The village lay quiet in the shadow of the mountains, its rooftops painted in the warm hues of the setting sun. Smoke rose in thin streams from chimneys, and the faint scent of woodfire and baked bread drifted through the cool air. To an outsider, it might have seemed idyllic—a place untouched by the chaos Kaelin had seen in the multiverse.
But Kaelin knew better. Peace was always fragile, and beauty often hid rot.
He stood at the edge of the forest, the golden fields swaying in the breeze before him. His sword pulsed faintly at his side, its glow subdued but steady, as though warning him that even here, danger was not far off. His gaze swept over the village, taking in the narrow cobbled streets, the clustered houses, and the distant figures moving about their routines.
Kaelin exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. "So, sword," he muttered, glancing at the blade. "Think they'll welcome me with open arms? Or will it be pitchforks and torches?"
The sword, of course, didn't answer. But Kaelin imagined it might have hummed with dry amusement if it could. He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. "I'll take that as a 'don't get your hopes up.'"
He started down the hill, his steps careful and deliberate. The villagers were already noticing him. Heads turned, and whispers carried on the breeze, though he couldn't make out the words. It was the same everywhere—an outsider in strange clothes, with a glowing weapon at his side, always drew attention. Kaelin tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, though he kept the blade sheathed. He didn't want to give them a reason to panic. Not yet.
As he approached the edge of the village, a young boy darted out from behind a cart, his wide eyes fixed on Kaelin. The child stared for a moment before calling out, "Are you a knight?"
Kaelin blinked, startled by the question. The boy couldn't have been more than eight, his face smudged with dirt and his hair a mess of dark curls. He held a wooden toy sword in one hand, which he waved with enthusiasm.
Kaelin crouched slightly to meet the boy's gaze. "Something like that," he said, his voice calm. "But knights don't usually walk into villages uninvited."
The boy grinned, his teeth bright against his dirty face. "Do you slay monsters?"
Kaelin's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Sometimes."
The boy's eyes lit up, and he stepped closer, but a sharp voice interrupted. "Eron, get back here!"
The boy froze, glancing over his shoulder as a woman rushed forward. She was tall and lean, her face lined with the marks of hard labor, though her dark eyes burned with determination. She placed a protective hand on the boy's shoulder, her gaze locking onto Kaelin.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her tone wary. "And what business do you have here?"
Kaelin straightened, meeting her gaze evenly. "A traveler," he said simply. "I mean no harm."
The woman's eyes flicked to the sword at his side, lingering on its faint glow. "That weapon says otherwise."
Kaelin's hand rested on the hilt instinctively, but he made no move to draw it. "This sword has seen more battles than I care to count," he said. "But it won't see one here unless someone gives me a reason."
The woman's jaw tightened, her grip on the boy's shoulder firm. "We don't take kindly to strangers with swords."
"I understand," Kaelin said, his tone measured. "But I'm not here to cause trouble. I just need a place to rest."
The woman studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nodded curtly. "Fine. But don't give us a reason to regret it."
She turned, ushering the boy away, though her sharp gaze lingered on Kaelin until she disappeared into one of the houses. Kaelin exhaled softly, rolling his shoulders to release the tension that had settled there.
"Friendly," he muttered. "Not that I can blame them."
He continued into the village, the cobbled streets uneven beneath his boots. The villagers watched him warily as he passed, their conversations dying into hushed whispers. Kaelin ignored them, his focus on finding a quiet place to gather his thoughts. The weight of his sword at his side was a constant reminder of the shard he now carried, its power still unfamiliar and unsettling.
As he rounded a corner, a voice called out to him. "Traveler!"
Kaelin stopped, turning to see an older man standing in the doorway of a small inn. His face was weathered and wrinkled, but his eyes were sharp and calculating. He waved Kaelin over, his posture tense but not hostile.
"You look like you've been through the grinder," the man said as Kaelin approached. "Looking for a place to stay?"
Kaelin nodded. "If you've got a room."
The man gestured for him to enter, stepping aside to let him through. The inn was small but clean, the air warm and filled with the scent of roasted meat and herbs. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Kaelin felt a flicker of relief as he stepped inside, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
The man closed the door behind him, his gaze lingering on Kaelin's sword. "That's some weapon you've got there," he said. "Looks like it's seen its share of trouble."
Kaelin glanced at the blade. "More than its share."
The man nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Name's Jorin," he said, extending a hand. "Used to be a soldier myself, before I traded the battlefield for a quieter life."
Kaelin hesitated for a moment before taking the offered hand. "Kaelin."
Jorin's grip was firm, his calloused palm speaking of years of hard labor. He released Kaelin's hand and gestured to one of the tables near the fire. "Sit. You look like you could use a drink."
Kaelin sat, the warmth of the fire soothing his aching muscles. Jorin returned moments later with a mug of ale, setting it down in front of him. Kaelin took a sip, the bitter taste washing away the dryness in his throat.
"So," Jorin said, leaning against the bar. "What brings you to a quiet place like this? You don't look like the kind to settle down."
Kaelin stared into the mug, his thoughts heavy. "I'm just passing through," he said. "Looking for answers."
Jorin raised an eyebrow. "Answers, huh? To what?"
Kaelin glanced at his sword, its faint glow reflected in the polished wood of the table. "To why I'm still breathing."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Jorin didn't press, and Kaelin was grateful for the silence that followed. He finished the ale in a single swallow, the warmth spreading through his chest.
"Thanks for the drink," he said, rising from the table. "I'll take that room if it's still available."
Jorin nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "It's yours. But a word of advice—this village may seem peaceful, but it has its secrets. Keep your eyes open, traveler."
Kaelin's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I always do."
As he made his way to the small room upstairs, the weight of the day settled on him. The trial, the shard, the shadow of Cyran in the mist—it was all a blur, tangled and unresolved. He sat on the edge of the bed, the faint hum of his sword filling the silence.
"Secrets, huh?" he muttered. "Let's see what this place is hiding."