Days once again blur into weeks. The rhythm of the forest returns—quiet, steady, familiar. My bears, now fully grown, move with confidence through the trees. The crystal glows softly at the heart of my homestead. I train, I tend, I watch. The memory of Shineah's stunned expression remains ever-present in my heart like a wound that refuses to heal. Then, on a crisp autumn evening as twilight paints the sky in violet and orange, my bears grow restless. Their rumbles deepen in warning. They sniff the air, and the fur on the back of their necks stands up.
I shrug it off and settle by the fire. "If something wants to talk," I mutter, "or attack… I'm here."
But my bears won't settle. The air grows colder. A metallic tang creeps in—ozone and old blood. The shadows beneath the trees begin to writhe—it isn't wind, not leaves, but something deeper.
A figure emerges, tall and gaunt. It is cloaked in tattered robes that drink the last light of day. Its face is hidden beneath a hood, but I feel its predatory gaze. It glides forward, silent, until it stops just beyond the crystal's glow. The cold radiating from it is suffocating. Even my bears hesitate.
I stand and look at the figure. "Hello there," I say. "Are you hungry? Can I help you with anything?"
The figure doesn't move. The cold intensifies. Then a sound—stones grinding together—rises from its chest. Its skinny, emaciated hand rises. Its long fingers are tipped with slender claws. It points past me at the crystals I built my home around.
My bears protectively growl deeper now. However, I smile, welcoming the company. "You must be starving!" I say with full hospitality, stepping forward. "Come share my hearth. The stones around my home have healing properties. Sit. Rest. I'll cook you some fresh fish."
The grinding sound grows louder. The hand clenches into a fist. Then it whispers in a raspy voice. "Those stones… they are mine."Its head tilts. For a moment, allowing me to look into its eyes—two pinpricks of burning light in the hood's depths. Not hunger. Not hope. Just malice.
I raise the glowing stone in my hand. "You're welcome to them," I say. "You clearly need them!" I then sing a hymn of praise to God. The stone glows brighter and grows warmer. "Let this restore you," I say. "Cleanse you. Darkness has weight. Let it fall away. Praise be to God for your return. Blessed are all who seek the light!"
The figure shrieks, recoiling. Its hand lashes out—not to accept, but to strike. The shadows around it twist and rise, coalescing into something tangible. Something hostile.
"Whoa," I say in an effort to calm it down. I step back slightly. "I'm sorry. Was that too fast?" My voice, calm and steady, cuts through the tension like a blade through mist. "Sometimes when someone steps out of the darkness and into the light, it hurts their eyes. Maybe we need to go slower, start small. I can break the stones into smaller pieces—make them more bearable…"
The shadow lurker wavers. It hushes for a moment, as if considering my offer. I extend a hand toward the crystals.
But the moment breaks as the lurker lets out a shriek that tears through the clearing. The creature gestures with its skeletal hand, and the shadows around it twist and thicken.
My bears snarl, ready to defend. Then the figure lunges. Its claw strikes fast. I feel the necrotic energy rip through me—cold, agonizing, like ice in my veins. I stagger and gasp.
Charlie roars and charges. His claws rake across the lurker's form, forcing it to appear to vaporize and recoil. Grizz follows, but its swipe passes through empty air as the creature flickers out of reach.
I give it a stern look, plant my feet, and raise my voice. "I am a child of God," I declare, the words rising like fire. "I know who I am and I know it is His power that I hold."
Light floods through me, divine, radiant, and unyielding. The shadows recoil. The lurker's form begins to solidify, pinned to the material plane by the force of the power of God that is with me. It snarls—no longer ghostly, but heavy and present.
I shift my stance, positioning myself for the next move. My eyes lock onto the cloak. No weapon. Just shadow and cloth. I think to myself, *I'll grab it. I'll set it ablaze with holy fire. I'll make sure it can never vanish again.* I stand at the ready, watching the lurker.
Grizz slams into him, knocking him to the floor, and I make my move. The heat from my hands scorches the shadow lurker's cloak. It shrieks—high-pitched, pain-filled—and convulses violently in my grasp. Its form flickers, shrinking from the burning assault. I hold firm, arms locked around the creature as it writhes.
Then it lashes out. A shadowy tendril whips past my ear with a frigid hiss, missing me by inches. My bears roar in response. Charlie lunges, claws slicing through the air—but the lurker twists, narrowly avoiding the blow.
The lurker hisses again, claws lashing out in desperation. I feel the cold pass through me, but it has no effect.
Grizz lunges again. This time, pinning him to the ground. The creature hisses, recoiling. The lurker however is so skinny, I am actually worried about Grizz breaking its bones.
I've had enough. I lay both hands on the lurker's head. "You're done," I whisper.
Holy fire erupts from my palms. The flames surge into the lurker's head, searing through its shadowy essence. It shrieks—a guttural, broken sound—as the light consumes it.
