The moment we stepped into the Chamber of Honor, the air didn't just feel cold, it felt heavy, like I was trying to walk through deep, freezing water.

  My ears were ringing from the sound of the great stone door grinding shut behind us, locking us in with the shadows.

  And then, I saw it.

  My breath hitched in my throat, a tiny, terrified sob that I tried to swallow.

  In the center of the vast stone room stood a troll.

  It was a nightmare made of gray flesh and muscle.

  Its body was massive, taller than three fathers standing on each other's shoulders, and its skin looked like yered bark, thick and lumpy and tough.

  Every time it breathed, it sounded like a giant bellows in a forge.

  "huff, wheeze, huff"

  It was sending a foul, meaty stench across the room.

  Behind that mountain of flesh, a goblin shaman was crouched, its long, spindly fingers clutching a staff made of bone.

  It was surrounded by ten goblins, their jagged little swords glinting in the dim light as they hissed at us.

  My heart pounded against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them.

  Thump-thump, thump-thump.

  I wanted to run back to the door.

  I wanted to scream.

  But I remembered Frans's words from the magic circle, and I gripped the leather handle of my shield until my knuckles went white.

  "Rick," he had said, his voice as steady as a mountain.

  "The best way to clear this room is for you to kill the goblins while chasing the shaman. Don't let it cast a spell. If it finishes a chant, the troll and other goblins will be stronger. They will give us a hard time. I will endure the troll's attacks. You kill the goblins, then corner and kill the shaman. And only then, we finish the troll."

  We didn't speak.

  There was no time for "be careful" or "I love you."

  We just moved.

  Frans charged first.

  He didn't look like my brother anymore.

  He looked like a streak of silver lightning.

  His sword fshed in the gloom.

  SHRAAANG!

  He struck the troll's neck with a force that should have cut through a tree.

  The bde bit deep, spraying dark, thick blood across the floor, but it didn't go through.

  It stopped halfway, wedged in that bark-like skin.

  "…Tch." Frans hissed, leaping back just as the troll's massive fist smashed the ground where he had been standing.

  The only clean way to kill a troll was to behead it in one single, perfect strike.

  If even one of the uncles from the gate were here, it would already be over.

  But Frans was only fifteen, and I was only seven, and a troll's skin was too thick for our small strength.

  Worst of all, the wound started to squirm.

  I watched, my stomach turning, as the flesh twisted and knitted itself back together.

  The cut was closing right before my eyes!

  The troll roared a sound of pure, ear-splitting rage and began to stomp after Frans.

  Good, I told myself, even though my legs were shaking like leaves.

  That's the pn.

  Frans has the big one.

  I have to do my job.

  I ran.

  I didn't look back at the giant monster.

  I ran straight toward the goblin shaman.

  The little green monsters noticed me immediately.

  They shrieked, a high-pitched sound that set my teeth on edge, and three of them rushed at me, their rusty bdes raised high.

  I raised my shield

  CLANG!

  The impact jarred my teeth, but I pushed back with everything I had. As I moved, another goblin lunged from the side.

  Rip!

  A bde scraped across my ribs.

  It was a sharp, biting sting that made me gasp, and I felt the warmth of blood starting to soak my shirt.

  Pain shot through my side, making every breath a struggle, but I ignored it.

  I had to! If the shaman finished its spell, Frans would die.

  I kept running, stumbling over the uneven floor, but never stopping.

  The goblin shaman saw me coming. Its big, watery eyes widened in panic, and it let out a panicked squawk.

  And then it ran.

  Just like Frans said.

  "The shaman is a coward, Rick. If you get close, it will always prioritize running instead of casting spells. It's afraid of the bde."

  Perfect, I thought, though the word felt heavy in my mind.

  I smmed one goblin away with the edge of my shield, hearing its nose crunch, and stabbed another through the chest as it tried to bite my leg.

  But more came.

  Four.

  Now five is coming.

  They were like angry hornets, trying to surround me, nipping at my heels and arms.

  A bde cut my arm.

  Another hit my thigh, a deep, burning slice that made me limp.

  It hurt so badly!

  I wanted to sit down and cry for Mother.

  I wanted someone to tell me the game was over.

  But I didn't stop. I couldn't.

  I gnced to the side for a split second.

  Frans was dancing around the troll, a blur of motion against the gray giant.

  He was carving it apart piece by piece, nding strike after strike.

  The troll's wounds were regenerating, but Frans was moving so fast the monster couldn't keep up.

  Blood covered its body, and it was starting to slow down, its roars turning into tired groans.

  Good.

  That meant my job mattered.

  If I kept the shaman running, Frans could finish the troll.

  I turned back, focusing every bit of my will on the bone staff in the distance.

  One goblin jumped at me from a rock, but I blocked with the shield and stabbed upward, feeling the resistance of its throat.

  Dead.

  Another tried to hit my back while I was busy.

  I twisted my body, ignoring the scream of my muscles, and crushed its head with the metal rim of my shield.

  Dead.

  My breathing was heavy and ragged, sounding like a wounded animal in the vast, quiet room.

  My arms were shaking so much I was afraid I'd drop my sword, but my mind was clear.

  The shaman was still running, tripping over its long robes, too scared to stop and chant.

  Good.

  That meant it wasn't casting.

  I pushed forward, my boots sliding in the filth on the floor.

  I killed another.

  Then another.

  The world shrank down to the size of my shield and the tip of my sword.

  I didn't feel like a hero.

  I felt like a scared little boy who was covered in blood and bruises, but I kept moving because my brother was counting on me.

  Until…

  Only the shaman remained.

  The st of the guards had fallen, and the shaman stumbled over a loose stone, turning around with a look of pure, pathetic terror on its wrinkled face.

  Its bone staff shook in its spindly hands, the green gem at the top flickering weakly.

  Now… it was just me and it.

  The room felt suddenly quiet, save for the distant cck-cck of Frans's fight with the troll.

  I raised my sword, my small arm trembling under the weight, and stepped forward.

  My thigh burned, my side ached, and my heart was still trying to jump out of my throat, but I looked that monster in the eye.

  "Don't... don't you dare," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if I was talking to the shaman or my own fear.