The plains of Druvan'hal'or, once a fertile land brimming with life, now lay ensnared in the shadows of an inevitable destruction. Erindor, a village that had once stood as a beacon of joy and hope, now lay torn apart under the oppressive reign of Orcs, whose power surged like waves that never receded. The gray sky, heavy with sorrow that seemed endless, hung low over the suffering village. Every corner of the village now echoed with the thundering steps of the Orcs, dragging with them the weight of an unrelenting existence for the remaining villagers. Those who endured were forced to grind their hopes to dust in the absence of solace, bearing the unforgiving burdens of forced labor, all to appease the cruel demands of their conquerors. What was once fertile land had transformed into a field of suffering, adorned by merciless iron hands. The silence that enveloped the area was nothing but a shadow of grief, trapped in time that offered no mercy.
Ardan, a young man who had spent years trapped within this very devastation, moved swiftly yet cautiously among the debris and ruins of a village that no longer knew life. Each step seemed to carry a weight heavier than the last, yet his eyes burned with an unwavering determination. Behind his sharp gaze, there was a depth that only those haunted by years of suffering could understand—a despair that, though buried deep, was never truly gone. He moved through a world stripped of hope, yet his spirit refused to surrender, even as he recognized how thin the line had become between life and death in this violent world.
Eira, witnessing such a life for the first time, walked beside Ardan with a slower, more reluctant pace, as though her body was unwilling to go any further. Her once serene eyes, full of visions of peaceful worlds, now carried the burden of the bitter reality laid before her. Every broken corner of the village, every hollow stare from the slumped villagers, made her feel as if she were standing in a world entirely alien to her. The eerie quiet, pregnant with tension, rendered her speechless, as if she were still trying to process all that her eyes had seen, her heart threatening to burst with feelings she could not contain.
As they made their way through the ravaged streets of the village, each step Ardan took felt increasingly heavier, as though every fragment of past memories followed him, demanding not to be forgotten. The ruins of houses that once stood strong now only left behind shattered walls and collapsed roofs, with sorrow lingering between the wreckage. Amidst this silence, Ardan paused in front of a small house, more intact than the others. By the door, an elderly man sat propped against the wall, his sharp eyes fixed on them with a gaze that held meaning, as though he could see beyond their mere exterior. Kaelen Marris, the village elder known for his wisdom and sharp mind, regarded them with an unshakable calm. His wrinkled face spoke of a long life, and though his body had grown frail, his eyes still held the strength that came from years of contemplating the fate of this village.
"Ardan," Kaelen's voice was soft, yet laden with authority, like a breeze that caressed but also demanded attention. His sharp eyes fixed on Ardan with a warmth that transcended time, though beneath that gaze lay an immense burden. "How are you?"
Ardan nodded slowly, trying to conceal the exhaustion etched into his face. The sweat trickling down his temples and the lingering pain of his wounds were impossible to hide, yet his eyes still glowed with a fire that refused to be extinguished. "Still holding on, Kaelen," he replied, his voice hoarse, as though trying to bury the weariness that had long since exceeded its limits. He glanced toward Eira, standing beside him, her expression tinged with concern, worried about how the villagers would receive her. "I brought a friend. This is Eira, from outside the village."
Kaelen turned his gaze to Eira. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, seemed to delve into every hidden layer of her story, trying to uncover what lay beneath her youthful exterior. But after a moment's assessment, he chose not to ask further questions, for he knew well that some things could not be explained by words alone. "Welcome to Erindor," he said with a faint smile, one that carried the weight of unspoken meanings. "Here, we only survive. Don't expect we can do much under their pressure."
The silence hung in the air for a moment, thickened by the cold that enveloped the village. Kaelen's gaze drifted far into the distance, toward the ruins, as though pondering more than just the events of today. "We're all tired, Ardan," he continued, his voice deeper, heavier. "But hope... hope doesn't always come the way we want it." He turned his gaze to Eira, his eyes filled with questions, but this time, there was something deeper, as if waiting for the right moment to open a more meaningful conversation.
