The Villain's Retirement Plan

The return to Greenhollow was quieter than Harris expected. The village seemed untouched by the battle that had raged just beyond its borders—a battle against the corruption that had nearly consumed the heartwood and the hooded figure who had wielded it.

The first light of morning painted the cottages in a golden hue, the peaceful facade of the village almost mocking the exhaustion that weighed down his bones. The crisp morning air filled his lungs, and the distant chirping of birds contrasted sharply with his weariness. The smell of dew-covered grass brought a fleeting sense of serenity, almost out of place after the chaos they had faced.

Liam walked beside him, his face set in determination and weariness.

As they reached the village's edge, Harris stopped, touching Liam's shoulder. “You need to rest,” he said, his voice heavy. “What we faced in the woods… it took everything out of us. And it's not over yet. We can't protect the village if we fall apart.”

Liam nodded, though the concern in his eyes lingered. “And what about you? You used more power than I’ve ever seen. You need rest too, Harris. I’m afraid of what might happen if you keep pushing yourself. You’re not invincible. You mean a lot to everyone here, but to me... I can’t lose you.”

Harris offered a tired smile, his exhaustion more apparent up close. "I’ll rest. But there are things I need to prepare. This wasn't the end. We disrupted whatever ritual was corrupting the forest, but I fear the corruption is still spreading beneath the surface. And the hooded figure wasn't alone—they may have allies, and they won't let this defeat go unanswered."

As he spoke, Harris felt the familiar weight of his past pressing down on him. The power he had used, the dark magic he had tried to bury—it was dangerous, intoxicating, and he knew the consequences of letting it loose. It wasn't just the fear of retaliation; it was the fear of losing himself, of becoming the monster he had fought to leave behind. The conflict ran deeper than just facing an enemy—it was a battle for his own identity. He feared not only the retaliation from the dark forces but also the possibility of losing control again. The people of Greenhollow had given him a second chance, and he could not allow his past to endanger them.

He looked past Liam, toward the dark line of trees in the distance, a chill running down his spine at the memory of that twisted face.

Liam sighed but didn’t argue further. “Just… be careful. I don’t think I could face another night like that without you. I can't lose you, Harris.” His shoulders sagged, and dark circles shadowed his eyes, evidence of the toll the battle had taken on him. He gave a weak smile before heading toward his cottage, his steps slow and heavy.

Harris watched Liam leave, a sense of unease settling in his chest. The hooded figure’s words echoed in his mind—“You cannot break the old magic, fool.”

The old magic was ancient, primal, woven into the fabric of the world. It predated kingdoms and even the first histories—something that could not be easily undone. The rituals and spells tied to it had depth and complexity, making them nearly impossible to eradicate. Even thinking about it now, Harris felt a prickling sensation on his skin, as if the magic itself was aware of him. There was more at play here than simple corruption, and Harris knew they had only scratched the surface of something darker.

He thought briefly of Liam's unwavering loyalty—it both heartened and worried him. Liam's determination was admirable, but it also meant he would follow Harris into any danger without hesitation. The young guard didn’t realize the depth of danger they were in, nor the true power of the forces they faced. Harris feared what might happen if the dark forces retaliated—Liam's courage could easily get him killed, and Harris wasn't sure he could live with that.

He remembered the way Liam had helped him after a particularly grueling fight, the young guard's hands shaking but steady as he patched up Harris's wounds. That memory pressed down on him, heavy and unshakable. Liam's loyalty was unwavering, but it also meant Harris might be leading him to his death. The responsibility for Liam's safety gnawed at him, a stark reminder of the cost of involving others.

Harris turned away, knowing he couldn't let Liam get caught in the crossfire of his past.

He turned away from the village's edge, a sense of unease still gnawing at him. The hooded figure's threat, the uncertainty of what might come next—all of it weighed heavily on his mind.

He took a deep breath, trying to push those thoughts aside, and made his way to his own cottage, pushing open the door and stepping inside. The familiar scent of herbs and earth greeted him, mingling with the faint musk of old wood. He ran his fingers along the rough surface of the wooden table, feeling its texture beneath his hand. The soft rustle of dried herbs hanging by the window whispered through the room, but the comfort he had once found here felt diminished.

He moved to the table and collapsed into a chair, exhaustion catching up with him. He closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the clearing—the dark energy, the hooded figure's twisted face, and the power that had surged through him. It was exhilarating and terrifying, like oily tendrils wrapping around his soul, a heavy fog that threatened to consume him.

It was a power he had hoped to bury, a part of his past he wanted to leave behind. He remembered the last time he had let that power loose—a village burned to the ground, innocents caught in the crossfire of his wrath. The screams, the sight of charred ruins, haunted him still.

But now, faced with a threat that endangered not just him but those around him, he knew he could not afford to hold back. Greenhollow had become more than a hiding place—it had become a home, and the people here, his neighbors.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Harris sighed, pushing himself up and crossing the room to open it. Martha stood there, a concerned look on her face, her hands holding a small basket.

