As dawn's first light crept over the horizon, the bitter cold of the night began to retreat, giving way to a gentle warmth that slowly spread through the village. The dark sky softened into hues of pink and orange, signaling the arrival of a new day. In the distance, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on frosty ground announced the approach of the Lord's posse.
At the forefront of the group rode a stern-faced captain, his armor gleaming despite the weariness etched in his features. Behind him, a small contingent of soldiers followed in disciplined formation, their expressions a blend of determination and fatigue. Upon reaching the village center, they dismounted swiftly, their presence stirring a flicker of hope among the weary villagers.
The captain strode purposefully toward Alastir, who stood vigilant near the village hall, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. He presented her with a sealed letter bearing the Lord's crest, offering a curt nod as acknowledgment of their earlier plea for aid.
With steady hands, Alastir broke the seal and began reading the letter aloud, her voice carrying across the gathered crowd. The Lord had granted their request—the refugees of Hingr Wynd would find shelter in the town of Dharmeis. A collective sigh of relief washed over the villagers, the weight of the night's tension finally easing as they realized salvation was within reach.
The village buzzed with renewed energy as preparations for the journey began in earnest. Though still reeling from the ordeal, the survivors moved with determination, gathering what little remained of their belongings. Sacks were filled with food, clothing, and anything that could be salvaged. Children clung to their parents, their wide eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and exhaustion, but now there was a glimmer of hope.
From his post on top the old bell tower, Arnolt watched the flurry of activity below, his exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. Despite the ache in his bones and the fatigue weighing on him, he refused to rest, driven by a sense of duty to see the evacuation through.
As he climbed down from the tower, Alastir approached him, her steps light but purposeful. "Arnolt," she called softly, pulling him from his reverie.
He turned to her, and for the first time, truly saw her. Beneath the jester-like makeup and the battle-worn armor, he noticed the subtle grace in her features, the warmth in her eyes that contrasted with the strength she exuded. His breath caught, and a flush of heat spread across his cheeks.
"Are you holding up alright?" Alastir's voice was laced with concern. "You've been up all night. We're preparing to leave for Dharmeis, but if you need to rest, don't hesitate to say so."
Arnolt quickly averted his gaze, desperately trying to hide the blush that crept up his face. "I'm fine, Lady Alastir," he managed to stammer, though his voice betrayed the turmoil within. "Thank you… for everything. And for… um, checking on me."
A rare smile softened Alastir's features, only deepening the color in Arnolt's cheeks. "You're a brave young man, Arnolt. Your parents would be proud."
He fumbled for a response, but words failed him. Before he could muster a coherent reply, Alastir's attention was drawn elsewhere, allowing him a moment to collect himself. She turned to leave, offering a final nod that sent his heart racing.
Just as he regained his composure, Xiona appeared beside him, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Why are you blushing?" she teased, a knowing grin spreading across her face. "You look like a peach."
"It's nothing," Arnolt muttered, flustered. "We're leaving soon. The Lord's men are here to escort us to Dharmeis, so go and get ready."
Xiona followed his gaze toward Alastir, then back to Arnolt, her grin widening with understanding. "Looks like someone's got a crush," she teased, her voice light and playful.
"What? No!" Arnolt protested, his face flushing even deeper. "You've got it all wrong. I'm just tired, that's all."
"You can't fool me, cousin," Xiona sang, her laughter bubbling up. "I know how you would react around pretty girls. But not with me, for some reason."
"Oh, shut up and go help your parents or something," Arnolt grumbled, waving her off.
Xiona left, but not without casting one last mischievous glance over her shoulder, her laughter echoing in Arnolt's ears as he struggled to regain his composure.
Xiona then turned her attention to the villagers, her infectious energy lifting the somber mood as she helped them prepare for the journey. She flitted from group to group, offering a hand wherever needed, her presence a beacon of hope amidst the lingering sorrow. She even took time to play with the younger children, coaxing smiles from faces that had known only tears.
Her actions did not go unnoticed. Tyrina, the boisterous axewoman, watched with a growing admiration. When the moment was right, she approached Xiona, her grin wide and inviting. "You've got a good spirit, kid," Tyrina remarked, her voice carrying a playful edge. "Not many could keep their head up after all you've been through."
Xiona looked up at Tyrina, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I just want to help," she replied softly, yet with firm resolve.
Tyrina chuckled, ruffling Xiona's hair affectionately. "You remind me of myself when I was your age. Keep that fire burning, and you'll go far."
