Chapter One: Home Again

In the year 748 by the new-Calain calendar, The Demon Lord Gorre was born. He was a human, of the village of Dogshead, of the Ulgon kingdom under the Elliene Federation. It was during the spring of the year 778 the village was razed to the ground when Gorre (full name Gorren Taross) ordered his beasts to march on his former nation, many such villages were trampled, his home town no exception...

Excerpt from report made by Federation spies (intercepted by Ren forces)

As he looked out the window he couldn’t be sure why that report came to mind, he’d seen the ashes of his home first hand; when his army had marched had laid siege to Ulgon. He’d paid his respects to the graves of his mother, his father and his sister. But there were no ruins now, the town sat just as it had, nestled tightly within a bend in the Tamara river. There was no sign of ash, or ruin or death, old men fished up and down the rivers length as if nothing had changed, women washed their’ clothes, and children played within the shallow water, as if those horrific years had never come to pass. It was almost as if he really was in the body and time of his four-year-old self. The river ran wide and deep and spanned by a single wooden bridge, that connected one bank to the other, the village to the wilds. The town was surrounded by a palisade of wooden stakes, treated to last, and proofed against fire, much like the miniscule fortress that sat at the villages centre just before the church and acted as guild hall, council house and the mayors abode. It all seemed so perfect and so impossible.

“This isn’t real.” His voice was a mere whisper, as he pressed his face against the shutters. He’d watched his home town burn long ago, and yet here it was. His sister was alive, his mother to. There house was standing still, he’d always regretted his failure, not protecting them, but maybe now he could make it right? If what he was seeing was real, if he truly stood in the body of his four-year-old self.

It felt all too surreal, but when he touched his face, he knew it – smooth features and sleep filled eyes. He’d grown rugged in his former life, he’d become ragged and thin, with heavily matted muscle, and a tangle of hair tied behind his head.

But his cheeks were smooth and his hands small and weak. In the corner of his room a wooden sword sat, covered in dents and marring scratches, from half hearted practice and play. His ragged patchwork blanket was pulled up to his waste, and his lumpy bed lay beneath him just as he remembered it. Still it didn’t feel right being back after all this time, it made no sense. There had been no magic involved, no gift from a god, not even the desire to return. He had accepted his fate, given up his life to save another. And yet he was living and breathing, the scars that had once crisscrossed his body had faded. But something deep within him felt strange.

Mana, he’d grown his mana pool over decades, strengthened it to be unrivalled among humans, he had been the world’s strongest mage. Even then his magical power could barely be compared to a lower class dragon, but its adaptability allowed him to face foes that many times outreached his strength.

But now his mana was gone.

If he had to guess he’d say it was even lower than it had been originally, a tiny flickering flame within his body, it would take him years to rebuild it to its former state, even with his perfected regime of training. But the magic he had once mastered was still close at his finger tips.

Gorren reached out opening his palm upwards towards the ceiling channelling his miniscule power outwards as from the tips of his fingers, strings of dark flame emerging and converging before him forming a single orb of flame. He snapped his fist closed over the fire, extinguishing it, in a display of manual dexterity that seemed unbefitting for a child. He nodded to himself – he may be weak now, but he was far from helpless.

The prognosis was dire.

At least from where she was standing it seemed so, the obnoxious bundle of energy and sarcasm had vanished and been replaced with a near toxic mix of melancholy and gloom. Her younger brother had always been weird but Gorren seemed more so now than usual. “Go, are you sure your’ okay, you need to come out of your room some time.” She yelled pressing her face against the gap between the door and the wall, peeking inside. The boy was just sitting there staring out of the window as if lost in thought. She had no idea what was going on inside his head. At this time of day he should have been pestering her to let him help with the chores, which he would inevitably bungle. Or he’d be running off in the woods or bothering the town guards. She had no idea what was going on with him but she was fairly sure he was too young for puberty.

“Weird kid... I should just drag him out of there.” Livita pouted marching away from her brother’s room to take a seat at the table. Ever since she had come back from the fields two days ago he had been all mopey, the day before he’d been flying about the house going on about finally being old enough to attend school.

Ah to follow ones dreams. The knucklehead wanted to be an adventurer; maybe he was just getting cold feet?

She was clueless, “Children are a pain.” She lowered her head down onto the table a groan seeping from her lips. Her mother chuckling from within her room

“Gorren’s just on edge, you were the same when you first went to school... well maybe he is a little worse.” The woman smiled from where she sat wrapped within her bed, her hands moving deftly, to make up for the mobility she had lost.

It looked like she was preparing some formal wear, either it was for them to wear to the spring festival or it was for them to sell at the festival. She didn’t really care which as long as they didn’t have to pay. To humble farmers such as themselves, a copper held the weight of gold!

She tilted her head to look towards the door, taking in a deep breath. She needed to do something and do it fast before her brother became a shut-in. “Mom, I’m taking the runt to the market, we need to restock the bread, and I want to claim the best spot for our stall.” Livita grumbled her mother just nodding as she continued her work. She looked back to her Gorren’s room, on a normal day he’d be out of the door in a flash to yell at her for using his least favourite nickname. She supposed that wasn’t going to happen...

