Kingdom of Verdwryn

The journey back to Dawnfield was a steady march, each step growing heavier as the weight of the morning's encounter settled on Michael's shoulders. His small frame was tense with the aftermath of the fight, his pulse still quick from the adrenaline, but his mind was already moving ahead. He'd killed today—survived—but that was just the beginning. The true challenge lay in protecting the village. Goblins were only the first threat, and they wouldn't be the last.

As the familiar cottages of Dawnfield came into view, the soft smoke rising from chimneys and the gentle hum of village life should have been comforting. Instead, they felt fragile, too easily disrupted by the kind of creatures he'd encountered in the woods. Michael quickened his pace, his thoughts racing with what needed to be done.

Bursting through the door of the cottage, he startled Gareth and Marla. Gareth was fixing a set of tools, and Marla had her hands deep in dough, preparing for the evening's meal.

"Michael?" Gareth asked, looking up. "What's the rush, son?"

"I saw them," Michael said, his voice steady despite the weight of what he'd just witnessed. "Goblins."

The word hung in the air like a thunderclap, instantly shifting the atmosphere in the room. Marla froze, her hands stiff with flour, and Gareth stood upright, his expression hardening.

"Goblins?" Gareth repeated, his voice edged with disbelief.

Michael nodded, recounting the encounter with precision—every detail of the traps, the rabbit, the goblins' grotesque forms, and how he'd dispatched them. He didn't spare himself, either; he admitted that he had killed, but his tone didn't waver, as if he had been taught long ago to separate emotion from survival.

Gareth's face shifted from doubt to concern, and Marla's face drained of color.

"We need to tell the others," Gareth said, running a hand through his hair. "But first, we need a plan. This is bad. Goblins don't just appear for no reason."

"I've been thinking about that," Michael replied. "They'll come back. Goblins are opportunistic. They'll see this place as easy pickings, and they'll bring more with them."

Gareth paused, looking his son over, searching for any sign of fear or exaggeration. But there was none. Only calm determination. "What do you suggest?"

Michael glanced out the window at the village's perimeter, his mind already working through the possibilities. "We need to make the village harder to approach. They won't just leave, and we can't count on the village being untouched for long."

He paused, his mind sharpening. Gareth leaned in, sensing that Michael was thinking beyond the simple, straightforward solutions.

"We need to reinforce the perimeter," Michael said slowly, as though weighing each word. "First, build spiked fences with sturdy, sharp stakes around the village. It'll slow them down and force them into narrower spaces, where we can defend ourselves more effectively."

"Spikes?" Gareth echoed, his brow furrowing. "How would we?"

"Cut down the strongest wood you can find," Michael interrupted his voice firm. "Plant the stakes at an angle, about chest-high. If they try to climb, the stakes will catch them and injure them before they get through."

Gareth looked out the window toward the farthest fields, considering the effort. Michael didn't give him a chance to voice his doubts. "We can dig pits, too. In the approaches. Dig deep enough that they're covered with branches and leaves, but when a goblin steps on them, they'll fall straight into a trap. Line the bottoms with more spikes—it's primitive, but it works."

Gareth stood silent for a long moment, taking in the plans. "Pits, spikes, and fences. It's going to take time… and we'll need more hands."

"Yes," Michael agreed, nodding. "We'll also need to organize patrols groups of two or three people to walk the perimeter, especially at dusk and dawn. That's when goblins are most active. If we can spot them early, we'll have an advantage."

Gareth studied Michael for a moment longer. His son had already been sharp beyond his years, but hearing such strategic thought from a six-year-old unsettled him. "You've thought this all through. But it's not just fences and pits. What else?"

Michael's eyes flickered, and he pulled a small pouch of bells from his belt. "Noise alarms," he said. "We can tie strings to bells or scrap metal and stretch them along the perimeter. If something trips the lines, we'll hear it before they get too close."

Gareth looked at the bells in Michael's hand and felt a momentary surge of pride. "You've been reading Mae's books, haven't you?"

Michael shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "And I've learned from… my past life." He said the words with a certain finality as if it were something he didn't need to explain further.

Gareth placed a hand on Michael's shoulder, his voice a mix of pride and curiosity. "Where do you come up with all this, son?"

Michael hesitated. For a brief moment, he considered lying, saying it was all from the books, from Mae's lessons but that didn't feel right. "It just makes sense," he finally said.

"Well," Gareth said, ruffling his son's hair with affection, "you're sharp. Whatever the reason, you're thinking like a soldier."

At Michael's urging, Gareth didn't waste any more time. He went straight to work, rallying the villagers. Within the hour, the square was crowded with people, each one eager to act, the somber reality of the threat shaking the usual routine of village life. Michael stood at Gareth's side, his steady voice now addressing the crowd.

"Goblins won't stop with one rabbit," he began, his young voice carrying across the square. "We need to make this village a hard target. Pits, spikes, patrols, and noise alarms. If we act now, we can stop them before they get any closer."

The villagers listened in silence, some skeptical, others fearful, but none willing to ignore the words of a child who had just proven himself in the woods. The fear in their eyes was palpable, but so was the resolve.

Edrin, an older man with graying hair, was the first to speak. "What can we do, Michael?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of trepidation and trust.

Michael nodded, his mind already calculating the next steps. "We all need to pull together. Gareth, Edrin, and Sera, you start on the fences. The rest of you gather tools, wood, anything sharp. We'll begin digging the pits tomorrow."

Gareth's voice rang out, commanding and firm. "Everyone, you know your roles. Let's move quickly before nightfall."

The villagers dispersed, quickly getting to work, galvanized by Michael's plan. As the crowd thinned, Gareth crouched down to Michael's level, his hand resting proudly on his son's shoulder. "I don't know how you do it, son. But you've done well."

Michael's eyes were already on the horizon, imagining the work ahead. "We're just getting started."

That night, after the sun had set and the village settled into its quiet rhythms, Michael lay in bed, staring up at the thatched ceiling. His thoughts raced. The village was far from safe, but they were taking their first steps toward protection. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a soldier in this world—yet. But he had the skills, the experience, and the drive to turn the tide.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges. The village had the beginnings of its defense, but Michael knew that the real battle would come when the goblins returned. For now, though, he could rest. Dawnfield was ready for the storm.