Ardan exhaled, then looked at Eira, silently asking for permission to stay a moment and speak with Kaelen. Without waiting for her response, he continued, his voice calm yet resolute. "I'll find a way to fight back, Kaelen. It's been too long. We can't keep living in fear like this."
Kaelen nodded slowly. Though his smile faded into something more somber, there was a palpable understanding in his expression. "We'll see, Ardan. Sometimes, we have to fight in ways we never imagined."
Eira lowered her head, her eyes seemingly melding with the earth beneath her feet. Her heart swirled with confusion, a storm of emotions she couldn't express. She longed to speak, to voice the chaos within her, but the words seemed stuck, trapped at the edge of her lips, unable to escape the turmoil that consumed her. Every step felt heavier; each passing second added weight to her chest. This world she had just come to know was so far removed from everything she had once imagined, and she didn't know how to face it.
But before Eira could speak, Ardan broke the silence that surrounded them with words heavy with resolve, though veiled in hidden fatigue. "Kaelen," he said, his tone low but firm, "We need to talk later. We can't keep going on like this. The Orcs are growing in numbers."
Ardan's words lingered in the air, hanging with a sense of emptiness that was hard to grasp. Eira stared at Ardan, her eyes filled with questions, while Kaelen, though long acquainted with the feeling of despair, observed them both intently.
Kaelen regarded Ardan with a deep, penetrating look, as though attempting to peer through the layers of emotion and hope concealed behind his words. His sharp eyes seemed to weigh every movement, every emotion, before he nodded slowly. "We can't keep hiding," he said, his voice heavy but full of meaning, as though acknowledging an unavoidable reality. "We'll need to start planning something. But we must be cautious. No one can know our plans."
The words hung in the air, charged with an undeniable tension. Kaelen lowered his head for a moment, as if reflecting on the consequences of each step they would take. The air grew heavier, mirroring the harsh truth that resistance would not come easily, especially in the face of a growing threat. "Our enemy isn't just the Orcs, Ardan," he continued, his voice now deeper still, "but also distrust. When hope begins to fade, we must keep the flame burning, even if only in our hearts."
Eira, hearing these words, felt a surge of determination rising within her, despite knowing the path they had chosen was fraught with danger.
After their brief, meaningful exchange, Ardan and Eira continued their journey through the desolate streets, heading toward the further reaches of the village, where more of the remaining residents struggled to survive, their spirits battered yet unbroken. Every step they took seemed to echo through the dust and debris, like walking down a corridor of fading memories. Amid the shattered buildings and the air thick with sorrow, Ardan sensed a faint thread of hope still lingering, though it was incredibly fragile.
In the midst of their quiet, ruin-filled journey, they encountered a young woman who stood out from the rest of the villagers they had seen. She stood at the end of the road, her sharp eyes full of wariness, regarding them with an unreadable expression. Her long hair, slightly disheveled, gave her an air of untamed strength, though there was a spark in her demeanor that spoke of something far stronger than mere exhaustion. A small smile played at the corners of her lips, as if it hinted at something deeper than the weariness that must have weighed on her.
This woman was Lyra Dain, a courageous figure known throughout the village for her defiance against the Orcs, even though her strength was no match for the enemy's overwhelming force. Her eyes swept the area, ensuring no threats were lurking, before she slowly approached. Ardan recognized her, a flicker of admiration crossing his face, as though she reminded him of the inner strength he had long sought in the midst of darkness.
"Ardan," Lyra greeted with a quiet yet fervent voice. "You always return when this village needs you." But there was a curiosity beneath her words as her gaze shifted to Eira, standing beside Ardan. "Who's this?" she asked, her tone gentle yet filled with focus, without the slightest hint of hesitation.
Ardan turned toward Eira, a moment of hesitation passing before he introduced her. "This is Eira," he replied briefly. "She's from outside the village. We met on our journey."
Lyra studied Eira for a moment, her eyes full of questions, but she said nothing. A subtle nod was all she offered as a gesture of respect. Though Ardan hadn't yet fully understood who Eira truly was, Lyra had already sensed there was something different about the young woman.
