The morning sun peeked over the rugged cliffs of Emberfall, bathing the village in a warm, golden glow. Kieran groaned, shielding his eyes from the light as he lay sprawled on the roof of the tavern, his favorite napping spot. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafted from the kitchen below, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since yesterday.
"Oi! Lazy bones!" a gruff voice called from the street. Kieran cracked one eye open to see Old Bronn, the village blacksmith, squinting up at him. "You gonna fix that fence today or just keep snoozing?" Bronn barked, hands on his hips.
Kieran stretched, yawning loudly. "Didn't it hold up just fine through the last storm?" Bronn scowled. "Yeah, until your mutt decided it was a chew toy. Get your sword-swinging self down here and make yourself useful."
Reluctantly, Kieran hopped down, landing with a practiced ease. His mutt, Rag, a scruffy, one-eyed hound, bounded over, wagging his tail and gnawing on a splintered plank. Kieran gave the dog an unimpressed look. "Real helpful, Rag," he muttered, ruffling the dog's fur.
As he hauled planks and hammered nails back into place, villagers passed by, offering greetings and gossip. Mira, the tavern owner's daughter, dropped off a jug of water and grinned. "Thought mighty Kieran would be out slaying monsters, not fences," she teased. He shot her a lazy smirk. "Monsters don't pay in stew and ale."
The day wore on with more chores and more grumbling. Kieran couldn't help but feel restless—like something big was just out of reach, waiting to happen. For now, though, life was simple. Fixing fences, teasing Mira, and making sure Rag didn't eat anything too questionable.
As the sun dipped low, Kieran leaned against the newly repaired fence, wiping sweat from his brow. Rag sprawled at his feet, snoring. It wasn't glamorous, but it was home. He wondered how long he could keep this peace before his restless spirit drove him back to the road.
Little did he know, shadows were already creeping closer to Emberfall.