#4 The Warmth
// Midnight. Western Beltrad. Duchy of Kalmorin. Village of Therian. Noah's dwelling.
The sunset had long since waned, and blackest night now draped the yard and eaves like a slow-falling shroud. Inside the torchlit thatched hut, the smell of straw hung thick, and the cries of wild beasts echoed faintly beyond.
"Quawk-quawk—"
"Oink—"
Four chickens scurried to and fro, feathers flapping, while two chicks flitted between them. In the corner pen, two pigs twitched their snouts as they sniffed the air.
Noah, having washed with what little water he had and changed from his rags into plain clothes, shook out his hair and regarded the beasts.
Noah: Aye… ye are my kin, are ye not? First, I must needs keep you safe.
As though this were naught but habit, he lifted the water pail with bare hands and approached the stone trough. While scattering feed, he murmured without thought.
Noah: (patting a pig's ear) Here ye are, noble swine—thy reward for surviving yet another day.
"Oink-oink!"
Noah: (nodding) Aye… 'tis time I lived in earnest as well. Stand fast and live I must.
One chicken tapped his side with its beak. Noah, unbothered, gently lifted it.
Noah: (with a faint smile) And why art thou so sprightly this night?
"Quawk!"
Noah: (chuckling) Right… thou too wouldst carry on.
He swept straw, dung, and feathers from the yard, then sat at the worn table. Leaning on his elbows, he gathered his breath.
Noah: (serious) Now… let me reckon in full. My station: a serf. Penniless. Bound to this village for life.
He flexed an arm and studied it.
Noah: (with a bitter grin) A twenty-year-old body, aye… but not a muscle to its name.
His lips twisted, half in scorn, half in shame.
Noah: (steadier now) Nay—it matters not. Acknowledge what is and grow from it. But magic… still it eludes me. Not a whisper of it do I recall.
He glanced at a nearby chick, who preened its feathers, unafraid.
Noah: (resting his chin) I am young. Twenty. Time aplenty to grow. I've lived twice, and with that—knowledge… and memory. I shall grow strong, bide my time. And Freya—she said I was blessed. Mayhap there is more yet hidden.
His thoughts quickened.
Thump—!
He slammed the table with rising fire.
Noah: I'll grow strong… repay this village that hath shown me grace… and I'll have my vengeance. Those accursed Eska dogs—aye, they shall pay.
A chicken suddenly fluttered onto his lap, feathers flaring.
Noah: (grabbing it gently) Ho, now. Caught thee, did I? Come hither.
"Squawk!"
He cradled the bird, folding his arms in quiet motion, as if bracing his resolve.
Noah: (stroking it) Freya… why didst thou call me back? What of love and care? And… Luka? I know not what to make of any of it. But if I grow strong enough to slay those bear-like Aberrant beasts—then I shall fear no foe.
In the ashes of war, at the edge of ruin, the tale of one man now began—quiet, but sure.
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// Dawn. Noah's yard.
Click—
The creaking door groaned as Noah stepped out.
Cool air kissed his cheeks like breath upon glass. Dim mist drifted over the winding straw walls, touched faintly by the pale light of early morn.
Noah rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms. He drew a long breath—and lowered himself to the ground.
Noah: Hhh—huh—
He began his push-ups.
Ten.
Twenty.
Past thirty, his arms began to quiver.
Noah: (through clenched teeth) Thirty… one… thirty… two…
Without pause, he rose and widened his stance, back straight. Into a deep squat he sank—until his thighs trembled. Rising on the inhale, lowering on the exhale.
His heart thudded, sweat slid from his brow.
Noah: (panting) …eleven… twelve… ngh…
Pain spread from arms to thighs, to his very core—his body a single trembling chord.
Yet he did not cease.
After twenty-five squats, he lay flat once more, raised his legs straight into the air. Muscles tensed as he fought to hold.
Veins throbbed on his brow.
His toes touched the sky.
Noah: (gritting) One… two… three…
His limbs were leaden. Still—he drew breath, raised them again.
Sweat fell, darkening the soil beneath. He wiped his brow with muddied fingers, and rose once more—then ran.
One lap about the yard. Then the village.
His breath ragged—yet energy surged from within. He grinned as he ran, gazing skyward.
Here and there, old serfs stepped forth with pickaxes slung on their shoulders.
Village elder: (startled) By the stars—is that Noah?
