A storm eked its way over the Western Mountains, introducing a breeze which slithered through the knight’s armor as remnant smoke blew across a guilt-burdened face. Eight long years spent crusading across the vast frontier; his contract ended, and wanting no part to be a participant in splitting the spoils, he started the trek back home.

  Every few weeks, the knight would pass a village the army ruined. As he traversed the barren streets, accompanied by sights and sounds, buried memories gave life to horror. Strewn bodies of friend and foe, women and children who screamed for their lives, the snap-crack of fire on the hay and wooden houses, the clash of weapons and armor which clanked, and those who cried from the pain of being wounded, left on the ground to rot.

  Dread had an easy time walking around the troubled mind of the knight.

  Distraught, the knight’s mind played a trick after a while.

  The voices mutated to mirror those of his village: Louise the baker lady, Tolin the trader, Mosula a banker who visited often, Franz and Bak’Mere the two knuckle-headed fishermen who would get their lines crossed often—his friends — his family. Each village brought with it despair, the cost to a soul which waged war.

  The storm lurked behind him during his journey home. Its progress carefully measured, making sure to never overpass the knight, which kept him in a state of suspense.

  On the last night the knight crested upon a hill and gazed out beyond the dilapidated forest before him. The last obstacle between him and home. Once he breached the veil of the forest, the knight was put on alarm. Tales back home spread cautiousness to those who entered the forests at night. Wickedness thrived beneath canopies of branches which provided the opportunity for evil to strike at unexpected travelers. The knight made the right choice and set his camp up a good distance away from the road and tied his horse up on a nearby tree. The fire grew subtly as the knight started to think about his family. He could continue through the night and be home in time to see the rising sun, but before hubris could continue its lies, a feint cry for help came from his right. He paid no mind at first.

  The cry beckoned again, louder this time. The first outburst sounded off, hardly human, though the second cry reminded him of his wife. He strapped his sword on and wandered till he found a cave with a fire burning in front. Hesitation stemmed from his stomach and rooted him in place. Why risk harm? When he was so close he thought. He started to walk back to his site, but his head looked down into the cave. The pit of despair in his stomach ceased once he thought about all the harm he caused. The knight thought about his daughter and wife and knew, once it was clear in his heart, he needed to be the hero he ought to have been. He assembled a torch with cloth from his garment and went in.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  For a few minutes the knight descended deeper into the cave before being met with a stream in a cavern. The water which peacefully flowed was pure and eerily crystal-clear, like a ghost sticking out in the shadows. As he crossed the water another plea for help whimpered out from around a bend in the cave. The knight turned to see an Old Hag and a shadowy figure. The knight thought about turning back as the question entered his brain. Was it worth his life for a hag? His fingers danced on his sword, the swell in his stomach clashed with his heart. The torch’s flames flickered and wavered in the dark. The heart prevailed again. The torch was tossed on the ground as the knight drew his sword.

  As lightning flashes in the sky before thunder, so too did grotesque hands breached the ground the knight stood on. Chants flaunted out from the figure, which fed the doubt nested in fear, deep within the knight. He is not the man he once was. He left the village to save it from invaders, to push back the evil of man. A hero, his dream, turned mute by guilt in the war that ensued. The knight dropped to his knees as the hands crawled up his tired legs, bringing the ichor of death closer to his heart.

  Jacen

  The sweet voice of love rang in his ears—Ali. His eyes dashed to the Old Hag, as he swore the voice came from her. Ali’s voice spurred Jacen to dig deep and put aside all self-imposed negativity. No longer would Jacen allow darkness to sway his perception and dictate who he is. He stood upright, grasped his sword tightly, and charged through the barrage of torment.

  The dark entity vanished instantly when Jacen landed a strike. Before Jacen could speak, the Old Hag drifted back behind him, around the bend of the cave. Jacen followed and saw the entrance appear right before his eyes. The Old Hag had disappeared before Jacen could say anything, but he knew it was time to leave. As Jacen stepped through the gateway back to the forest, the Old Hag transformed into her original form and spoke truth gingerly, “In facing your inner darkness, you prevailed. Go forth Jacen, unburdened by angst and remorse, a new man. Ali and Emily will need you in the future.”

  Jacen took off the armored suit, the symbolism of false values which weighed him down, and left his sword at the campsite outside the cave. Jacen got up on his horse and left as the sun was snuck up over the horizon. The storm is now placed precariously in front of him; serving as a reminder to think about the problems ahead rather than the past.

  “Are you a trickster now?” asked a voice from deep within the cave. “No,” replied the Morrigan, as she watched Jacen leave through the trees, “He needed to know the truth about himself. A true hero who ventured off the path of certainty, to risk it all for an Old Hag in this desolate place when he had angels at home. He put aside the darkness of the past to conquer the present. He earned his second chance.”