The young knight pushed aside a tree branch deep in the Unmade Forest and made his way into a clearing. It smelled of soot and sulphur yet the trees were evergreen and the ground was grassy. There were campgrounds here - not simple tents for travelers but actual log cabins and makeshift huts. At the far end was a miasma of red-orange surrounded by cursed and twisted oak logs: the portal to the Demon Realms that the knight had been pursuing. Wary from his journey so far, the knight drew his sword and approached.
"No need to fight, unless you really want," came a voice from the side. There on the ground sat a man in an aged chain shirt armor, a woven green cloak, and dirtied trousers with a small hole at one knee. He was whittling a chunk of wood into some figure but hadn't gotten to any defining details yet.
The knight took a hesitant step away and kept an eye out for others. "Are you here to stop me, too?"
"You're free to go ahead." the whittler replied. "We'll be here when you come back."
The knight furrowed his brow. There were others closer to the center of this camp minding the buildings or chatting idly with each other. This was no fortification against outsiders like he expected. "Who are you all?"
"Let me guess - you're the one chosen by the divine to slay the Demon King." The whittler paused for a moment to inspect a flaw in the wood. "So were we. From that holy symbol on your sword's hilt you must be sent by Irladar."
The knight relaxed and lowered his sword. "Correct on all counts. And if you were chosen, why does the Demon King still live?"
The whittler ignored the question. "That means you were warned several times throughout your journey to give up too. What have you lost? Family, friends, lovers, home, country?"
The words stung the knight as he recalled seeing his comrades fall, watching his town burn, listening to the last words of so many he cared about. "What could you know of my hardships? I must continue on for their sake and for the good name of Irladar."
"Then go ahead," the whittler replied. He leaned back against a stack of firewood logs. "We've all tried. We've all lost everything in the same fight you're fighting. We'll be here for you, knight of Irladar, whenever you return. I wish you well."
The knight scowled and strode past the failure of a holy champion that sat whittling away. He glared at the others as he pushed towards the gate. With every step he expected them to turn on him, like so many of the traps the Demon King had set along the way. Not a soul moved against him. They merely watched with sorrowful understanding in their eyes. Their pitying looks unnerved the knight but his resolve remained steady as he took a step through the portal to face destiny.