Lyra continued to gaze at Eira with a curiosity that lingered in the air. "Eira, huh?" she said softly, as though making sure no one else overheard. "Nice to meet you. Here, nothing can be said lightly."
Eira nodded, feeling the weight of the tension surrounding them. "I understand," she replied quietly.
Lyra took a step closer, closing the gap between herself and Ardan with deliberate but calm movements. Her eyes burned with seriousness, like an unyielding flame that refused to be snuffed out by any storm. "We need to start planning something," she said with firm conviction. "The Orcs are becoming more aggressive, and we can't keep living like this—shackled by fear every single day."
Ardan nodded slowly, though his heart was heavy with the increasing weight of responsibility. He met Lyra's gaze with the same determination, though there was a clear caution in his eyes. "I know," he answered, his voice low but resolute. "But we must be very careful. No one knows who we can truly trust. One wrong move, and it's over for all of us."
Lyra smiled faintly, the smile not one of joy, but of unwavering confidence, like the roots of an ancient tree deeply embedded in the earth. Her face shone with a spirit that was contagious, something almost impossible to find in this village. "Ardan," she said, her voice softening but still retaining its strength, "you know we can't just hide forever. Everyone in this village has suffered enough. We've seen what they've done—children robbed of their futures, the elderly drained of their strength until they can no longer stand. I can't let this go on."
Eira, who had been standing slightly behind, now lifted her gaze toward Lyra. There was something in the woman's words that stirred her heart, shaking her confusion like a stone thrown into the still waters of a lake. Yet, doubt still clouded her mind. "But how will you fight?" she asked, her voice soft but loud enough to break the silence. She looked at Lyra with eyes full of questions. "You're only a handful of people among thousands of Orcs. Even if we wanted to fight, what could we do? They're too strong, and we're too small."
Lyra turned to face Eira, her smile unwavering, now paired with a gaze that held a softness, an understanding. "Small doesn't mean insignificant," she said, her voice like a gentle breeze that slips through the cracks of emptiness. "You know, a great fire starts from a small spark. We may be few, but if we can find a way to reignite the spirit that's almost gone out, we can change something. Maybe not now, maybe not easily, but that doesn't mean it's impossible."
Ardan exhaled deeply before crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze shifted from Lyra to Eira, and then to the village, which appeared still and silent from where they stood. "Lyra's right," he finally spoke, his voice heavy, as if every word carried a burden he had to bear. "But we have to start with something small. We can't rush or be reckless. One small mistake could be the end for everyone here."
Silence enveloped them once again. Yet in that silence, something seemed to shift. It was as though that small spark had just been ignited, and though it wasn't yet enough to become a fire, it began to warm hearts that had long been frozen.
**
The day felt long for Ardan. After his encounter with Lyra and Kaelen, he returned to the unending grind of his daily tasks—duties under the watchful eye of the Orcs, who imposed their dominance with ruthless precision. Yet this time, there was something different. Eira, the mysterious woman who had appeared from nowhere, shadowed his every step, her gaze always lingering with an expression of confusion that never seemed to fade. She spoke little, but her mere presence was enough to make Ardan uncomfortable.
The morning began at the village's supply warehouse, where rice, corn, and wheat were stored. Ardan worked with grim determination, moving heavy sacks to their designated places, while Eira stood hesitantly by the door, observing him with uncertainty.
"If you're just going to stand there, don't block the door," Ardan said sharply, casting a pointed glance in her direction.
Startled, Eira quickly responded, "I can help," her voice soft but carrying an underlying firmness.
Ardan scoffed lightly, then pointed to one of the smaller sacks. "Then take that one over there. But don't break anything. I don't want to get punished because of you."
Eira complied. Though her body wasn't accustomed to such heavy labor, she did her best. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, but she didn't complain, even as her muscles grew weary.
By midday, Ardan moved on to the livestock pens, a daily task that had become second nature to him—feeding the chickens, cows, and goats. But once again, Eira's presence made him uneasy. He watched her with narrowed eyes as she awkwardly tried to feed the chickens, her movements stiff and uncoordinated.
