《Beyond The Mark : The Lost Years》 Happy Birthday In the stillness of the night, Winston drew a deep breath, his eyes closed in concentration. When they opened, he fire an arrow, its sharp tip slicing through the night air toward a distant tree. Before the arrow struck its target, his thoughts drifted. Hours earlier, laughter had filled a small room as Winston sat before a cake topped with candles. "Happy 18th birthday, son!" his mother cheered warmly. Winston leaned forward, exhaling softly to extinguish the flames. His thoughts shifted back to the present. The arrow struck just above the carved bullseye of the tree. Winston¡¯s lips twitched in satisfaction. "Almost got it," he muttered under his breath. The first hints of sunrise painted the horizon while he hoisted a weathered pack from the base of the tree, slinging it over one shoulder. The quiet of the forest surrounded him as he trudged toward the village. Movement in the bushes ahead caught his eye. Instinctively, he dropped the pack and readied his bow, a flicker of excitement crossing his face at the thought of bagging food to bring home. He steadied his aim. His momentary satisfaction faltered as a grotesque creature lunged from the bushes, its sharp fangs glinting in the early light. Winston didn¡¯t flinch. His smile vanished as he quickly fired the arrow. The creature collapsed with a pained cry, its twisted body hitting the ground with a thud. ¡°Dammit,¡± Winston grumbled, crouching to inspect the kill. It resembled a rabbit, but its fur bristled like porcupine quills, and its teeth were unnaturally jagged. A sickly purple hue stained its hide, a telltale sign of corruption. He grabbed it by the ears, letting it dangle. "Figures," he muttered, shaking his head. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he trudged onward, the creature swinging limply in his grasp. As the sun climbed higher, Winston entered the quiet streets of his hometown. A small stone shrine marked the entrance, its weathered inscription barely visible: Aroco Village. He passed by without pause, the weight of the corrupted creature tugging at his hand. The village square lay ahead, anchored in the middle was a circular stone fire pit. At its center stood a statue of Flynn Ashford, the Hero, immortalized in stone. Flames flickered low around the pit, casting soft, dancing shadows on the statue¡¯s surface. Winston approached, pulling a small, glowing red sphere from his pocket. He studied it for a moment before tossing it into the fire. The flames roared to life, soaring hungrily at the new energy. Without hesitation, he followed with the creature¡¯s body, letting it drop into the inferno. The smell of burning flesh was immediate, but Winston didn¡¯t waver. He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. ¡°Guardians, grant this creature¡¯s soul safe passage,¡± he murmured. A soft voice of a women interrupted behind Winston. ¡°Practicing all night again?¡± The concern was evident. ¡°I was worried about you.¡± Winston didn¡¯t open his eyes, his voice steady. ¡°You should be used to it by now, shouldn¡¯t you?¡± If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°No mother gets used to anything that hurts her boy,¡± she replied gently, stepping closer. His posture relaxed as the tension in his shoulders eased. ¡°It¡¯s not hurting me,¡± he said with a sigh. ¡°I just want to be ready next time.¡± They stood in silence, watching as dark smoke curled from the fire, twisting into the morning sky. His mother rested a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm but comforting. She gave a faint smile, her lips pressed tightly. ¡°Happy birthday, my boy,¡± she said, her voice quiet as she turned to leave. ¡°Not anymore,¡± Winston replied softly, his gaze never leaving the fire. She hesitated, her voice barely audible. ¡°Guess so,¡± she said, walking away toward their home. Hours earlier, as the candles burned on his cake, his mother had asked with a smile, ¡°So, what did you wish for?¡± ¡°Nothing. It¡¯s just a silly tradition,¡± Winston replied, forcing a weak grin. But it had been a lie. Winston knew exactly what he had wished for, despite knowing strength wasn¡¯t so easily attainable. Winston made his way down the road to his small, modest cottage, its wooden frame worn by years of weather and use. Behind the house, he caught sight of his mother, her hands busy hanging damp laundry on the line. He hesitated for a moment but quickened his pace, slipping inside before she could notice him lingering. Once in the washroom, he leaned over the sink, his hands gripping the edges as he stared into the mirror. His reflection gazed back, his messy orange hair framing piercing blue eyes, their intensity unbroken. For a brief moment, his mind felt blissfully empty, a rare pause after the long night of training. Reaching for the tap, he twisted it, letting the cold water flow freely. He bent forward, drinking directly from the stream before scooping water into his hands to splash over his face. The icy shock cleared his head. As he left the room, he grabbed a nearby rag to pat himself dry, then made his way toward his bedroom. The door creaked as he entered, revealing a familiar chaos inside. Books and clothing were strewn across the floor, draped over furniture in careless piles. Amid the disorder, only his bed, tucked neatly against the wall beneath the window, stood untouched. