Alistair peeked through the thick leaves of the giant oak tree, his eyes stinging with tears. Smoke filled the air, tasting hot and acrid in his mouth. The once happy sounds of his village – children's laughter, women singing, the clang of the blacksmith's hammer – were replaced by a terrifying symphony of screams and crackling flames. The houses he knew so well, filled with families and warmth, were now burning skeletons, their dying embers painting the sky red.

His body trembled uncontrollably, each breath catching in his throat like a sob. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing with all his might for this nightmare to end. Then, a deep voice boomed across the chaos, making him open his eyes again. There, riding a giant white horse, sat King Thassalor. Alistair had only seen pictures of the king, but even from a distance, he recognized the cold, cruel power radiating from the man. His jeweled armor gleamed in the firelight, and his face looked dangerous devilish, with a serious smiling expression and long hairs parts of hair on his face. A shiver ran down Alistair's spine as Thassalor's icy gaze seemed to pierce right through him.

The soldier scurried to Thassalor, bowing so low his head almost touched the dirt. "We've finished your, uh, your task, Minister," he stammered, his voice shaky.

Thassalor didn't even look at him. He just grunted, a rough sound like rocks grinding together. It scraped right through Alistair's ears. "General Ecolier," he barked, the word dripping with nastiness. "Count the villagers and all the stuff we took And Calculate The No Of Villagers That We Can Serve.."

Alistair flinched at the harsh tone. Beside Thassalor, a scrawny man on a horse gulped. This must be General Ecolier, Alistair realized. He bobbed his head like a nervous bird. "Y-yes, Minister," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

Alistair's heart thumped like a trapped bird in his chest, its frantic rhythm echoing in his ears. Every beat hammered against his ribs, a desperate plea for escape that his terror-stricken body refused to answer. Panic clawed its way through his mind, a whirlwind of swirling thoughts and raw emotions. He watched, his vision blurring with tears, as soldiers moved through the clearing with practiced efficiency. Herding villagers together like frightened cattle, their rough shoves and barked orders echoed like cruel music in the smoke-filled air. Each villager's face held a mix of fear and something else, a flicker of defiance perhaps, a silent fight against the terrible fate that loomed before them.

Alistair held his breath, a choked gasp caught in his throat. King Thassalor swung himself off his giant black horse with practiced ease, each movement slow and deliberate. It was like watching a predator stalk its prey, every step radiating power and chilling control. The king towered over the crowd, his shadow stretching long and menacing on the ground.

A heavy silence descended upon the clearing, thick and suffocating. Thassalor's gaze swept across the scene, cold and calculating. It finally landed on General Ecolier, who shuffled forward, his face pale and shoulders hunched. He looked like a scared mouse facing a hungry cat.

"We didn't find much food or money, Your Majesty!!" Ecolier stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "Only enough to feed twenty-three villagers for a few months, and not much gold either."

Thassalor's face twisted into a snarl, his lips curling back to reveal sharp, pointed teeth that glinted in the firelight. It was a terrifying sight, like a beast baring its fangs. "Then it's easy," he declared, his voice dripping with a coldness that sent shivers down Alistair's spine. The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy with cruel hatred. "Kill the rest. We'll take only twenty-three villagers as slaves – the strongest ones, and a few women too. Line them all up in a row."

Alistair felt a scream rise in his throat, but it died before it could escape. His body turned numb with horror. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real.

Ecolier's face drained of color, his eyes bulging in terror. The king's icy glare froze any protest that might have formed in his throat. With a small, jerky nod, he turned and relayed Thassalor's orders to the soldiers. The once lively crowd erupted into a storm of chaos. Cries of despair and desperate pleas for mercy shattered the heavy silence. But Thassalor remained unmoved, a statue sculpted from cold, heartless stone.

Alistair watched, paralyzed by a terror so deep it seemed to freeze the very air around him. His parents were shoved roughly into the forming line, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and defiance. Tears streamed down Alistair's face, blurring his vision. He wanted to scream, to fight back with every fiber of his being, but his body was a prisoner of his fear.

