Cale’s eyes fluttered open as a droplet of water nded on his face, cool and unexpected. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising as he gasped for air, as if surfacing from the depths of an unseen abyss. His body felt light yet heavy all at once, as though reality itself struggled to anchor him in pce.

  Slowly, he pushed himself upright, his limbs aching, his muscles stiff. He took in his surroundings, blinking against the dim light. He was standing near the edge of a riverbank, the water flowing zily beside him, its surface reflecting brief glimpses of the stormy sky above. The river murmured softly, as if whispering secrets only the lost could hear.

  His armor was gone.

  Instead, he wore his training clothes—torn, shredded, barely holding together. They clung to his form in tattered strips, reminders of a battle he knew had ended in his death. His hands trembled slightly as he raised them, turning them over in front of his face, confused.

  He touched his chest.

  The memory struck like a thundercp—the pain, the suffocating pressure, his heart crushed, his body failing, blood spewing from his lips as life was ripped away from him.

  But now, there was nothing. No wound. No weakness.

  Cale’s breath hitched. His knees buckled, and he pulled them to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself as he began to shake.

  He had died. He knew he had. The memory of it was seared into his very being, an undeniable truth. And yet, he was still here, breathing, existing when he shouldn’t be.

  His vision blurred, tears spilling down his face, mingling with the raindrops that now fell steadily from the sky. Why? Why was he still alive? Who had brought him back?

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing across the nd like a beast stirring in its slumber. Bright fshes of lightning flickered between the clouds, illuminating the storm rolling in. The air was heavy with the scent of rain, damp earth, and something else—something electric, charged with unseen power.

  Cale wiped his face with the back of his hand, forcing himself to steady his breathing.

  He stood, the cold rain soaking into his torn clothes, chilling him to the bone. Yet he barely noticed. His body was strong. The cold could not harm him.

  Seeking shelter, he moved toward the thickest tree he could find, its ancient roots burrowing deep into the ground, its broad canopy shielding him from the worst of the storm. He leaned against the rough bark, staring out at the falling rain, watching as each droplet met the earth, merging into the ever-growing pools of water that spread across the riverbank.

  The rhythmic patter of rain against leaves, the distant rumble of thunder, the whisper of the river—it should have been soothing. But inside, a storm raged far greater than the one above.

  Darkness settled over the nd, creeping slowly like an encroaching tide. The night air carried a biting chill, yet Cale remained still, lost in thought, his emotions swirling like the tempest above.

  Somewhere, in the vast silence of his mind, a single truth burned brighter than all others:

  He had returned. But he was not the same.

  He could feel it deep within his bones—something had changed, something had taken root inside him. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse, but one thing was certain: it terrified him.

  As he watched the rain, something flickered at the edge of his vision. A faint glow, barely perceptible.

  His head snapped to the left.

  A wisp of light hovered just beyond the trees, drifting zily in the air, glowing with an ethereal white luminescence. It floated aimlessly for a moment before vanishing into the shadows.

  Cale's pulse quickened. What was that?

  Curiosity stirred within him, pushing away the lingering numbness. He rose unsteadily and walked toward the pce where the wisp had been, his bare feet sinking into the damp earth. The thick brush ahead concealed whatever y beyond. With careful hands, he parted the dense foliage and peered through.

  His gaze dropped to the ground.

  A small bird y motionless in the dirt, its fragile body still, its wings bent unnaturally at odd angles. Lifeless.

  A sharp pang struck his chest.

  For a moment, he saw himself in that tiny, broken creature. He had been the same—fragile, helpless, dead. If not for whatever force had brought him back, he would still be lying cold and forgotten, just like the little bird.

  Swallowing hard, he turned away and stepped back toward his tree, his movements slow, deliberate.

  The rain had begun to ease, and through the canopy, the moon shone faintly, its silver light breaking through the gaps in the leaves. Cale tilted his head upward, watching the soft glow filter through the branches.

  "What am I going to do now?" he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible above the whisper of the river.

  His thoughts drifted to Mirelle and Davion.

  Were they safe?

  Then, like a bde piercing through the haze of his mind, another image surfaced.

  Tristan.

  His lifeless, mummified body lying on the cold steel table. The horror frozen in his lifeless eyes. The monstrous truth that had been revealed to him in that underground chamber.

  Cale clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

  "I have to stay away from them." His voice was firmer this time, resolute, as if saying it aloud would solidify his decision. "They’re in danger with me."

  Silence followed, stretching into the night, wrapping around him like a second skin.

  "What am I going to do now?" he whispered again, the uncertainty cwing at his chest.

  He had no idea where he was, no sense of direction, no pn.

  He truly felt lost.

  The night had come and gone, leaving the world bathed in the cool, damp embrace of morning. The strong scent of wet earth clung to the air, mingling with the soft rustling of leaves as a light breeze stirred the trees. Wisps of steam curled up from the ground, remnants of the rain that had fallen the night before. Cale took a slow breath, savoring the quiet, the stillness before the world awoke.