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Winston let his gaze sweep over the clutter until it stopped on something partially hidden beneath a shirt. He leaned down and retrieved a worn book: The Hero¡¯s Journal, Volume 5. The title, etched in raised lettering, felt rough beneath his fingers. Flipping through the pages, he landed on passages he had read countless times before. The journal chronicled the feats of those who had borne the hero¡¯s mark over the last century. Every chapter celebrated acts of courage and sacrifice, but one stood out above the rest, the story of Flynn Ashford and the final party who stood against the Dark Mage during the recent Calamity. Winston¡¯s grip tightened on the book as he turned to the chapter titled ¡°The Coward¡±. His jaw clenched as he read the familiar words. According to the text, Flynn had abandoned his comrades during the final battle, seeking forbidden dark magic for himself. History had labeled him a traitor, a fugitive whose name was synonymous with shame. Frustration bubbled to the surface. With a sharp motion, Winston hurled the book to the floor. It landed awkwardly, its pages fanned open, but he didn¡¯t bother picking it up. The story burned in his mind. He couldn¡¯t accept it. Flynn had once saved him, risking his life without hesitation. That memory, seared into Winston¡¯s thoughts, made the accusations impossible to believe. Something about the official accounts felt incomplete, as though the truth had been deliberately obscured. Two years had passed since Flynn¡¯s disappearance, his legacy overshadowed by accusations of betrayal. Yet Winston couldn¡¯t let go of his conviction. Flynn wasn¡¯t a coward. He was a hero, one whose story was marred by history. Winston sank back onto his bed, as he stared blankly at the ceiling. The morning sun streamed through the window, casting soft golden light across the room. He let his heavy eyelids shut, the warmth of the sun filtering through and settling on his face. Even with his eyes closed, the glow from the window was visible behind his eyelids. Within moments, his breathing slowed, and the exhaustion from the night claimed him. He had fallen asleep in minutes. The Village Hours slipped by, and the sun¡¯s harsh glare softened into a warm glow. Winston woke up, groaning softly as he pressed his fingers to his temple. The headache was no surprise, just another side effect of his chaotic sleep schedule. He sat up, squinting at the window. The long shadows stretching across the ground told him it was probably close to 3:00 PM. He leaned back for a moment, letting his mind wander. Aroco wasn¡¯t an exciting place, but it was home. Over the years, he¡¯d found ways to keep himself entertained, reading books on history and survival, picking up random skills, that made small-town life a little more interesting. Finally, he pulled himself out of bed with a stretch, his joints stiff from sleeping in the same clothes he¡¯d trained in the night before. A quick glance at the mirror on the wall confirmed it. ¡°Great,¡± he thought, sighing. ¡°That¡¯s another set of sheets to wash.¡± It was the second time this week he¡¯d made the same mistake. His eyes scanned the room, landing on a wrinkled shirt tossed carelessly on the floor. He grabbed it, swapping it for the one he was wearing. Slowly, piece by piece, he cobbled together a new outfit, a simple hand-stitched shirt and baggy brown pants, far more comfortable than the rugged gear he¡¯d just shed. When he made his way to the kitchen, his mom¡¯s cheerful voice greeted him. ¡°Evening!¡± Clara called out as she bustled around, her tone warm and bright. Winston sank into a chair at the table, still half-asleep. This was routine by now; his odd hours didn¡¯t faze Clara anymore. She always had something ready for him, no matter how unconventional the timing. She opened a burlap sack in the pantry, scooping out a handful of oats. ¡°Oatmeal again?¡± Winston asked, not annoyed, just curious. ¡°Unfortunately,¡± Clara replied, pausing for a moment. ¡°Speaking of which, are you planning to come to the village meeting today?