Morning sunlight danced across the dew-laden fields as Lucian trudged behind Cole's modest farm cart. Distant hills glowed gold beneath a brightening sky, but every step felt like a monumental effort for his worn, underfed body. He'd slept fitfully the previous night, curled in the barn's loft, but it was more rest than he had found on the road. Now, with dawn's arrival, Cole had agreed—grudgingly—to bring him closer to the nearby town.
Cole walked ahead with steady purpose, reins in one hand as he guided an old mare named Daisy. The cart's wheels rattled over uneven dirt, carrying fresh produce and a few tools. Occasional clucks from a crate of chickens added a percussive rhythm to the squeaking axles. At Cole's side, Elin offered Lucian a kind smile whenever he looked her way. She was the one who had first taken pity on him. Without her intervention, he doubted the farmer would've tolerated him for long.
"Keep close," Elin said softly, falling back to match his stride. "Pa might seem stern, but he's just wary of strangers these days."
Lucian managed a nod. "I understand." He clutched the fraying edges of his shirt, concealing the strange rune on his abdomen. A dull warmth pulsed there—a reminder that the brand remained part of him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
They moved along a winding path that connected scattered farmsteads. Although Lucian had feared this route might be overrun by bandits or scavengers, the morning bustle proved surprisingly calm. Men worked fields with wooden plows, while women hung laundry to dry in the mild sun. Occasionally, a passing farmhand or neighbor would pause to greet Cole, eyeing Lucian's ragged appearance but saying nothing.
Eventually, the road widened, merging with a busier dirt track that led toward a low stone wall in the distance. Beyond the wall's gatehouse, a cluster of rooftops and chimneys peeked out, marking the edges of the town—an unremarkable settlement by the look of it, yet to Lucian's eyes, it might as well have been a fortress. Safety, or at least a chance at it.
"This is Norick," Cole muttered without turning around. "Not a grand city, but decent folks live here. Watch yourself at the gate. Guards don't like surprises."
Lucian swallowed, nerves dancing in his gut. The brand flickered again, sending an unwanted ripple of heat across his midsection. He pressed a hand over it, feigning an itch. Calm down. The last thing he needed was for the guards to spot anything unusual.
Elin offered him a reassuring glance. "I'll explain to them if they ask. We have business in town anyway."
Lucian responded with a grateful murmur. Words stuck in his throat, overshadowed by the anxiety swirling in his mind. If the guards turned him away, or demanded answers he couldn't give, how could he survive? And what if that mysterious cloaked figure he had evaded was still tracking him somehow?
As they neared the town gates, more travelers appeared. A merchant's wagon rattled past, laden with barrels. A trio of weary peasants led donkeys carrying sacks of grain. Everyone seemed to funnel through a single wooden gate reinforced with iron bands. Two guards stood watch, spears in hand, wearing mismatched leather jerkins that hinted at the town's modest resources.
The line moved at a decent pace, but each time a guard questioned someone, Lucian's pulse spiked. He clutched the back of the cart, trying to steady himself. The brand simmered beneath his shirt, as though sensing his dread.
Soon, it was Cole's turn. One of the guards, a wiry man with a thin mustache, stepped forward. "Business?" he asked, glancing over the crates of produce.
Cole adjusted his grip on the reins. "Name's Cole. Been here plenty before, bringing surplus from my fields and picking up supplies." He jerked a thumb toward Lucian. "And this boy's with me. Found him on the road, half-dead. Says his village was burned."
The guard squinted at Lucian, noticing his bruises and ragged clothes. "A refugee? We've heard rumors of trouble up north." His voice carried a skeptical edge.
Lucian forced himself to meet the man's gaze, though he kept his posture meek. "I—my home was destroyed. I have no place else."
The guard's expression wavered between sympathy and suspicion. He gestured at another guard, a broad-shouldered woman stationed by the gate. She joined them, brow furrowing as she looked Lucian up and down. "Lots of displaced folks drifting in. Some are trouble."
Elin interjected quietly, "He's harmless. Just a child."
The broad-shouldered guard nodded slowly. "A child can still be a thief or spy, but he doesn't look like one. What's your name, boy?"
"Lucian," he replied, voice barely above a whisper.
"All right, Lucian," the guard said, relaxing her grip on her spear. "We'll not turn you away if you mean no harm. But don't stir up trouble. Do you understand?"
Relief blossomed in his chest, and he nodded fervently. "I won't. Thank you."
The wiry man stepped aside, letting them pass. Cole guided the cart through, pausing just beyond the gate to let others move around. "We'll be heading to the market square," Cole told Lucian. "From there, you're on your own. Understood?"
Lucian's stomach clenched. As much as he wanted to cling to that tiny shred of familiarity, he knew Cole had done more than enough by granting him a ride. "Yes, sir," he answered quietly.
The town's interior was a bustle of modest activity. Timber-framed houses flanked the main road, each sporting signs of wear—patchwork roofs, crooked shutters. Merchants hawked produce or simple wares from stalls. Chickens pecked at the ground near a blacksmith's workshop, where the clang of metal rang out. The smells—baked bread, manure, sweat—overwhelmed his senses, yet it felt impossibly welcoming compared to the terror he'd faced on the open road.
Cole navigated the cart along a narrower lane, eventually halting in a small square where farmers offloaded goods for trade. Elin hopped down first, turning to Lucian with a gentle look. "Will you be all right?"
He gazed around, uncertain. "I… I think so." The brand simmered again, a reminder that time was short. But the immediate threat of starvation was greater. "Thank you, Elin," he said earnestly.
