnolls first let javelins fly. One smashed into a wagon wheel, splintering wood. Another drove toward Aleric with startling accuracy. He twisted at the last moment, but the spearhead still tore through the muscle of his upper shoulder. Pain flared white-hot, a blinding spike of agony, but he kept moving, ripping the shaft free and snapping it against his knee.
"Protect the merchant," Athena said.
The gnolls advanced with measured steps. Three moved toward Athena, shields locking together for a moment before separating again as they tested her defenses. Two veered toward the wagons. Fenrir intercepted the first in mid-leap, jaws closing around its throat with a sickening crunch. The second slipped past him.
Aleric met it head-on. Iron slammed against iron. The impact rattled up his arm, numbing his fingers. The gnoll's shield then struck him hard enough to stagger him sideways. Another rotated in immediately, its blade cutting low. The edge tore across his calf before Aleric could dodge it.
The gnolls fought in pairs. One engaged while one waited for an opening. They rotated with practiced precision. Athena killed one gnoll with a clean thrust, but another stepped forward instantly, forcing her back onto the defensive.
Fafnir stepped into the rear arc of the formation. A blade struck his side and shattered against his scales. He seized the attacker by the throat and hurled it into another gnoll, bones breaking as both hit the dirt.
Even then, their formation held.
Aleric found himself pushed backward toward a shallow ditch. He was fighting three gnolls now. One with a sword. One wielding a shield and the last one kept circling trying to find openings ith its dagger. Aleric kept stepping back, dodging the attacks as they came—then stopped. One more step back and he would lose his footing.
The shield-bearer lunged. He deflected the blow. The second gnoll slashed low again. This time, he anticipated it, shifting his weight early. Even so, the blade still managed to carved into his thigh—deeper than the cut on his calf, but missing the artery. The heat of his own blood felt strange against the cool air.
He held his ground. He took his stance and fought with shorter movements, trying to keep up his stamina.
The circling gnoll moved in. Aleric stepped inside its guard before its swing finished. His blade drove beneath the ribs. He twisted and withdrew. The shield-bearer slammed into him full force. The impact dropped him to one knee. The third gnoll committed to the strike—
Athena's spear burst through its back before the blade could fall.
The remaining gnolls disengaged instantly, regrouping around their wounded leader. Fenrir crashed into their flank. Fafnir closed in from the opposite side.
When the last gnoll hit the ground, silence returned. Aleric stood breathing hard. Blood ran freely from his shoulder and thigh. His calf throbbed with every step. He felt the weight of his own inexperience in every step.
He waited for the the familiar crash from the adrenaline leaving his veins and what will accompany its exit. Just as expected. It hit him all at once: Exhaustion. Pain. Slight dizziness.
Athena watched him carefully. He met her eyes. She understood the message without words. She stepped towards him. "Sit."
It was not a suggestion. He obeyed.
Fafnir dragged a broken crate over for him to sit on while Fenrir prowled along the road's edge, still alert, his fur streaked with drying blood. Athena knelt in front of Aleric. Her hands were efficient as she unfastened his shoulder guard. The torn leather peeled back with a wet sound. She examined the wound once.
"It is a clean cut. There is no break in the bone."
"You almost sound disappointed," Aleric muttered, his voice strained.
Her eyes flicked up briefly. "I prefer relieved."
She retrieved bandaging cloth and a small clay jar of salve from the wagon chest. But before that, water came first. She poured it slowly over the wound. The sting made him suck air through his teeth, his vision momentarily blurring.
"You did well," she said while working. "You improved compared to when we first met."
Aleric watched her hands pressing cloth against his shoulder. "Maybe its simply because I noticed their rhythm."
"Maybe. But that it in itself is an achievement."
Her words were no praise, but rather genuine acknowledgment. She wrapped his shoulder firmly, then his thigh, then crouched to bind the cut along his calf. Her movements were steady and methodical. Her touch was not gentle, but it was careful. It was the touch of someone who had treated wounds like these before.
Even after finishing, she stayed close a moment longer, checking the bandages, making sure the bleeding had stopped. She only stepped back when she was satisfied.
Fafnir watched with mild amusement. "You're hovering."
Athena did not look at him. "I am not."
Aleric almost smiled at that.
They made camp early. No one spoke much. The gnoll bodies remained where they had fallen. By morning, something else would take them. Night passed without incident, but the tension never fully left. It lingered in the air like a storm that had decided to wait.
++++++
The third day dawned with a stillness that felt unnatural. The air hung heavy, as if the world were holding its breath. Fenrir's ears twitched at every rustle of grass. Athena's grip tightened around her spear. Even Fafnir, usually relaxed to the point of boredom, walked with a quiet alertness.
Aleric felt it too—an unease that settled beneath the skin.
The road curved gently through a sparse stretch of forest. Sunlight filtered through the branches in thin, uneven beams. The wagons creaked softly behind them.
Then the trees moved. Branches snapped. Birds scattered. The ground trembled beneath a series of heavy, rhythmic impacts.
Six ogres stepped onto the road. Not wandering brutes. Not disorganized scavengers. A warband.
Each one towered over the wagons, their bodies thick with muscle and scar tissue. They carried weapons that looked more like uprooted trees than crafted tools—massive clubs, iron‑bound mauls, and lengths of chain studded with hooks. They were living siege engines.