¡± ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought about it,¡± he admitted, rubbing his neck. ¡°They¡¯re going to talk about plans to fight the famine,¡± she said, her tone dipping into frustration. She poured water into the oats, setting the pot on the stove. ¡°I guess I could stop by,¡± Winston said with a shrug, grabbing a cup from the pantry and filling it with water. He sat back down, watching as Clara extended her hand toward the pot. With a flick of her wrist, a small flame ignited beneath it. ¡°You really don¡¯t need to waste magic on lighting the stove,¡± Winston muttered, his tone slightly teasing but still laced with disapproval. Clara grinned without missing a beat. ¡°It¡¯s fun, and that¡¯s reason enough.¡± ¡°Mhmm,¡± Winston hummed, the sound muffled as he drank from his cup. His thoughts drifted. Magic wasn¡¯t a common skill in Aroco; most villagers relied on tools and traditions instead. That lack of experience with magic had been devastating during the calamity years ago. The village warriors, armed only with weapons, had been no match for their magic-wielding attackers. Winston had seen firsthand how outmatched they were. That memory had driven him to take up archery and train relentlessly, determined to be better prepared for the future. Clara¡¯s voice pulled him back. She set a bowl of oatmeal in front of him, the faint scent of cinnamon wafting up from the steaming bowl. ¡°I¡¯m heading out to help set up for the meeting,¡± she said, grabbing her shawl. ¡°Come by when you¡¯re ready. Love you!¡± Winston blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll be there. Thanks, Mom. Love you too.¡± He managed a small smile, watching her disappear out the door. Winston took a bite of the oatmeal, savoring the cinnamon that lingered despite the stale texture of the oats. Aroco had once thrived on hunting and crop production, but corrupted animals had rendered much of the meat inedible. The food supply had dwindled sharply since the corruption began spreading. Not long after the Dark Mage''s defeat, the lingering presence of dark magic had begun to affect the animals. No one knew exactly why, but the prevailing theory was unsettling: if humans could harness or succumb to dark magic, perhaps animals could as well. As he ate, Winston¡¯s mind wandered. He imagined a squirrel choosing to embrace dark magic, though he dismissed the thought with a smirk. Since the calamity, nothing really made sense anyway. Finishing his meal, he placed the dirty bowl in the sink and moved to the door. At the entrance, he laced up his shoes, his eyes drifting to his bow and quiver resting against the wall. They were constants in his life, tools he never left home without. Strapping them to his back, he stepped outside. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. The streets of Aroco, usually lively in the evening with children playing and villagers bustling about, were eerily empty. ¡°This meeting might be more important than I thought,¡± Winston muttered, his voice breaking the silence. As he walked, Winston¡¯s gaze lingered on the charred remains of houses that had been destroyed two years ago. The damage had been so severe that families either rebuilt on new land or didn¡¯t survive the attack at all. The memories weighed heavy as Winston approached the village''s community center, its tall wooden frame casting a long shadow over the fire pit. He paused briefly, his eyes tracing the village crest etched into the structure; three circles representing community, strength, and nature. The motto felt outdated, and his tight-lipped smile reflected that sentiment. He stepped inside. The hall buzzed with activity. Villagers were arranging chairs and makeshift seating¡ªwooden planks, large stones from the creek were filling the space in preparation for the meeting. Aroco wasn¡¯t accustomed to hosting the entire village, and the effort underscored how unusual the situation was. ¡°Winston! Glad you made it!¡± Chief Aki¡¯s voice boomed from across the room. The tall man, with his neatly trimmed beard and black robe signaling his status, waved enthusiastically. ¡°Hello Chief,¡± Winston replied, a genuine smile breaking through. ¡°Could you help set up the last few chairs? We¡¯re starting soon,¡± Aki asked, his tone warm yet purposeful. ¡°Of course, Chief.¡± Winston began arranging the remaining seats, noting the damp chill of the stones as he moved them. They must have been gathered recently, likely just for this occasion. Looking around, he was struck by the number of villagers present. Many of them had become reclusive since the attack, so seeing them here, together, was both comforting and unsettling. Aki¡¯s voice cut through the hum of conversation. ¡°We¡¯ll begin in one minute! Please, find your seats.