The forge loomed at the edge of the village, a modest yet imposing structure built from dark stone and sturdy timber. Smoke curled lazily from its tall chimney, and the rhythmic clang of hammer against metal echoed into the air, steady and unrelenting. Changra hesitated at the entrance, adjusting the strap of his bag as his nerves threatened to get the better of him.
"Come on," Meryn urged gently, giving him a reassuring smile. "Bren doesn't bite. Much."
"Very comforting," Changra muttered, rolling his eyes. Still, he followed her inside.
The air within the forge was thick with heat and the tang of molten metal. Tools of every shape and size lined the walls, gleaming faintly in the firelight. In the center of it all stood Bren—a burly man with arms like tree trunks and a perpetual scowl etched into his soot-streaked face. He worked with a precision that belied his size, the sparks flying from his hammer painting him in bursts of gold and orange.
"Bren," Meryn called, her voice cutting through the clamor.
The man paused, setting his hammer down and wiping his brow with a cloth. His sharp gray eyes turned toward them, narrowing slightly as they landed on Changra. "So, this is the traveler," he said, his voice a low rumble.
"Kael," Meryn corrected with a small smile. "He's new to the village and looking for a way to contribute. I thought you might have some use for him."
Bren crossed his massive arms, his gaze scrutinizing Changra from head to toe. "Doesn't look like he knows the first thing about a forge," he grunted.
"Not yet," Changra replied, his smirk flickering into place. "But I learn fast. And I'm good with my hands."
Bren snorted, though a faint hint of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. "We'll see about that." He nodded toward a pile of coal stacked near the back wall. "You want to help? Start by moving that to the bin near the furnace. And don't think about complaining."
Changra raised an eyebrow, glancing at the pile. "That's it? I thought I'd be crafting swords and armor by now."
Bren's scowl deepened, though Meryn stifled a laugh. "You've got to earn your way to the fun stuff, kid," Bren said. "Now move."
With a resigned sigh, Changra set his bag down and rolled up his sleeves. "Alright, alright. Don't get your anvil in a twist."
Bren muttered something under his breath, though there was a flicker of approval in his eyes as Changra got to work. The coal was heavy and left his hands streaked with black dust, but the repetitive motion of hauling and dumping bin after bin gave him a strange sense of purpose. The forge buzzed with energy, the rhythmic clang of Bren's hammer serving as a steady backdrop to the task.
"You're holding up well," Meryn said after a while, leaning against the wall and watching him work.
"Is this supposed to impress me?" Changra asked, his smirk faint but genuine. "Because it's going to take more than a few lumps of coal."
Bren let out a bark of laughter, startling both of them. "I like him," he said, nodding toward Changra. "He's got some fire. Let's see if he can keep it up."
As the day wore on, Bren began to show him more of the forge's workings—the bellows that fed the fire, the tools used to shape and temper metal, and the delicate balance of heat and timing required for crafting. Changra listened intently, his initial skepticism giving way to genuine interest. There was something almost meditative about the process, a rhythm that felt oddly soothing despite the forge's chaotic energy.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, Changra's arms ached, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. He leaned against the workbench, catching his breath as Bren approached with a faint smirk.
"Not bad for your first day," Bren said, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "You didn't break anything, and you didn't pass out. That's more than I can say for most newcomers."
"High praise," Changra quipped, though his smirk was tired. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow?"
Bren nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Same time. And don't be late."
As Changra stepped outside, the cool evening air was a welcome relief after the heat of the forge. Meryn was waiting for him by the path, her smile bright and full of encouragement.
"Well?" she asked as they started walking back toward the village square. "What do you think?"
He glanced back at the forge, the faint glow of its fire still visible through the open doorway. "I think I might not hate it," he said honestly. "Bren's not as scary as he looks."
Meryn laughed. "That's high praise coming from you."
The small dining hall in the village's inn was warm and inviting, the scent of roasted vegetables and fresh bread filling the air. Changra followed Meryn to a table near the hearth, where Lysa was already seated, her silver hair glinting in the firelight. She was busy buttering a piece of bread, her focus so intent that she didn't notice them approaching.
Meryn pulled out a chair and gestured for Changra to sit. "Come on," she said with a grin. "Let's see how Lysa reacts."
He raised an eyebrow but complied, taking the seat across from Lysa. She glanced up briefly, her gaze brushing over him without a hint of recognition before returning to her bread. A moment later, she froze, her hands stilling as realization dawned.
