The fire had erupted from the closed window, throwing the shutters off their hinges and out towards the field. The house was consumed in orange-red light within a blink, fully wreathed and alive with fire.
Welt choked, the lack of movement in his body paired with the sudden explosion made him stagger his breaths. He could move his eyes just fine, though they were swimming, frantic. On the periphery of his vision he could see the outline of a small figure.
"I come from the castle of Midway" the impish man croaked.
Welt shifted his eyes to the left, now looking at the speaker.
The man had very sharp features: a pointed nose and dagger-like jaw, with a half-empty row of jagged, but still marble white, teeth that glowed softly with the blue hue of the moon that had suddenly risen above.
He had small eyes set far apart on his flat and widened head, a head much larger than Welt's own - it reminded him of the stories Drun used to tell of Goblins with a love for gold, all small and crooked in appearance. The man, or creature, balanced upon a straight walking stick. He continued:
"I tend the Oak tree" He said, letting a bird perch on his thinned black hair - its claws dug into his scalp and he remained motionless as blood dripped down his forehead.
Welt watched as the blood's trickling slowed, and in the sky the clouds that had been sprinting in circles swirled much gentler, and even the wind on his skin felt calmer. The moon finally stood still, and the stars stopped spinning.
A large weight seemed suddenly placed upon his entire body, and his knees buckled as he began to fall to the ground.
"I leave you this" The ugly man continued, brandishing his walking stick.
The man carelessly tossed it to his side, and the end stuck into the tilled mud. Welt noticed a small leafed stem sprouting from the stick's flat end. It bounced gently from the force of being thrown, and then freely swayed in the slowed breeze.
The weight became too much for Welt's body as he fell face down into the mud. He barely turned his head enough to be able to breathe, it was like a great barrel had been placed on him.
It, again, reminded him of Drun, and how he'd sometimes tease Welt by pushing him down into the mud and sitting atop him.
Right, Drun. Was he okay? The guest house continued to blaze in the night. All of the books and scrolls within were surely fuelling the fire. There was a high risk of it catching the wheat in the field on fire.
"Seek it out, Champion. Seek out your truth."
The imp smiled at Welt, who struggled and wrestled with the pressure and pain upon him. He felt a burning on his right forearm as he screamed out in pain. On it, a mark was burning into him with moon-blue light:
A circle with four squares inside, joined together by lines, and a mess of shapes within. The rune of the Castle of Midway was now upon him.
Welt was a Champion.
"When you find it... Beat it into the world around you. Bludgeon, Slash, Singe, and Scratch it into every surface." The imp continued.
It sounded rehearsed. Welt had barely heard the little speech over his own grunts and pained seething.
Before Welt could realize, the small man was gone. He disappeared suddenly, with no flash of light and no signal of his exit.
Welt was trying to make sense of it all in his head. Being anointed was something he'd only heard of from village tales - tales of brave heroes that rescued towns from monsters, tales of cursed people forced to do evil by their anointment, tales of tragic loss from becoming someone entirely different. Lords overthrown for interrupting fishing, or even blood-soaked dragons being tamed by a chosen Champion.
In the tales, people were anointed for great deeds, in castles of marble with the company of their allies. Not in the mud of a wheat field, alone and tired. It was all so different from the stories he'd read as a child.
There was, however, one thing in common with all those tales:
'Champions are heavy'.
He could feel it on every part of his body, like a great, unseen hand pushing down on him. He gasped for more air in his lungs, spitting out some of the dirt still in his mouth from the fall, and started pulling himself towards the flaming house - towards his home.
He coughed out soil and pulled his arms into a position ready to push himself up. It was difficult, he only barely managed to drag his knees beneath his stomach before having to stop and breathe. He tried to control his breathing, the struggle had sent him into a small panic.
He wouldn't be able to stand.
He made his first crawl on his stomach, no more than a half a pace. It felt impossible, trying to make it to the house in time, as he heard the popping and snapping of wood aflame. He could tell the house was beginning to crumble inwards, its support beams burning up.
"No!"
Welt grunted and screamed, pulling himself along the wheat fields at a snail's pace. His wounded leg filled with agony as he pushed it against the wheat and dirt beneath him. He couldn't see the state of the house from within the golden stalks, but could see the flames growing brighter and taller above.
Welt's heart filled with gloom.
The world was abandoning him, betraying him, again. Even after all that hard work, all that study, he couldn't stand up and help save his father from a fire. All he could do was scream.
"Help!"
STAND.
The whisper sounded in his ears again.
"Help, please!"
Welt screamed into the night. The blaze should've caught the attention of the Beginsholds, they might arrive in a few minutes.
"Help us! Please! Someone!"
Being so weak, so helpless. Welt hadn't felt this way in a long time.
Since before he'd met Drun.
***
The wheat in the field began to catch light, the fire was quickly travelling towards Welt. He could feel the heat approaching, the smell of smoke encroaching on the wind.
I need to stand. I need to stand and walk!
Welt's thoughts were loud and frantic. In amongst his pleas for help, he was trying to figure out a way to get off the ground.
The weight was heavy, but what was really stopping him from standing was the wound in his leg. It hurt far too much from all the weight added to him. He needed to support it.
If only I had that damn walking stick. I should've picked it up.
But, he had picked it up. It seemed.
In his outstretched hand, suddenly, was the walking stick. Had he grabbed it while in shock? No, it was behind him. It must've appeared in his hand just now.
No time to think about it yet.
Welt planted the stick firmly into the dirt in front of him, readying himself to push. He needed to use his own might for the first part of this task.
Sharp and searing pain danced through his wounded right leg as he tried to shift himself onto his knees once more. He yelped and wailed through gritted teeth, and seethed as he tucked his legs under his curled torso.
On a count of three, he pushed his arms off the ground as hard as he could, rocking his body's intense weight backwards. The weight was so strong that it almost made him topple over onto his back. But with his dutifully-trained core strength, Welt managed to pull his body to a more stable position.
The weight hadn't gone, still pushing him down enough to create a divot in the field around him. He threw his arms upwards, landing them atop the walking stick, and began using it to pull himself up.
The walking stick seemed much larger than when the imp had held it, big enough for Welt to use comfortably.
With a firm grasp on the top of the walking stick, its leafed stem poking out from underneath his palms, he tried to stand.
It took Welt four attempts to actually make it up onto one leg. Supported by the walking stick, he tried to pull as much weight as he could from his wounded leg. While he couldn't shift it fully, it was enough to not immediately fall over again.
Slowly, but not as slowly as when he crawled, Welt made his way through the wheat. The fire was all around him, now, lashing at his body and shrouding him in light and smoke. His lungs were filled with the wind-carried, dirty air, and his nose was coated in the stench of charcoal.
Welt found that he could move impressively fast, even with the state he was in. The weight was strong upon him, yes, but so was his ability to push against it. Within a minute he was upon the house.
Or, what was left of it.