The Village Beyond the Fields

The dirt road winds through rolling hills, the golden wheat fields slowly giving way to patches of wild grass and scattered oak trees. The air is thick with the scent of earth, the warmth of the midday sun pressing gently against my skin.

It has been a long walk.

My feet ache—not from battle, but from the sheer tedium of moving through open land with no idea where we're going. The weight of my sword at my hip is familiar, but the absence of direction is not.

Ahead of us, nestled between the slopes and a small stream, stands a collection of wooden buildings. Thatched roofs. Stone chimneys. A place lived in, with voices carrying on the wind, the distant sound of a blacksmith's hammer ringing out in rhythmic beats.

A village.

We have found a village.

I exhale, tension loosening from my shoulders.

"We're finally here," I murmur.

Beside me, Elias doesn't immediately respond. His eyes scan the settlement, his expression unreadable. Then—

"Looks… smaller than I expected."

I give him a sideways glance. "Smaller than what?"

He hesitates. "I don't know. Just… smaller."

I frown, but let it slide. There is no reason for him to expect anything—neither of us knew what to expect.

But it is a place. And places mean answers.

——

As we step closer, the path transitions from dirt to uneven cobblestone, the smell of freshly baked bread mingling with the scent of tilled soil.

There are people here.

Not many, but enough. Villagers carrying sacks of grain, a woman tending to a patch of herbs near her doorstep, a man loading barrels onto the back of a wooden cart.

Elias and I exchange a glance.

Then, with no better plan, we approach the nearest person—an older man sitting on a stool near the entrance, carving a block of wood with slow, practised movements. His skin is tanned, his clothes simple, but there is a steadiness in his posture, the kind that comes with a life well-rooted in place.

I clear my throat. "Excuse me."

The man glances up. His gaze flits over me, then Elias, then lingers on Elias for a second too long.

I barely catch the subtle shift in his expression—an instinctive, wary flicker of recognition.

And then, just as quickly, it is gone.

"Travelers?" His voice is rough with age, but not unkind.

I nod. "We're looking for the name of this place."

The man leans back slightly, setting his carving knife down. "This here's Velia."

Velia.

The name settles in my mind, unfamiliar but important.

"And where is Velia?" Elias asks, shifting his weight slightly. "In the world, I mean. What's it near?"

The man gives him an odd look.

"Reckon you two must've come a long way if you don't even know that." He gestures vaguely to the east. "We're just past the coast, not far from Olvia by ship. Heidel's a good distance inland."

I don't recognise any of those names.

Elias doesn't either.

But we pretend to.

"Right," Elias says smoothly. "Makes sense."

It does not.

At all.

I decide to take over before he asks something too suspicious. "What kind of place is Velia?"

The man chuckles. "A simple one. Fishermen, farmers, and traders passing through. We've got a blacksmith, a stablemaster, the usual folk."

Fishermen. Farmers. Traders.

A small place. A quiet place.

Not a city. Not a place where warriors roam the streets, where mercenaries gather, where battles are fought.

Velia is not a place where I should have been born.

But it is a place where we can begin.

——

As we thank the man and move deeper into the village, Elias mutters, "You noticed that, right?"

I glance at him. "Noticed what?"

"The way he looked at me."

I pause.

I had noticed.

It wasn't outright fear. Not hostility. But a wariness. A quiet, unspoken recognition.

"You think he knew you?" I ask.

Elias shakes his head. "No. I don't know."

I glance at Elias again, his dark robes, his presence. He does not look normal.

Not to them.

Not to me.

Not even to himself.

——

The village continues around us.

The smell of salted fish from the nearby docks, the creak of wooden carts, and the occasional glance from passing villagers. Not outright suspicion, but… curiosity.

As if they do not know what we are.

And to be fair—neither do we.

Elias shifts beside me, adjusting my polearm on his shoulder. "So, what now?"

I exhale, scanning the buildings. "We find someone who actually knows things."

"Like who?"

I consider.

A blacksmith might know of fighters. A stablemaster might know of travellers. A trader might know of news.

But more than anything, we need direction.

We need a reason to move forward.

And right now, we have nothing.

I glance at Elias. "Let's start with the basics."

He raises a brow.

I gesture vaguely. "Food. Lodging. Information."

He smirks. "So we're just going in blind?"

I roll my eyes. "You were expecting something else?"

Elias chuckles, shaking his head. "No. Just… confirming how hopeless we are."

I sigh.

Velia is small.

Velia is quiet.

But somewhere in this village, in the whispers of its people, in the weight of its history—

We will find the next step.