Then, the world seemed to slow down in a horrifying way. Thassalor drew his sword, the polished metal catching the last rays of the setting sun and flashing with a deadly glint. The villagers flinched back in unison, their faces contorted in a silent scream of terror. A bloodcurdling shriek tore through the air as Thassalor swung his sword in a brutal arc. The sound echoed in the clearing, a horrifying punctuation mark to the scene of unfolding tragedy.

Alistair watched, his world turning numb with horror. With each swing of Thassalor's sword, a villager crumpled to the ground, their lifeless body landing with a sickening thud. The metallic clang of the sword echoed in his ears, a sickening counterpoint to the villagers' screams that rose and fell in a horrifying wave. Thassalor moved with terrifying efficiency, his sword a deadly blur. In seconds, the line of villagers had been reduced to a pile of still bodies. The stench of blood filled the air, thick and heavy, a sickening perfume clinging to the scene of Thassalor's brutality.

Alistair sank to his knees, his body wracked with dry sobs. He had witnessed a massacre, a scene of unimaginable cruelty that would forever scar his soul. A choked whimper escaped his lips. "Where are My Mom and Dad?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with grief. "Are they… are they gone?"

The soldiers, shaken by the sheer savagery of their king, stood speechless. One of them, A Soldier with terrified eyes, finally managed to stammer, "Unbelievable… with one swing, he killed almost everyone… no one has that skill…" His voice trailed off, lost in the heavy silence that hung over the clearing.

Alistair's mind was consumed by a white-hot rage. It pulsed through him, a fire threatening to consume him from the inside. Hatred for Thassalor, so potent and raw, felt like a living thing in his chest, a ravenous beast clawing its way out. He gritted his teeth, the sound echoing faintly in his ears. His fists clenched into balls, nails digging into his palms until a metallic tang filled his mouth. "I will kill them all," he whispered, the words a guttural growl escaping between gritted teeth. The vow was a promise, a dark oath sworn on the ashes of his world. He didn't know how, he didn't know when, but he would make Thassalor pay. Every fiber of his being screamed for vengeance, a primal urge that resonated deep within his core.

But a chilling realization dawned on him, sharp as a shard of ice. He was just a scrawny boy, barely sixteen summers old. His hands, more accustomed to tending sheep and wielding a farmer's tools, trembled with a mixture of grief and fury. His heart, once filled with the warmth of family and the simple joys of village life, now overflowed with a cold, suffocating grief. He'd never held a sword heavier than a butter knife, never learned the art of battle beyond the playful spars with his friends. How could he even dream of defeating a ruthless tyrant like Thassalor, a man who wielded death with such chilling efficiency? Despair threatened to drown him, but the burning ember of rage clung on, a tiny spark of defiance in the suffocating darkness. It was a flicker of defiance that refused to be extinguished, a stubborn ember that burned brighter with every fresh tear that streamed down his face.

Thassalor, his face still twisted in a cruel mask, eyes seemed like angry expressions barked an order. "General," he rasped, the word laced with a cold finality, "have the bodies piled up and burned. We don't want any witnesses." Alistair watched, his vision blurring with tears, as the soldiers shuffled forward to obey. Their faces were etched with a mixture of fear and grim acceptance, a reflection of the turmoil churning within Alistair himself. The soldiers moved mechanically, their movements devoid of enthusiasm, as if haunted by the ghosts of the villagers they'd just slain. The smoke from the burning houses mingled with the acrid stench of blood, a suffocating shroud descending upon the scene of devastation. It was a horrifying tableau, a testament to Thassalor's cruelty, and a stark reminder of the fragile nature of life.

Ecolier, his voice barely a whisper choked with a sliver of defiance, acknowledged the command. Alistair watched, a cold knot forming in his stomach, as the soldiers dragged the bodies together. Dousing them with kerosene in a practiced, almost emotionless way, they set them ablaze. The flames crackled and spat, consuming everything in their path – flesh, bone, memories – a horrifying reflection of the fire that now burned in Alistair's heart.

