A boom rumbled the whole anvil of a kitchen? A boom from a distance? A good solid distance. Enough to wobble Jakon in his place as he stood by the heavy iron table and chair. His corned beef sandwich wobbled almost as much as him, but fell apart even quicker.

That the boom’s rumble was so intense, it forced him to catch the heavy table to steady himself. Yet the table itself shook. Shook enough that it was hard to hold it.

The smell of broken rock filled the room. A smell far too familiar from the mines. From exploring the deepest mines far back in his younger days.

A gust of air? Far too fresh and cool. Outside air.

As if a massive window was opened nearby.

What was going on? Jakon had somehow already grabbed that stunningly gorgeous serpent slaying short sword. Its eyes were blank, as if as shocked as mom and dad. They both held the table, struggling too, their sandwiches becoming as ruined as his own.

Screams erupted.

Squeals.

Orc squeals!

Jakon gasped. “Attack! We’re under attack!”

And he dashed out. Toward the source of fresh air.

Before mom or dad could stop him.

Through the hallway with the paintings of his ancestors.

Ancestor who must of been as shocked as he was.

At the gap that once was his bedroom wall. Now a wide view. A craggy cliff. Shattered rocks.

And countless orc warriors charging upwards.