Livita rose to her feet, her face taking on a slightly red hue before marching towards the door to her brother’s room. Gorren was still wrapped in his blanket staring out of the window, his expression somewhat grim. He hadn’t even noticed she’d barged in.

A firm hand shot out grasping the back of his collar and hauling him out of the bed. “We’re going to town!” Livita humphed pulling the young boy along. Gorren just stared up at her with a somewhat confused expression as if he failed to understand what was going on.

She then forced him into his shoes and out of the door, leaving the two of them standing on the roughly beaten path aiming straight towards the village. Livita reached down and grabbed Gorren’s hand leading the sullen child away. His eyes remaining cloudy as if he were lost in his own little world. She looked back out of the corner of her eye and couldn’t help but wonder what he thought.

The village hadn’t changed, he could remember it every detail, every blade of fresh green grass, each face they passed by on their march. In the distance on the opposite bank, the farmers worked, they checked the crops, spread fresh manure, and worked long and hard to feed the village and themselves. Dogshead was a happy place, idyllic in a sense, just so calm, just so peaceful. Even before a big festival there was a sense of ease in everything people did. It may have seemed frantic and forced but there was a complete lack of worry.

Gorren stared wide eyed, he watched people come and go before him, they laughed and smiled, even if to him they were all long dead.

It was almost nauseous, it just felt wrong – to be at peace. He shook his head slightly as they crossed over the bridge, his sister leading him by the hand. She was just like he remembered, kind supportive and a little insensitive, she could only ever see one path ahead of her, and she chased it for all it was worth. Unfortunately her current path seemed to be focused on having him act like a child again. He was thirty-years old, he had no idea how to act like a child anymore, he couldn’t remember what being a child was like. He’d been different back then, back before he tried to become an adventurer, back before they’d met, back before he lost her...

His mind went blank for a long time, the aura of gloom surrounding him growing thicker with each passing second. His sister staring down at him, a look of mixed irritation and worry on her face. Not that he’d noticed

They crossed over the wooden bridge that rose above the stream below and began skirting their way towards the field outside of the town, following alongside the high wooden fence. The tents in the distance slowly coming into view.

The Festival, otherwise known as the talent fair. It was a yearly affair where a member of the royal knights would visit their humble little village in order to take notes on any young individual with promising skills, whether it was in magic, crafts, or swordsmanship, as well as to update the id’s of Dogshead’s residents. And if he remembered correctly this year would be his turn, of course his meagre talents would leave him without a backing from the kingdom that the most skilled recieved, he’d sulked for a while before school began and applied himself with a passion that could only be called mania (although his fervour only lasted for two weeks).

He smiled slightly a wave of nostalgia hitting him full force. His sister smirking down at him and dropping his hand walking in front and leaning forwards until they met eye to eye. “I’m heading off for a bit, gonna buy some stuff, set a marker for the stall. Look around have some fun – make nice with the village kids, those self-righteous bastards. Well see you in a bit.” She laughed stepping backwards and hopping away.

It was all very like her.

Gorren gave a weary smile before casting his gaze about the stalls once more, he had no idea what he was going to do, everything that was going on around him; not just in the village but the wider world, he knew what was going to happen in the coming days but what was he supposed to do with that knowledge? He’d seen every tragedy, and caused many of them himself, perhaps that was the reason his time had been rewound, perhaps that was his reason for being. Stop it, stop it all and save them all men and monsters alike. That was the only conclusion he could draw, he’d find a way to reach peace between humans and monsters, he’d bridge the gap that had spanned centuries. It was an impossible feat, but that had never stopped him before. But first, first he had to save her. He had sixteen years before then, how he was supposed to do that he did not know, his path was unclear, but he’d decided on his destination. All he needed to do now was lay down the ground work.

And that was when he noticed it, the spire rising upwards, above the wooden wall, standing near the centre of the little village - The Dogshead library; he could start there.

Gorren nodded to himself breaking out into a jog running towards the library. It felt weird somehow, his body. He was bursting with energy, he felt like he could run for miles, climb walls and swim across seas – and still he was barely moving. His arms and legs were short and skinny, while his face was lathered with baby fat, it just felt unnatural. He shook his head clearing away the thought preparing to dash his way through the crowd. Whether he liked it or not his youth was catching up with him.

And as he stared into the dense mass of people, the way suddenly parted. People stepped back hurried, as a dark sharp looped over them all. “Outta’ the way runt!” a heavy voice yelled, a brawny man carrying a gigantic slab of meat on his shoulders marched forward, the towns butcher following besides him. The Blacksmith and the butcher forced their way through the crowd, the former was a heavily muscled man, a black beard covering his jaw, while his head was bald a ring of runic tattoos covering an otherwise gleaming scalp. On the other hand the butcher could best be described as non-descript he was a gangly youth with shaggy brown hair and an overall calm yet sharp appearance, and it seemed he’d employed the blacksmith to carry his produce to his stall. And they were both lumbering towards Gorren.

They passed him by, an onlooker dragging him by the collar out of the way, the blacksmith shooting him a toothy grin. Gorren had always hated that old man. The two met gazes, and for a brief moment, gloating pride touching against an unhinged killing intent.

The butcher froze for a moment before brushing the sensation off, ignoring the frost that had just crept its way down his spine.

Gorren humphed turning away and making use of the path the two had just cleared and made his way to the libraries front doors.