Bert wiped the sweat from his brow as he crossed the threshold of their home, rolling his shoulders to shake off the stiffness that had settled in. The trek back from Brenn’s had been uneventful, but exhaustion clung to his bones.
Aura was waiting for him. Standing by the window, arms crossed, her fingers tapping against her sleeves. She didn’t greet him, didn’t turn, just stared out at the village beyond.
He raised a brow. Just yesterday, she was glowing after they forged the artifact.
“Bert,” she said at last, voice carefully measured.
He tensed. “What is it?”
She turned to look at him. “I saw people leaving the village today.” She paused. “And not just a few of them.”
Bert leaned on the chair. “And?”
Her eyes were sharp, searching his face. “And what if they’re right?” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “What if we’re just waiting to be slaughtered?”
Bert didn’t answer immediately. He knew this was coming. Knew that she, more than anyone, would have to ask. He exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “You want to run?”
Aura’s jaw tightened. “I want us to live, Bert.”
He stared at her. He wasn’t angry, nor did he judge her.
She stepped closer, dropping her arms to her sides. “Do you want to stay?” She swallowed. “We have a son, Bert. And if we remain here, we might be sentencing him to die.”
He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. “And if we flee?” He shook his head. ”we leave our friends to die instead.”
Aura’s lips parted, but no words came. Because he was right.
Bert shook his head, his voice lower, firmer. “I won’t go while there’s still a chance to win.” The words hung between them, heavy with finality.
Aura looked at him for a long while, then closed her eyes and let out a breath. “If it comes to it—if we lose—” she met his gaze again, softer this time. “We’ll run then. Promise me?”
Bert reached out, brushing his hand against her arm. “If it comes to that, yeah.”
She searched his face once more, then nodded, accepting the answer.
She didn’t argue. How could she?
He had risked everything to help her chase her dream, to create the artifact that might just save them all. She wouldn’t turn her back on him now.
Her fingers curled around his hand. “Then let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

 
On the morning of the goddess’s rest, golden light bathed Grainwick in an almost serene glow, illuminating the crowd at the gates.
David approached slowly, his small frame safely tucked in between the figures of Aura and Bert at his sides. The soft crunch of dirt beneath their boots was the only sound between them.
The closer they got, the more David noticed the grim resolve etched onto the villagers' faces.
Men and women were clutching spears, pitchforks, and even crude clubs. They’d spent the last two weeks in a constant hurry to get ready.
The barricades were solid, multilayered, and spaced in a funnel before the palisade. There was nothing more they could do.
Their expressions were a strange mix of defiance and resignation. They knew death was coming, but they would face it on their own terms.
Some people avoided looking at the gates entirely, their fingers clenched around their makeshift weapons as if gripping them tighter would make them braver.
A few muttered prayers. Others tried for forced humor, throwing jests that landed stiffly, laughter cut too short.
Bravado, David thought, his eyes flicking over the crowd.
Courage from lack of choice.
Would they have kissed the knights’ feet now, if offered salvation? He paused, looking at a grizzled old man, fiercely gripping a pitchfork, as if raring to fight.
Maybe they wouldn’t, he rectified. But it didn’t change the fact that most of them had no real plan, no control. They were just waiting for something to happen.
Even with her stand out green hair, his eyes couldn’t find Sophie in the crowd. He just hoped she was somewhere safe. Staying strong.
At the gates, Brenn stood like a statue, his enchanted shield laying by the wall next to him. His gaze swept over the people, sharp and assessing, lingering on each person as if silently committing them to memory. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
As the trio reached him, he turned, his face softening slightly.
“Bert.” He nodded to the stacks of spears. “You did good work.”
“We’ve finished my project too.” Aura said, a hint of pride in her voice. Bert handed her a bundle of cloth he was carrying, and as she untangled it, an elemental blade reflected the golden sunlight.
Brenn’s breath caught as he admired the dance of frost and fire along the sword’s edge.
“May I?” Seeing Aura nod, he extended his hand, and brushed his fingers over the dancing flames, unharmed. “Impressive.”
“It’s for you, to use in the defense.” She said.
Brenn admired the blade for a second more, before shouting into the crowd “Darryl, get over here!” And as the second-in-command approached, he handed the weapon to him.
“I’ll be damned, the little lady made this?” Darryl tried to seem dismissive, but the look of appreciation was clear on his face.
“This little lady could blow you up. Don’t tempt me.” Aura responded, placing her hands on her hips.
“Relax, just a joke.” He stepped a distance away and swung the sword around.
It left arcs of fire in the air. Rather unimpressive for an artifact. He looked towards Aura – She was watching the demonstration with bated breath.
Darryl then turned and swung at a practice dummy; his brows knit in focus. As soon as the tip connected, frost and flame exploded through the straw.
A crackling roar filled the air, turning all the heads in vicinity. Icicles formed and burst in flames, while other parts of the unfortunate target turned to ash.
Everyone watched the spectacle in awe.
The swordsman jumped back, gracefully dodging the elements, and grasped the blade tightly in appreciation.
He lightly bowed his head to Aura “I’ll be damned, little lady! You didn’t tell me it’d be this fun!”
He turned to his detachment of guards, flashing a grin. “I’ll try not to torch too many people!” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, though.
Aura exhaled; tension replaced with quiet pride.
Brenn clutched at his nose in exasperation. “Thanks. To the both of you.”
His eyes pointed to Darryl. “He might not look like it, but he’s probably one of the best people to wield such a blade.”
David listened carefully, his sharp eyes following every movement Darryl made. The sword was crucial—he knew that. But it wasn’t just about the sword.
It was Darryl the enigma. If anyone had a shot at intercepting the predator and taking it down, it was him.
And that was the true battle, wasn’t it? Would they kill the beast once and for all, or would it just return next time? David had to be there.
The predator’s greatest weakness was its arrogance. And David would make sure it paid for it.
The right weapon at the right moment.
His free hand drifted toward his satchel, fingers brushing against the metal casing inside. The thing he had made.
There was almost no time. All he could do was steel himself.

