Threads of Fate

Garrick Thorne: Year 1306

The air was crisp with the chill of autumn as Garrick Thorne trudged down the dirt road that led to the village of Oakshade. His breath clouded in the air, dissipating into the early morning mist that clung to the trees like a shroud. The village lay nestled at the edge of the ancient Verdwood Forest, a place steeped in old magic and older fears. Garrick had heard the whispers—rumors of a mana-corrupted beast prowling the woods, attacking livestock, and terrorizing the villagers. Such tales were common in a world where magic seeped into every aspect of life, but they rarely paid well. Still, Garrick needed the coin.

He adjusted the grip on his swords, the weight of his family's heirloom—an ancient blade once wielded by his ancestor, General Thorne—settling familiarly against his back. The sword was a relic of the War of the Nine Flames, a conflict that had left scars on the land and its people centuries ago. The Thorne name was still spoken of in some places with reverence, but Garrick had little use for that. To him, the sword was just a tool, like any other. He was not his ancestor, and he had no intention of living in the shadow of a legacy he did not choose.

As he entered the village, he found it quiet, almost unnaturally so. The few villagers who were outside quickly averted their eyes, going about their business with an anxious haste. Garrick's arrival was met with nervous glances and murmured prayers. It was clear that fear had gripped Oakshade, and from the stories he had overheard on the road, the mana-corrupted beast had more than earned its reputation.

At the village square, a hunched figure stood waiting—an elder with a thick beard as white as winter's snow. His eyes, sharp despite his age, fixed on the sword at Garrick's back. "You carry a blade with history, mercenary," the elder said, his voice gravelly but firm. "Are you a Thorne, by any chance?"

Garrick grunted in response. "The name's Garrick. I'm here to take care of your beast problem, not talk about old wars."

The elder's expression did not change, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—recognition, perhaps, or respect. "They say General Thorne was a hero during the War of the Nine Flames," he continued, as if Garrick hadn't spoken. "His sword is known to some as a relic of the past, a symbol of—"

"It's just a weapon," Garrick interrupted, his tone curt. "And I'm just a man looking to get paid. Where's this creature of yours?"

The elder sighed, gesturing toward the dark line of trees in the distance. "It comes from the depths of the Verdwood. We've found its tracks leading back there, along with... what was left of the animals it slaughtered. It's not like any beast we've seen. The magic in its veins is corrupted—warped by old mana left behind from ancient battles. It will take more than an ordinary sword to kill it."

Garrick's jaw tightened at the mention of corrupted mana. He had encountered such forces before, and they were always unpredictable. The remnants of old magic lingered in places where great power had once been wielded and abused, twisting nature into grotesque forms. It was not uncommon for these places to produce abominations that defied logic or reason.

"How much?" Garrick asked, his tone cold and businesslike.

The elder's brow furrowed. "Thirty silver pieces. It's all we can offer. Our harvests have been poor, and we've already lost too much."

"Done," Garrick replied, turning toward the forest without another word. He had no time for sentiment or small talk. The job would be over soon enough, and he would be on his way.

As he made his way into the Verdwood, the trees closed in around him, and the air grew heavy with the damp scent of moss and decay. Garrick felt the old mana in the air—faint traces of the ancient magic that had once raged here, now little more than a dull hum beneath the forest's natural sounds. It was an oppressive reminder that the past was not as distant as people liked to think. His own connection to that past weighed on his shoulders, not in the form of the sword but in the expectations tied to his family name.