The trees of Aroco blazed with flames, their trunks cracking and splitting under the heat. Black-cloaked mages and mercenaries swarmed the village, their blades reflecting in the firelight.


    Winston’s chest tightened as the familiar wave of panic crashed over him. Sweat trickled down his brow as screams tore through the night, vibrating in his ears.


    He reached for his bow, only to find it missing. A fresh wave of dread surged as he bolted outside, into the chaos. The scene was horrifyingly vivid, as it always was.


    This was no ordinary nightmare. Winston had been trapped in its grasp for years, unable to distinguish it from reality until it was too late.


    In the distance, a sharp voice pierced through the fray. “Help!”


    “Kira!” Winston shouted, his voice cracking. Without thinking, he ran toward the sound. His feet felt like lead, every step dragging as though the ground itself resisted him.


    “I’m coming!” he cried again, his voice nearly drowned by the roar of flames. The inferno filled his peripheral vision, consuming the village in its unrelenting grasp.


    Then, everything fell silent.


    Winston shot upright in bed, heart pounding. The faint echo of screams lingered in his ears as he blinked into the dim light of dawn. Pale rays crept through the shutters, illuminating his disheveled room.


    “Dammit,” he muttered, his hands gripping the covers. These nightmares were relentless, their grip unwavering. He didn’t know how to escape them, but one thing was certain: there was no sleeping after one of those dreams.


    Rising from bed, Winston reached for his bow, its familiar weight grounding him in reality. If Clara noticed him awake at this hour, she’d know it was due to another dream. After dressing quickly, he moved to the window, carefully unclipping each latch. He loved this old house, but the creaking stairs would give him away.


    Leaning out the window, he dropped to the ground below, rolling to absorb the fall. A few years ago, the stunt would’ve sent him straight to the village’s medical center, but his training had paid off. Brushing himself off, he glanced toward the horizon, where the sun was just beginning to rise.


    “Today’s going to be a long one,” he murmured, squinting at the faint golden glow of sunrise. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe I can squeeze in a few hours of training before the Aurethians arrive.”


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    Winston made his way deep into the forest, to a training compound he and a few villagers had built after the attack. The makeshift obstacle course stretched across the clearing: ropes dangled from branches for climbing, rocks bore handholds for lifting, and barrels were scattered in a challenging pattern for agility drills.


    He dropped his gear and began stretching, pulling one arm across his chest, then the other. His body warmed up quickly, and he reached for his bow. Nocking an arrow, he drew the string back, his muscles steady as he took aim at the sky.


    Closing one eye, he adjusted for the wind. Then, with a smooth release, the arrow soared upward. Winston didn’t wait to watch. He dropped the bow and darted toward the first obstacle, pulling himself up the rope. At the top, he swung toward the nearest barrel, balancing his weight as he hopped from one to the next.


    Just as he prepared to leap to the final barrel, a sharp thump echoed through the forest. Winston froze, his heart racing. The arrow had struck its mark; a stump nearby.


    “Damn,” he muttered, a laugh escaping despite himself. “So close.”


    Walking to the stump, he inspected the arrow, noting its condition. The surface gleamed, polished from his latest modification.


    “Ten seconds of airtime. Not bad,” he said aloud, running his fingers over the shaft. Pulling a small notebook from his pocket, he jotted down his observations. “Polishing works, but I’ll need to test if it sacrifices efficiency.”


    Sliding the notebook back into place, he reached for another arrow. Nocking it with care, he grinned.


    “Round two,” he said, determination gleaming in his eyes.


    After a few more jarring thumps and arrows piercing into logs, Winston stood slouched, his palms pressed against his legs. His breath was steady but strained, the controlled rhythm of someone accustomed to pushing past exhaustion. The sun had begun slicing through the trees, casting streaks of gold over the training grounds. He glanced upward.


    "Should be about that time..." he thought as he straightened into a stretch.


    The Aurethians were punctual to a fault, especially when threats or expansion were involved. Winston grabbed his belongings, slinging his quiver over his shoulder as he started toward the village. Aki must have been out of options to take this route. The other villages had suffered just as much as Aroco since the calamity, but none had folded; at least, not yet.


    As he walked, an odd, familiar sensation crept over him. A warmth tinged with tension. The same feeling he''d had the day of the raid.


    Winston''s pace slowed. His muscles tensed instinctively as he scanned his surroundings. “Was it just nerves? Or something more?” He thought to himself.


    The morning was calm, too calm. The air was still, morning dew peacefully coated the blades of grass and the sky a quiet blue without a single cloud.


    Winston exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Maybe it’s just the nerves of sudden change," he muttered under his breath. His hands flexed at his sides before he forced himself to keep moving.


    Stopping at the edge of the clearing, he took one last look at the view. The untouched expanse of trees, the crisp air, the warmth of the rising sun filtering through the branches, it all felt serene.


    Winston let out a dry chuckle, tapping his thigh.


    "Nothing rash..." he muttered to himself, the words half a joke, half a promise.


    Then, with a final glance at the horizon, he turned and headed for the village.