The Shattered Prophecy

Eryk winced as he tore a strip of his shirt, hastily wrapping it around the wound on his foot. The pain seared through him, but it was a small price to pay for survival. As the fabric pressed against his injury, he glanced back at the boar. It lay there, lifeless, its head covered in blood, the blood staining the earth beneath it. But as his eyes narrowed in on the beast’s mangled face, something didn’t sit right.

The marks weren’t his doing. The boar’s skull was ripped and gouged as though it had been attacked by something far stronger—something far fiercer than him. He had struck the boar in the heat of the fight, but these deep, savage rips were something else. The beast hadn’t died from him. It had died from something… else.

Something bigger, Eryk thought, his heart thudding harder in his chest. I need to leave before others sense the blood.

A shiver ran down his spine as he turned away from the carcass, knowing well that the scent of blood would attract other, more dangerous predators. His training sword wasn’t going to help him skin the beast, and the time for hesitation had long passed. He didn’t linger. He moved quickly, the urgency of the situation pulling him deeper into the forest.

He walked for what felt like hours, picking fruits from bushes along the way, his thoughts still consumed by the fight. Why did I hesitate? His mind kept returning to that moment when he had swung his sword—his first real fight. It had been exhilarating, terrifying, and exhausting all at once. And in the end, it had been his fear, not his sword, that had saved him. How do I overcome that fear? He wasn’t sure.