The Whisperwood Forest exhaled a gentle sigh as twilight settled over the village. Crickets chirped in the grass, and the scent of wildflowers mingled with the earthy aroma of damp wood. The village square, bustling just hours ago, now lay quiet. Lanterns flickered gently in the breeze, their soft glow casting long shadows on the cobblestone paths.
---
Rynar stood on the outskirts of the village, leaning against the sturdy wooden railing of a bridge that spanned a narrow stream. The water below reflected the pale silver of the rising moon, its surface broken only by the occasional ripple of a curious fish. His thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the events of the past few days—the beast, the fight, the whispers of the villagers, and the weight of their gratitude.
He heard her before he saw her.
The light crunch of footsteps on the path behind him drew his attention. Turning slightly, he saw Lyra approaching. Her dark braid swung gently with each step, and her brown eyes caught the moonlight, giving them a warm glow. She carried a small bundle in her hands, the edges of a cloth peeking out.
"Couldn't sleep?" Rynar asked, his voice low but steady.
Lyra stopped a few paces away, a faint smile on her lips. "You're one to talk," she said, tilting her head. "What are you doing out here?"
Rynar shrugged, looking back at the stream. "Thinking."
"Ah, the famous Rynar, always thinking," Lyra teased lightly, moving to stand beside him. She leaned on the railing, her gaze following his to the water below. "What's on your mind?"
He hesitated, his fingers tracing the rough grain of the wooden railing.
"Just... everything. The fight. The village. What happens next."
Lyra nodded, her expression softening. "You're always carrying so much, Rynar. It's okay to let yourself rest, you know."
Rynar smirked faintly. "Coming from the girl who spends every spare moment practicing her firecraft?"
She laughed softly, the sound light and musical. "Fair point. But I'm serious. You've done enough. More than enough. The village is safe because of you."
"That's what scares me," Rynar admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "If they're relying on me this much now... what happens if I can't protect them next time?"
Lyra turned to face him fully, her brows furrowing. "You've faced things no one else here could. That beast... it would've destroyed us all, and you stopped it. I don't think anyone expects you to do more than you already have."
Rynar met her gaze, his green eyes searching hers for a moment before he spoke. "Sometimes, it feels like they're not looking at me anymore. Just what I can do."
Lyra frowned, her hand tightening on the railing. "I don't think that's true. At least... it's not true for me."
He glanced at her, his expression softening. "No?"
"No," she said firmly, her voice softening as her brown eyes met his. "I see you, Rynar. Not just your strength or what you can do. I see the boy who helps Mari carry grain sacks, who fixes broken fences and makes the kids laugh. I see someone who cares so much for others, even when they don't always see you for who you are."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, her cheeks tinged with the faintest blush. "That's who you are to me."
Her words hung in the air, filling the quiet with a warmth Rynar hadn't realized he needed. He looked away, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. "Thanks," he said, his voice quieter now.
Lyra smiled, sensing his embarrassment. She lifted the bundle in her hands and unwrapped it to reveal two small, round loaves of bread. "Here," she said, offering one to him. "Mama made too much again."
Rynar took the bread, his lips twitching into a small smile. "Thanks."
They ate in companionable silence, the sound of the stream and the rustling leaves their only company. The moon climbed higher, casting its pale light over the forest and the village beyond.
"Do you ever think about leaving?" Lyra asked suddenly, her voice soft.
Rynar glanced at her. "Leaving the village?"
She nodded. "There's a whole world out there. Kingdoms, cities, people with power like ours—or more. Don't you want to see it?"
He thought for a moment before answering. "Sometimes. But this is home. The people here... they're family. I can't just leave them."
Lyra looked down at her hands, her expression unreadable. "I think about it a lot," she admitted. "What it would be like to train in a city, to meet others like me. But it's scary too. The world out there... it's so much bigger than this place."
Rynar nodded slowly. "It is. But you're stronger than you think, Lyra. If anyone could handle it, it's you."
She smiled faintly, a touch of color rising to her cheeks. "Thanks, Rynar."
---
As the night deepened, the two of them lingered by the stream, their conversation drifting from serious topics to lighter ones—village gossip, childhood memories, and dreams for the future. For a while, the weight on Rynar's shoulders felt lighter, and the world seemed just a little brighter.
When they finally parted ways, the village lay silent and still, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Rynar watched Lyra disappear down the path toward her home, a quiet sense of peace settling over him. For the first time in days, he felt ready to rest.