¡± Winston spotted Clara waving him over to an empty spot. He made his way to her and sat down, nodding a silent thanks. ¡°Thank you all for coming,¡± Aki began, his tone warm but tinged with gravity. The room quieted, save for a few whispers that quickly faded. ¡°As proud villagers of Aroco, we¡¯ve endured unimaginable challenges these past years. We¡¯ve fought to rebuild our lives after the calamity, and now, we must face another challenge together.¡± Aki¡¯s voice faltered slightly, his hand tightening into a fist as he scratched his leg. ¡°He¡¯s nervous,¡± Winston murmured under his breath. ¡°What?¡± Clara whispered back. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen him like this. This can¡¯t be good,¡± Winston said, rubbing his forehead as if bracing himself. Aki continued, his voice steadying. ¡°The corrupted creatures have devastated our crops and diminished the animals in the woods. Our food supply grows thinner by the day.¡± ¡°We know this already!¡± a man shouted from the crowd. The room erupted into chatter, frustration spilling over in waves. Aki clenched his teeth, drumming his fingers against the podium, clearly at a loss for how to regain control. A sharp, deafening whistle pierced the chaos. The crowd turned as one to Winston, who casually lowered his fingers from his lips. Clara smacked his shoulder in shock, but the room fell silent. ¡°Thank you, Winston,¡± Aki said, his voice carrying a hint of relief. He cleared his throat and continued. ¡°King Merrick of Aurethia has extended a generous offer to our village,¡± Aki announced, letting the words hang in the air. The room remained eerily quiet, with villagers glancing at one another in muted apprehension. ¡°He proposes that we align with the capital,¡± Aki went on, ¡°in exchange for minor taxes on goods and a few changes to our customs. In return, the capital will ensure every villager is fed and grant us their protection.¡± Murmurs rippled through the crowd, quickly escalating to outraged shouts. Winston¡¯s eyes widened. For centuries, Aroco had resisted the capital¡¯s influence, cherishing its independence and traditions. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®a few changes¡¯?¡± a woman called out, her voice sharp with concern. Aki hesitated, his discomfort evident. ¡°The details are to be discussed tomorrow,¡± he admitted, his tone faltering. ¡°And we¡¯re supposed to agree to this without knowing the terms?¡± another villager demanded. Aki¡¯s gaze darted to Winston, as though hoping for another intervention, but Winston sat back, tight-lipped and unwilling to intervene now that the direction was clear. ¡°We¡¯ve already accepted,¡± Aki finally said, his voice rising above the crowd. The room fell into stunned silence. ¡°They¡¯ll arrive tomorrow to finalize the terms of our agreement,¡± Aki explained. ¡°I ask that you trust me to act in the best interests of Aroco.¡± The villagers responded with a scattered chorus of defeated murmurs, their spirits visibly deflated. ¡°Meeting adjourned,¡± Aki said, raising his hand. The crowd dispersed slowly, the weight of the announcement hanging heavy in the air. As Aki approached Winston, he rested a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Thank you for your help earlier. Please, don¡¯t do anything rash tomorrow, alright?¡± Winston frowned. ¡°No problem?¡± Aki offered only a small, strained smile before walking away. ¡°That was¡­odd,¡± Clara remarked, her eyes following the chief. ¡°Glad I¡¯m not the only one who thought so,¡± Winston replied, his unease deepening. Later that evening, Winston sat on the stoop of the house, the cool air brushing against his skin. Clara stepped outside, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she settled beside him. ¡°Do you think Aki¡¯s doing the right thing?¡± she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Winston¡¯s gaze lingered on the dark silhouette of the forest. ¡°It¡¯s a big choice,¡± he said, his tone even. ¡°Only time will tell.¡± The silence that followed was heavy, the faint rustling of leaves the only sound between them. The impending changes seemed to press against both of them. ¡°I didn¡¯t sleep much last night,¡± Winston muttered as he rose to his feet, his jaw tightening. ¡°I think I¡¯ll turn in early, Mom.¡± Clara nodded, her eyes following him as he stepped inside. The door closed quietly behind him, leaving her alone in the rays of a setting sun. Midnight Dawn 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.¡± The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. 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.