  He shifted against the rough bark of the tree he'd spent the night beneath. His limbs were stiff, and his clothes carried the faint chill of the damp night air. With a grunt, he stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders before turning toward the river. The water shimmered in the soft morning light, a ribbon of silver weaving its way through the nd. He began to walk along its bank, his bare feet pressing into the moist soil.

  Perhaps he would find a settlement. Perhaps he would follow this river all the way to the ocean. The thought lingered in his mind, stirring an old memory—one of warmth, of ughter, of his mother’s voice.

  She had been telling him a story, a tale of adventure spun from the threads of her imagination. It had been about a little boy who was carried away by the sea to sy a mighty water dragon that had stolen a prince. Cale had scoffed at the tale, telling his mother she was lying.

  “To have that much water in one pce is impossible,” he had said with childlike certainty.

  She had only smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair.

  He murmured now, barely above a whisper, “I would love to see the ocean.”

  His voice was swallowed by the wind. He had never left his vilge before the castle walls cimed him. His world had been so small, so sheltered. And yet, now, it stretched before him—vast and uncharted, waiting to be seen, to be known.

  He walked on, letting his thoughts drift with the gentle current of the river. The hours passed unnoticed, and when the sun stood high in the sky, he came to an abrupt stop.

  A woman knelt by the water’s edge, scrubbing cloth against a smooth stone. A wooden basket sat beside her, filled with garments yet to be cleaned. She was young, no older than twenty, with sun-kissed skin and golden hair that caught the light. Her blue eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, and he saw a flicker of fear in them.

  Cale studied her. She was pin, at least compared to Mirelle and Isa, whose beauty was striking in its own way. But there was something raw, something real about her—her calloused hands, the strength in her posture, the way she carried herself with quiet determination.

  He raised a hand in greeting. "Hello."

  She froze, like a deer caught before a hunter, her breath hitching in her throat. The cloth in her hands slipped into the river, forgotten in her shock. Her body tensed as though ready to flee at the slightest provocation.

  Cale realized, too te, what she must see—his tattered clothes, the wildness in his appearance, the roughness of a traveler who had spent too many nights beneath the open sky. He must look like some kind of savage.

  “I’m not a savage,” he said quickly, his voice calm, measured. “I’m not going to eat you.”

  The words had barely left his lips before the woman sprang to her feet, abandoning her basket and the half-washed clothes. Without a word, she turned and bolted into the woods, disappearing into the trees before he could say anything more.

  Cale stood there, watching the space where she had been. The distant sound of her hurried footsteps faded, swallowed by the rustling leaves and the steady rush of the river.

  He sighed, gncing at the forgotten basket. “Well,” he muttered to himself, “that could have gone better.”

  Cale walked to the basket, picked it up, and stepped into the forest, following the woman’s hurried trail. The dirt path ahead was well-trodden, worn bare of grass—likely a familiar route, often used, perhaps the usual pce where she came to wash clothes. The scent of damp earth and crushed leaves filled the air as he moved deeper, listening for any sign of her presence.

  Then—

  A sharp whistle cut through the air.

  An arrow buried itself into the tree beside him, the shaft still quivering from the force of impact.

  Cale stilled, his body tense. His eyes darted to the source, scanning the undergrowth, searching for the hidden threat.

  "Hello?" he called, his voice steady.

  "Raise your hands!" A rough voice barked from the foliage ahead. A man’s voice.

  Cale carefully set the basket down and lifted his hands, palms open in surrender. He had no intention of appearing threatening.

  A rustling in the bushes—then a figure rose from the shadows.

  The man who emerged was tall and built like a warrior. Dark brown hair framed a face carved with strong, sharp features. His arms were thick with muscle, his posture tense, ready to strike. In his grip, a sword gleamed under the dappled sunlight, his knuckles white from the force of his hold.

  "Who are you?" the man demanded, his piercing gaze locked onto Cale.

  "My name is Cale."

  The man’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his scrutiny sharpened. "Then tell me, Cale, for what reason are you in this pce?"

  His gaze drifted over Cale’s clothing, noting its worn state, the dirt-streaked fabric, the subtle but undeniable signs of travel.

  "I got lost in the woods and followed the river," Cale expined, keeping his voice even, careful not to agitate the tension in the air.

  From deeper in the undergrowth, the same voice from before called out. "Check him for weapons."

  The man before Cale hesitated before stepping forward. His grip on the sword didn’t loosen, but he lowered it slightly as he began patting Cale down with rough, efficient movements. His touch was firm, methodical—checking every pocket, every fold of fabric, any pce where a bde or dagger might be hidden.

  "He has nothing on him," the man confirmed, stepping back.

  "Maybe he’s a mage," the unseen voice countered, skepticism thick in his tone.

  The man with the sword exhaled sharply, irritated. "And how the fuck am I supposed to check for that?" he snapped, clearly losing patience.

  A pause.