“Harris, dear, I saw you and Liam coming back from the woods earlier,” she said, her eyes searching his face. “You both looked worse than worn-out. I brought you some fresh bread and herbs for tea.”

Harris felt a warmth in his chest at her gesture, the contrast with his past life striking him. He remembered a time when gestures like this were rare, and any kindness was usually a guise for manipulation. It was moments like these that had shifted his motivations—he no longer fought just to survive or out of duty, but to protect these people who had shown him genuine care. He felt a twinge of fear at the vulnerability that Martha's kindness exposed in him—allowing himself to care meant he had something to lose, and that scared him more than any dark magic.

Greenhollow had become a reason to fight, not just a place to hide. Here, people acted with genuine care—something he had almost forgotten was possible. He stepped aside, allowing her to enter. “Thank you, Martha. I… it’s been a rough night.”

Martha set the basket on the table, her eyes studying him with a mix of curiosity and worry. “What were you two doing out there? The woods aren’t safe, especially at night.”

Harris hesitated, knowing he couldn't tell her the full truth. He forced a small smile. “We heard some strange noises. Thought it might be animals getting too close to the village.” The lie caught in his throat, and for a moment, he wondered if keeping this from her was truly the right thing to do. For a moment, he wondered if keeping this from her was truly the right thing to do. “It was… more than we expected.”

Martha frowned, her gaze lingering on him as if she could sense there was more he wasn't saying.

"I see. You always seem to find trouble, don't you, Harris? Are you sure there's nothing else I should know? You know, the villagers talk, and they’ve seen strange things in the woods lately. I even saw something myself—a shadow moving where it shouldn't have been. People are getting nervous, and I can't help but worry that whatever's out there might bring trouble to all of us. Just… promise me you won’t do anything reckless."

Harris nodded, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. “I promise, I’ll be careful.”

Harris could hear the words leaving his lips, but deep down, he wasn't sure if he could truly keep that promise. He wanted to reassure Martha, to give her some sense of comfort, but he knew the reality of the situation. The forces they faced were unpredictable, and no amount of caution might be enough to keep everyone safe.

Martha smiled, patting his arm gently. “Good. Now, rest. You look like you need it.”

She left the cottage, and Harris closed the door behind her, the warmth of her presence lingering.

He returned to the table and poured himself a cup of tea from the herbs Martha had brought. The rich, earthy aroma filled the room, and the warmth of the cup spread through his fingers, easing some of the tension in his muscles. He took a sip, feeling the heat slide down his throat, bringing a fleeting sense of comfort. He tried to hold onto that feeling, knowing it wouldn't last—small comforts like these were precious, and he needed them now more than ever.

He knew he couldn’t afford to rest for long. The hooded figure was part of something larger—an ancient network of dark forces tied to the old magic. Harris remembered tales of these forces—rogue practitioners, secret cults, entire regions that had fallen under their influence. Disrupting the ritual was only a temporary setback. He feared that if they did not act quickly, those allies might rally, and the corruption could easily spread again if left unchecked.

But for now, he allowed himself a moment of peace, the quiet of the village surrounding him, the soft morning light filtering through the window.

His thoughts drifted to Liam, to the young guard’s determination and loyalty. Harris had tried so hard to keep people at arm’s length, not just out of fear of his past being discovered, but also because he believed he didn't deserve their trust or kindness. The weight of his past actions, the things he had done as the dark lord, had left scars that made him wary of letting anyone get too close. But it seemed that Liam had found his way past those defenses. And Martha, with her kindness and

As the morning wore on, Harris knew he had work to do. He needed information—about the old magic, about the corruption, and about whoever was behind it. It meant reaching back into a past he had hoped to leave behind, to contacts who might still owe him favors. People who might be willing to provide answers. It wasn't a step he wanted to take, but he had no choice.

For Greenhollow, for the people who had taken him in, he would do whatever it took to protect them. He set his empty cup aside, a determined glint in his eyes as he stood. The fight was far from over, and Harris knew he could not afford to hide anymore.

He stepped out of the cottage. The village was coming to life around him. Children ran down the cobbled paths, their laughter ringing through the air, while the rhythmic clatter of someone chopping wood echoed from a nearby yard. The sizzle of breakfast cooking wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of fresh bread. Villagers moved about their daily routines, their voices mixing with the morning sounds, creating a symphony of life that filled the village with warmth and purpose. Harris watched them, a surge of protectiveness swelling in his chest. These people—their laughter, their routines, their lives—were what he was fighting for. A sense of purpose settled in his chest, stronger and more resolute than before.

He may have once been the dark lord, feared and hated for the terrible power he wielded and the ruthless decisions he had made in a past life filled with conquest and darkness. He remembered ordering the destruction of an entire town that had resisted his rule, leaving nothing but ashes in his wake. It was a decision that had haunted him ever since, a stark reminder of the monster he had been. But here, in this quiet village, he had the chance to be something more. And as long as he had the strength to fight, he would not let anything threaten the peace of Greenhollow.

Harris took a deep breath, the crisp morning air filling his lungs. It was time to face whatever shadows lay ahead. Not as the dark lord, but as Harris—the protector of Greenhollow.