Quite Days

A few peaceful days had passed since the mission at Glenhill. The Postknights stationed at Pompom Village had found themselves surrounded not by battle cries or chaos, but by the echoing rhythm of hammers, the laughter of children, and the warm thanks of villagers. The damage from past attacks was nearly erased—stores had reopened, homes stood sturdy once more, and the central plaza where the village's annual festival was held had been fully restored. Colorful fabrics now draped from wooden poles, and lanterns hung like soft stars above the square.

Phill, the boy who had once stood broken and alone after the dragon attack half a year ago, was now helping paint decorations on a festival stage with a wide, content smile. The villagers spoke fondly of him, praising his progress and the way he'd slowly found purpose again. Even the once-muted sadness in his eyes had begun to lift.

Razille had left two days prior for Mailie Town's Postknight HQ to deliver a formal report on the Ashlight Circle's emergence. Her departure had been swift but focused, and while her absence was felt, everyone knew the importance of her mission.

Under the gentle shade of a tall tree at the edge of the village, Solis lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, gazing at the drifting clouds. Vaidya sat nearby with a notebook in hand, jotting something between bites of a dried fruit bar.

"So," Vaidya said, not looking up, "you're seriously planning to relax all day? That's not very 'Postknight-like.'"

Solis smirked. "I'm resting. That's different. Resting is tactical."

Vaidya chuckled. "Tactical resting, huh? Guess I'll have to write a research paper on that." He then himself rests on the ground now.

"That was the last of the wood planks," Vaidya said, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh. "They should be able to finish the walls by tomorrow."

Solis nodded. "Yeah. Feels good seeing the place come together."

Not far away, the distant sound of rushing water and lively chatter echoed through the trees. Ada was helping a group of villagers install a new waterwheel by the riverbank. Her voice rang out with sharp instructions, occasionally mixed with her playful banter, causing bursts of laughter among the laborers.

Across the main road, a stage was being constructed for the annual village festival, which was fast approaching. Colorful banners lay folded nearby, ready to be hoisted. It would be the first time in months the villagers had something to celebrate.

A short distance away, little Phill, the orphaned boy who had lost his parents during the dragon invasion six months ago, sat near the town square. He was arranging a few wooden toys—makeshift knights and monsters—with a smile that hadn't been seen on his face in a long time. Though his wounds ran deep, the village had embraced him, and he was slowly finding his footing once more.

"You think Razille reached Mailie Town yet?" Vaidya asked, squinting up at the sky.

"She left two days ago," Solis replied. "If she kept up her pace, she should be reporting to the Postknight HQ around now. Commander Cassandra will know what to do with the info about the Ashlight Circle."

Vaidya sighed. "Still feels weird not having her around. Her snark makes the days feel shorter."

Solis chuckled, but the amusement faded quickly. He uncrossed his arms and stood up.

"Hey! What happened, mate? Leaving already for training, huh?" Vaidya called out.

Solis adjusted the strap of his sword and gave a half-smile. "Yeah. Later, bro."

Without another word, he turned and began walking down a dirt path that led toward the clearing at the edge of the forest.

---

The clearing was quiet, nestled between thickets of tall grass and birch trees. Birds chirped in the distance, and the sun filtered through the branches above in warm, golden streaks.

Solis removed his sword and laid it on a flat rock. Then he took off his light armor, revealing a cotton undershirt soaked in sweat and dust. He rolled his shoulders, rotating his neck from side to side.

"I can't rely on Aura Release every time," he muttered, swinging again with more force. "It's strong, yeah... but it takes a toll. My body won't keep up if I use it recklessly."

He began his training, performing a series of intense body drills—push-ups, squats, and combat stance transitions. Each movement was fast but deliberate, focused on form and speed. His muscles burned with exertion, but he didn't stop.

After nearly an hour, he retrieved his sword—not to swing it, but to use it as resistance for body control. He practiced blocking with the flat side, redirecting imaginary strikes, and countering.

"If I can't outmatch them with brute force, I have to be smarter with defense... learn how to shield without draining too much energy."

Once his arms began to ache, he sheathed the sword and stood up, scanning the forest beyond. His eyes settled on the sloping terrain where rare herbs and minerals were said to grow.

Time to earn some coin, he thought. Better gear won't pay for itself.

He wandered deeper into the woods, careful and attentive. He recognized some common herbs—blueroot for minor healing salves, flamepetal for stimulant potions—and began collecting them. A few minerals glinted near the stream, and he chipped away small chunks of crystalized ore.

"I should seek for those materials in my gear that can resist magical attacks," he murmured, adding a sample of manastone to his pouch.

For the next hour, he moved methodically, but a glance at his pouch made him frown.

"Not enough. Day by day, items are shorting out."

He turned his gaze toward the denser part of the forest. Thick trees cast long shadows. The light there was dim, the underbrush untouched.

He tightened his grip on the strap of his gear bag.

"Should I go deep?"

The wind rustled the leaves, almost in response.

Solis stared for a moment longer at the darkened woodland ahead.

Then, without a word, he stepped forward.

And the forest swallowed him whole.