  Then, he turned back to Cale, his expression shifting slightly—not softer, but less aggressive, more assessing. His fingers tightened briefly on the hilt of his sword before he let out a slow breath.

  "Look, buddy. We don’t want to hurt you," he said, his tone leveling out, more practical than hostile. "Turn around and leave this pce. We do not want any problems."

  Cale met his gaze, reading the unspoken warning in his stance, the silent weight behind his words.

  Cale exhaled, letting the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly. "Fine," he said. "Tell that woman that I’m sorry for scaring her."

  The man with the sword regarded him for a moment before offering a curt nod. That was enough. Cale turned away, his feet crunching lightly against the forest floor as he prepared to leave.

  Then, a flicker of movement caught his eye.

  A wisp—small, delicate—appeared before him, floating in the air like a fragile ember. Unlike the other one he had saw yesterday, this one glowed with a deep green hue, pulsing faintly as though it were breathing.

  Cale’s steps faltered. He turned back, his gaze shifting toward the man with the sword.

  But they weren’t reacting.

  They were looking straight at him.

  As if the wisp simply wasn’t there.

  Slowly, carefully, Cale raised a hand toward it, his fingers inching forward. The glow reflected in his eyes, casting faint green shadows over his face.

  But the moment his fingertips nearly brushed against its light—

  The wisp darted away, vanishing into the depths of the forest.

  A sound followed, deep and haunting.

  Hoo.

  The soft fp of wings rustled the air behind him.

  "Shit. Get off my head, stupid bird."

  He turned sharply, only to see another figure rising from the bushes behind the muscur man. This one was cd in leather armor, a bow slung across his back. His long blonde hair was tied back neatly, though strands had come loose in the commotion.

  And nestled in his hair—an owl, stark white, blinking zily as it gripped onto his head.

  The archer huffed in frustration, pushing at the owl, but the bird merely shifted, seemingly unfazed by his attempts to remove it.

  "Lui, that’s the witch’s owl!" The man with the sword barked.

  Lui—so that was his name—froze, his brows furrowing as he gnced up. The owl leaned forward from its perch and peered directly into his blue eyes, unblinking, as if it were reading his very thoughts.

  Then, without warning, the owl spread its wings and took flight.

  Not away—

  But toward Cale.

  The bird nded squarely on his head, its talons surprisingly gentle against his hair.

  Cale stiffened. He reached up, carefully lifting the owl into his arms. The bird did not resist, settling into his grasp with a soft coo. He ran his fingers gently over its head, feeling the incredible softness of its feathers.

  Lui exchanged a long gnce with the man beside him, something silent passing between them. A decision.

  Then, with an exasperated sigh, Lui pinched the bridge of his nose. He exhaled, as if already regretting what he was about to say.

  "Cale," he finally spoke, his voice carrying a weight of reluctant acceptance. "Follow us."

  Lui turned on his heel without another word, the other man falling into step beside him.

  Cale blinked, still cradling the owl. Puzzlement flickered across his face, but he hesitated only for a moment.

  Seeing them walk away, he adjusted his grip on the bird, let out a slow breath, and followed.

  They walked for a while, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth beneath them. Eventually, they reached a stone wall with a wooden gate. The walls were not built from bricks but seemed as though they had risen naturally from the ground, their surface rough and uneven. The stones bore veins of moss and small cracks, evidence of age and nature reciming its space. It was likely the work of an earth mage, shaping the very nd to their needs. The walls stood tall—four or five meters at least—forming a sturdy barrier around the settlement. The gate itself was thick, reinforced with iron bands, appearing as though it could withstand a siege.

  Lui stepped forward and pushed the gate. With a heavy creak, it swung open, revealing a hidden hamlet nestled within the enclosure.

  Eight houses stood in a circur formation around a communal space. These were not simple huts but well-built homes, each with a second floor. Their foundations were sturdy stone, while wooden beams and snted roofs gave them a rustic, weathered charm. Smoke curled zily from a few chimneys, the scent of burning wood mingling with the crisp forest air.

  People moved about the hamlet, carrying baskets and speaking in hushed tones. As Cale stepped inside, their gazes lingered on him—watchful, cautious. But they did not approach. Instead, they turned away, vanishing into their homes or continuing their tasks, as if his presence was already a problem they didn’t want to deal with.

  Cale followed Lui and the muscur man to a house on the right. It was rger than the others, its stone walls thick, its wooden frame reinforced. This was no simple dwelling—it was the home of someone important.

  Lui turned to him, his expression unreadable. "Wait here. I need to talk with my father."

  He gnced at the other man. "Bor, keep an eye on him."

  Bor merely offered a short nod, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he positioned himself between Cale and the house’s entrance. His stance was rexed, but there was no mistaking the silent warning in his posture. He was watching.

  Cale, however, was occupied with the owl still perched in his arms. He rubbed its soft back, feeling the downy warmth beneath his fingers. The bird cooed, its wide blue eyes fluttering shut in contentment. It leaned into his touch, its small body completely at ease with him. For all the tension surrounding him, this small creature held none of it.