《Crimson Loom》


 Chapter 1 - A Good Life

    Anton Weyland guided his flock across the rolling pasture, the shadow of Kirkvalor''s imposing walls stretching across the field like a protective hand. Above him, the sky was a perfect canvas of blue, unmarred by clouds save for a few wispy strands that seemed painted onto the heavens. It was neither too hot nor too cold¡ªthe kind of day shepherds prayed for but rarely received.


    As the sheep grazed peacefully before him, Anton found himself taking a deep breath, savoring the crisp air as it filled his lungs. A strange sensation washed over him, not unlike breaking the surface of water after being submerged too long. Clarity¡ªthat was it. For the first time in what felt like forever, his thoughts weren''t clouded by the fog of routine.


    Wake up before dawn. Prepare meals for the family. Lead the sheep to pasture. Return home. Drink at the tavern. Sleep. Repeat.


    The cycle played through his mind like a well-worn song, each note so familiar he could hum it in his sleep. Had he ever truly chosen this life, or had it simply chosen him? Anton''s weathered hands tightened around his staff as the question lingered uncomfortably in his mind.


    A sharp bark jolted him from his reverie. Meeks, his faithful border collie, was already herding a stray sheep back toward the flock. The dog moved with practiced efficiency, needing little guidance from Anton. Sometimes Anton wondered if Meeks could do the job entirely without him¡ªa thought both comforting and disquieting.


    "Good boy," he called out, his voice carrying across the field.


    In the distance stood Kirkvalor, its stone walls rising proudly from the earth. The fortress city marked the boundary between civilization and the untamed wilderness of Malor Forest. Most days, the forest was a benevolent neighbor, offering game for hunters and herbs for healers. Its ancient trees swayed peacefully in the breeze, seemingly content to remain within their borders.


    But Anton, like every citizen of Kirkvalor, knew the forest''s other face. Every few years, the Beast Tides would come¡ªhordes of creatures pouring from the depths of Malor, led by a Beast King whose roar could be heard for miles. Kirkvalor stood as humanity''s bulwark against this savage onslaught, its soldiers and mages ready to defend the realm along with a race of people called adventurer.


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    Most races called them Adventurers, though this benign title belied their true nature. They were, by all accounts, immortal. When an Adventurer fell in battle, death claimed them only momentarily. Their bodies would disappear, only for them to reawaken fully restored at designated shrines or within the imposing halls of the Adventurer''s Guild. This unnatural cycle rendered them fearless, often reckless, and dangerously unpredictable.


    The Adventurer''s Guild had been established decades ago by joint effort of rulers of realm ¡ªa pragmatic attempt to harness and direct these immortal beings toward purposes that might benefit the realm. the Adventurers operated according to a logic incomprehensible to ordinary folk. They collected items not for their utility but for some purpose that only they could perceive. Gold and equipment are also their obsession.


    Despite their alien nature, they provided undeniable services to the realm. In recent years, Adventurers had taken to venturing deep into Malor Forest, hunting down powerful beasts before they could grow into the dreaded Monster Kings that led the Beast Tides. The fortress city had enjoyed recent years of peace largely thanks to their interventions, a fact that even their harshest critics grudgingly acknowledged. Anton''s parents had drilled caution into their children from an early age. "Never approach an Adventurer," Orla would warn, her voice dropping to a whisper though they sat in the safety of their own home. "If you cannot avoid them, keep any interaction as brief as possible."


    As the afternoon sun began its descent, Anton whistled to Meeks and turned the flock toward home. Their farm lay outside Kirkvalor''s walls, along with most of the agricultural holdings that fed the city. The soil here was richer than anywhere else in the region, and animals that grazed on these fields produced milk sweeter than honey.


    Living outside the walls carried risks, of course. During a Beast Tide, everything could be lost in moments of savage fury. But the city''s mages had prepared for this, installing teleportation circles near the major farms¡ªmagical safety nets designed to whisk livestock and families to safety at the first sign of danger.


    Anton''s cottage came into view, smoke rising gently from its chimney. The small stable and sheep pen stood ready to receive his flock. Behind them stretched rows of vegetables tended by his parents, and beyond that, the millet fields that would soon turn golden under the summer sun.


    It was everything a man could want. A safe life. A good life.

 Chapter 2 - Wretched Encounter

    "Hey, bring your old man''s secret booze tonight!" The shout cut through the peaceful afternoon air.


    Anton turned to see Calmo, another shepherd from the eastern fields, waving enthusiastically from atop his pony. The man''s red beard caught the sunlight like copper wire.


    "Yeah, I''ll try," Anton called back with a half-smile. He watched Calmo ride off, whistling some tavern tune that carried on the breeze.


    The "secret booze" had become something of a legend among Anton''s circle of friends. His father, Thonar Weyland, had begun distilling whiskey as a mere hobby three winters ago. What made it special wasn''t just the recipe¡ªit was the ingredients. Thonar collected millet grown in soil enriched with manure from beasts of the Malor Forest, combined with a peculiar earth he gathered from somewhere deep within the woods. He never revealed the exact location, treating it like a treasure map that only he possessed.


    What had started as an old man''s pastime had yielded surprising results. The earlier batches had been harsh¡ªliquid fire that burned all the way down and left men coughing and red-faced. But each new iteration grew smoother, more refined. The latest batches did something strange: they left the drinker feeling invigorated, able to carry heavier loads, and wake the next morning without the usual hangover fog.


