In the fading twilight of Old Oak, Tomas, the village blacksmith, walked up to me with seriousness in his eyes. "Thamolin, if you're going out to get your father, feel free to help yourself to anything in my shop. I think I will not be returning anytime soon, and your father has done so much for our community. It is only fair that we all do our part in ensuring his safe return."

  His words reflected the village's shared concern. Thanks and urgency mixed in the air, and I nodded appreciatively.

  "Thank you, Tomas. I will be sure to take only what I need just in case, and I will put it to good use."

  With the handover of keys, the collective spirit of Old Oak's people showed in the gestures of those parting with their belongings to help my quest. The village, a close-knit mix of lives, was willing to sacrifice for my father, proof of his deep impact on their lives.

  Not everyone decided to leave the village. Some residents believed Todd Gullen's advice and feared the village might not withstand the impending darkness. Burdened by painful memories, others chose not to return, unwilling to reopen wounds too deep to heal. Loss had visited them, and Old Oak stood as a haunting reminder. Those who chose to leave gave me their keys to take any supplies I might need.

  I quickly moved through the village, collecting supplies that might make the difference between survival and defeat. Homes and shops, now silent and empty, offered their contents as evidence of the situation's urgency. Rations, makeshift tools, and essential items entered my father's enchanted backpack. This magical bag could hold all I gathered.

  Looking through the available weapons, I reinforced a gambeson with thin iron plates, my attempt at makeshift armor. Doubtful of its effectiveness, but it had to be better than what I had. My amulet reassured me that I could wield whatever weapon I laid my hands on.

  In the dim light, I picked a short bow and filled quivers with arrows, ready for the unknown challenges ahead. A sturdy shield, a pair of throwing axes with attached ropes for retrieval, and the gem from home that conjured water — each item had a purpose, a role in the first of many adventures ahead.

  The weight of all the stuff would normally prove burdensome, but the magic within my father's backpack kept me from feeling it. As I set out on the path to make my father proud, the village behind me whispered wishes of safety and success in the hushed rustling of the leaves.

  I followed my father's footprints, stamped deeply into the earth, quite different from the subtle marks left by woodland creatures I'd tracked in the past. My dad, a strong warrior but not a great scout, left a clear trail for me. The demons with him didn't bother hiding, making my job easier.

  As I approached cautiously, the footprints told a story of his struggle — a warrior facing a horde. I wasn't sure if he was fighting, injured, and retreating or if the demons had overwhelmed him. The answers were ahead, beyond the village in unknown territory.

  In the middle of my tracking, a big shadow fell over me. But unlike the demons, this silhouette was familiar — Kor'tish, the green giant. I smiled as I greeted him.

  "Kor'tish, you're back! I could use your help. Have you seen a man running from a horde of demons?"

  "Have not seen him, but saw village fire. Kor'tish looking for William. Is he same man?"

  "Yes! Kor'tish knows William Tavis? That's my dad! He needs our help. I have his sword, so he can't effectively slay the demons. They're chasing him."

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  Kor'tish looked serious. "Kor'tish will help you look for William. He is friend, and Kor'tish fears for his safety."

  "Good! Carry me to him; we'll get there quicker."

  "You will ride with other friend," the giant said, and a pack of massive wolves came out of the woods. One of them crouched, inviting me to hop on. I hesitated for a moment — these wolves were huge, capable of tearing me apart easily. But the urgency of the situation pushed me to overcome my fear.

  As I settled on the wolf's back, its thick, raven hair felt majestic. With a burst of excitement, we started a journey that felt like something out of an epic tale. Gripping tightly to avoid falling off, the experience was nerve-wracking and thrilling. In the company of giant wolves and the shadows of chasing Wights, the challenge awaited — a test of my skills in the pursuit of my father's safety.

  I grabbed my bow swiftly, but shooting from the giant wolf wasn't as easy as I thought. I realized that even if my dad was good with a bow, the wolf's sharp moves would make it difficult. So, I switched to the claymore.

  Swinging it, I hit a passing Wight. The sword cut through the air and sliced off the demon's arm in one smooth move. My father's sword, full of magic, tore right through it. The wolf raced us forward, making my strike even more devastating.

  I thought about attacking another Wight on the side, but I needed to regain my balance. Riding a giant wolf was way different from my usual horse rides, and the chaos of the fight made it even more challenging. Surprisingly, I managed to stay on the beast and figured the pendant around my neck gave me some magical stability. It kept me from falling as I dealt with the unpredictable ups and downs of the battle on the great wolf.

  The other wolves, fast and working together, jumped on the injured Wight. Their teeth gnawed into its tough flesh, ripping it limb from limb. The Wights, tough as they were, had struggled to get past the wolves' thick fur, saving them from severe wounds from the sharp claws.

  After stabilizing my balance, I swung my great sword in a wide arc, cutting through another Wight's neck nearby. The demon twitched briefly, even after falling, then went completely still. But my little victory didn't last long.

  Out of nowhere, a Wight jumped from the shadows of a tree branch, crashing into me and sending us rolling across the muddy field. It aimed for my throat, but I used all my strength, using my forearm to keep the hungry creature away. Quick thinking led me to my club, and I smacked it hard on the side of its head. The Wight pulled back, a nasty wound on its face, giving me the seconds I needed to stand.

  Looking right at the demonic creature, I felt it find my struggle amusing, its snake-like tongue flickering. My sword was just a bit too far, and the fight wasn't done. It lunged at me. I saw it coming, but the slick mud messed up my footing. I slipped, and it scratched across my chest, ripping through the iron plates and gambeson. It didn't cut my skin, but the marks sent a shiver down my spine. One more hit like that, and my life was on the line. I braced myself, ready to protect my chest at any cost. I quickly hit back with an immense swing that made the Wight stagger.

  I quickly dug into my backpack and grabbed the shield I stashed. The Wight might be strong, tearing through hide and wood, but it'd keep its claws away from my exposed bits for a bit. It charged on all fours, as fast as a deer, much more bloodthirsty. I swung my club at its head, but it dodged, trying to ram its head into me. I didn't let my guard down, shield up between us, and attacked again. We went back and forth, me blocking and hitting, the Wight dodging some and taking others. Its wounds healed, but not quick enough. It clawed into my shield, but I busted its collarbone before it could pull back and landed another jaw-breaking hit. It used its second arm to tear my shield in half, but that gave me time to smash its brains with a killer blow.

  When I grabbed my sword, I spotted two more charging at me. Panic kicked in a bit, but then I remembered they hate fire. I dug into my bag for a bottle of alcohol and a match, but as soon as I got them, the Wights tackled me down. I ducked my head, letting my kettle hat take its hits, and I shielded my face with my arms that had iron plates and extra padding. The first hit on my head was nasty. Even with the helmet, I started seeing stars and black spots. The second one cost me a chunk of my forearm, the demon chewing through armor and tearing flesh. I smacked its face with my club, but the other got a bite on my neck. I fought it off, swinging my club, but my strength drained quick as my life dripped out. I lit the match, set fire to the cloth in the bottle, and chucked it at the Wights. My eyelids got heavy, and the last thing I recall is dropping to my knees after the arm that held back the blood from pouring turned limp.