 
The golden light passed with people frantically going from place to place.
A certain boy visited a green haired girl.
A worried father hugged his family.
An abrasive soldier cursed his luck.
Everyone had something to do, someone to talk to, maybe for the last time. Soon the sky turned orange, then crimson then claret.
The world was going dark, and terrors stirred.

 
Brenn stood at the gates, watching the horizon.
The guards already assembled everyone. Everything was in place.
He felt hundreds of stares boring into his back. Counting on him. Trusting him.
Some had left, but those who remained placed the weight of their expectations on his shoulders. It threatened to flatten him into the ground.
But he still stood. That same force, which tried to swallow him – empowered.
He strapped his shield to his arm. His trusty companion. The artifact shield ‘lineholder’s sacrifice’. Fitting.
He didn’t have much left to live for. But for those assembled behind him? He would ignite that final spark and burn bright until nothing of him remained.
Brenn turned around.
His eyes swept across the gathered villagers, piercing and resolute.
“We’ve been through a lot, lately. We’ve scraped by with a peace bought at the cost of our dignity. We bent our heads while they spat in our faces. And now? They’ve left the beast alive and us to fend for ourselves.”
He paused, letting the anger simmer in the crowd. “But tonight, we take back our pride! I want every one of you—able-bodied and breathing—to stand here with me. Together, we’ll show the monsters, no matter how many of them come, that this village does NOT bow!”
Brenn turned toward Darryl, who raised the frostfire sword high.
The crowd hushed; their eyes drawn to the gleaming weapon. “Darryl will lead our best to face the predator and put it down for good. The rest of us will hold the gates. Whatever comes, we’ll break them! We will survive this by standing together, or not at all.”
His words left a silence in their wake. For few it was the time to come to terms with their grave situation.
Old Raf, who stood on the outskirts of the crowd, leaned on his pitchfork hard, as if he were to fall.
A man with nothing left to give. This man, who would never see tomorrow, took a deep breath. With a raspy voice full of determination and hope, he sang.
The ritual chant.
Everyone, from the smallest child, knew the words.
Slowly, reluctantly at first, people joined the chant, asking the Goddess to deliver them.
Soon the whole crowd swayed, few hundred voices joined as one.
Someone thumped their spear, others followed.
With every hit, the world shook.
With every word of their song, the darkness stirred.
Other sounds soon started to join their choir.
A chorus of snarls and growls coming from the distant hordes.
But no one dared stop.
For if the world left them to die, they would rise against it and struggle.
Brenn let his gaze linger on the crowd a moment longer, before turning back to the fields.
It was a matter of minutes now. In the distance, enemies grew closer, and the predator was surely waiting, coiled to strike.
Against the coming tide, the people of Grainwick stood.