Tears streamed down his face, a mixture of grief so profound it threatened to drown him, and a newfound determination that flickered like a tiny flame amidst the ashes. He wouldn't let his parents' deaths be in vain. He wouldn't become another nameless victim consumed by the flames. No, he would find a way to fight back, a way to become the ember that sparked a rebellion, a way to extinguish the fire of Thassalor's tyranny.

The king, his face still contorted with a grimace, turned to his general with a gasp that seemed to come from a place far deeper than physical exertion. "General," he rasped, the word laced with a desperate edge, "round up all remaining villagers. We cannot afford any loose ends. Find them and eliminate them on the spot."

General Ecolier, the man who had earlier stammered his report, straightened his spine in a surprising display of defiance. A flicker of something akin to pity crossed his eyes as they met Alistair's tear-filled gaze for a fleeting moment. Then, with a resigned sigh, he nodded in understanding. This subtle exchange, a silent rebellion against the king's brutality, wasn't lost on Alistair.

Tears streamed down Alistair's face, blurring his vision as he watched from the shadows. Soldiers fanned out through the village, their boots crunching on the scorched earth like hungry beetles scuttling across a dead leaf. Every overturned pot, every ragged curtain, every doorway was scrutinized with a practiced coldness. Alistair's breath hitched in his throat. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat urging him to flee. "They're hunting survivors," he whispered, his voice choked with a mixture of terror and resolve. He wouldn't become another victim. No, he had to run. He darted a glance toward the smoldering ruins of his home, a silent goodbye to the life he once knew. A choked sob escaped his lips, but he quickly stifled it, forcing himself to stay focused on the task at hand – survival.

The world seemed to slow down for a horrifying moment. The villager's desperate pleas for mercy hung in the air, unanswered. The archer drew back the bowstring with a practiced ease that spoke of countless hours honing his deadly skill. The twang of the bowstring echoed through the clearing, a sharp, metallic sound that sent shivers down Alistair's spine. A sickening thud followed it as the arrow struck its mark. The villager crumpled to the ground, a crimson stain blossoming on his tunic where the arrow protruded.

Archer emerged from the shadows, tall and lean with a predatory grace that belied his youthful features. A cruel smile, devoid of warmth or humor, stretched across his face. The soldiers surrounding him erupted in cheers, their bloodthirsty shouts a stark contrast to the heavy silence that had descended upon the clearing. Alistair watched in numb horror, the image of the fallen villager and the archer's chilling smile seared into his memory.

Alistair's blood ran cold. Fear threatened to paralyze him, but the burning need to survive spurred him on. He redoubled his efforts, pushing himself deeper into the forest He started To run. The rustling of leaves under his feet filled the air, a sound that echoed through the silent trees. The archer, his head cocked to one side, narrowed his eyes and closed them for a moment, focusing on the sound."Is it just an animal, or something more like any person running?" He opened his eyes, a glint of suspicion flashing in their depths. He reached for another arrow, his gaze fixed on the direction of the noise.
within a second he removed an arrow the beside soldier saw the arrow pointing inside the forest aiming and then shot the arrow soon reached Alistair.

Alistair flinched. A searing pain erupted in his leg, a white-hot spike that stole his breath and sent him crashing to the ground. He looked down to see an arrow protruding from his thigh, the fletching trembling slightly. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. "It hurts..." he choked out, a strangled cry escaping his lips. "It hurts so bad..."

Despair threatened to engulf him. The arrow, a cruel reminder of his vulnerability, seemed to mock his desperate escape attempt. He was caught. They would find him. He squeezed his eyes shut, envisioning the soldiers descending upon him, their cruel laughter echoing in his ears.

But then, a flicker of defiance sparked within him. He wouldn't surrender. Not yet. He gritted his teeth, the pain a dull roar in his ears. With a surge of adrenaline, he fumbled for the arrow, his fingers clumsy with shock. Every touch sent fresh waves of agony lancing through his leg, but he ignored it, focusing solely on the task at hand. He had to get this arrow out, had to buy himself some time.

Through the haze of pain, he heard the murmur of voices – the soldiers. Fear coiled in his stomach like a viper. They were close. He worked faster, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The world narrowed down to the arrow, the cold metal biting into his flesh, and the desperate need to escape.