    "Might make distillers of us yet," Thonar had mused last week, studying the amber liquid in his glass with the critical eye of an artist. "Once I''m satisfied with a batch, I''ll take it to the alchemists in the fortress."


    Identification by the fortress mages didn''t come cheap. Twenty silver pieces at minimum, a small fortune for a farming family. Thonar was prudent enough to perfect his craft before investing such a sum.


    Anton guided the sheep into their pens, securing the gates with practiced motions. Meeks circled the enclosure once, ensuring no stragglers remained, before sitting at Anton''s feet with expectant eyes.


    "Good work today," Anton said, kneeling to ruffle the dog''s thick fur. "Rest now."


    With the sheep settled, Anton made his way across the property to the cow barn where his mother and sister would be finishing their afternoon work. The sweet, hay-scented air enveloped him as he entered the spacious structure.


    His mother, Orla, stood beside a large brown cow, her weathered hands moving with rhythmic precision as she extracted milk into a wooden bucket. Nearby, his sister Muri was mixing feed, her chestnut hair bound tightly in a practical braid.


    Orla had been born to this life. Before marrying Thonar, she had worked her family''s dairy farm south of Kirkvalor. She knew every aspect of animal husbandry¡ªfrom the optimal feed mixtures to how to birth a calf during the most complicated deliveries. The cows responded to her touch like she was one of their own.


    "Need any help?" Anton asked, leaning against a post.


    Orla looked up, wiping perspiration from her brow with her forearm. "We''re nearly finished, but you could carry these milk pails to the cooling room."


    Muri turned at the sound of his voice, her face brightening. Though only thirteen, she carried herself with the confidence of someone much older. She had been helping with the farm tasks since she could walk, and Anton often marveled at her competence.


    "Anton! Did you see any deer today? Lina told me her brother spotted a white stag near the eastern creek." Muri''s eyes gleamed with excitement as she approached, wiping her hands on her apron.


    "No white stags today," Anton replied, lifting two heavy milk pails. "But Meeks did chase a fox from the southern pasture."


    "A fox?" Alarm flashed across Orla''s face. "It didn''t get any lambs, did it?"


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    "No, Mother. Meeks is too quick for that."


    Orla nodded, her expression softening. "That dog is worth his weight in gold." She finished with the last cow and straightened, pressing her hands against the small of her back. "Muri, fetch fresh water for the calves before we head in."


    As Muri darted off to complete her task, Anton helped his mother clean the milking equipment. They worked in comfortable silence for a few moments before Orla spoke.


    "You seem odd today," she observed, her eyes studying his face with maternal perception. "Something troubling you?"


    Anton hesitated. How could he explain the strange restlessness that had taken hold of him? "Just thinking," he said finally.


    By the time they finished in the barn, the sun had begun its descent behind Kirkvalor''s walls. Anton washed himself at the stone basin in the backyard, scrubbing away the day''s sweat and dust. The cool water revived him, clearing his mind of the afternoon''s unsettling thoughts.


    The family gathered around the oak table for dinner¡ªa hearty stew of root vegetables and rabbit that filled the cottage with rich aromas. Thonar, broad-shouldered despite his fifty years, broke bread and passed it around the table with calloused hands.


    "Father," Anton began, accepting a steaming bowl from his mother, "Calmo asked about your whiskey. The men at the tavern have been talking about the last batch for weeks."


    Thonar''s eyes crinkled with pleasure. "Did they now?" He stroked his gray-streaked beard thoughtfully. "Well, timing is fortuitous. I believe I''ve finally perfected it."


    "Really?" Anton leaned forward. "The last one feels like it''s burning in our throat."


    Thonar laughed, a deep rumble that filled the room. "This one''s different. Smooth as river stones. I think I''ve found the right balance with that forest soil."


    "Where exactly do you get that soil?" Muri asked, her curiosity piqued.


    "A wizard never reveals his secrets," Thonar replied with a wink.


    Orla shook her head indulgently. "Just be careful in those woods, old man. Beast Tide or no Beast Tide, the forest has its dangers."


    "I''m always careful," Thonar assured her, though the gleam in his eye suggested otherwise. He turned back to Anton. "I''ll give you a bottle to share with your friends¡ªCalmo and Rubus would give honest opinions. And tomorrow, perhaps I''ll visit the alchemists in the fortress. Time to ask them to cast identify spells and find out what makes this brew special."


    After dinner, Anton helped clear the table while Muri washed the dishes. When the kitchen was tidy, Thonar beckoned to Anton.


    "Come, let''s get that bottle before you head out."


    Father and son descended the narrow stairs to the cellar, a cool chamber dug beneath the cottage. Shelves lined the walls, holding preserved foods for winter, tools, and¡ªin the far corner¡ªThonar''s distillery setup. Glass containers, copper tubes, and wooden barrels created an alchemical laboratory that seemed out of place beneath a shepherd''s home.


    Thonar moved to a small rack where bottles of amber liquid rested. He selected one, holding it up to the lantern light to inspect its clarity.


    "This one," he said, handing it to Anton with the reverence of a priest passing a sacred relic. "Tell me what they think, every detail."


