The sound of the village dying was a low, distant hum—punctuated by sharp, jagged screams that cut through the mountain air. But at the Valerius manor, the silence was even more terrifying.
Inside the darkened hallway, Kael's grip on my arm was so tight his knuckles were white.
"My father is out there," he whispered. "Mikhail, he's out there alone."
"He's not alone," I said, though my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "He has the Silver Oak. And he has the Salt."
Through the narrow slit of the window, I saw it. The moon hadn't just changed color; it looked swollen, bleeding a sickly violet light that turned the snow and mud into a bruised purple. This was the Mana Eclipse. In my book, I'd described it as 'the moment the world's veil thins.'
Suddenly, a heavy thud shook the front door. Then another.
SCRATCH. SCRATCH.
It wasn't a wolf's claw. It sounded like dry bone dragging against wood.
Wait, I thought, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. The wolves hit the village first. The manor shouldn't be targeted for another hour. Why are they here now?
[Alert: Deviation from Original Plot detected.]
[The 'Author's Presence' has increased the Difficulty Level.]
[New Enemy: Blight-Creepers (Rank F+).]
"Kael, move!" I yelled, shoving him toward the kitchen.
"But—"
"The door isn't going to hold!"
I knew the layout of this house because I had sketched it in my notebook three years ago. The front door was oak, but the hinges were rusted. The windows in the parlor were thin. But the kitchen... the kitchen had a cellar with a heavy iron bolt.
CRASH.
The front door didn't burst open; it shattered. Three figures slinked into the hallway. They looked like dogs that had been skinned alive, their muscles exposed and pulsing with purple veins. Their faces were nothing but a vertical slit of needle-like teeth.
Blight-Creepers. I'd written them as the 'clean-up crew' of the apocalypse. They were scavengers. They weren't supposed to be here yet.
"In here!" I pushed Kael into the kitchen and slammed the door, throwing the wooden latch just as a weight slammed into the other side.
The wood groaned. A claw—long, black, and dripping with acidic bile—pierced through the door, missing my ear by an inch.
"Mikhail!" Kael scrambled back, his wooden training sword in his hand. He was shaking so hard the stick was rattling.
"The cellar, Kael! Get in the cellar!"
"I'm a Valerius!" he cried out, his voice cracking. "I can't hide while monsters are in my house!"
I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "Listen to me! If you die here, your father's fight means nothing! You are the future of this house! If you want to fight, you live long enough to hold a real sword!"
His blue eyes searched mine. He saw the sheer, unadulterated terror in me, but he also saw the resolve. I wasn't a hero; I was a man who refused to let his "Insurance Policy" expire in the first arc.
"The cellar," he finally whispered.
We dived into the hatch just as the kitchen door gave way. I pulled the iron bolt shut from the inside.
Darkness swallowed us. The only sound was our synchronized, ragged breathing and the skitter-skitter of claws on the floorboards above our heads.
"They're right above us," Kael whispered.
"Shh."
I closed my eyes, activating [Writer's Omniscience].
My vision shifted. I could see through the floorboards. There were four Creepers in the kitchen. They were sniffing the air, searching for the scent of blood. But more importantly, I looked outside, through the walls of the manor.
In the courtyard, Hestor was a whirlwind of steel. The Silver Oak blade was glowing with a faint, pulsing white light—the Sun-Salt was working. He was holding back a wolf the size of a carriage.
He's winning, I thought. But he's exhausting his mana. If the Creepers find us, he'll distract himself to save Kael, and the Alpha will kill him.
I looked around the cellar. It was filled with jars of pickled beets, sacks of grain, and...
There.
A crate of cheap moonshine. Lord Hestor's only vice. High-proof, flammable grain alcohol.
A reckless, stupid plan formed in my mind. It was the kind of plan a protagonist would make, but I was the only one available.
"Kael," I whispered. "Do you have the flint and steel you use for the hearth?"
He nodded, pulling a small kit from his belt. "Why?"
"We're going to give your father an opening. And we're going to make sure these things don't follow us down here."
I grabbed two bottles of the moonshine and a sack of dry grain husks. My hands were slick with sweat. If I messed this up, I wasn't just killing myself—I was deleting the only person who could save this world.
"When I open the hatch, you throw the flint into the grain," I instructed.
"Mikhail, that's suicide! We'll burn the kitchen!"
"The kitchen can be rebuilt!" I hissed. "The house can be rebuilt! We can't!"
I stood on the ladder, my hand on the bolt. I counted the heartbeats.
One. Two. Three.
I threw the bolt back and kicked the hatch open. A Creeper was standing right there, its slit-maw opening to scream. I smashed the first bottle of moonshine directly into its face.
"Now!"
Kael struck the flint. A spark hissed into the sack of grain husks I'd soaked in alcohol.
WHOOSH.
Fire isn't like in the movies. It's loud, it's hot, and it's terrifyingly fast. The kitchen exploded into a wall of orange flame. The Creepers, creatures of shadow and rot, shrieked in a frequency that made my teeth ache. They scrambled away from the heat, their oily skin catching fire instantly.
I grabbed Kael's collar and hauled him up out of the cellar, sprinting through the smoke toward the back exit—the same gate I had entered days ago.
We burst into the night air, coughing, our lungs screaming.
In the courtyard, the Alpha Wolf turned its head, distracted by the sudden gout of flame erupting from the manor windows.
It was the opening Hestor needed.
With a roar that sounded like breaking mountains, Hestor lunged. The Silver Oak blade, burning with purified light, pierced the Alpha's throat and came out the back of its neck. The beast didn't even have time to whimper. It dissolved into black ash before it hit the ground.
Hestor stood there, gasping, his armor shattered, his sword still glowing. He looked at the burning kitchen, then at us—two soot-covered boys standing in the mud.
He didn't scold us. He didn't ask what happened. He just dropped his sword and pulled both of us into a crushing hug.
"You're alive," he rasped. "You're alive."
I leaned my head against the cold metal of his breastplate. My legs finally gave out.
[Event: Oakhaven Massacre — Status: Altered.]
[Survivors: 42 (Original: 6).]
[Key Character 'Hestor von Valerius' has survived.]
[Fate Correction: 5.4%]
I looked at Kael. He was crying, hugging his father's waist. Then he looked at me, his face smeared with soot, and gave me a shaky, grateful nod.
I didn't smile. I looked at the burning house.
This was just the prologue, I thought. I've saved the father. I've secured the Hero. But the world still wants to end.
I closed my eyes and let the exhaustion take me. For the first time since I arrived in this hellish world, I didn't feel like an Author. I felt like a survivor.
Status Check
Current Identity: Mikhail (Minor Burn Victim/Hero's Best Friend)
Location: Valerius Estate (The Morning After)
Inventory: 0 Items (Everything burned).
Relationship: Kael (Life-debt established). Hestor (Recognized as a 'Brave Soul').