John Knox: Highland’s Protector Returns

The Protector of Highland

John Knox awoke before the sun had fully risen, the pale light brushing across the empty pillow where his head once rested. Today was not an ordinary day. Today was the day he would be recognized as a protector of Highland—a title passed down in his family for generations.

The scent of honey drifted upstairs as his mother called, “John, breakfast is ready!”

“Coming, Mom!” John called back, pulling on his tunic and tightening the leather bracers around his wrists. His heart thudded with anticipation as he leapt down the stairs, determined to beat his younger brother to the table.

The table was already set, bowls of warm oatmeal laced with golden honey and a bowl of freshly picked strawberries glistening in the morning light. Their father nodded at John with quiet pride as they gathered for the meal.

Just as John lifted a spoonful of oatmeal, the ground shuddered beneath them, making the spoons rattle and bowls tremble. His mother’s brow creased, but she forced a smile, saying, “It’s nothing, just a tremor.”

John tried to ignore it. Nothing was going to ruin this day. In a few hours, he would stand beneath the village’s stone archway and receive his pendant, marking him as a protector of Highland, sworn to guard their people and the balance of the land.

But fate had other plans.

As the village prepared for the ceremony, a thunderous roar cracked the calm. The hills surrounding Highland split apart, and from the wound in the earth, creatures known as Dwellers spilled out like a dark tide. Clad in fur and bone, with blades that gleamed in the sun, they descended upon the village, setting homes aflame and tearing families apart.

John fought as the Dwellers seized him, his small fists pounding against iron grips, but he was powerless. His parents were dragged to the village square, forced to kneel before a Dweller with grey fur and cruel eyes. At the creature’s side stood a younger Dweller with green fur, no older than John himself.

“You will pay for forcing us underground,” the grey Dweller snarled, raising his sword.

“No!” John’s mother screamed.

The blade fell. Blood stained the earth, and John’s scream tore into the sky, a scream so fierce that storm clouds gathered and rain poured in sheets, drenching the village.

In the chaos, the Dweller gripping John slipped in the mud, and John tore free, diving into the thorny bushes, hidden as the storm raged. But as he peered through the dripping leaves, he saw his brother still in the Dweller’s grasp, screaming, “John! Help me!”

John bit down on his fist, tears streaming down his face as he watched the Dwellers drag his brother toward the gaping hole in the cliffside, disappearing into the earth with him.

When the storm cleared, the Dwellers were gone, leaving silence and smoke in their wake. John stepped out, feet sinking into the mud, staring at the marks where his brother had been dragged away. His parents lay lifeless in the square, and grief threatened to break him, but a single thought burned through the despair:

He would get his brother back.

John fled to the forest on the village’s edge, where ferns draped over mossy rocks, and a cliff face glistened with rain. There, he found a section of the stone where water bent strangely around a thick patch of moss.

“Halt! Are you a protector?” a deep voice called.

John swallowed, straightening his back. “Yes.”

“Then you may enter.”

A doorway opened in the rock, revealing a hidden chamber filled with ancient tomes, sparring dummies, and a single old man with eyes like storms and hands scarred from battle.

“You’re young for a protector,” the old man observed.

“The ceremony was today,” John replied quietly. “But the Dwellers came… they took my brother, killed my parents.”

The old man’s gaze softened. “Then you have come at the right time.”

For the next twelve years, John’s life became one of grueling training. Each day he learned to draw strength from the land, shaping stone with a gesture, calling winds with a whisper. His mentor’s wisdom kept him from sinking into the grief that threatened to drown him. His hands grew calloused from sword practice, and his spirit hardened like iron under the old man’s relentless tutelage.

During these years, John discovered a mud-soaked wolf pup in the forest and named him Brock. The old man examined Brock and declared, “He will grow mighty enough to carry you into battle.”

Brock became John’s companion, a symbol of the family he had lost and the bond he would protect.

Finally, the day came when the ground trembled like thunder rolling through the valleys of Highland. The old man found John sharpening his blade, his white hair tied back, eyes steady with purpose.

“It is time,” the old man said.

John nodded, strapping on his leather armor, his heart pounding with the knowledge that the leader of the Dwellers had returned.

John mounted Brock, who had grown into a massive, loyal beast, and together they galloped across the plains, the Highland armies rallying behind them, their banners snapping in the wind.

At the edge of the battlefield stood the green-furred Dweller, HC Wells, the one who had taken his brother.

“Wells!” John shouted, his voice echoing across the field.

“John Knox! Our battle will be legendary!” Wells roared back.

With a cry, John led the charge, Brock thundering beneath him, Highland’s warriors clashing with the Dwellers in a battle that shook the earth. John called upon the land, raising walls of stone to trap the Dwellers, allowing the Highland soldiers to defeat them swiftly.

In the end, it was John and Wells alone, their armies watching as they dueled with blades and fury, each strike a memory of the past, each wound a reminder of their purpose.

Finally, John disarmed Wells, pinning him to the ground. Wells removed his helmet, revealing a pale human face beneath the fur.

“All of you… are human?” John whispered.

“Yes,” Wells rasped, “We wore the fur to terrify you, to reclaim what we lost underground.”

“Where is my brother?” John demanded, his sword at Wells’s throat.

“You’ll have to kill me to find him,” Wells sneered.

John’s eyes burned with cold resolve. He called upon the earth, and the ground rose, wrapping around Wells, squeezing until the last breath left his body.

A cry echoed from the cave’s mouth.

“John!”

John ran, heart pounding, to see his brother climbing from the darkness, older now but alive. With a cry of relief, John used his power to lift his brother from the depths, sealing the cavern forever.

Together, they returned to the Highland people, where John would train his brother to become a protector, restoring the peace of the land their family had died to defend.

Highland was safe, and under the watch of the Knox brothers and their loyal companion Brock, it would remain so for generations.