"Hey, don't scatter the food like that. These chickens aren't guests at a dinner party," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.
Eira merely looked at him, furrowing her brows. "I'm just trying to help," she replied, her voice calm but tinged with the slightest irritation.
Ardan sighed heavily, walking closer. "Look, this is how you do it," he said, taking a handful of chicken feed and sprinkling it evenly. "You're dumping too much in one spot. You think they're going to share food politely?"
Eira remained silent, but she watched closely. After a moment, she tried again, this time with more care. Ardan nodded slightly, though he said nothing.
As the afternoon wore on, they began milking the cows and goats in the pens. Eira struggled with the task, and Ardan exhaled sharply, folding his arms.
"Did you know, you're more trouble than you're worth?" he said in a clipped tone.
Eira rolled her eyes, trying to suppress her frustration. "You don't have to act like I'm a burden. I just want to help."
"Then take it slow. Don't make the cows panic. They're smarter than you think," Ardan said, taking over the task. Eira sighed and watched him.
As evening descended, Ardan finally returned to his small, run-down house at the edge of the village. The setting sun cast a soft orange glow across the landscape, but the beauty of the moment felt stark against the grim atmosphere of the village. When he reached the door of his home, Ardan stopped, realizing that Eira was still following him.
He turned, a look of bewilderment on his face. "What exactly are you trying to do?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and irritation. "You've been following me all day. You don't seriously think you're coming into my house, do you?"
Eira smiled faintly, though there was an awkwardness in her expression. "I... I don't know where else to go," she admitted honestly. "I just... feel better not being alone."
Ardan sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hand. "Alright," he said at last, though his tone was reluctant. "You can stay here for tonight. But only tonight, understand? Tomorrow I'll find you a place to stay. And you have to stay inside, don't let the Orcs see you."
Eira nodded obediently, but her face betrayed curiosity. "Why? Are they going to suspect me?"
Ardan snorted quietly. "Suspect you? Just look at you. With clothes like that and the way you talk, it's obvious you're not from around here. The Orcs are cautious and a bit brutal. If they see you, you'll be the center of attention, and that'll put us all in danger."
Eira fell silent, recognizing the truth in Ardan's words. She followed him into the small house, realizing that this place was far from the comfort she had once known.
**
When Eira stepped into Ardan's house, her eyes immediately landed on the small, modest room. There were no lavish furnishings—only an old wooden table with two chairs, one of which had a wobbly leg. In the corner, a small stove stood rusted, with a few remaining logs of firewood piled beside it. A rickety shelf on the wall, barely holding up, was cluttered with cracked plates and cups that had lost their handles. In the far corner, a thin straw mat lay on the dirt floor, serving as a bed. A tattered blanket, its colors faded beyond recognition, was folded on top.
The ceiling was dotted with spider webs, and gaps in the wooden walls let in the cold night wind, uninvited. Eira surveyed the surroundings with a look that was hard to hide—not disgust, but a deep sympathy.
Ardan, who had been placing a small cloth bag containing hard bread onto the table, noticed the expression. He paused for a moment, turning his body toward her, and fixed her with a piercing stare.
"What?" he asked, his tone sharp.
Eira flinched. "What do you mean?"
Ardan crossed his arms over his chest, furrowing his brow. "That look of yours. You're looking at my home like it's an ancient ruin. If you're going to complain, the door's right behind you," he said, gesturing with his chin toward the door.
Eira raised both hands in defense, trying to explain. "I'm not complaining, really. It's just... this is the first time I've seen a place like this."
"Of course," Ardan replied with a sarcastic tone, walking toward the stove to light the fire. "I forgot—you must be used to living in a golden palace, huh? With porcelain plates and marble floors?"
Eira sighed, feeling a little cornered. "I didn't say that. I just—well, yes, this place is... very simple," she said finally, choosing her words carefully.
Ardan snorted. "Simple? That's a polite way of saying 'poor,' right? No need for pleasantries here, miss. I know this isn't a place fit for someone like you."