Finally, with a sickening yank, the arrow came free. Blood welled up from the wound, staining his clothes crimson. Alistair choked back a sob, the pain a constant throb in his leg. He pushed himself up, leaning heavily against a tree trunk. He had to move, had to find somewhere to hide.

Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the tense silence. Alistair's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing in his ears. He forced himself to take a shallow breath, trying to quiet his ragged gasps. He peeked through the undergrowth, his gaze landing on the figures emerging from the trees.

"Hey?!" the soldier bellowed, his voice laced with surprise. "What?? listen Who did you shoot in the trees, an animal?"

Alistair's breath hitched. Alistair was In Pain, Listening to the murmuring Of the soldiers. The archer, his face obscured by shadow, remained silent, his eyes fixed on him.

"No," the archer finally muttered, his voice low and emotionless. Just two words, but they sent shivers down Alistair's spine. "Just follow me." soon the archer and the soldier stopped moving and saw in front a boy lying down with an arrow in his leg Alistair also saw the archer and the soldier in front the soldier laughed out loud and the archer too. The soldier, his face breaking into a cruel grin, yanked out his sword and held it out to Alistair. "Hey, poor little kid," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "What's your name?"

Alistair, his heart hammering against his ribs, stammered, "Alistair... Alistair Wilder."

The soldier's grin widened. "Nice to meet you," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "So, were you planning on escaping? Ha! What a bad idea, kid. You can't do anything. You're just a scared little rabbit."

The archer, who had been watching silently, suddenly spoke up. "Wait," he said, a hint of urgency creeping into his voice. "What are you doing?"

Alistair said looking down the soldier came out from laugh came near to Alistair and then the soldier offered his sword to Alistair, Alistair saw the sword and the soldier said, "Hold This Sword and Kill me." The archer was smiling but suddenly became serious and said,"Wait, what are you? Are You Crazy??

Before Alistair could react further, the soldier threw his head back and roared with laughter. "You can't even kill a rabbit, let alone me!.. You think Who can't Even Kill A Rabbit or Fish Can Kill me!!??" His laughter echoed through the trees, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Alistair's spine. Alistair got angry and shouted,"Enough!!" The soldier there with a changing expression saw Alistair and said, "Ohh...I think you are getting angry Coward Little Brat!! You can kill me..huh??What will you do??" Alistair sees up and says with a great evil smile,"I am not afraid of You." Then he removed the arrow A bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air. Alistair dug the arrow into the neck of the soldier and escaped With a Jump.

The soldier crumpled to the ground, clutching at the fatal wound, his eyes wide with disbelief. Alistair stumbled back, the sword clattering to the ground. The metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils, a sickening counterpoint to the soldier's gurgling gasps. Alistair ran quickly and fast The archer shouted, "Wait!! noo" The archer shot arrows one by one but he successfully hid under some dark bushes archer there thought, "Incredible..He is so fast that even after he is hurt his running speed is faster..I have noticed before when I was shooting I had to extent the range of the arrow and distance...That's Awesome and shocking.."

"What have you done?" he breathed, his voice laced with a hint of fear. "The Minister… what will we tell him?"

The soldier, gasping for breath, his face contorted in pain, managed to gurgle, "We'll… apologize… maybe he'll… let us live…" Alisatir at a very distance sitting with hand-to-hand hiding...The Soldier was able to talk The arrow was not too deep in the neck. The Soldier In anger Shouted,"I will...I will Kill u poor Little Coward..." The soldier and the archer Left the place and Moved.

The soldiers, their faces ashen and drawn, huddled before King Thassalor on the bloodstained cobblestones of the village square. Their once proud armor, now caked with grime and spattered with blood, seemed to hang heavy on their hunched shoulders. They explained everything about how he dragged the arrow and escaped with a run. Thassalor expression of anger became normal with eyebrows angry thoughts with closed eyes.

"Enough!" he roared. "Search every corner! Every house! Every nook and cranny! Leave no stone unturned! If that boy isn't found by the time I return, you'll all pay dearly!"