    Anton nodded, carefully tucking the bottle into his satchel. They climbed back up to the main floor, where Thonar headed to the porch to enjoy his evening pipe.


    Anton was fastening his cloak, ready to depart for the tavern, when a sound froze him in place¡ªthe sharp, aggressive barking of Meeks from behind the house. Not his usual alert for wildlife, but something more urgent, more threatening.


    Anton and his father exchanged glances. The beast warning runes placed around the property''s perimeter hadn''t activated, which ruled out beasts from the forest. Still, something had alarmed Meeks enough to set him barking like that.


    "Thieves, perhaps," Thonar muttered, already moving toward the weapon rack.


    They grabbed their arms¡ªAnton his crossbow and a stack of rune papers purchased from the Kirkvalor''s mages, Thonar the old hunting sword that had accompanied him on countless forest excursions. The rune papers were expensive but vital protection for those living outside the walls¡ªbasic offensive and defensive magic that even non-mages could activate.


    "Orla," Thonar called, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Take Muri to the cellar. Bar the door until we call."


    Orla appeared in the doorway, already ushering Muri toward the cellar stairs. "Be careful," she urged, fear etched in the lines around her eyes. "Don''t be heroes."


    "We''ll just look," Anton assured her. "If there''s real trouble, we''ll sound the horn for the guards."


    Suddenly, Meeks'' barking cut off with a pained yelp that sent ice through Anton''s veins. The silence that followed was worse than the barking.


    "Go," Thonar whispered to his wife and daughter, then nodded to Anton.


    Together they moved through the cottage, weapons ready, toward the rear door. Anton''s heart hammered in his chest, drowning out the evening sounds of the farm. What waited for them beyond that door? What had silenced faithful Meeks so abruptly?


    Anton took a deep breath, exchanged one final look with his father, and reached for the latch.

 Chapter 3 - First Death

    Thonar moved first, his hunting sword gleaming dully in the fading light. He signaled Anton to hold position, gesturing toward a stack of firewood that would provide cover while offering a clear vantage point of the yard. Anton nodded, crouching behind the woodpile and loading his crossbow with practiced motions that belied his racing heart.


    The bolt slid into place with a soft click. Anton had spent countless hours at his father''s makeshift target range, perfecting his aim against stuffed sacks and dangling fruits, but never once had he trained his weapon on anything living. His palms dampened with sweat as he watched his father advance toward the source of the disturbance.


    "Who''s there?" Thonar''s voice boomed across the yard, authority hardening each syllable. "You''re trespassing on private property." He adjusted his grip on the sword, the blade catching the last rays of sunset. "Identify yourselves or face the consequences!"


    Only footsteps answered¡ªslow, deliberate, almost arrogant in their unhurried pace.


    Anton squinted into the gathering darkness, but could discern only vague shapes moving at the edge of the property. Making a swift decision, he reached into his pouch and withdrew one of the precious rune papers. Each sheet cost the equivalent of a week''s earnings, inscribed by fortress mages with spells that even the magically inept could activate. The Weyland family kept a small collection for emergencies, hoping never to use them.


    The flare rune felt warm against Anton''s fingers, its embedded mana pulsing with contained energy. He pinched the activation point between his thumb and forefinger, crushing the delicate crystal structure within the paper. Power surged through the runes, and Anton tossed the sheet skyward.


    It ignited mid-air, bursting into brilliant white light that illuminated the yard. The radiance revealed three figures advancing steadily toward the house, now frozen momentarily in the sudden illumination.


    Anton''s breath caught in his throat. These were no common thieves. Their equipment gleamed with quality that spoke of wealth and power far beyond any local brigand. They are the immortal adventurers.


    One wore elaborate leather armor adorned with unfamiliar insignia, another was encased in heavy plate that reflected the flare''s light like a mirror, and the third¡ªa woman¡ªwas draped in ornate robes that seemed to shimmer with their own inner light.


    "Is this Weyland farm?" The man in plate armor called out, his voice unnaturally loud and resonant.


    Thonar held his ground, sword unwavering. "Who cares? Why are you on my property? State your business or leave!"


    The leather-clad figure leaned toward his armored companion, speaking in a voice that carried clearly across the yard. "Why are you asking him? We can always kill him and check the name from the combat log."


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    Anton''s blood turned to ice. The casual discussion of his father''s murder, spoken as if discussing the weather, was so alien it momentarily paralyzed him.


    "We''re gonna get a bounty for stealing," the armored man replied with annoyance. "You wanna get more bounties for killing NPCs?"


    The robed woman sighed theatrically. "Why worry about it? We''ll make a bunch of gold from selling that thing on the market board anyway. We can always pay for the bounties at the guild."


    Their strange terminology made no sense to Anton, but their intentions were becoming terrifyingly clear.


    Thonar''s voice rose, edged with desperation. "Don''t you dare come one step forward! I have an alert rune paper that I''m crushing right now. I can call over the fortress guards with a single¡ª"


    The rest of his sentence died unspoken. With a movement too swift for Anton''s eyes to track, the leather-clad intruder flicked his wrist. A blade flashed through the air, spinning end over end before burying itself with terrible precision between Thonar''s eyes.


    Time seemed to stop. Thonar stood motionless for an impossible moment, surprise frozen on his weathered face. Then his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground with a dull thump that echoed in Anton''s ears like thunder.


