Alsta

The village of Alsta basked in the golden glow of a late afternoon sun. The silver-haired villagers moved through their routines with a quiet efficiency, the rhythmic hammering from the forge blending with the murmur of voices and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. It was an ordinary day, as peaceful as any other.

Meryn stood at the edge of the forge, wiping her hands on a soot-streaked cloth as she surveyed her latest work. The freshly polished blade gleamed on the anvil, its edge sharp and true. She smiled faintly, pleased with her progress, before turning her attention to the small group of apprentices bustling about the shop.

"Take that to the armory," she instructed one, nodding toward a finished sword propped against the wall. "And be careful with the grip—it's not fully set yet."

"Yes, ma'am!" the young boy replied, hefting the weapon with both hands as he scurried off.

Meryn sighed, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. Her thoughts wandered briefly to Kael—his absence noticeable even in the busyness of the forge. She wondered where he was now, what dangers he might be facing. He's strong, she reminded herself, her jaw tightening. He'll be fine.

Across the village square, Lysa sat near the fountain, idly weaving a garland of wildflowers. She hummed softly to herself, her fingers working quickly as she threaded the stems together. Her eyes flicked up every now and then to watch the villagers pass by, her gaze lingering on the guards stationed near the perimeter.

There had been whispers in recent weeks—rumors of unrest in the North. Though no one in Alsta spoke openly of danger, there was an unspoken tension that hung in the air. The guards had doubled their patrols, and the village council had quietly begun stockpiling supplies.

Lysa tried to push the unease from her mind, focusing instead on the vibrant colors of the flowers in her hands. But even as she worked, a chill ran down her spine, and she glanced toward the tree line at the edge of the village. The shadows beneath the towering oaks seemed darker than usual, their depths impenetrable.

"Something wrong, Lysa?" a voice called, jolting her from her thoughts.

She looked up to see Bren approaching, his heavy frame casting a long shadow across the square. He carried a bundle of firewood over one shoulder, his usual warm smile tempered by a hint of concern.

Lysa shook her head quickly, forcing a smile. "No, nothing. Just daydreaming."

Bren nodded, though his eyes lingered on her for a moment. "Well, keep your wits about you," he said. "Daydreams won't help if trouble comes knocking."

"Trouble?" Lysa echoed, her smile faltering.

Bren's gaze shifted toward the tree line, his expression hardening. "Just a feeling," he said simply, before turning and walking toward the inn.

Lysa watched him go, her unease growing. She set the garland aside, rising to her feet as she cast another glance toward the trees. The village square carried on as usual, the sounds of work and conversation filling the air. But to Lysa, the peace felt fragile—like the surface of a pond, waiting for the inevitable ripple.

Lysa wandered toward the edge of the square, her footsteps soft on the cobblestone path. She paused near a small stall where a woman was arranging bundles of herbs, their fragrant aromas wafting through the air. The villager looked up and smiled warmly.

"Good afternoon, Lysa. Looking for anything special today?"

Lysa shook her head, her lips curving into a polite smile. "Just passing through. Everything looks wonderful, though."

The woman chuckled, brushing her hands on her apron. "Thanks to Meryn's forge keeping the tools sharp. That girl's a blessing to us all."

"She really is," Lysa murmured, her eyes flickering briefly to the forge across the square. She thought of Kael again, his absence like a missing piece in the familiar rhythm of the village. Shaking the thought away, she gave the woman a small wave and continued on.

The children's laughter drew her attention next. A group of them darted through the narrow streets, playing some sort of chasing game. Their silver hair gleamed in the sunlight as they weaved around carts and buildings, their joyful cries filling the air. For a moment, Lysa felt her unease soften, replaced by a flicker of warmth.

She stopped near the fountain again, her fingers trailing along the cool, damp edge of the stone as she watched the scene unfold. An older villager was mending a fishing net nearby, his gnarled hands deftly tying knots despite the tremble in his fingers. Another was patching a hole in the roof of the inn, his tools clanging softly against the wooden shingles.