The soldiers scurried away, their boots thumping a hasty retreat. Alistair, hidden deep within the bushes, watched them disappear with a mixture of relief and dread. Tears streamed down his face, hot tracks etching themselves onto his soot-streaked cheeks. Images of his parents, their faces etched with terror before the cold glint of Thassalor's sword, flashed through his mind. The memory of his once vibrant village, now reduced to a smoldering ruin, filled him with suffocating grief.

Alistair was hidden and soon saw front the soldier and the archer were gone.. he then started to cry.. and think about the lost parents' mass killing by King Thassalor killed everyone he loved in the village.

A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying a faint whisper. Alistair lifted his head, straining to hear. Was it just the wind, or something more?

He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound. It was like a voice, soft and ethereal, weaving through the rustling leaves and the distant sounds of the burning village. It spoke of a place far away, a place untouched by war and tyranny. A place where people lived in peace and harmony, a place called… freedom.

Alistair had never heard the word before, but it resonated within him, filling the emptiness left by his grief with a flicker of hope. He opened his eyes, a new determination hardening his gaze.

"Freedom," he whispered, the word tasting unfamiliar yet strangely comforting on his lips. "The place of freedom… it's calling to me."

He sat there, huddled beneath the bushes, his legs pulled tight to his chest. He looked like a lost child, small and vulnerable. But within his tear-filled eyes, a spark of defiance flickered.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice hoarse but firm. "The place of freedom… that's where I'm going. But first, I have to get out of here. I have to find a way to survive, to get stronger. I will Soon Confront all my Enemies...They show Too much violence and No mercy..I will Eliminate Them All.."

He glanced down at his leg, the wound throbbing with a dull ache. He would never be able to outrun the soldiers on his own. He needed to find somewhere safe to hide, a place to tend to his wound and gather his thoughts.

With a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet, the pain in his leg sending a jolt through his body. He winced, but he forced himself to move. He had to get to the tree before the soldiers returned.

The Alistair can be seen going straight into the forest. The Owl Was there on the tree seeing but remained unnoticed by Alistair with a Hoot On the tree.

While going inside the forest to the other end, Alistair spotted a small iron sword lying under a tree on his left. Hope flickered in his chest. "Maybe I can use this..." he thought, limping towards the weapon.

He reached for the sword, Again the mysterious figure, cloaked in shadow looked like a wanderer watching behind the tree in the bushes. Alistair Picked the Sword. The Mysterious Wanderer walked and disappeared into the bushes. Alistair Unnoticed him.

Alistair grabbed the sword. It felt cold and different in his hand, not like his dad's old, comfy wood carving knife. But it was all he had. He walked forward, his heart thumping like a drum. Every leaf that shook, every twig that snapped, sounded loud in the quiet forest. He wanted to relax a little, but then he heard another snap behind him. He stopped walking and his heart beat very fast.

A mean voice shouted from the trees. It made Alistair shiver. "Well, well, well. Look who we found."

Alistair spun around. His face went white. There, in the sunlight that peeked through the leaves, stood General Ecolier. The general was smiling in a way that wasn't friendly, and the smile was bigger and scarier than Alistair remembered. Soldiers were behind him, stepping out of the shadows. They weren't the same scared soldiers Alistair had seen before. Now they looked happy in a bad way, and their weapons gleamed in the dappled light.

Alistair was trapped. The soldiers slowly walked towards him, forming a circle around him. His hand was sweaty and scared and the sword he holds felt cold and weird in his hand. It wasn't like his dad's wood carving knife, that felt warm and familiar."Looks like you're out of luck, boy," Ecolier said in a voice that pretended to be nice. "Do you have anything to say before we send you to be with your village Peoples In hell?? Huh?"

Alistair gripped the sword tightly. His voice trembled, but he managed to say, "I will fight you before I die." The words sounded strange, but they were all he had.

The soldiers charged at him quickly, their weapons flashing. Alistair raised the sword. A tiny spark of hope flickered inside him. He knew he couldn't win, but he wanted to live. Alistair gripped the sword tighter, a flicker of defiance replacing the terror in his eyes. He wouldn't go down without a fight.

-----------------Chapter 2 End----------------------