    Something broke inside Anton''s mind¡ªa dam holding back primal instinct. Without conscious thought, he rose from his hiding place, aimed his crossbow at the robed woman, and fired. The bolt flew true, striking her squarely in the chest.


    It should have pierced her heart. Instead, it bounced off her robes and clattered harmlessly to the ground.


    The woman looked down at the fallen bolt, then up at Anton with an expression of bored amusement. "See?" she said to her companions. "It''s so not fun to go back to beginner areas to bully the NPCs. They can''t even deal damage to me."


    The armored man shrugged. "Alright, alright. I''ll go and get the barrel from the cellar. You have enough space in your inventory, right? The barrel takes too much space in my inventory slot."


    "Yeah, don''t worry," the leather-clad killer replied casually. "I have plenty of space left."


    The whiskey. Through his shock and grief, Anton realized they had come for his father''s brew. What could make it valuable enough to kill for?


    Anton fumbled in his pouch for another rune paper¡ªa "Spark" spell that might at least distract them long enough for him to reach his mother and sister. His fingers closed around the paper just as the robed woman noticed his movement.


    "Oh, for¡ª" She raised her hand with a dismissive flick. "Fireball."


    The world exploded into unbearable light and heat. Fire engulfed Anton, consuming air, sight, sound¡ªeverything. He tried to scream, but the inferno swallowed his voice. His skin blistered, his lungs charred, his very thoughts vaporized in the conflagration.


    Pain beyond imagining. Then darkness. Then nothing.


    Anton jerked awake with a violent gasp, nearly tumbling from his seated position against the trunk of an old oak. His hands flew to his chest, expecting charred flesh, but found only the rough wool of his shepherd''s vest. His breathing came in ragged gulps as he patted himself down, searching for injuries that weren''t there.


    The peaceful field stretched before him, sheep grazing contentedly under the afternoon sun. Meeks dozed at his feet, one ear twitching in response to Anton''s sudden movement.


    "What the hell happened just now?" he whispered, pressing his palms against his eyes.


    The vision¡ªdream¡ªwhatever it had been, lingered with terrible clarity. He could still see his father''s body crumpling to the ground, still feeling the impossible heat of magical flames consuming him. But here he sat, whole and unharmed, as if none of it had occurred.


    Had he dozed off while watching the flock? A nightmare, perhaps, born from restless thoughts about his monotonous life? But it had felt too real, too detailed for a mere dream.

 Chapter 4 - Fortune favors the prepared

    Anton couldn''t dismiss the vision of his death as mere fantasy. The searing agony of magical flames consuming his flesh lingered in his nerves, too visceral to be imagination alone. Throughout his life, he''d experienced dreams that bled into reality¡ªfalling from the northern cliffs of Kirkvalor only to jolt awake as his body hit the bedroom floor, or the childhood embarrassment of dreaming about relief only to wake in soaked bedding. But this was different. This held the weight of prophecy.


    As a boy, he''d sat cross-legged before the Priestesses of Marala''s temple, entranced by their tales of divine dreams that guided ordinary people toward extraordinary destinies. Heroes who dreamed of ancient weapons buried beneath forgotten ruins, or who received visions teaching them to channel mana in ways no living master could demonstrate. His vision offered no path to greatness¡ªjust a warning of brutal mortality¡ªbut perhaps it served the same purpose: a chance to change what would otherwise be inevitable.


    Anton brought his fingers to his lips and released a sharp whistle. Meeks lifted his head instantly, alert and waiting. With a gesture of his weathered staff toward home, the border collie understood they were concluding their day early. The dog circled the flock with practiced efficiency, nudging the stragglers into formation.


    As they traversed the rolling pasture toward home, Anton''s mind raced through possibilities. Direct confrontation was futile¡ªhis crossbow bolt had bounced harmlessly off the robed woman, and his father''s hunting sword might as well have been a stick against their power. Gathering neighbors would only increase the casualties. The Adventurers had dispatched him and his father with casual indifference, as if swatting an insect. They would do the same to any poor farmer who stood in their path.


    "Hey Anton, you''re coming back early today!" The voice cut through his train of thought.


    Rathan stood at the junction where the shepherd''s path met the wider road, his guardsman''s uniform immaculate despite the afternoon heat. His helmet rested against his hip, and his short-cropped hair caught the sunlight like burnished copper. He''d been assigned to patrol the outlying farms for the past two seasons which he performed with uncommon diligence.


    "Oh, hey Rathan," Anton replied, forcing his features into something resembling normalcy. "Yeah, I''m not feeling well today. Thought I''d better take a rest early than risk getting sick for a week."


    Rathan''s eyes narrowed slightly, his guardsman''s instinct for half-truths evident. "You do look a bit pale. Anything serious?"


    "Just a headache," Anton lied, guiding his flock past him. "Probably from the sun."


    "Well, take care of yourself. I heard there''s something going around. Three people came down with fever in the east quarter last week." He adjusted his sword belt, the metal scales of his light armor clinking softly. "By the way, has your father finished that special brew of his? My captain won''t stop talking about it since you gave him a sample to try last month."


    If even the city guards were discussing Thonar''s whiskey, how many others knew of it? How far has the word spread? ¡°He''s still tinkering with it," Anton replied carefully. "You know how he is¡ªnever satisfied."