Eira smiled faintly, trying to lighten the mood. "Hey, I didn't say that. Actually, I kind of like it here. It feels... unique."
"Unique?" Ardan turned, his eyebrows raised. "You think my shabby home is unique? Are you serious?"
Eira nodded quickly. "Yes. I mean, just look at it. That dish rack is practically modern art, and the straw mat must be really comfy if you like sleeping close to the ground."
Ardan stared at her without expression for a few seconds before sighing deeply. "You're weird," he muttered, returning to his task at the stove.
Eira grinned more widely, pleased to have shifted the tense atmosphere. She walked over and sat in one of the wobbly chairs, which creaked loudly under her weight. She jumped up in surprise, but Ardan merely glanced at her briefly.
"Careful. If it breaks, you'll have to replace it," he said coldly.
"How am I supposed to replace it? Make a chair out of straw?" Eira replied with a playful tone.
Ardan snorted, but a faint smile—one that was difficult to catch—appeared on his face. "Suit yourself."
They sat in silence for a moment, with only the crackling fire in the stove filling the room. Eira looked at Ardan, who seemed lost in his own thoughts, and she sensed there was something heavy behind his harsh demeanor. Despite his constant grumbling and coldness, she knew Ardan had sacrificed much to survive in this harsh world.
"I'm serious," Eira said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Ardan glanced at her without lifting his head. "Serious about what?"
"This place. I like it. You make me feel safe here, and that's more than enough," she said softly.
Ardan paused for a moment, then shook his head gently. "You're really strange," he muttered again, but this time, there was a warmer tone in his voice.
**
Ardan opened the small bag he had brought from outside, revealing a few pieces of hard, slightly stale bread and a small pot of thin broth made from slow-cooked beef bones, with a few vegetables submerged within. The broth was a pale yellow, the faint scent of nearly faded meat lingering in the air. On the side, there was some boiled wheat, far drier than rice, and a bowl with small pieces of dried fish. There were no fresh vegetables or side dishes—just a sprinkle of salt added for flavor.
Eira studied the meal carefully. The hard bread looked difficult to bite into, and the thin broth seemed barely enough to satisfy a hunger-stricken stomach. The food was simple, far removed from the luxuries she was accustomed to. In the kingdom of Lyndralis, food was always abundant—fresh fruit, choice meats, dishes spiced with fragrant herbs. But here, in Ardan's dilapidated home, this meal was all they had, the only comfort they could find after a long day.
Eira gazed at the hard bread, hesitating slightly. She bit into the edge of it slowly, trying not to reveal any distaste that might offend Ardan.
Ardan, seated across the table with a bowl of broth in his hands, watched her with an expression tinged with impatience. "You don't need to pretend, Eira," he said bluntly, his voice a little louder than necessary. "This isn't fine dining, and you don't have to pity me."
Eira lifted her gaze, slightly taken aback by Ardan's tone. She blinked, taking a moment to calm herself before responding. "I'm not pitying you, Ardan," she replied cautiously. "It's just... I've never seen food like this before. But I know you've done your best."
Ardan snorted. "Food like this is enough to survive. If you want something better, I can't give it to you."
Eira nodded slowly, feeling the tension between them. "I understand. I'm just not used to living like this."
The room fell silent again, the only sound the clink of spoons against bowls. Eira sipped the thin broth, trying to ease the awkwardness that had settled in the air. Ardan lowered his head, eating quickly and without much conversation, as if there was nothing left to explain.
As they finished their meager dinner, Eira felt something odd stir within her. Despite the simplicity of the meal, and its insufficiency, a strange sense of gratitude began to grow in her heart. She realized that, in a world so full of devastation, even something as simple as this was an invaluable gift.
Yet that feeling could not erase the awkwardness between her and Ardan. While he appeared indifferent, Eira could sense the discomfort veiled behind his actions. Beneath his harsh words and blunt manner, there was an unspoken pain that she couldn't fully understand.