I don't let go. The holy fire envelops the Shadow lurker's head, and as the last vestiges of its spectral cloak disintegrate into ash, a piercing shriek echoes through the clearing that gradually transforms and sounds more human. The creature's form, now fully corporeal and utterly vulnerable, shudders violently before collapsing to the ground, unconscious. Its menacing presence wanes, leaving behind only a husk of its former self, seemingly subdued by the raw power of the searing flames.
I carefully drag the gaunt, robed form of the unconscious man towards my hearth, positioning it within the radiant glow of your crystals. With one of my holy crystals now clutched in his bony hand, I begin to sing a deep, resonant hymn. The crystal in its grasp pulses, growing warmer and brighter, casting stark shadows that seem to dance away from the robed figure.
"You poor thing…" I whisper. "The evil one had its grasp strong upon you, and you came seeking for the light. May you be clean and cleansed from the power of the evil one. You are his no longer and have been freed by the power of your Redeemer."
The crystal pulses in his hand, each glow warmer than the last, like a heartbeat returning to a long-abandoned body. My hymn fills the air, low and steady, and I watch as the brittle edges of his form begin to soften. The bones beneath the robes shift, stretch, and slowly, take human form. His face emerges from the ruin: sunken, aged, parchment-thin. Not monstrous. Not spectral. Human. His eyes remain closed, but the hollow look to them leaves. A faint pulse flickers at his throat. His breathing is shallow, ragged, but real. He is a man who looks elderly and terribly frail, but has been finally freed. He relaxes as if he has been carrying an enormous weight for a very long time.
I kneel beside him, the warmth of the hearth and the crystals wrapping around us like a blanket. My bears lie nearby, silent and watchful. The forest outside is still. "You're safe now," I whisper, brushing a lock of ash-dark hair from his brow.
I tend to the frail man with the same care I give my bears. I feed him broth, slow and warm. I grind forest herbs into poultices and press them gently against his withered skin. I keep the crystals glowing around him—soft light, steady warmth, a constant reminder that he is safe.
Little by little, the haunted pallor fades. His breathing deepens. The tremors in his limbs settle. And then, one morning, he stirs. His eyes open—deep, weary pools of blue. No words come. He looks at me, through me, past me. His memory is shattered, a mosaic of broken pieces. But he is alive.
I know now that my forest cannot give him everything. So I prepare for a journey. Convinced he needs more help than I can give, I decide to use this as an excuse to return to Oakhaven. My bears walk beside us, calm and protective. The man, though silent, grows stronger with each step. His gaze lingers on the trees, the sky, the birdsong—like he's seeing the world for the first time.
The guards at the Oakhaven gate take a defensive stance when they see me approach with my bears. I assure them that they are friendly though and scratch my bears behind the ears. Nonetheless, they refuse to let me in unless I leave my axe with them. I give them no problems about it.
The city hums with life. The bustling sounds of Oakhaven once again envelop me as I guide the frail man through its gates. He walks silently by my side, his eyes wide and unfocused, taking in the sights and sounds with a childlike wonder.
I find Shineah near the marketplace, speaking with a merchant. "Shineah!" I call out. She turns. Her eyes widen. First at me, then at the man with me.
Her hand flies to her mouth. "By the gods…" she breathes. "It can't be."
"You recognize him then?" I ask, stepping forward. "I found him in the Whisperwood. He was… not himself. He was enshrouded in darkness, seeking my crystals. My bears and I fought what possessed him. And with God's help, we pulled him back. He remembers little."
Shineah steps closer, tears welling. Her voice trembles. "This is Master Arion. Elara's mentor. A scholar of ancient lore. He vanished years ago. His disappearance is what drove Elara to study the standing stones. She hoped to find him."
She reaches out to Arion, hesitant, and takes his trembling hand. He doesn't resist. He watches her, quiet and still. "You've performed a miracle, Tormack," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "His sister never gave up hope. He was a pillar of our community. We thought him long dead."
Shineah holds his hand with both of hers. "Welcome home, Master Arion. Welcome home."
The news of Master Arion's return spreads like wildfire through Oakhaven. For the next few days, I am treated as a guest in the city, though heavy amounts of caution can still be felt around the strangers. During this time I see Arion every day, his skinny face slowly filling out, his steps growing steadier. His memory, slowly returning, being pieced together by loving hands and familiar voices. I watch it unfold—faces lighting up, voices rising in disbelief and joy. The sorrow that once hung over Elara's kin begins to lift, tempered by the miracle of his return. A man long mourned is home again.