    Rathan laughed. "Perfectionists make the best brewers. Tell him Captain Tomwell''s willing to pay for a cask when he''s ready."


    They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Rathan continued his patrol. As Anton watched his retreating figure, a realization struck him with the force of revelation. The alert rune papers¡ªthey were the key. Unlike his father in the vision, he wouldn''t waste time with warnings or threats. At the first sign of intruders, he would activate an alert rune immediately, summoning the city guards without confrontation.


    The fortress guards might not match an Adventurer in single combat, but they would come in force, with mages and warriors trained to work in coordinated units. More importantly, the Adventurers themselves had mentioned bounties and penalties¡ªthey clearly wished to avoid entanglements with official authorities. The threat of punishment might be enough to deter them, or at least buy time for his family to reach safety.


    The plan wasn''t perfect, but it offered hope where moments ago he''d seen none. As Anton approached the farmstead, the familiar scene of his home¡ªsmoke curling from the chimney, Muri''s colorful flowers bordering the walkway, the comfortable disarray of tools and buckets that marked a working farm¡ªstruck him with unexpected poignancy. How fragile it all was, how easily destroyed by visitors who would regard its destruction as insignificant.


    After guiding the sheep into their pens, Anton made his way to the cow barn where his mother and sister would be concluding their afternoon tasks. He steeled himself for Orla''s inevitable questioning about his early return, rehearsing excuses that wouldn''t arouse suspicion. How could he explain a prophetic vision of death without sounding mad?


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    Yet as he approached the barn doors, he hesitated. The weight of foreknowledge pressed upon him like a physical burden. Should he warn them outright? Would they believe him? Or should he implement subtle precautions, guiding them away from danger without revealing the terrifying truth?


    Either way, one certainty remained: the peaceful routine of their lives had ended. Whatever idyllic simplicity Anton had found so stifling just hours ago now seemed precious beyond measure¡ªand he would do anything to preserve it.


    The barn door creaked open, letting in the late afternoon sunlight. Orla looked up from her chore of sorting wool, surprise etching lines across her weathered face. She brushed a strand of gray-streaked hair from her eyes.


    "Anton? Why are you coming back so early today?" she asked, setting down her basket. "Some of the sheep might still be hungry, you know. Did you even go to the edge of the forest today?"


    Anton avoided his mother''s searching gaze, hanging his shepherd''s crook on the wall peg with deliberate care. The memory of his vision¡ªof fire and death¡ªstill burned behind his eyes.


    "The flock grazed well today," he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. "They found a patch of sweet clover near the eastern ridge." He moved to her side and began separating the wool. "Besides, I thought you might need help. Your hands have been troubling you again, haven''t they?"


    Orla''s expression softened. "Nothing gets past you, does it?" She flexed her fingers, the joints swollen with years of hard work. "But don''t change the subject. You''ve been acting strange since midday. Pale as milk I say"


    Anton managed a thin smile. "Just a feeling. Nothing to worry about."


    They worked side by side as the afternoon shadows lengthened across the farmyard. The familiar rhythm of the work should have been comforting, but Anton''s mind kept returning to the vision¡ªthe adventurers breaking in, his father''s prized whiskey, the searing agony of magical fire consuming him.


    When the dinner bell rang, Anton quickly washed his hands in the basin by the door. Before following his mother to the house, he slipped into his family weapon storage and palmed a sheet of alert rune paper from the chest where his father kept their weapons and rune papers.


    The family gathered around the worn oak table as they did every evening. Steam rose from the stew pot as Orla ladled portions into wooden bowls. Anton''s younger sisters chattered about their day, but Anton barely heard them. His attention was fixed on his father, who sat at the head of the table, pride evident in his weathered face.


    When there was a brief lull in conversation, Anton cleared his throat. "How is it going with the whiskey, Father?"


    Thonar''s face lit up, just as it had in Anton''s vision. "Ah! It''s coming along beautifully. The golden color is just right, and the aroma..." He closed his eyes, savoring the memory. "Well, timing is fortuitous. I believe I''ve finally perfected it."


    "What''s your secret?" Anton asked, leaning forward. "There must be something special about how you make it."


    Halden chuckled, wagging a finger. "Trying to weasel family secrets out of your old man, eh? Next you''ll be wanting my lucky fishing spot."


    "I''m serious," Anton pressed. "What makes this batch different?"


    His father''s eyes twinkled with mischief. "A wizard never reveals his secrets" He tapped the side of his nose. "But I¡¯ll tell you when it¡¯s the right time, my boy."


    After dinner, instead of putting on his coat to head to the village tavern, Anton positioned himself by the window at the back of the house, alert rune paper clutched in his hand.


    Orla approached, drying her hands on her apron. "Well, you really are not feeling well today. You''re not even going to the tavern." She sat beside him for a while and reached out to touch his forehead. "No fever, at least."


    "I''m fine, Mother. Just... not in the mood for ale and gossip tonight."


    She eventually retired to bed, leaving Anton alone with his vigil. The house settled into nighttime creaks and sighs. Outside, an owl hooted. The tension in Anton''s body wound tighter with each passing hour.


    He could still feel the phantom pain of burning to a crisp by a fire spell. He tried to control his shaking knees and hands, but couldn''t seem to stop them from trembling. The anticipation in his heart made time seem to pass at a snail''s pace.