Ardan glanced at Eira briefly before placing his spoon down with a forceful motion. "You can sleep over there," he said, gesturing to a straw mat in the corner of the room. "I'll keep the fire going. Don't make noise."
Eira nodded quietly, not daring to speak further. She arranged herself on the mat, trying to sleep despite her empty stomach and the restless thoughts that kept her awake. In the stillness of the night, all she could hear was the erratic beating of her own heart, while Ardan remained by the hearth, isolated in the same silence.
Though they shared the same space, they were separated by an invisible wall of distance, one that felt nearly impossible to cross.
**
The night grew deeper, and the cold air began to creep into the small, cramped house. Eira lay on the coarse straw mat, her eyes wide open despite the weariness that weighed on her body. In the corner of the room, Ardan sat propped against the fragile wooden wall, his gaze fixed on the dying fire in the hearth. The burning wood crackled softly, its sound the only accompaniment in the silence of the night. Occasionally, Ardan would stir the embers with his stick, coaxing the flames to stay alight, for it was their only source of warmth in a house filled with gaps that let in the biting chill.
The howling wind outside only deepened Eira's sense of alienation in this place. Her heart heavy with questions, she finally broke the silence, her voice soft, yet tinged with an underlying tension.
"Ardan," she said quietly. "Don't your parents come back after work?"
Ardan did not immediately respond. He simply continued moving the wood in the fire, as if trying to ignore her question. But eventually, he shrugged, his face blank, void of any expression.
"They died when I was twelve," he replied curtly, his voice cold and flat. "No one came back after that."
Eira fell silent, taken aback by the coldness in his answer. She swallowed her words, unsure of what to say next.
"I'm sorry," she murmured softly, feeling awkward. "I didn't mean to make you remember something painful."
Ardan nodded without looking up, his eyes still fixed on the dwindling flames. "You don't need to apologize. Everyone has their own past." His voice remained firm and emotionless, as though his words were an undeniable truth, one that required no further questioning.
Eira lowered her head, pausing in thought. The atmosphere in the room grew heavier, filled with an unspoken silence that seemed impossible to break. Ardan, though seemingly rough and indifferent, carried a wound so deep. Eira could feel it, though she did not know exactly what had happened to him in his past.
Yet, there was something about Ardan that made Eira want to know him better. Despite his often sharp and unfriendly demeanor, there was an underlying pain, something that couldn't be easily expressed.
"You should sleep tonight," Ardan's voice once again cut through the silence, firm and resolute. "Tomorrow, we'll still need to survive. Don't move around much. Stay inside until I make sure everything is safe."
Eira nodded quietly, then lay back on the mat, attempting to calm her thoughts. The night felt unbearably long. Yet, she knew their journey had only just begun, and every step they took would bring them closer to what needed to be done—to endure and face the harsh reality that awaited them.
**
The morning arrived slowly, with the soft rays of the sun creeping through the cracks in the walls of Ardan's dilapidated home. Eira woke gradually, her eyes still heavy, but she couldn't shake the strange feeling that lingered in her heart. Last night's conversation with Ardan had kept her awake longer than she expected. The thoughts swirled relentlessly in her mind, with no clear answers. Yet, as time passed, fatigue finally overtook her, and she drifted off to sleep. Now, as she awoke, the once silent home felt eerily quiet. There were no signs of Ardan anywhere, just the oppressive silence pressing in around her.
Suddenly, the door—firmly shut the night before—creaked open, and Ardan appeared in the doorway. He looked at Eira with a flat expression and a voice tinged with sarcasm.
"Finally up, huh?" he said, his tone sharp, startling her. "Last night, you were snoring and mumbling. I could hear it all the way outside."
Eira froze, her face flushed with deep embarrassment. She couldn't hide the awkwardness that washed over her. Yet, beneath the discomfort, a wave of irritation began to rise. She wanted to respond, but she bit her tongue, choosing instead to remain calm and offer a smile.
"Oh, sorry," she muttered softly, her gaze lowered. "I must have been exhausted after yesterday's journey." She tried to sound friendly, though her heart felt slightly wounded.
