The walk was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet — but the heavy, settling quiet that follows danger. The kind that clings to the skin and lingers in the air long after the threat is gone. Leaves rustled faintly overhead, stirred by a gentle breeze that carried the scent of earth and distant smoke.
The three finally made it back to the small village. The soft afternoon light draped itself over the rooftops like a warm blanket, turning the wooden shingles a muted amber. Thin trails of smoke curled lazily from chimneys, drifting upward in slow spirals that dissolved into the sky. Chickens clucked near the fences, pecking at the dirt. A dog barked once, then lay back down in the shade. The peacefulness of the place contrasted sharply with the tension they had just left behind — a jarring reminder that the world outside these fences was far less forgiving.
Dravien knelt beside the old woman in her garden, his massive frame hunched over the soil. Despite his size, his hands moved with surprising gentleness as he helped her replant seeds in the dark, rich earth. The old woman murmured instructions, and Dravien nodded with quiet focus.
Morvath stood with a group of men near the wagons, lifting heavy bags of potatoes with effortless strength. His laughter boomed across the yard as one of the villagers cracked a joke. Dust puffed around his boots each time he dropped a sack onto the wagon bed.
Iris and Seraphaine sat on wooden stools beneath the shade of a small awning. They crocheted with a few women in brown dresses, their fingers moving in a practiced, rhythmic dance. Yarn brushed softly against their palms. The quiet chatter of the women blended with the soft clacking of needles.
Iris was the first to notice them.
Her head snapped up, her eyes widening. Relief washed over her face like a wave. She set her yarn aside so quickly it rolled off her lap and onto the ground, forgotten. She rushed toward them, her cloak and robe swaying behind her.
"Oh! You guys made it back okay!" she said, her voice bright with genuine relief.
Dravien and the old woman approached as well, brushing dirt from their hands and attire.
"So, did you handle those damn werewolves?" the old woman asked, squinting up at them with sharp, suspicious eyes.
"Yes, we did. The werewolf responsible should come here tomorrow to apologize," Selyndra said, brushing a leaf from her shoulder.
"Oh, good." The old woman nodded, satisfied. She shuffled into her cottage, her steps slow but purposeful. A moment later, she returned with a large bag, the fabric bulging with food — bread, dried herbs, root vegetables, and wrapped parcels. "Your friend helping with the bags told me you're all going on a journey. You'll need this food for the road."
She handed the bag to Eiden.
Eiden accepted it carefully, adjusting his grip so the weight rested evenly in his arms. His expression didn't change, but Vaelus noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders.
Vaelus narrowed his eyes, watching the way Eiden carried the weight — not because anything seemed wrong, but because he always found himself noticing Eiden more than he meant to.
"Thank you so much!" Selyndra said with a warm smile, bowing her head slightly.
Morvath and Seraphaine finally walked over, dusting off their hands.
"Hey guys, so — since you three are back, should we head out?" Morvath asked, bouncing lightly on his heels.
"Hmmm… sure, I guess," Selyndra said.
"Noice! Alright." Morvath jogged back to the men, exchanged a few words, then returned with a grin.
"You all be careful on your journey," the old woman said. Then her gaze shifted to Eiden, her eyes narrowing with a strange intensity. "And Eiden, was it? Could I speak with you in private?"
Eiden handed the bag to Morvath. "Sure. Lead the way."
They stepped into her cottage.
The air inside was cool and dim, lit only by the faint sunlight slipping through the small window. Dust motes floated lazily in the beams of light. The scent of dried herbs — rosemary, sage, lavender — hung thick in the air, clinging to the wooden walls. Bundles of herbs dangled from the ceiling, swaying gently as the door closed behind them.
The old woman walked slowly toward an unlit fireplace, her steps soft on the wooden floor. The boards creaked faintly beneath her weight. She stopped beside the mantle, her eyes fixed on a framed picture resting there — a picture of her, younger, smiling faintly, her hair long and bright, her eyes full of life.
"You know, Eiden…" she began, her voice trembling slightly. "After I heard you died, I truly thought you were gone."
But her voice… it no longer sounded old.
Eiden's brow furrowed.
Then he saw it.
Her grey hair began to shift, the dull strands brightening into a soft, radiant gold. The transformation started at the roots, spreading outward like sunlight creeping across a field at dawn. Her wrinkles smoothed, fading like mist under morning light. Her posture straightened, her back lifting, her shoulders settling into a familiar, youthful alignment.
Her dull brown eyes shimmered, turning into a brilliant golden hue that seemed to glow from within — warm, alive, ancient. Her hair grew longer, cascading down her back in waves of molten gold, catching the faint light and scattering it across the room.
The transformation was gentle, but breathtaking — like watching time itself reverse, like witnessing a memory step out of the past and into the present.
She turned toward him fully, lifting the framed photo with delicate fingers and placing it gently on the nearby bed. The movement was graceful, familiar — a gesture he had seen long ago, from someone he never thought he'd see again.
Eiden's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.
"Aurelienne?"
Her golden eyes softened, shimmering with emotion.
"But… how?" Eiden whispered. "Your people — the Ironcrest Clan — were all killed by Uzak'me…"
Aurelienne shook her head slowly, her expression calm but heavy with memory — the kind of memory that carried both pain and resilience.
"That is what we allowed Uzak'me to believe," she said quietly. "So he would announce it to the world."
She stepped closer, the golden light in her eyes reflecting the faint glow of the window, casting warm hues across her face.
"But it was never true."