William teetered on the edge of consciousness, darkness swirling around him like a tempest. He was running, stumbling blindly through a forest, a nightmarish version of the beautiful landscape he had encountered before. The trees loomed like twisted giants, their branches clutching at him with skeletal fingers, their leaves whispering taunts that echoed his deepest fears.
He could hear guttural snarls closing in, the goblins forming a horde, grotesque figures amalgamating with monstrous brutes that resembled ogres or trolls. Undead skeletons marched in ominous unity, their empty eye sockets aglow with an unnatural light, wielding crude swords and shields, a tide of animated bones and malevolent flesh ready for slaughter. They surged forward, an unstoppable wave driven by a singular, terrifying purpose, to obliterate everything in their path.
“This is definitely not a welcoming committee,” William thought, dread creeping up his spine. This army was no mere band of marauders, they were a well-organized legion, a horrific force of nature that advanced with chilling coordination, each creature part of a vast, monstrous machine.
Above this wretched army, a shadow loomed, vast and formless, an oppressive presence that eclipsed even the tallest trees. It was a swirling mass of darkness, throbbing with malevolence; he felt it pulsing in time with his own heart. Tendrils of blackness snaked through the air, reaching out as if searching for something to crush. With a dreadful calm, the shadow stretched forth its essence, drawing from the lifeless bodies strewn upon the battlefield. William watched in horror as the fallen soldiers, the brave men and women who had fought valiantly, shuddered, their lifeless forms convulsing as dark tendrils coiled around them. In a grotesque display, the shadow raised them anew, transforming them into mindless undead bound to the will of darkness. As their hollow eyes flickered back to life, a terrible realization settled in his gut, with every battle lost, the shadow would only grow stronger, its army swelling with every death, an endless cycle of carnage feeding its insatiable hunger.
William saw glimpses of resistance, brave silhouettes against the blood-red horizon, but they were faltering. This was not a ragtag group, this was a kingdom’s army, poised to defend their lands, yet without a capable leader to unite their efforts, they faltered like a ship in turbulent waters. He sensed their desperation, the spirit of defiance burning in their eyes, yet the absence of a formidable force to guide them led to despair. “Without someone to lead them,” he thought, “all this bravery will be for naught.” They needed a visionary, a strategist, a leader to inspire hope and enact a cunning plan amidst chaos.
Amidst the chaos, images of the courageous soldiers faded, replaced by flashes of gallant figures who seemed to call out to him from the depths of the darkness. He sensed a calling more profound than simple survival, it was a test of his mettle, his journey through trials that would forge him into the leader they desperately needed. With each passing moment, the darkness felt less like an insurmountable wall and more a crucible, one that could mould him into a force to rally against this overwhelming tide.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
And then, the shadow turned its attention to him. The weight of its gaze pressed down like a physical force, suffocating him as he struggled to breathe. A voice, a chilling, ancient resonance, echoed through his very soul, demanding allegiance, beckoning him to surrender to its vast power.
He wanted to resist, to fight back, but felt like a speck of dust caught in a hurricane, a flickering candle threatened by an endless night. “This is not how I envision heroism,” he thought frantically, a potent mixture of fear and defiance coursing through him. He was overwhelmed, consumed by the shadow's power.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the dream fractured like a broken mirror. A small band of fighters flickered into view, glimpsed through the haze of fear. They were heroes from all around, resolute in their stance, clustered around a flickering fire hidden deep within a clearing, a light in the darkness of despair. Their faces bore the marks of hardship and loss, yet still radiated a fierce spirit, a stubborn ember that refused to die out. They will resist to the very bitter end.
He felt a pull towards them, a desperate urge to join their fight. “I can’t let them face this alone,” he realized, longing to help, to stand by their side against the encroaching darkness.
The dream faded, leaving an echo of fear and a dawning sense of purpose that burned in his chest, a promise, a calling. The vividness of the dream clung to him, its images hauntingly clear in his mind. Even now, as he stirred awake, he could still hear the snarls and feel the weight of the shadow pressing down on him, its presence lingering like a shadow cast in the corner of his eye.
William gasped awake, heart racing, drenched in sweat. He was no longer in the hollow tree, but lying on a bed of soft leaves and furs inside a dark cave. The air felt cool and damp, carrying a faint medicinal aroma that calmed his frayed nerves.
“Was it really just a dream?” he wondered, looking around, half expecting the shadow figures and undead creatures to spring forth from the dark corners of the cave. The possibility that it might have been a premonition sent shivers down his spine.
He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain radiated from his leg, forcing a groan from his lips as he collapsed back onto the makeshift bed. He looked down, surprised to see that his leg was bandaged, wrapped with clean, white cloth. “Well, this is an upgrade,” he muttered, assessing the soothing touch against his skin. The throbbing pain lingered, but it felt muted, a dull ache rather than an agonizing throb.
Tentatively, he scanned the cave. It was small, barely large enough for three, a natural crevice within the rock face that offered some protection. A low fire crackled at its centre, casting flickering shadows on the rough stone walls, providing warmth and a meagre source of light. To his side, curled upon a bed of furs like his own, was a young woman. “Who is she? And what’s she doing here?”