She nodded. "Look for the mayor's building if you need official help," she offered. "It's that two-story place with the carved sign up ahead."
Cole was already unloading crates, paying Lucian little mind. The man had done his part, though, so Lucian harbored no resentment. Elin pressed a small piece of bread into his hand—another act of quiet kindness. Then she stepped back to help her father.
Lucian inhaled, steeling himself. Focus. Survive. The brand flickered, prompting him to move. He wove through the modest crowd, ignoring curious stares. His bruised arms and battered clothing marked him as a refugee, nothing more.
Before long, the adrenaline of passing the gate wore off, replaced by throbbing hunger and fatigue. The piece of bread Elin had given him staved off the worst pangs, but it wouldn't sustain him long. He needed a place to rest, possibly more permanent than a barn loft or an alley.
He drifted toward a row of quieter shops, scanning for any sign that read "Healer" or "Inn." The brand's presence felt dull, overshadowed by the swirl of new sights: a fruit vendor calling out prices, a donkey braying at a water trough, a pair of children chasing each other with laughter. Life went on here, undisturbed by the horrors he had witnessed.
At the next corner, a shabby poster caught his eye. It depicted crude drawings of hooded figures, accompanied by dire warnings about a "rising cult threat." His pulse sped. So the rumors were well-known, and the town was on alert. Tearing his gaze from the poster, he shook off the creeping fear and kept walking.
Around another bend, he spied an older man dressed in stained aprons, possibly a butcher or cook. The man stirred a cauldron near a shop's entrance, the aroma making Lucian's mouth water. Emboldened by hunger, he approached, though caution tempered his steps. "Excuse me, sir," he ventured.
The man paused, ladle in hand. "What do you want, boy?"
"Is there… a place to rest here? An inn or shelter?"
The man eyed him up and down. "Inn's yonder, a block south, but you got coin?"
Lucian shook his head, throat tight. "No."
A grunt of dismissal escaped the man's lips. "Then the inn won't do you any good. You might try the mayor's office or the town guard. Sometimes they help vagrants or refugees."
Disappointment stung, but Lucian mumbled thanks and drifted away. He recalled Elin's words about the mayor's building. Perhaps that was his best chance—though the thought of explaining himself to official types twisted his stomach. Still, it outclassed sleeping in an alley. With a resigned sigh, he headed in that direction, ignoring the curious glances from passersby.
The mayor's building stood out as a slightly taller structure, its timbers freshly painted compared to the surrounding shops. A carved plaque depicting a crest of wheat and a river hung by the entrance. Two guards stood at the door, each leaning on a short spear, expressions bored rather than hostile.
Lucian approached cautiously. One guard straightened. "Something you need?"
He swallowed. "I… was told to come here for help. I've nowhere else to go. My village was destroyed."
The guard exchanged looks with his companion, then motioned for Lucian to follow. "Inside, speak to the clerk."
Stepping into the main hall, Lucian found himself in a room lined with shelves of ledgers and wooden benches. A bespectacled woman sorted papers behind a wide desk. She peered at him over the rims of her glasses, brows creasing in mild concern.
"Another refugee?" she asked gently.
Lucian nodded, clearing his dry throat. "I—I'm alone, miss. My home was destroyed by… robed attackers."
A flicker of alarm crossed her face. She placed her quill down. "I see. We've had a few such reports. Sit, please. I'll see if the mayor or his aide can spare a moment."
Grateful, he sank onto a bench near the desk. He pressed a hand against his ribs, feeling the brand stir with unsettled energy. Not now, he pleaded silently. Calm down.
Minutes ticked by. The clerk vanished into a back room, leaving Lucian to observe the sparse furnishings: a map pinned to the wall, marking hamlets and roads around the town. He spotted an "X" scrawled over an area to the north, perhaps indicating destroyed villages. His stomach knotted. That must be my home.
When the clerk reappeared, she was accompanied by a middle-aged man with thinning hair and keen eyes. "This is Gareth," she introduced. "He handles relief for the displaced."
Gareth extended a hand in a half-welcoming gesture. "You're quite young to be wandering alone. What's your name?"
"Lucian," he said, standing.
"Well, Lucian," Gareth replied, "we can't promise much, but we won't leave you on the streets. Are you injured?"
Lucian lowered his gaze. "Just bruises and… I'm hungry." He felt a pang of shame at admitting such vulnerability, but it was unavoidable.
Gareth's expression softened. "We'll arrange a meal. If you're truly homeless, we might direct you to a temporary shelter or see if any family in town might foster you. But times are hard."
Relief mingled with uncertainty, flooding Lucian's chest. He offered a small bow. "Thank you, sir."
The brand's warmth ebbed, as if momentarily soothed by the prospect of shelter. Yet Lucian's mind clung to a thread of caution. He still carried secrets—terrible secrets—about the cult, about his strange rebirth in a child's body, and the glowing rune etched into his flesh. For now, though, survival took priority.
Gareth guided him into a side chamber, where a modest table held a jug of water and some bread. Lucian's hands shook as he accepted a cup. "Eat," Gareth instructed gently. "Then we'll discuss next steps."
Lucian obeyed, swallowing each bite with a mix of relief and lingering dread. He had reached the gates, found basic aid, and defied the exhaustion and terror nipping at his heels. For a fleeting moment, he almost believed he could rest.
Yet he knew deep down that the cult wasn't finished. The brand on his abdomen confirmed it with every soft pulse. Though he had stepped through the threshold of Norick's walls, danger loomed, just out of sight. In the hush of the mayor's hall, Lucian sipped water and braced himself for whatever trials lay ahead.