Elder woman: (turning from her laundry) That rascal? Working out at dawn now? He must be coming back to his senses…
Elder man: (smiling) Good lad. The living must live on.
Noah nodded at them. Still winded, he raised his hand in greeting.
Noah: (cheerfully) A fair morning to ye!
Elder man: (with warmth) Aye, lad. Work hard this day.
Noah smiled and passed on.
The sun began to touch his back.
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// Morning. The lord's fields.
The furrows stretched long. Dozens of serfs already bent low at toil. Noah stood beside a plough, adjusting his work-cloak.
Vigorant eyed him while tying back his black hair.
Vigorant: Noah—you been running since dawn, they say?
Noah: (smiling) Aye. A new resolve. This body's the only wealth I've got, after all.
Vigorant: Hah… well, good on ye then. About time ye came to. Had us worried sick.
Erin: Truly! Glad you're back. Though gods, the stench of you when we pulled you from the corpse heap… ugh.
Vigorant wrinkled his nose.
Vigorant: Still reeks a bit, I say. Eugh…
Laughing, Noah flapped his arms, chasing them off.
"Hahaha!"
Warmth spread—so unlike the grey realm he left behind.
Thud, thump—
Noah shovelled for a while. The soil was heavy, roots stubborn. He helped push the plough beside the others.
Noah: (to himself) If I call it strength training, it's not half bad…
Scratch, scrawl—
Nearby, one man scribbled upon a ragged scrap of papyrus. The wind fluttered the worn edge. Ink crusted dark on the wooden stylus.
Verno the reeve—who kept the records of Therian's serfs. His face hardened as he glanced up.
Verno: (scowling) Noah, thou cur—!
Thud, thud—
He stomped down the field path. His grey wool robe clung to his legs, and his belt-pouch of papers swung as he moved. His lips were grim, rage writ deep in his brow.
Verno: Noah! A serf, skipping labour, wandering as he pleases—what think'st thou?!
He jabbed his wooden stylus into Noah's belly.
Noah: (startled) I—I'm sorry, Reeve, truly… I think I lost my wits. My memory's gone—I know not where I've been…
But Verno's eyes had already narrowed.
Verno: Excuses! D'you think any soul here escaped sorrow? My parents were buried alive! My wife—slain by Eska swine! Yet look! Still I live! And thee?!
A chick darted from the straw, scampered into the grass.
Verno: Ten days of double labour. Else I report thee to Sir Oswyn. Mind it well!
Thump—
Erin approached, planting her hoe.
Erin: He was sick! We found him in a heap of corpses—he didn't even know his name. He's barely come back to himself!
Verno: Bah! In this cursed world, naught matters more than food! A sword kills, aye—but so does famine!
Step, step—
Heavy footsteps climbed from the road below. A man's shadow followed the wind. Broad shoulders. Flour-dusted shirt. Sun-seared brow.
Kostan—Erin's father. A serf of the wheatfields.
Kostan: Reeve Verno.
His voice was low and rough. Neither gentle nor threatening—but firm with boundary.
Verno flinched, turned.
Kostan: What work dost thou give a lad who's lost his tongue and wits?
Verno: What mean ye by that?
Kostan: Suppose I told Sir Oswyn—thou didst scold a sick youth, demanded double labour of one still healing? Would that please him, think ye? He doth care for his folk, after all.
Verno clamped his mouth shut.
Verno: (stepping back) Tch… everyone's a saint these days. What fine lords ye all make!
His grip tightened on the stylus.
Verno: Mark me, if ever I catch thee slacking, I'll double thy toil. Farming's a sacred duty… tch.
Thud, thud—
He straightened his robe and climbed back up the hill. Dust rose at his heels. His ink-stained papyrus fluttered in the breeze.
Erin: (softly) …Thank you, Father.
Kostan gave Noah a firm pat on the shoulder.
Kostan: Lad… it's good to see thee returned.
Around them, whispers stirred.
Serf man: (hushed) Stay too close to Noah, and the reeve'll mark thee too. Beware.
Serf woman: That Verno… he's poison. Tread careful, boy.
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// Afternoon. Noah's allotted field.
The sunlight lay across the furrows like an old man in slumber, and whenever a rare breeze whispered by, the tips of the grass would rustle in reply.
Noah wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and set down the shaft of his spade. His chest rose and fell, and his breath came rough as hot, dusty soil.
