Steel

"This one," you say, gripping the steel sword. Sharper, quicker, more elegant in its design.

Farlen watches you, a flicker of nostalgia crossing his weathered face. "Interesting choice, lad. Steel is the duelist’s weapon. When I was younger, I used this very blade in many tourneys. That said…" He glances toward the iron sword, its weighty form resting against the wall. "They say pure iron is sacred, has a better chance of killing monsters than steel."

"But it’s just a beast, right? A wolf or something? Not a monster?" you ask uneasily.

Farlen hesitates, just for a moment. "I suppose it is," he says. But his voice lacks certainty, and his eyes flick toward the woods, as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows even now.

He does not dwell on it. Instead, he sets to work training you, and it is unlike any work you have done before. Harder than the fields, harder than hauling sacks of grain or mending fences in the summer heat. By midday, your arms ache. By evening, your fingers are raw, your muscles trembling. And yet, you learn. Farlen is patient but firm, drilling each lesson into you with every strike and parry.

Between training sessions, you meet Farlen’s wife, Hilda, a lusty young woman three decades younger than her husband, with a laugh that rings through the cottage like bells in a marketplace. She brings you water and food, resting a hand on your shoulder longer than necessary, grinning as she watches you train. Her eyes linger. She smiles when you meet her gaze.

Then there is Gilly, Farlen’s daughter from his first wife, Hannah, who passed away a few years ago. Gilly is nothing like Hilda. Where Hilda flirts, Gilly works, her hands never idle. She chops vegetables, kneads dough, sweeps the floors, her expression always serious. She does not laugh at Hilda’s jokes, nor does she acknowledge the way Hilda watches Farlen as he teaches you. The tension in the house is unspoken but thick, an invisible battle waged in glances and silence.

For a brief moment, life feels normal. Sweaty and exhausted, you sit at the cottage’s table, breaking bread with the old soldier’s family, listening to Hilda’s laughter and Farlen’s gruff remarks. But normal does not last.

Just before sundown, the news arrives.

Jared, a young woodcutter, has been found dead in the forest. His throat torn apart, his blood staining the roots of an ancient oak.

Jared, who only a few years ago married Karolyn, the blacksmith’s daughter. Jared, who has an infant daughter, Irena, who will never know him.

The village is silent when the body is brought back. No one speaks. No one breathes.

Lillian stands among the gathered crowd, hands clasped over her mouth, eyes wide with horror. Your father is there too, his expression unreadable. Even Hilda has gone quiet, her usual brightness snuffed out.

Enough.

You grip the steel sword. Your decision is made.

No more waiting. No more hiding behind whispered fears and uncertain glances.

You are going into the woods. You are going to kill the beast.

Author’s Note:

Test your fate! Roll a d100 at https://rolladie.net/roll-a-d100-die. If you roll 30 or lower, you succeed. If you roll above 30, you fail. Will you survive the hunt?