    The moon climbed to its zenith, bathing the farmyard in silver light. Midnight had come, and still there was no sign of intruding adventurers. Anton was baffled. He was certain they had invaded his house just before he''d gone to the tavern, which would have been early in the evening. But now it was midnight with no sign of the adventurers from his vision.


    He began to wonder if they were coming tonight at all. Perhaps his vision had been of another night? Or maybe his actions had already changed the future?


    The hours continued to crawl by. His eyelids grew heavy despite his determination to remain alert. The alert rune paper slipped from his loosening fingers...


    "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"


    The rooster''s crow jerked Anton awake. Pale dawn light streamed through the window. He blinked, disoriented, then reality rushed in. There had been no invading adventurers, no threat to his life or family.


    He slumped against the windowsill, relief washing over him in a dizzying wave. "I''m safe," he whispered, the tension of the night finally draining from his body. But even as he said it, a new worry formed: Had he changed the future, or merely postponed it?

 Chapter 5 - Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence

    Relief flooded through Anton, but close on its heels came bewilderment. He stared at the dawn-touched fields beyond the window, turning over the night''s events in his mind. How had he avoided the fate shown in his dream? What tiny thread had he pulled to avoid that terrible future?


    He mentally compared the differences between his vision and reality. He''d returned home early instead of lingering in the fields. He''d forgone his usual evening at the tavern, choosing instead to stand guard with a rune paper clutched in his sweating palm. And there had been that conversation with Rathan the guard yesterday¡ªin the vision, he had spoken with Calmo, his tavern companion and fellow dairy farmer''s son.


    "Such small changes," Anton murmured to himself, watching a sparrow hop along the windowsill. "Could they truly have diverted those adventurers from our door?" The thought was both empowering and terrifying. If such minute alterations could reshape destiny, how fragile was fate?


    "Annie, are you awake?" His mother''s voice carried from the back bedroom. "Are you making breakfast?"


    Anton straightened, wincing as his stiff muscles protested. "Yes, Mom. Working on it now," he called back, pushing himself away from the window.


    Footsteps approached, and Orla appeared in the doorway, her hair still tousled from sleep but her eyes sharp as ever. "You look like a ghost," she observed, frowning. "Did you sleep at all?"


    Anton managed a wry smile. "Some. Chair wasn''t as comfortable as my bed, it turns out."


    She crossed her arms. "And why would a sensible young man choose a chair over his bed?"


    "I told you, I was feeling sick so I came over and sat near the window for fresh and end up falling asleep" he said, moving toward the kitchen to avoid her scrutinizing gaze.


    "Hope you are feeling better today," Orla said gently. "I need my boy to be healthy and clear-headed." "Yes, Mother," Anton replied, grateful for her motherly concerns.


    The cool well water helped clear the cobwebs from his mind. As he returned to the kitchen, he starts with the breakfast preparation of morning gruel. The familiar smell soothed him, drawing his mind away from yesterday''s terrifying vision and the questions that still lingered about why events had unfolded so differently.


    His morning gruel wasn''t as flavorful as his mother''s evening stews, rich with herbs and roots, but the simple oat porridge was filling and nourishing¡ªsuitable fare for a dairy farming family like the Weylands.


    Anton ladled a small portion into a wooden bowl and set it on the floor. "Meeks," he called softly, and his trusty sheepdog trotted in from the yard, tail wagging. The dog''s uncomplicated happiness was contagious, and Anton felt some of his tension ease as he scratched behind Meeks''s ears.


    By the time the rest of the family gathered around the table¡ªhis father Thonar with soil already under his fingernails, his sister Muri still yawning¡ªAnton had almost convinced himself that the danger had truly passed.


    The Weylands ate together as they did every morning, discussing the day''s tasks between spoonfuls of gruel. Thonar would first tend the wheat fields, the grain destined for his ambitious whiskey project. Later, he would move the cows to the larger pen for exercise, examining each animal for signs of illness or injury. Afterward, he''d venture into the forest to hunt small game and gather interesting herbs and roots for his brewing experiments.


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    Orla and Muri would prepare feed for the cows before beginning the day''s milking. Anton would normally head out with the sheep, but today his father needed him in the fields.


    As the family dispersed to their duties, Anton found himself looking over his shoulder, scanning the horizon. The adventurers hadn''t come in the night as his vision had shown, but that didn''t mean they wouldn''t come at all. The vision from dream had changed once¡ªit could change again.


    He patted the pocket where he''d tucked a fresh sheet of alert rune paper. Better to be prepared, just in case.


    The morning air was crisp and sweet as Anton led the sheep from their barn. Today he would guide them farther north than their usual pasture¡ªthey''d been grazing the same field for weeks, and the vegetation there was nearly depleted. Meeks trotted alongside the flock with his sharp instincts keeping the sheeps charges together in an orderly manner with minimal instruction.


    Anton inhaled deeply, trying to clear his mind of lingering questions about last night''s averted vision. The warmth of the rising sun caressed his face, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers. These simple sensations snaps him back to the present moment, a welcome respite from his troubled thoughts.


    In the adjacent field, Calmo was herding his own flock. Though their families were neighbors, an unspoken agreement kept their grazing areas separate¡ªan arrangement that prevented disputes between the farming families of the valley.