The tranquility of Alsta was undeniable, but it felt precarious to Lysa—like the village was holding its breath.

Nearby, two guards stood at their post near the main path leading out of the village. They spoke in hushed tones, their gazes occasionally darting toward the distant treeline. One of them, a young man barely older than Lysa, adjusted his spear nervously.

"Something wrong, Rylan?" his companion asked, an older guard with a thick beard and a scar across his cheek.

Rylan shook his head, though his grip on the spear tightened. "I don't know. Just feels… different today. Like the air's heavier."

The older guard grunted, his expression skeptical. "You're imagining things. We've had no reports, no signs of trouble. Keep your focus and stop letting shadows spook you."

Rylan nodded reluctantly, but his eyes lingered on the trees. Lysa caught his uneasy expression and felt a pang of sympathy. She turned away, deciding she'd visit the forge to keep herself busy.

As she crossed the square, the faint clang of metal against metal grew louder, mingling with the rhythmic huff of the bellows. Meryn was still hard at work, her face streaked with soot but her expression one of quiet determination. She barely looked up as Lysa entered, focused on hammering a red-hot blade into shape.

"Looks like you're putting out another masterpiece," Lysa said, her voice light.

Meryn glanced up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Just trying to keep the village armed. Bren wants every guard equipped with something reliable."

Lysa frowned slightly, her unease creeping back. "Do you think it's really necessary? All the extra weapons, the patrols?"

Meryn set the blade aside, wiping her hands on her apron. "It's better to be prepared than caught off guard," she said firmly. Her gaze softened as she added, "I know it's unsettling, but don't let it eat at you. We've faced trouble before, and we've always made it through."

Lysa nodded, though the words didn't fully ease her mind. "I just hope we're worrying for nothing."

"So do I," Meryn replied, picking up her hammer again. "But just in case, I'd rather worry a little now than regret it later."

Lysa lingered for a moment, the warmth of the forge doing little to dispel the chill in her chest. She gave Meryn a small wave and stepped back outside, her eyes instinctively drifting toward the trees once more.

The shadows there seemed deeper now, though she couldn't say why. The villagers continued about their business, their laughter and conversation ringing through the square, but to Lysa, it felt like the calm before a storm.

Lysa hesitated near the forge, the quiet tension gnawing at her too much to simply walk away. Turning back, she stepped inside again, her voice breaking the rhythmic hammering.

"Meryn," she began softly, her hands twisting together. "Can I ask you something?"

Meryn paused mid-swing, the red-hot blade in her tongs glowing faintly in the dim light of the forge. She set it carefully on the anvil before turning to face Lysa, her soot-streaked face furrowed with concern. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

Lysa bit her lip, unsure how to phrase her question without sounding accusatory. "It's about Kael," she said finally. "Why did you have me send him to Eclipsevane? I mean, you're the one who suggested it, right?"

Meryn's expression darkened slightly, and she exhaled through her nose. "I was wondering when you'd ask me that."

Lysa took a cautious step closer. "It just… doesn't make sense. Kael wasn't a fighter, not really, and now he's out there—on his own, in who knows what kind of danger."

Meryn wiped her hands on her apron, her gaze distant. "It wasn't an easy decision, Lysa. Sending him away—it tore at me too. But I had my reasons."

"Reasons?" Lysa echoed, her voice edged with disbelief. "What reasons could possibly justify sending him to a place like that?"

Meryn's eyes met hers, steady and unwavering. "Because I felt something coming," she said simply.

Lysa blinked, momentarily taken aback. "What do you mean, 'felt something?'"

Meryn gestured vaguely toward the window, where the treetops swayed gently in the breeze. "The air's been wrong lately. The whispers in the wind, the way the ground hums beneath your feet if you stand still long enough… something is stirring, Lysa. Something dangerous. I couldn't ignore it."

Lysa frowned, her arms wrapping around herself. "You sent him away because of a feeling?"