"Wait a second," Lysa said, her brow furrowing. Her gray eyes narrowed as she leaned closer, studying Changra's face. "Kael? Is that… you?"
"Last time I checked," Changra said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. "What gave it away? My charming demeanor?"
Lysa's cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she sputtered, "I—well, I didn't recognize you at first! You look completely different!"
"That was kind of the point," he replied, gesturing toward his now-silver hair. "Figured I'd try blending in for once. How'd I do?"
Lysa tilted her head, her blush fading as curiosity took over. "Honestly? It's uncanny. You look like you've lived here forever."
"That's what Meryn said," Changra said, throwing a glance at her. "Guess it's unanimous."
Meryn chuckled, settling into her seat. "Told you it would work."
Lysa's gaze lingered on Changra for a moment longer before she shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You're full of surprises, Kael."
"I try," he said, his smirk softening. "Now, are we going to eat, or are we just going to sit here admiring my new look?"
Lysa rolled her eyes but laughed, reaching for a bowl of roasted vegetables in the center of the table. They began to eat, the clinking of cutlery filling the comfortable silence.
After a while, Lysa glanced at Changra again, her curiosity evidently not yet satisfied. "So, Kael," she began, her tone light, "how old are you?"
Changra paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Fourteen," he said simply.
Lysa blinked, her eyes widening. "Fourteen? You're just a kid!"
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning faintly defensive. "And you're what, sixteen? Don't act like there's a huge difference."
"Seventeen," Lysa corrected, lifting her chin slightly. "And it's not the number—it's the experience."
"Oh, of course," Changra said with mock seriousness. "Because clearly, you've seen so much more of the world than I have."
Lysa huffed, but Meryn laughed softly, shaking her head. "Careful, Lysa," she said. "He's got a point. Fourteen or not, he's been through a lot."
Lysa's expression softened, and she tilted her head. "Where are you from, Kael? You said it's far away, but what's it like?"
Changra hesitated, his smirk faltering for a moment. "It's… different," he said carefully. "No magic, for one thing. Just a lot of people trying to get by."
"No magic?" Lysa said, her brow furrowing in disbelief. "How do you survive without it?"
"Not very well," he admitted with a dry laugh. "It's a tough place. People fight over everything—money, power, land. Makes Elakia look like a fairy tale."
Lysa's expression turned thoughtful. "Do you miss it?"
"Not really," Changra said, his smirk returning. "There wasn't much to miss."
Meryn studied him for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "But you survived," she said quietly. "That says a lot."
Changra shrugged, brushing off the weight of her words. "Surviving's not the hard part," he said, his tone light but distant. "Figuring out what comes next—that's the real challenge."
The table fell silent for a moment, the crackle of the fire filling the space. Lysa seemed to sense the shift in his mood, and she quickly changed the subject, asking about his first day at the forge. Changra welcomed the distraction, launching into a recount of Bren's gruff demeanor and the mountain of coal he'd moved.
The dinner was nearly finished, the warmth of the fire and the hearty food having eased some of Changra's tension. Lysa had been relentless in her questioning, most of which he'd deflected with light sarcasm or vague answers. Meryn watched the exchange with quiet amusement, occasionally stepping in to steer the conversation.
But then, as the plates were being cleared, Lysa leaned forward, her expression shifting from playful curiosity to something more serious.
"Kael," she said softly, her voice carrying an unfamiliar weight. "Have you ever left someone behind? Someone you cared about?"
Changra froze, the question hitting him like a physical blow. He set his fork down carefully, his movements deliberate as he tried to keep his expression neutral. But his mind was already racing, her words dragging him back to the faces he'd tried so hard to push away—Thorne, Aria, Merrick… Jane.
Jane.
He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "What makes you ask that?" he said, his voice quieter than before.
Lysa shrugged, her gaze steady. "I don't know," she said honestly. "You just… seem like someone who's had to make hard choices. Like someone who's lost things."
Changra's smirk flickered into place, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, aren't you perceptive."
Her expression didn't change, and she waited patiently for him to answer. Meryn watched silently, her gaze flicking between the two of them.
"Yeah," Changra said finally, his voice barely audible. "I've left people behind."
"Why?" Lysa asked, her tone gentle but insistent.
