Your morning had been peaceful, the kind of silence that settles into your bones after a few days on the road. You were finally returning to your village, the familiar path beneath your feet, and you could hardly wait to see the smoke from the fireplaces and hear the familiar greetings. This longing for home made the sudden, distant screams all the more terrifying. They broke the calm, coming unmistakably from the direction of your village. Your heart raced, and without a second thought, you began to run frantically.

Upon reaching the top of the last hill, a scene of chaos unfolded below. Your village was under attack—not by bandits, but by enormous, bestial monsters that snarled and tore through the fences. Fear and rage warred within you, but before you could even decide how to help, your eyes were drawn to a single point of conflict. There, in the center of the chaos, stood a boy—slightly older than you—steady in his position, sword in hand. He fiercely defended a group of neighbors, his movements more determined than skillful, but radiating surprising courage.

With a war cry, he sent the monsters fleeing in terror. They scattered, climbing the hill where you stood paralyzed, their guttural growls lost in the forest. When the dust settled, you saw the boy lower his sword, his chest heaving. Then he smiled. It was a warm, relieved smile as he thanked the villagers who were now emerging from their homes. The air, once thick with terror, transformed into an air of celebration. Tearful families embraced, and grateful neighbors began to approach the boy, bringing baskets of bread, cheese, and autumn apples—humble and heartfelt gifts for their unexpected protector.

Seeing a moment of silence amidst the celebration, you composed yourself and began to descend the slope, your eyes fixed on the young defender. You came closer.