The sun climbed high into the sky, casting warm rays over the forest clearing where Eryndor lived. The smell of roasting antelope meat filled the air as Eryndor turned the spit over the fire. The golden-brown meat crackled and hissed, its juices dripping onto the flames. It was a peaceful morning, one that offered him a moment of quiet after weeks of grueling magical training.
As the aroma wafted through the trees, Eryndor's thoughts wandered. He considered the wisdom Asvarion had shared during their lessons, reflecting on his growing strength. But even as he honed his magic, he couldn't shake the sense of unease that lingered like a shadow on his heart.
His musings were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. His ears perked up, and he reached instinctively for his bow, which lay resting against a tree nearby. Moments later, a group of six travellers emerged from the woods, their worn cloaks and travel-worn boots evidence of a long journey.
The leader of the group, a burly man with a scruffy beard, raised a hand in greeting. "Greetings, young one. We mean no harm," he called out, his voice deep but weary.
Eryndor hesitated for a moment, eyeing the strangers warily. The firebird Asvarion had warned him to trust cautiously, yet his instincts nudged him toward kindness. He set his bow down and stepped forward.
"What brings you to this part of the forest?" Eryndor asked, his voice steady but guarded.
"We are travellers," the leader replied. "On a long journey southward. We saw your fire and thought perhaps we might rest here for a while. We have little to offer but our company, though we'd be grateful for any food or water you could spare."
Eryndor studied them for a moment longer. Among them was a boy around his age, who stood slightly apart from the group, his pale blue eyes scanning the clearing. Despite their dishevelled appearance, the group didn't seem overtly threatening.
"You can stay," Eryndor said at last, motioning toward the fire. "There's enough meat for everyone."
The travelers settled near the fire, their faces lighting up as the smell of the roasting meat hit them. Eryndor fetched a water skin from his supplies and passed it around, noting their gratitude as they drank deeply.
The boy, Xaren, gave Eryndor a shy smile as he accepted his share of the meat. "Thanks," he mumbled, his voice quiet.
Eryndor nodded. "You're welcome. Where are you from?"
"A village far to the north," Xaren replied. "We've been traveling for weeks now. It's been… hard."
Eryndor didn't press further, sensing the boy's reluctance to talk about their journey. Instead, he focused on serving the food, ensuring everyone had enough. As they ate, the atmosphere grew warmer, the group laughing and sharing stories of their travels.
For a moment, Eryndor allowed himself to relax.
The peace was shattered when Xaren suddenly dropped his piece of meat, clutching his stomach. His face twisted in pain, and he began to gag violently.
"Xaren!" one of the women cried, rushing to his side.
The boy doubled over, retching onto the ground. His skin turned pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
"What's happening?" Eryndor asked, rising to his feet.
The leader of the group turned to him, his expression darkening. "What did you do?" he growled.
Eryndor blinked in confusion. "I didn't do anything!"
"He's poisoned!" the man shouted, his voice laced with panic and anger. He pulled a dagger from his belt, pointing it at Eryndor. "You fed us poisoned food!"
"That's not true!" Eryndor protested, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.
The other travellers began murmuring angrily, their fear and suspicion mounting. Another man unsheathed a blade, and the group started to close in on Eryndor.
"Stop!" Eryndor yelled, his heart pounding. "I don't know what's wrong with him, but I swear I didn't poison anyone!"
But his words did little to calm the group. They were frightened and on edge, their trust in him shattered.
Xaren's condition worsened, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Eryndor's mind raced as he watched the boy's pain intensify. Despite the danger he faced, he couldn't stand by and do nothing.
"I can help him," Eryndor said, his voice firm.
The leader sneered. "Help him? With what? More poison?"
"With magic," Eryndor replied, ignoring the gasps of shock that rippled through the group.
The leader hesitated, his grip on the dagger tightening. "You… you're a sorcerer?"
"Yes," Eryndor admitted. "And if you want the boy to live, you'll let me help him."
The man's eyes darted between Eryndor and Xaren, who was now barely conscious. Finally, he lowered his weapon. "Do it," he said through gritted teeth. "But if anything happens to him, I'll kill you myself."
Eryndor knelt beside Xaren, placing his hands over the boy's abdomen. He closed his eyes, summoning the magic within him. The power surged to the surface, warm and pulsating.
"Purify the corruption within," Eryndor murmured, his voice steady. "Cleanse the body, restore the balance."
A soft glow emanated from his hands, spreading over Xaren's body. The boy's breathing slowed, his colour returning. After a few moments, he opened his eyes, blinking up at Eryndor in confusion.
"Xaren!" the woman cried, pulling him into a tight embrace.
The leader stared at Eryndor, his expression a mix of awe and fear. "You… you saved him."
"I told you I didn't poison him," Eryndor said, standing.
The group's tension eased slightly, but the fear in their eyes remained. They packed their belongings quickly, eager to leave the clearing.
"We owe you our thanks," the leader said grudgingly, avoiding Eryndor's gaze. "But we can't stay here."
Eryndor nodded, understanding their unease. "Safe travels," he said quietly, watching as they disappeared into the forest.
As he turned back to the fire, Asvarion appeared, his fiery form materializing beside him.
"You handled that well," the firebird said.
"Did I?" Eryndor replied, his shoulders slumping. "They still fear me."
"They fear what they don't understand," Asvarion said. "In time, you will learn how to navigate their fear. For now, focus on mastering your power. It is both a gift and a responsibility."
Eryndor nodded, though the weight of those words settled heavily on his shoulders. As he sat by the fire, the memory of Xaren's pain lingered in his mind.