    When Calmo spotted Anton, he waved enthusiastically and called across the low stone wall that divided their lands. "Hey! Why weren''t you at the tavern last night? We were waiting for you!"


    Anton raised a hand in greeting. "I was feeling a bit unwell yesterday," he called back. "I''ll be sure to come by today."


    Calmo jogged closer, resting his arms on the wall. His ruddy face was creased with friendly concern. "Nothing serious, I hope? We even saved you a seat and everything. We were disappointed when you didn''t show."


    Anton''s mind flashed to his vision¡ªthe fire, the pain, the adventurers. Had he truly altered fate by staying home? Or merely postponed it? "I''ll make it up to you guys tonight," he said, forcing lightness into his tone. "Perhaps even bring you a bottle from my old man stash."


    "See that you do," Calmo advised sagely as turning away, whistling for his dog. "Tonight at the tavern!" he called over his shoulder. "Don''t disappoint us again!"


    When Anton and Meeks reached the new grazing area, a gentle slope dotted with tender spring grass, Anton set about inspecting each sheep in the flock. He checked hooves for rot, fleece for parasites, and eyes for signs of sickness¡ªmethodical work that required focus but not deep thought, allowing his mind to settle.


    The task completed, Anton sought refuge beneath a sprawling tree whose branches provided a cool shade. He leaned against the rough bark, watching the sheep graze contentedly while Meeks patrolled the perimeter with dignified purpose. The mental exhaustion from his night-long vigil, combined with the warm sunshine and distant bleating of the flock, lulled Anton into a deep slumber.


    Suddenly, Meeks''s frantic barking jerked him back to consciousness. The ground beneath him trembled, a gentle but persistent vibration that sent birds scattering from the treetops. Anton scrambled to his feet, disoriented and alarmed.


    An earthquake? He''d never experienced one, though the elders spoke of them. The only ground-shaking he recalled was during the beast tide when he was six¡ªwhen magical creatures led by a legendary beast had swarmed toward Kirkvalor, their countless hooves and paws making the earth itself shudder.


    But this tremor was gentler, almost rhythmic. Squinting against the midday sun, Anton spotted four figures in the distance, running toward Kirkvalor along the northern road. They were shouting, their words becoming clearer as they drew nearer.


    "RUN! RUN!"


    As they approached, Anton''s blood turned to ice. The four figures are those bloody adventurers again, he started to see gradually, a massive wave of forest beasts among which are boars, bears, and tigers moved as a single unit, pursuing the fleeing humans with single-minded purpose.


    If they maintained their trajectory, they would barrel straight through Anton''s position, trampling him and his flock beneath a stampede of wild fury.


    "God damn it," Anton swore, his earlier relief evaporating like morning dew. He''d avoided one death only to face another. The irony would have been amusing if it weren''t so terrifying.

 Chapter 6 - Second Death

    The wave of forest beasts stormed towards Anton, with a certain devastation if he failed to act. He brought two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle¡ªa command Meeks would understand immediately. Meeks'' ears perked up, awaiting instructions.


    Anton gestured toward the forest''s edge with sweeping arm movements. Running back to Kirkvalor was futile; even if they fled now, the beasts would overtake them on open ground. The trees offered their only chance for survival.


    "Go!" he shouted and pointed to Meeks. "Forest! Take them!"


    The dog sprang into action circling the flock. His urgent barking jolted the sheep, who began to move as one confused but obedient mass toward the treeline. Even the most stubborn sheep responded to Meeks'' herding, sensing the danger approaching.


    As the flock began to move, Anton''s hand flew to his pocket, fingers closing around the alert rune paper he''d tucked away this morning. A precaution he''d taken in case his vision manifested in some unexpected way last night¡ªand now it would save his life for entirely different reasons.


    With practiced movements, Anton crushed the small crystal embedded in the corner of the paper. The rune pattern etched across its surface flared to life, glowing with arcane energy. He hurled it skyward with all his strength, watching as it soared above the field.


    Twenty feet up, the paper erupted into a brilliant shower of crimson sparks that arced across the sky like a firework. More than fireworks, the magic would transmit a distress signal directly to the nearest guards and guardhouse, alerting them that someone was in mortal danger and required immediate assistance.


    "Yes! Yes!" one of the fleeing adventurers called out, his voice carrying across the field. The archer''s face split into a triumphant grin as he spotted the flare. "That NPC has an alert rune! We struck gold this time."


    "Grom, maintain the aggro till the guards arrive," the archer continued, addressing a burly companion with a massive shield strapped to his arm. "We''re gonna farm the shit out of these beasts today and NPC guards are gonna be our meat shields. Let¡¯s get some gear!"


    The shield-bearer¡ªGrom, apparently¡ªgrunted in acknowledgment. "Yeah, yeah, just keep healing me, alright? My AOEs are still in cooldown."


    Anton''s stomach turned as understanding dawned. These weren''t innocent travelers being pursued by beasts¡ªthey had deliberately provoked this stampede and were leading it toward settlements. And now they planned to use Kirkvalor''s guards as sacrificial pawns.


    Unlike the three adventurers from his vision, who had at least appeared competent in their villainy, these four were poorly equipped and apparently inept. Their mismatched armor showed dents and hasty repairs, and they moved with none of the practiced coordination Anton would expect from experienced fighters.