Xiona's admiration for Tyrina blossomed in that moment, the strong and friendly adventurer quickly becoming a figure she looked up to. Their shared laughter and easy banter marked the beginning of a fast friendship, one built on mutual respect and a shared desire to bring light to the darkness around them.
As the final preparations were made, the villagers gathered near the village entrance, their few belongings packed and ready for the journey to Dharmeis. The captain of the Lord's posse took charge, organizing the group for the half-day trek ahead.
Arnolt joined the others, his exhaustion now masked by a renewed sense of purpose. He felt Alastir's gaze on him, a silent encouragement that bolstered his resolve. Nearby, Xiona stood beside Tyrina, the two exchanging words that brought smiles to both their faces.
Arnolt was soon approached by two figures: Grennyn, a familiar sight, and Jaaka, a new face for him. Grennyn's voice was gentle as he inquired, "You alright, kid? I didn't see you get a wink of sleep last night."
"I'll be fine, Grennyn," Arnolt replied. "Just need a proper warm meal once we get to Dharmeis."
Grennyn's expression softened. "Look, Arnolt, I'm so sorry about your parents. If I had gotten there sooner with the reinforcements, things might've turned out differently."
"You did what you could, Grennyn," Arnolt said, his voice steady. "We knew about the Omen's nest thanks to you. You did everything you could for the village, and we're grateful for it."
Grennyn looked surprised, the weight of Arnolt's gratitude evident in his silence. Jaaka, sensing the moment, chimed in with a grin. "Yeah, Grennyn was ready to pay out of his own pocket to get us all moving. You should've seen him at the guild—he was really going all out to help."
"Huh… I can imagine that," Arnolt replied, offering his hand to Jaaka. "I'm Arnolt Yorgir."
"I'm Jaaka. Heard a bit about you from Grennyn, but didn't expect you to be so good with a spear—two spears, no less."
Arnolt was taken aback by the compliment, but the memory of the battle weighed heavily on him. He had used his rage to eliminate the Omens, and the recollection brought a somber look to his face.
"It was... necessary," Arnolt explained. "I hadn't fully realized what I was doing at the time, I just felt the need to act. When my parents fell, anger took over, and I just let loose."
"I used everything I had to take those Omens down, but as my strength faded, the image of my parents' death was replaced by the sound of my cousin, Xiona's cries. She was there too—saw how my parents died. That snapped me out of the rage, but also... it hit me hard."
Grennyn and Jaaka listened intently as Arnolt continued. "I felt real fear when I realized Xiona was alone, fighting those things. I wanted to go back and protect her, but the Omens... they were everywhere. If you and the others hadn't shown up, Grennyn, my last thoughts would've been filled with despair."
Grennyn placed a comforting hand on Arnolt's shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. "Arnolt, you showed incredible courage in the face of overwhelming odds. Most grown men would've faltered, but you stood your ground and fought with everything you had. You protected what mattered to you, and that's something your parents would've been proud of."
Arnolt looked down, the weight of Grennyn's words sinking in. He felt a mixture of pride and sorrow, the latter still clinging to him like a shadow. Before he could respond, Jaaka clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh. "Grennyn's right. You're something special, kid. I've seen seasoned adventurers freeze up against those Omens, but you didn't back down. That's no small feat, especially with those insect bastards."
Grennyn nodded, his tone relaxed but sincere. "You've got the heart of a real fighter, Arnolt. Not many people can say they've faced an Omen head-on and come out alive, let alone kept others safe while doing it."
Jaaka, sensing the somber atmosphere, decided to lighten the mood. "Speaking of those Omens," he said, leaning in a bit, "the guild's been swamped with jobs to take them out lately. They're popping up more often, and they're nastier too. Fighting those insect monsters wears you down—not just your body, but your weapons too. The fact that they don't leave anything but magicule dust after dying really pisses me off."
Arnolt's expression grew serious. "There was more than just insects, I fought something... different," he said, grabbing both of their attention. "It was stronger than the others, stood on two legs, almost like a man. That Omen... was the one that killed my parents."
Jaaka's eyebrows shot up. "A man-like Omen? That's news to me. I've been with the guild for two years, and I've never heard of anything like that."
He looked over at Grennyn. "What about you? You've been in the guild a lot longer. Ever come across something like that?"
Grennyn didn't answer right away, his previously relaxed expression was replaced with a troubled look. Arnolt and Jaaka exchanged puzzled looks, waiting for him to say something.
After a moment, Grennyn finally spoke, his voice lower and more cautious. "A man-like Omen? They don't exist."