Orlan's voice cracked. "That… that is a warband."
Athena didn't look back. "Brace!"
The ogres charged. The ground shook with every step. Dust rose in thick clouds. The air filled with the deep, guttural roars of creatures that knew their strength and trusted it completely.
The battlefield shattered into separate fights almost instantly.
Fafnir met the first ogre head‑on. The creature swung an iron maul with enough force to shatter stone. Fafnir caught the handle mid‑swing. The impact blasted a crater beneath his feet, but he didn't move. A second ogre slammed a spiked trunk into his side. Dust exploded outward. When it cleared, Fafnir still stood—no longer amused, but annoyed.
Fenrir leapt at another ogre, aiming for the throat. A chain whipped through the air and wrapped around him mid‑jump, the heavy iron links biting into his silver fur and slamming him into the ground. He twisted violently, tearing into the ogre's arm with a snarl that sounded like grinding stone. Another ogre stomped toward him, raising a club the size of a small tree.
Athena faced two at once. The first ogre swung a cleaver‑like blade that crashed into her shield with a force that drove her back several steps, carving deep trenches in the dirt. The second moved in immediately, trying to flank her. She pivoted, her spear flashing in a tight arc that forced them apart. Her stance was perfect, but even she could not match their raw power. She was a master of strategic fighting not brute force.
Aleric faced the largest ogre. It was bare‑handed, scarred, and confident—its massive fists wrapped in strips of hardened leather. It moved with a brutal efficiency that made the air feel thinner, the scent of sour sweat and old blood radiating from its hide.
The ogre's first punch came down like a falling boulder. Aleric ducked, but not fast enough. Its puch turned into a backhand. The backhand caught him across the ribs and sent him tumbling across the dirt. The world tilted, his vision flashing white as the air was punched out of him. He rolled instinctively, barely avoiding a stomp that cratered the ground where he had been.
He forced himself to his feet, breath sharp and painful. Every inhale felt like a serrated knife was sliding between his lungs. He couldn't overpower it. He couldn't outrun it. And everyone else was already fighting for their lives. This one was his.
The ogre lunged again. Aleric shifted diagonally, slipping inside its reach. His blade slashed across the hamstring—shallow, but enough to make the creature grunt and adjust its stance. It grabbed for him with a hand the size of his torso. He twisted free, losing a strip of armor in the process, the leather tearing away like paper.
The ogre charged. Aleric forced his thoughts to slow. Observe. See his rhythm.
He feinted high. The ogre overcommitted, its massive weight carrying it too far forward. Aleric pivoted low, driving his blade deep behind its knee. The ogre buckled. Its fist smashed into his ribs. Something cracked—a sickening, hollow sound. Pain exploded through him. He hit the ground hard, vision blurring at the edges.
The ogre loomed over him, shadow swallowing the light. Athena was pinned against a wagon axle by her own opponent. She couldn't reach him. Fenrir was locked in a desperate struggle. Fafnir was occupied by two ogres at once.
For one suspended moment, Aleric stood alone before death. And strangely, there was no panic. Only clarity. The world didn't feel like a game anymore; it felt real.
He rolled toward the ogre—inside its reach, where its size worked against it. His blade drove upward into its abdomen. Once. Again. Higher. He twisted the blade free, feeling the resistance give way as hot, dark blood soaked his gloves.
The ogre staggered. Aleric surged forward, climbing its falling body—he jump up its thigh, then hip, to climb up its shoulder—and drove his blade into the base of its skull in one final precise strike.
The ogre collapsed. Aleric fell with it, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
As the ogre died, something shifted inside him—not a surge, and not a raging torrent of power. This felt like a consolidation. A quiet, steadying force that settled into place like a piece of armor finally fitted correctly. The "cracked cup" of his body felt as though the cracks had been fused with steel. The unstable power that once threatened to burst now felt contained and under his control.
He forced himself to his feet, his ribs screaming with every movement.
Across the battlefield, Fafnir snapped an ogre's neck with a single twist. Fenrir tore out another's throat. Athena shattered the wrist of the ogre pinning her and drove her spear through its eye. The last ogre turned to flee. Fafnir caught it by the leg and dragged it back with the casual indifference of a child with a toy.
Silence fell. Dust drifted slowly through the air. Six ogres lay dead.
Aleric stood breathing hard. Blood soaked through the bandages on his shoulder and thigh. His calf throbbed with each heartbeat. But he was standing.
Athena approached him slowly. Her eyes moved from the dead ogre at his feet to the blood on his armor, then finally to his face. She looked at him not as a ward, but as a warrior.
"Congratulations," she said.
"Thank you." Aleric replied, his voice rasping.
She nodded once, a small but unmistakable gesture of respect. Next time, when she stood beside him, it wouldn't be because she feared he might fall. It was because he had proven he could stand on his own.
Beyond the trees, the walls of High Valmere rose into view—tall, fortified, and gleaming faintly in the afternoon sun. Fifty silver coins waited there. Their reputation would begin to rise. With it opportunity. And something else.
Aleric Saint looked at the city gates in the distance, and for the first time, he felt like he belonged in this world.