    The robed figure at the rear of the group¡ªpresumably their healer¡ªnearly fall as he struggled to keep pace. "I''m trying, alright?" he wheezed. "Why don''t you use mitigation skills? I''m running low on mana here!"


    Their incompetence might have been comical in other circumstances, but now it threatened Anton''s life as surely as the beasts themselves. If the guards didn''t arrive within minutes, both he and these incompetent adventurers would be torn apart.


    Anton turned and sprinted for the trees, silently praying that Meeks had already guided the flock to safety. Behind him, the ground trembled more violently with each passing second as death approached on countless paws and hooves


    The fourth member of their party¡ªa slender figure with a long sword sheathed at his waist¡ªsuddenly skidded to a halt. Gripping the hilt of his weapon, he bellowed with theatrical intensity:


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    "CRESCENT SLASH!"


    In a single fluid motion, he drew his blade in a wide arc. To Anton''s astonishment, a crescent of pure energy detached from the sword''s edge, shimmering with unnatural light as it hurtled toward the pursuing beasts. The energy slash tore through the foremost creatures, felling several boars instantly. Blood sprayed across the grass as their bodies crumpled. The bears and tigers behind them suffered wounds but continued their relentless advance, their rage only intensified by the scent of their fallen pack members.


    Anton turned and sprinted toward the forest, lungs burning as he pushed his body to its limit. The trees promised sanctuary¡ªif only he could reach them in time. Behind him, the ground trembled with increasing violence, the rhythm of countless paws striking earth like war drums signaling his demise.


    A loud sound rose behind the chaos¡ªa roar so deep and powerful it seemed to vibrate the air itself. Anton glanced back and saw a tiger, larger than the others, its muscular shoulders rising above the surrounding beasts. Its white fur adorned with black vertical stripes, opened its massive jaws and unleashed another earth-shaking roar.


    The sound struck Anton like a physical blow. His limbs suddenly turned leaden, refusing to respond to his desperate commands. He found himself frozen in place, feet rooted to the ground as if the earth itself had reached up to claim him. Cold terror washed over him as he realized he couldn''t move so much as a finger.


    Around him, the adventurers suffered the same fate, their bodies locked in mid-motion by the magical paralysis.


    "I lost my aggro! Be careful!" the shield-bearer bellowed, panic rising in his voice.


    In response, his companions activated defensive skills¡ªtheir bodies illuminating with glowing auras of different colors. The magical protections formed shimmering barriers around their paralyzed forms.


    Anton alone remained defenseless, an easy target with no magical shields or armor to protect him. Hope flickered briefly as the distant sound of people and shouted commands carried on the wind¡ªthe guards were coming. But time was a luxury he no longer possessed.


    One of the tigers¡ªsleek, powerful, and driven by bloodlust¡ªlaunched itself over the huddled adventurers in a single bound as it landed and charged directly toward Anton. Yellow eyes locked onto his, promising death.


    Anton strained against the invisible bonds of paralysis until sweat beaded on his forehead and veins stood out on his neck. His feet remained firmly planted, betraying him in his moment of greatest need. The crushing realization that he could not escape settled over him like a shroud.


    He closed his eyes briefly, praying that this would be another vision¡ªa warning rather than reality. If death must come, let it be swift and painless, unlike the searing agony of magical flames he had experienced in his previous vision.


    The tiger closed the distance with terrifying speed, jaws opened wide to reveal gleaming fangs. In the final moment, Anton saw Meeks charging toward them, the loyal dog''s desperate attempt to protect its master against the fierce beast.


    "Crack."


    A single bite, a moment of blinding pain as powerful jaws closed around his throat, and then¡ª


    Darkness.


    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


    Silence enveloped him, absolute and eternal. Then, gradually, light began to seep back into his awareness¡ªnot the golden sunlight of the pasture but the warm glow of candle. His body felt weightless, falling through nothingness, until¡ª


    "Thump!"


    Anton found himself sprawled on the floor beside a wooden chair, the impact jarring him fully back to consciousness. Muri''s scream pierced the air, shrill with surprise at his sudden collapse.


    His mother rushed to his side, kneeling beside him with concern etched deeply into her weathered features. "Is everything alright?" Orla asked, resting a cool palm against his forehead. "Is something wrong with my dinner?"


    Anton stared up at her, his mouth working silently as realization dawned. He wasn''t in the field. There were no tigers, no adventurers, no waves of beasts. He was home, in the midst of the family''s evening meal, as if the day''s events had never occurred.


    He shook his head mutely, unable to form words as his mind grappled with the implications. This wasn''t merely a vision of potential death¡ªhe had lived through two days, only to regress to a point in the past when he was still alive. The memories of those days¡ªthe conversation with Rathan and Calmo, staying alert for the whole night, the grazing field, the adventurers, the tiger''s fatal bite¡ªall remained vivid in his mind despite having been undone.


    As his family gathered around him with worried expressions, Anton''s hand unconsciously rose to his throat where, moments ago, fangs had torn through flesh. No wound remained, but the phantom pain lingered like a grim promise. Whatever power had granted him this second chance¡ªthis third chance now¡ªit seemed determined that Anton Weyland would not die easily. If he truly possessed this power, he is determined to not let it go to waste.