Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins

The first rays of dawn bled through the cheap, grimy window of the inn, painting a single, dusty stripe of gold across the wooden floor. I woke to the sharp, rhythmic sound of steel on whetstone. Eren was already awake, bathed, and dressed, his back to me as he sat on the edge of his bed, meticulously polishing the blade of his family’s ancestral sword. The light caught the silver of his hair, making it seem to glow.

He must have sensed me stirring, because he paused, his movements ceasing for a moment. "Morning," he said, his voice a low, quiet rumble that was a stark contrast to his usual boisterous energy. "Sleep well?"

"Like a corpse," I replied, my own voice a rough, gravelly thing as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. "You’re up early."

"Force of habit," he said, returning to his work. "A blade is an extension of the self. It must be cared for."

I simply grunted in response, my mind already a whirlwind of plans and contingencies for the day ahead.

When we descended to the inn’s common room for breakfast, the rest of our team was already there, a tense, silent tableau around a large, rough-hewn wooden table. An old woman, the innkeeper’s wife, served us a simple but hearty meal of porridge, hard-boiled eggs, and a dark, bitter-smelling tea.

Layla, ever the commander, broke the silence as soon as the last bowl was placed on the table. "After we eat," she began, her voice crisp and authoritative, "we will begin our search of the nearby area. We will eventually move into the deep forest to look for any signs of danger, or, hopefully, survivors. The village elder has reported that over thirty people have gone missing in the last month."

She paused, her violet eyes sweeping over each of us in turn. "Our mission is twofold: we need to find the goblins’ cave, eradicate them, and save any surviving villagers. If we succeed, this village will be freed from the terror that has plagued it for months. And," she added, a flicker of political cunning in her eyes, "we will all be termed as heroes. The Harvest Moon Festival that is happening here from today will be dedicated to us. It will be a significant victory for the Academy’s reputation."

Nyx, who had been silently stirring her tea, a look of bored indifference on her face, actually looked up at that, a flicker of interest in her crimson eyes. "That does sound... interesting."

After we had finished our meal, we stepped out into the cool, misty morning air. The village of Eldoria was a quaint, rustic place, its small, thatched-roof cottages nestled in a valley surrounded by a dense, ancient forest. But beneath the surface of its pastoral beauty, there was a palpable sense of fear, a quiet, desperate hope in the eyes of the villagers who watched us pass.