"Because I didn't have a choice," he snapped, the words spilling out before he could stop them. The sudden sharpness in his voice startled even himself, and he quickly looked away, his fists clenching under the table. "Sometimes, you don't get to say goodbye. Sometimes, the world just… takes them."
The room fell into an uneasy silence, the crackle of the fire suddenly too loud. Meryn reached out, her hand brushing lightly against his arm. "Kael," she said softly, "I'm sorry."
Changra let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don't be. It's just how things are."
But even as he spoke, he could feel the weight of Jane's memory pressing down on him. Her voice, her laughter, the way she'd always tried to make him believe he was more than the sum of his mistakes. He could almost hear her now, telling him to keep going, to fight for something better.
And he'd failed her.
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I need some air," he muttered, not waiting for a response as he headed for the door. The cool night air hit him like a slap, but it did little to clear the fog in his mind.
Leaning against the railing of the inn's porch, he stared out at the quiet village, the ache in his chest a familiar companion. He didn't know how long he stood there before Meryn appeared beside him, her presence calm and unassuming.
"You don't have to talk about it," she said quietly. "But if you ever want to, we'll listen."
Changra didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the horizon. After a moment, Meryn gave his arm a gentle squeeze before heading back inside, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
"Yeah," he whispered to the night. "I've left people behind. But they deserved better."
After a while, Changra stepped back into the dining hall, the cool night air having done little to quiet his thoughts but enough to steady his composure. Meryn followed close behind, her expression a mix of concern and understanding. Lysa sat at the table, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, glancing up as they returned.
"Sorry about that," Changra said, his voice subdued but steady as he pulled out his chair and sat back down.
"It's okay," Lysa said softly, offering a small, apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to upset you."
Changra waved it off, his smirk faint but in place. "You didn't. Just… touched a nerve, I guess."
The air between them grew lighter as Meryn picked up the thread of conversation, steering it toward safer topics. They talked about the village, the daily routines, and even a little about the forge, where Bren's gruff demeanor had already become a source of humor for Changra.
But then, as the conversation lulled, Lysa's expression grew more serious. She glanced at Meryn, who nodded slightly, as if giving her silent encouragement.
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," Lysa said, her tone cautious. "Both of you."
Changra raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. "Sounds ominous."
"It's not," Lysa said quickly, then hesitated. "Well… maybe a little. It's about what's been happening in the North."
"The North?" Meryn echoed, her brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"
Lysa shifted in her seat, her voice dropping slightly. "There've been… stories. Travelers passing through have talked about a new force rising there. A group that's been attacking villages, taking supplies, and leaving destruction in their wake."
Changra's smirk faded, his expression sharpening. "And no one's done anything about it?"
"Not yet," Lysa admitted. "It's been happening far enough from here that it hasn't affected us directly. But the stories are spreading. They say the group is organized—smarter than raiders, more dangerous than a simple band of mercenaries."
Meryn frowned, her gaze darkening. "Do they know who's behind it?"
Lysa hesitated, her gray eyes flicking between them. "They say it's a woman," she said finally. "A powerful one. No one knows her name, but the descriptions… they're unsettling."
"Unsettling how?" Changra asked, his voice steady but edged with curiosity.
Lysa's gaze dropped to her hands, her voice quieter now. "They say she's… not entirely human. That her presence feels wrong, like the air gets heavier when she's near. She's supposed to be beautiful but terrifying, with green magic that twists and corrupts everything it touches."
Changra's stomach twisted, the description striking an all-too-familiar chord. His mind raced with images of Berethia—her cold smile, the storm of green energy that had nearly destroyed everything. But that was impossible. Berethia was gone.
Wasn't she?
Meryn tilted her head, her concern growing. "Do they know where she came from?"
"No," Lysa said, shaking her head. "But they say she speaks like she's been wronged, like the world owes her something. And she's gathering followers—desperate people who believe she'll give them the power to take what they want."
Changra's fists clenched under the table, his knuckles white. He kept his face neutral, but inside, a storm raged. If this woman was who he thought she might be, then the North wasn't just in danger—Elakia itself was at risk.
"That's… concerning," Meryn said carefully, glancing at Changra. "But it's far from here. We shouldn't jump to conclusions."
"Right," Changra said, his voice flat. He forced a smirk, masking the turmoil within. "Let's not lose sleep over rumors."
But as the conversation shifted again, the tension in his chest didn't ease. If Berethia was alive, then his past wasn't as far behind him as he'd hoped. And sooner or later, he'd have to face it.