The Shadow of the Past

The forest was unnervingly quiet as Lore moved through the dense underbrush, his senses sharp and attuned to the slightest noise. His mission was straightforward—patrol the perimeter of Windas and eliminate any magical beasts that posed a threat. Yet, something felt off. The silence wasn't natural; it was as if the entire forest was holding its breath, waiting.

Lore's grip tightened on his sword as he cautiously stepped forward, his eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. The tension in the air made his skin prickle. He had faced magical beasts before, fought creatures of terrible power and instinct, but this silence felt like something else—something darker.

A sudden rustle in the bushes snapped Lore to attention. He froze, his heart thudding in his chest as he turned toward the sound. The silence resumed, but then, almost imperceptibly, three figures emerged from the shadows, their forms obscured by the dappled moonlight filtering through the canopy.

The first figure, a tall man with a scar down the side of his face, stepped forward. He was dressed in dark clothing that blended seamlessly with the shadows, his eyes gleaming with malevolent intent. Lore's blood ran cold as he recognized the symbol emblazoned on the man's chest—the mark of the Shadowborn.

"Well, well," the man sneered, his voice a low, mocking drawl. "What do we have here? A little Squire lost in the woods?"

Lore's heart raced as he took a cautious step back. This was no ordinary patrol; he had stumbled upon a group of Shadowborn, the organization of outcasts and criminals who had risen to power under a single, sinister leader. He had heard tales of their ruthlessness, but to see them in person was another thing entirely.

"I'm not lost," Lore replied, keeping his voice steady. "What are you doing here?"

The man chuckled darkly and gestured to the two figures behind him. One was a hulking brute with a shaved head and bulging muscles, his eyes alight with sadistic glee. The other was a lithe woman with sharp, angular features and a cruel smile playing on her lips, her fingers twitching with barely contained energy.

"Scouting," the scarred man said, his tone dripping with malice. "Making sure everything is in place for our next move. And it seems we've found a little mouse caught in the trap."

Lore's mind raced. He was alone, facing not just one but three enemies, and each of them radiated a deadly intent. Yet, despite the danger, there was something familiar about the scarred man, a memory tugging at the edges of his mind.

"Who are you?" Lore demanded, his voice firmer now, though his mind was still reeling.

The man's smile widened, cold and calculating. "Names are meaningless, but if you must know—my name is Hamel."

Lore's breath caught as the name struck a chord within him. Hamel. He had heard that name before, whispered in hushed tones among the Magic Knights. Hamel had once been a Squire, just like him—a promising young warrior who had disappeared without a trace, only to resurface as a traitor among the Shadowborn.

"What… what happened to you?" Lore asked, barely able to keep the tremor from his voice.

Hamel's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer. "What happened to me?" he repeated, his voice dripping with bitterness. "I woke up. I saw the truth, the lies the Magic Knights feed their little pawns. They tell you you're fighting for justice, for honor—but it's all a lie. The only thing that matters in this world is power, and the Shadowborn understand that better than anyone."

Lore's heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to reconcile the man before him with the stories he had heard. "You're wrong," he said, his voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger. "The Magic Knights protect the people—they fight for what's right!"

Hamel laughed, a harsh, joyless sound. "You still believe that? How naive. The Magic Knights are just as corrupt as the rest, hiding behind their noble facade. The Shadowborn, at least, don't pretend to be something they're not."

As Hamel spoke, the hulking brute stepped forward, cracking his knuckles menacingly. "Enough talk, Hamel," he growled. "Let's see what this Squire's made of."

Lore barely had time to react as the brute lunged at him, swinging a massive fist aimed at his head. Lore ducked and rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow. The brute's strength was terrifying—one hit could shatter bones.

Lore sprang to his feet, his sword at the ready as the brute advanced again. This time, Lore was prepared. He sidestepped the brute's next swing and slashed at his exposed side. The brute roared in pain, but the wound only seemed to fuel his rage.

As Lore fought to keep the brute at bay, the lithe woman circled around him, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "Don't think I've forgotten about you," she hissed, her voice like a serpent's. She drew a pair of daggers from her belt, their edges glinting in the moonlight.

Lore knew he couldn't afford to focus on just one enemy. The woman was fast—too fast. He had to anticipate her moves before she struck. She darted in, her daggers flashing as she aimed for his throat. Lore parried her attack with a swift movement, but she was already spinning away, preparing for another strike.

"You're good," she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery. "But let's see how long you can keep up."

Lore's mind raced as he fought to defend against the brute's relentless attacks while keeping an eye on the woman's movements. The situation was dire—he was outnumbered, outmatched, and every second he spent fighting only drained his energy further.

Hamel watched from the sidelines, his expression unreadable as he observed the battle. "You're hesitating, Lore," he called out, his voice cutting through the chaos. "You can't win if you're afraid to kill."

Lore's grip tightened on his sword. Hamel's words struck a chord, a reminder of the moral dilemma he had been grappling with since the fight began. These weren't mindless beasts—they were human beings, twisted and corrupted as they were. Could he bring himself to kill them?

But as the brute swung at him again, narrowly missing his head, Lore realized he didn't have a choice. If he hesitated any longer, he would die here in the forest, and the Shadowborn would continue their reign of terror unchecked.

The woman lunged at him again, her daggers aimed at his chest. Lore ducked under her attack and slashed upward with his sword, catching her off guard. His blade sliced through her arm, and she cried out in pain, stumbling back.

The brute roared in fury and charged at Lore, determined to crush him in a single blow. But this time, Lore was ready. He sidestepped the brute's charge and drove his sword into the man's side, sinking it deep into flesh and muscle. The brute let out a strangled gasp, his momentum carrying him forward even as the life drained from his eyes. He collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, his massive form stilling as the last of his strength ebbed away.

Lore didn't have time to process the kill. The woman, clutching her wounded arm, snarled and lunged at him again, her daggers flashing in the dim light. But her movements were slower now, hampered by the pain of her injury. Lore parried her desperate strikes with grim determination, his mind focused on survival.

With a final, decisive blow, Lore disarmed her, sending her daggers flying from her hands. She stumbled back, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief as Lore's sword came to rest at her throat.

"Do it," she spat, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and terror. "Finish it, Squire."

Lore hesitated for a heartbeat, his mind torn between duty and conscience. But then he heard Hamel's voice again, cold and unforgiving. "This is what it means to be a Knight, Lore. You fight, you kill, or you die."

Lore's jaw clenched as he made his decision. With a swift, merciful strike, he ended the woman's life, his sword cutting through the air with a finality that left him shaken to his core.

As her body crumpled to the ground, Lore stood there, breathing heavily, the weight of what he had done pressing down on him. He had killed before, but never like this—never humans, never people who had once been just like him.

Hamel stepped forward, his eyes glinting with a mix of approval and something darker. "You did well, Squire. But remember this—this is only the beginning. The Shadowborn are many, and they won't stop until they've torn down everything you hold dear."

Lore turned to face him, his expression hardening. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect the kingdom, Hamel. Even if it means killing people like you."

Hamel's smile was cold and humorless. "We'll see about that. Until we meet again, Lore."

With that, Hamel disappeared into the shadows, leaving Lore alone with the bodies of his fallen enemies and the heavy burden of his actions. The forest, once silent, now seemed to hum