The days following the soldiers' visit passed in a haze, like a dream that had already begun to fade. The village of Lyranth had settled back into its quiet rhythm, but Dorin couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. The soldiers, though gone, left a lingering unease in their wake, like the scent of a storm that had yet to break.
Dorin tried to return to his usual routine, finding solace in the hammer and anvil of the forge. The clang of metal against metal, the rhythmic work, offered a temporary escape from the weight of uncertainty. But every time his gaze wandered past the village square, his mind would instinctively search the crowd for the gleam of armor or the sharp gaze of someone watching.
But no soldiers came. The village returned to normal—or at least, it seemed that way.
Calen had been unusually quiet, sensing the shift in the air but offering little more than a nod in passing. The old blacksmith, more than anyone, understood silence. Dorin often wondered what Calen had seen in him over the years. He had raised Dorin like a son, even when the boy had been a mystery—left on his doorstep as a child, without name or past. Calen never asked about Dorin's origins, and Dorin never gave them much thought, not until now.
It was late one evening, the forge's dying embers casting long shadows, when everything would change again. Dorin was cleaning up, wiping the sweat and grime from his hands, when he heard the familiar voice.
"Dorin," came Selene's soft call, interrupting the quiet of the forge. Her voice was uncertain, as if she hesitated at the threshold of something important. When he looked up, he saw her standing in the doorway, her usual brightness replaced with something more serious. She wasn't here for a casual chat.
"Come in," he said, wiping his hands on a rag. "What's going on?"
Selene hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. Her eyes flitted nervously around the room, as though searching for something. Finally, she met his gaze. "It's about the soldiers," she said, her voice low. "They didn't come just for anyone."
Dorin felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. The soldiers again. He had hoped, briefly, that their visit would fade into the past, but deep down, he had known it wouldn't be that easy.
"What do you mean?" he asked, voice tight.
Selene shifted uncomfortably, as if weighing her words. "They weren't just looking for criminals or outlaws," she said. "I overheard something today… they're looking for people with... certain abilities." Her eyes met his, filled with unspoken concern. "I think they might be looking for you."
The words hit him like a hammer strike. He blinked, his mind struggling to process what she'd just said. "Me?" he whispered, the blood draining from his face.
Selene nodded, her expression grim. "Yes. They mentioned people with powers—abilities that can't be explained. The way you... move, the way you sense things. It can't just be a coincidence."
Dorin's heart raced in his chest, pounding louder than the hammering he'd grown so accustomed to. He had always known something about him was different—there were moments, flashes of strange sensations, when his instincts kicked in, sharper than they should have been. But powers? He had dismissed it as fantasy, as superstition, stories told in the village to explain the unexplainable.
But Selene's words pierced through the fog of uncertainty that had clouded his mind. It wasn't a coincidence. He wasn't just a simple blacksmith's apprentice.
"I don't know what to say," he muttered, sitting down heavily on a nearby stool. His hands were trembling, but he wasn't sure if it was from fear or confusion. Could he really be the one they were searching for?
Selene crossed the room and knelt beside him. "You don't have to say anything right now. But you need to understand, Dorin... there are forces at work that we don't fully understand. And you're tangled up in them."
The weight of her words pressed down on him like an invisible force, making it hard to breathe. He had always believed his past didn't matter—that his life as an apprentice, a commoner, was enough. But now, with Selene's revelation, he couldn't ignore it any longer. The life he had known, the quiet forge in Lyranth, had been a fragile illusion, and it was crumbling around him.
Dorin stood abruptly, feeling the suffocating pressure of the room closing in on him. "I need to get out of here," he muttered, more to himself than to Selene. "I need to think."
"Dorin, wait—" Selene's voice was tinged with worry, but he was already moving, pushing through the door and into the cool night air. The village was quiet, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. But the peace felt fragile, as though it were holding its breath, waiting for something to break the silence.
---
The next few days passed in a blur of confusion. Dorin couldn't bring himself to stay in Lyranth. He wandered the woods, avoiding the familiar sights of the village, struggling to make sense of everything. There were too many questions he couldn't answer: Who was he, really? Why had the soldiers come for him? What did it all mean?
It wasn't until he found himself standing at the edge of the forest, the same clearing where he had first felt that strange pull, that he made his decision. His instincts told him the answers lay ahead. He couldn't run forever. He had to face whatever was coming—whether he was ready or not.
As he stood there, the soft crunch of footsteps behind him made him turn. His hand instinctively reached for the knife at his belt, but when he saw who it was, his grip loosened.
"Calen," Dorin said, his voice hoarse. The old blacksmith was standing a few paces away, his eyes filled with concern.
"You've been avoiding us," Calen said softly. "Everyone's worried about you."
Dorin didn't respond at first, his eyes locked on the ground. He couldn't face Calen—not with the truth he was beginning to suspect. Calen had raised him, given him a home when no one else would. How could he burden the old man with the possibility that Dorin might not be the person he thought he was?
"I'm fine," Dorin muttered, though the words felt hollow even to him.
"No, you're not," Calen said gently, but firmly. "You're running from something, and it's time you stopped."
Dorin swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I don't even know who I am anymore."
Calen's eyes softened with understanding. "Then we'll figure it out together. You don't have to carry this alone."
For the first time in days, Dorin felt the weight in his chest ease, just a little. Maybe he didn't have to face all of this by himself. But he knew the path ahead wouldn't be easy. And whatever lay waiting for him, the storm that had been brewing, was only beginning.
"I'm going to find out the truth," Dorin said, his voice gaining strength. "I have to."
Calen nodded, a silent agreement passing between them. "Then let's start, lad. Before it finds us."
As Dorin and Calen made their way back toward the village, the air seemed heavier, charged with the weight of what was coming. The soldiers might be gone, but Dorin could feel it—the forces at work were still out there, and they were searching for him.
Whatever answers he sought, they lay beyond Lyranth, beyond the life he had known. He had no choice but to go after them.
And though he couldn't yet see the full extent of his destiny, one thing was clear: the price of knowledge was not something he could run from.