Ardan merely nodded, as if indifferent to her reaction. Behind him, a woman had just entered the house. Her presence was calm, her sharp eyes exuding a quiet confidence. Dressed in simple clothes, there was an undeniable air of authority in the way she moved—she was not an ordinary woman.
"This is Mara Jyn," Ardan said, shifting slightly to give Mara space to step further inside. "She can help."
Mara Jyn offered a small, measured smile toward Eira. Though the smile was gentle, there was an underlying sense that this woman understood much more about the world around her than she let on. "I heard about what happened in that cave," she said, her voice steady and filled with understanding. "You were the one who healed Ardan when he was badly wounded, weren't you?"
Eira was taken aback for a moment, but she nodded slowly. "Yes," she replied hesitantly, "I... I just tried to help."
Mara studied Ardan for a moment, then turned her full attention back to Eira. "If you need somewhere to stay temporarily, I can take you in. This village may not be the most comfortable, but I can offer you a safe place to stay, at least until a clearer plan emerges."
Eira felt a sense of relief wash over her at the offer. Though she didn't truly know Mara Jyn, there was a tranquility about her that felt rare in a place fraught with tension like this.
"Thank you," Eira responded sincerely, though still somewhat uncertain. "I would really appreciate that."
Ardan looked at them both with a flat expression, as if he couldn't care less about the exchange. "Well, then, take care of your business," he said curtly. "I have things to do." Without waiting for a response, he turned and left the house, leaving Eira and Mara alone in the now quiet room.
Mara regarded Eira for a moment, then nodded, signaling for them to follow. "Come, let's go to my house. There's much to discuss, and I want to make sure you're safe."
**
The air felt fresh, despite the heavy silence and tension still hanging over the village of Erindor. Mara Jyn, moving with utmost caution, led Eira out of Ardan's house. They used the back door, nearly invisible, a small gap formed by sheer accident—a testament to the building's age and decay. The door was like a hidden passage, barely noticeable to anyone unaware of its existence.
Mara moved swiftly, scanning her surroundings with careful vigilance, ensuring there were no Orc patrols nearby. Eira followed closely behind, trying to keep each step as silent as possible, fearful of drawing attention. The forest surrounding the village was their chosen path, the only route offering them a semblance of peace, though it was thick with underbrush, mounds of earth, and steep inclines they had to navigate.
"Not too fast," Mara whispered, her voice low, full of caution. "We need to remain calm. Don't let them hear or see us."
Eira nodded slowly, her heart pounding erratically. Though anxiety gripped her, she forced herself to calm her racing thoughts. Each step they took felt heavy, laced with worry, as they ventured deeper into the dense forest. Occasionally, they ducked behind trees or shrubs whenever footsteps approached. Tension built between them, an invisible pause filled with fear, yet tinged with an unquenchable hope that refused to fade.
Finally, after winding their way through the treacherous path, they arrived at a small house hidden among the trees. It was unassuming, almost camouflaged from sight. Of course, that was exactly what Mara Jyn had wanted—a place of safety, far from the reach of Orc patrols.
Mara Jyn entered first, scanning the area to ensure no danger lurked nearby. "Come in," she said quietly, gesturing for Eira to follow. "Stay here until either I or Ardan return. Don't go outside. Don't let them find you."
Eira nodded, though a sense of unease lingered in her chest. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with profound meaning.
Mara gently closed the door behind her, giving Eira space to adjust. The house was simple, with minimal furnishings but carefully arranged. A few herbs and potted plants lined the corners of the room, evidence of Mara's skill as a healer—not just one who relied on knowledge, but one who paid attention to the smallest details. Eira looked around with a mix of curiosity and confusion. She had no idea what would happen next, but for now, this place felt like the only refuge offering her even a flicker of peace amidst the chaos.
In the days that followed, Eira remained in Mara Jyn's home, observing life in the village, which was heavy with tension and constant threat. Each morning began with doubt, but little by little, Eira learned to face the days filled with uncertainty. There was a sense of calm within Mara's home, yet Eira knew it was only temporary.