Meryn's gaze hardened. "Not just a feeling. I've lived here my whole life, Lysa. I know this village, this land. And when things start to shift like this, it means trouble's on the horizon."

"But why Kael?" Lysa asked, her voice rising slightly. "Why send him away when we might need him here?"

Meryn's shoulders sagged, and for a moment, she looked impossibly tired. "Because I couldn't bear the thought of him being caught in the middle of it," she admitted, her voice quiet. "He's been through enough already. You've seen it, haven't you? The way he carries himself, like the weight of the world's on his shoulders. He doesn't talk about it, but it's there."

Lysa opened her mouth to argue but stopped, her mind flashing back to Kael's quiet moments of introspection, his rare but genuine smiles that always seemed tinged with something deeper. She looked down, her throat tight.

"I sent him to Eclipsevane because it's far from here," Meryn continued. "Far from whatever's coming. He's resourceful, Lysa. He'll find his way, just like he always does."

"And if he doesn't?" Lysa asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Meryn reached out, placing a firm hand on Lysa's shoulder. "Then it's my burden to bear," she said, her tone resolute. "But I did what I thought was right. Keeping him here, knowing what might happen… I couldn't live with myself if something happened to him."

Lysa looked up, her eyes searching Meryn's face for some sign of uncertainty, some crack in her resolve. But there was none. Slowly, she nodded, though the knot in her chest remained.

"I just hope you're right," she said quietly.

"So do I," Meryn replied, turning back to the forge. "But right or wrong, we'll face whatever comes. We always do."

Lysa lingered for a moment longer before stepping outside, the warm sunlight doing little to ease the chill that had settled over her. As she walked toward the fountain, she cast another glance toward the treeline, the shadows seeming to stretch further than before.

At the edge of the village, near the watchtower that overlooked the main path, two guards leaned against the wooden railing. The older of the two, Rylan, shifted his spear idly from hand to hand, while his younger companion, Garran, watched the treeline with a mixture of boredom and alertness.

"You see those things running around earlier?" Garran asked, breaking the silence. He gestured toward the underbrush where a few of the fox-caterpillars had scurried past not long ago, their normally graceful movements replaced by frantic, erratic dashes.

Rylan snorted, adjusting his stance. "Yeah, I saw them. Probably just chasing each other, like they always do. Dumb creatures."

Garran frowned, his gaze lingering on the spot where they'd disappeared. "I don't know," he said slowly. "They didn't look like they were playing. Looked more like they were… scared."

"Scared?" Rylan let out a laugh, clapping Garran on the shoulder. "Of what? The wind? A falling branch? Those things aren't exactly built for courage."

Garran didn't laugh, his grip tightening on his spear. "Still, it was weird. I've never seen them act like that before. They're usually so calm."

Rylan shrugged, clearly unimpressed. "It's probably nothing. Maybe they smelled a wolf or a stray cat. Don't go reading too much into it."

But Garran's unease didn't fade. He glanced toward the treeline again, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows. The forest beyond seemed quiet, unnaturally so, as if it were holding its breath.

"You ever notice how it's been quieter lately?" Garran asked, his voice lower now.

Rylan rolled his eyes. "Here we go again with your overthinking. It's a village, Garran. Quiet is a good thing. Means nothing's happening."

"Maybe," Garran muttered, though he didn't sound convinced. His gaze shifted back to the trail, where a single fox-caterpillar darted across the path, its many legs moving in frantic bursts. It disappeared into the underbrush, its fluffy tail twitching like a frantic signal.

Rylan followed his line of sight and sighed. "Look, kid, if you keep jumping at shadows, you'll never make it as a guard. Relax. Nothing's out there but trees and birds."

"Maybe you're right," Garran conceded, though his grip on the spear didn't loosen. "But I still don't like it."

The two fell into an uneasy silence, the faint rustle of leaves the only sound around them. Rylan eventually turned his attention back to the road, his expression bored. But Garran kept glancing toward the forest, his unease growing with each passing moment.