Kieran sat on the small porch of his cabin, the cool wind carrying the scent of pine and earth. The village of Erven's Hollow was a quiet place, nestled deep in the valley where the mist always hung thick in the mornings. It was the kind of place that offered a brief reprieve from the chaos of the world—a chance to breathe, to heal.
His wounds were slowly mending, the bruises from his last encounter with the Failed One fading under the careful touch of herbal balms provided by the village healer. Kieran had been here for a few days now, though it felt like longer. The nights were peaceful, filled with the soothing sound of the river's slow current, and the days were quiet, allowing him to recover both physically and mentally.
However, peace was a rare companion for someone like him.
The villagers were kind but distant, their eyes lingering a moment too long when they passed him in the streets. It was as if they were afraid to truly see him, to acknowledge his presence fully. He didn't mind. He wasn't here for connection. He was here to rest, to gather strength for the next phase of his journey.
In the evenings, Kieran would sit by the river, letting the current calm his mind. The water's gentle flow seemed to whisper something to him, like a distant memory he couldn't quite grasp. His thoughts often turned to the fragments, to the danger that still lingered in the world, waiting for him to face it. But for now, he was content to let the worries drift away like the fallen leaves in the water.
That peace was short-lived.
On the third night, as the moon hung high above the valley, a soft rustling disturbed the stillness of the night. Kieran stood and peered into the mist, his eyes narrowing. It wasn't an animal; he was sure of that. There was something... watching him.
He could feel it.
With a practiced motion, Kieran reached for the hilt of his sword, but hesitated. No threat had shown itself yet. Perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him—he had been through so much lately, after all. The stress of constant battles and the weight of his past were enough to distort reality.
Still, the feeling lingered.
Kieran's mind flashed to the mysterious man he had encountered earlier in his journey. Could it be him again, watching from the shadows? Or was it something else? A more dangerous presence?
As he stood there, the mist parted slightly, and in the distance, Kieran could just make out a figure—a silhouette standing at the edge of the village. He couldn't make out details, but the shape was unmistakable. Someone was there. Someone waiting.
Kieran's instincts flared, but before he could move, the figure was gone—vanishing into the mist as silently as it had appeared.
With a deep breath, Kieran relaxed his grip on his sword. Whoever it was, they were no threat... yet. He couldn't help but feel a shiver of unease, though. He was not the only one watching, and it seemed that danger always followed him, even in this peaceful place.
As he returned to his cabin, Kieran couldn't shake the feeling that his rest was only temporary. The world had a way of pulling him back into the fray when he least expected it.
And so, he slept, but his dreams were not quiet. They were filled with shadows, whispers of things to come, of battles he would face, and enemies who would test him in ways he had yet to imagine.
Tomorrow, the weight would return.