My bears also tend to be a nuisance, they are not used to being around so many people and having so many rules and boundaries placed upon them. They just want to wander and stick their nose into whatever they see. With their presence, I worry I may be overstaying my welcome. Nonetheless, Shineah remains close. She sees to my needs with quiet devotion, making sure both I and my bears are well-fed, rested, and never alone. Her gratitude is constant, and it now feels—deeper, steadier. Her presence gives me a burning feeling in my throat like I could cry, my heart still feels very tender. My eyes meet hers, lingering. The echo of my prior words carries through them. *Will you marry me? Will you be the mother of my children and share my home with me in the woods?*
She looks at me, as if she could read my mind, her gaze soft yet still holding that spark of unyielding resolve. A faint, almost imperceptible blush rises to her cheeks, but her expression remains thoughtful, weighed with consideration. "Tormack," she begins, her voice softer than before, "what you have done for Master Arion… My gratitude, and the gratitude of Oakhaven, knows no bounds. My respect for you has grown immeasurably." She pauses, her eyes searching mine, a complex mix of admiration and duty warring within them. "But my duty here—to Elara's memory, to Master Arion's continued healing, to ensuring Oakhaven is truly prepared for what comes next—it is not yet done. Marriage, Tormack, and a life away from this city are a profound commitment. It is a decision I cannot make hastily… My heart is… undeniably moved by your courage, by your goodness. But my mind tells me our fight is not over. I am a leader among my people, a councilwoman. My burden is the safety of its folk, and the truth behind Elara's death and Master Arion's ordeal. This is not simply a local skirmish; there appears to be a vast network, of influence reaching far beyond the Whisperwood. I cannot simply abandon my responsibility for a personal bond, no matter how much I might… respect your heart. My soul is tethered to this task, to this city, to the people who look to me. "
I look to her, sensing an unreachable goal. "Abandon that responsibility? No one is asking you to do that. I don't live that far away…"
She steps back, creating a small, definitive distance between us. "My answer remains, Tormack. Not now. Come—we have much to discuss regarding Master Arion's recovered memories. We need your strength, as an ally, a champion… not as a husband."
I shake my head slowly. I feel self-conscious over my orcish features as I think to myself, *She values my strength, but to her, I am still no different than an animal. I refuse to be her pet.*
Shineah's eyes still hold a flicker of respect for my deeds, but now they're tinged with deep disappointment. She gives a curt nod—a clear dismissal.
I turn, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the night air. With Charlie and Grizz at my side, I make my way through the quieting streets of Oakhaven. The townsfolk, who had so recently admired me, now watch me go. Some even appear happy to finally have the animals out of town and see civility finally restored. The city gates loom, silent witnesses to my departure.
As I pass through the gates, I reclaim my axe and head back into the embrace of the Whisperwood, the familiar scent of pine and damp earth fills my senses. The distant lights of Oakhaven shrink behind me. The path to my homestead is dark, but visible, illuminated by the blue moon. My home welcomes me with the soft glow of my crystals. My bears settle into their familiar spots, their presence a comforting balm to the weight I carry. I find my usual place by the hearth, stoking the embers, and the familiar routines of forest life resume. Hours turn into days, and days into weeks. I sit, I hope and I pray. Each day is filled with a conscious effort to let Shineah go and to give up this foolish hope that—that she might reconsider, and that her heart yearns for me as deeply as mine yearns for her. *Why do I hang on? Why does this wound refuse to heal?*
Then, one crisp autumn morning, a rustling in the undergrowth breaks the stillness. It's not the familiar sound of a deer or a foraging bear. It is a lone rider, its horse lathered and breathing heavily, bursts into my clearing. A young man, clad in the livery of Oakhaven's guards, pale-faced and streaked with sweat, stumbles from his mount and collapses to one knee.
"Tormack!" he gasps, voice ragged with exhaustion and fear. "You must come! Master Arion… he remembers everything. The corrupting power… it's far greater than we knew! Oakhaven… it's in grave danger!"
"Oakhaven cares nothing for me… Who sent you, boy?"
The young guard struggles to regain his breath, coughing as he pushes himself up. His eyes plead with me. "No one sent me, good sir! I… I escaped! Master Arion, he was speaking with Captain Valerius and Commander Thorne. He spoke of dark portents, a ritual of 'ascension' the Master was planning. A shadow falling over Oakhaven itself! There was a commotion, whispers of something… inside the city walls. I heard them speak of Shineah, that she was trying to gather information, but she hasn't returned from the Outer Ward. Please, Tormack! The city is unraveling. I saw the fear in Master Arion's eyes, and he is a man who has faced much. He said you were their only hope—that only your strength could stand against what is coming!"
"If Shineah wanted my help, she would have come herself. Clearly, she thinks she can handle this on her own."
The young guard's face falls further, desperation pouring from him. "She can't come, sir! Don't you understand? That's what I'm trying to tell you! Master Arion believes she's been taken—or worse, caught in whatever chaos is brewing in the Outer Ward. The city guards are stretched thin. They have been searching for her, but there's a growing fear, a strange unease that has fallen over Oakhaven. He said the corruption is already spreading, corrupting, twisting even the hearts of men. You are the one who faced this darkness before, who sealed the Maw! If you won't help for Oakhaven, then please… for Shineah!" His voice cracks with a raw, desperate plea.
I sigh, a low, intimidating orcish growl rumbling deep in my chest. I'm annoyed that I must rescue the woman who broke my heart. I stoop and pick up a holy stone, its cool weight familiar in my palm. I let out a sharp call—Charlie and Grizz respond instantly, massive and alert at my side. I give in. "Lead the way, kid."