Noah: (straightening his back) Mornings in the lord's fields, afternoons in my own—verily, they do me a favour with all this strength training… no breath left to draw, and isn't that grand.
He gripped the spade once more, gave a short grunt, and pressed into the furrowed earth.
Clang—!
A sharp ring rang out, metal striking something hard.
Noah: (under his breath) …Huh? What's this?
He laid the spade aside and gently brushed the soil away with his hand.
It was a shard no larger than a joint of the finger, black and glimmering. The surface was glass-like and semi-clear, and within it floated mist-like patterns that drifted in strange irregularity.
Noah: (squinting) …Glass? Or mayhap… a gemstone?
He studied it a moment, then smiled faintly.
Noah: Who knows. Might be worth a king's ransom.
Drawing a scrap of cloth, he wrapped the shard carefully and tucked it into his inner pocket.
After tending to the remaining furrow, he wiped his soil-stained hands upon his trousers.
From afar came the sound of footsteps—Erin approached, face bright with cheer.
Erin: (laughing) Oi, tall farmer—still at it?
Noah: (rolling his shoulder) Takes longer with sore muscles, aye—but the training's helping. Feels like I've more stamina today.
Erin: (grinning wryly) Hah! One day's work and already boasting? Keep at it and you'll throw your back out lifting a mortar, thinking you're a knight.
Noah gave a playful smirk and reached into his pocket. Carefully, he drew forth the cloth-wrapped item and unfolded it upon his palm.
Noah: (unwrapping it) Erin—look here. Know what this be? Found it in the field.
The shard gleamed faintly in the sunlight, soft and dusk-hued. The mist within shifted with the light, revealing different textures with every tilt.
Erin: (eyes wide) Whoa… what is that? Looks rare…
Noah: Think it could be a gem?
Erin gazed long at the piece, then turned her eyes toward the village centre.
Erin: (smiling) Let's show it to Sister Illisa. The shrine folk are wise in such matters. Wouldn't it be grand if 'twas truly precious? Haha.
Noah: (nodding) Right. I'll finish up fast—let's go together after.
Noah wrapped the shard once more and tucked it safely away.
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// Late afternoon. Roadside at sunset.
Evening light stretched long between the stone walls as Noah and Erin walked quietly along the lane.
Thump—thump—
Heavy footsteps approached from the other side.
Reeve Verno.
With inspection scroll in hand, he emerged from the direction of the village storehouse. His eyes locked upon Noah.
Verno: (coldly) You.
Noah: (halting) …Aye?
Verno: (stepping closer) Where art thou headed?
Erin: To the shrine, sir. We've a question to ask.
Verno: (narrowing his eyes) Thou… hast something upon thy person, dost thou not?
Noah flinched, hand instinctively brushing his pocket.
Noah: …What?
Verno: (in a low voice) Inspection. I shall search thy person.
Noah: (alarmed) What—without cause?
Verno: Arms out. 'Tis an order.
Noah bit his lip, displeased, but obeyed in silence, spreading his arms.
Verno rummaged harshly through his garments.
Clink—
The shard slipped from the cloth and rolled upon the ground.
Verno's gaze sharpened.
Verno: (stooping) …What's this?
Noah: That—that was just from the field! I was going to show the priest—
Verno: (cutting him off) A serf… hiding a precious Mana-stone?
Erin stepped forward, hand outstretched, face drawn.
Erin: (firmly) No! He wasn't hiding it—we don't even know what it is!
Verno turned and surveyed the passers-by.
At his signal, villagers began to gather.
Serf man: (murmuring) What's going on?
Serf woman: Noah again? What's he done now?
Verno: (raising the shard) Behold! This man was concealing a Mana-stone—military material of war! Found in the field, and he made no report to the reeve!
Noah: (panicked) Nay, that's false! I meant only to take it to the shrine—to ask what it might be!
Verno: (shouting) The fields are the lord's gift to thee! What springs from them belongs to me, who oversees them! And thou—thou thought first to hide! A thief, thou art!
Noah: That's not—
Verno: (to the crowd) Ye've noticed it, haven't ye? How he's changed of late? I heard he even asked to be sold to the city! Doesn't know the worth of a labouring serf!
Erin: (furious) Don't lie! He never said that!
Noah: (shaking his head) It's not true!
Verno: (with scorn) Then tell us—why hide a war-stone?
Murmurs rippled through the gathered folk.
Noah's jaw tightened.