Alph's stomach gave another protesting gurgle. "An emergency? Did your grandpa say what it was about?"
Emil shook his head, his breath misting in the rapidly cooling air. "No, just that everyone had to come. Quick!"
"Alright, alright, I'm coming." Alph grabbed his thickest woolen cloak from the peg by the door. "Will there be food at the hall? I missed lunch." His research had completely consumed him.
"Grandpa has prepared turnip stew," Emil replied, already turning to lead the way.
The two boys stepped out into the growing twilight. A fresh blanket of snow had fallen during the afternoon, muffling the usual village sounds and casting a soft, ethereal glow over Oakhaven. Halfway to the central square, they saw two figures emerge from a nearby cottage, a lantern swinging between them. It was Kael, bundled up against the chill, and a taller, broader young man who bore a strong resemblance to him.
"Alph! Emil! You heading to the meeting?" Kael called out, his voice clear in the still air.
"Yeah, apparently grandpa Hemlock sent for everyone," Alph answered as they crunched through the snow to join them.
"This must be serious," said Leif, Kael's older brother. He towered over them, his shoulders broad from years of hauling goods at Torsten's trading post. "Elder Hemlock never calls everyone unless there's trouble."
"Speaking of trouble," Alph said, falling into step beside Leif, "I've been wondering about your Awakening. That was what, six years ago?"
Leif's expression darkened slightly. "Yeah. Not much to tell. I stood there like everyone else, but nothing happened." He kicked at the snow. "Elder Hemlock said I couldn't 'resonate with nature' properly. Whatever that means."
"That's why he's apprenticing with uncle Torsten instead of chopping wood like father," Kael added, then winced when Leif cuffed him lightly on the shoulder.
"Trading suits me better anyway," Leif said. "Not everyone needs to commune with trees or track animals through snow. Someone's got to keep this village supplied."
The group trudged onward, their boots crunching through fresh powder. Alph's mind raced with new questions. If Leif couldn't "resonate with nature," did that mean the Awakening Ceremony only revealed nature-oriented Professions? His research suggested seven distinct Professions across different regions, but perhaps Oakhaven's ceremony was limited by its druidic traditions. What if his talents lay elsewhere? Would he, too, be deemed a failure?
***
The meeting hall loomed before them, its dark timber frame silhouetted against the deepening twilight. The massive oak entrance yielded beneath Alph's push, releasing a wave of heat that enveloped him instantly. His cheeks prickled at the sudden contrast from the sharp outdoor chill. Woodsmoke mingled with simmering herbs in the air, and the rich aroma of bubbling stew wafted through the hall, wrapping around him like an invisible embrace.
Inside, the space was transformed from its usual emptiness. Villagers filtered in from all directions, their voices creating a low, anxious hum that bounced off the timber beams overhead. Dozens of candles and oil lamps had been lit, casting long shadows across the woven tapestries that adorned the walls. The large hearth blazed with fresh logs, and beside it sat an enormous iron pot, steam rising in lazy curls from its contents.
Alph's eyes were drawn to the stone slab table at the center, where Old Man Hemlock stood in deep conversation with Borin and Aunt Elara. The three adults spoke in hushed tones, their faces grave in the flickering light. Hemlock's silver hair gleamed like polished metal, and the deep lines of his face seemed more pronounced than usual.
"There's the stew," Alph muttered, his empty stomach making its presence known again. He made a beeline for the hearth, where Astrid's mother, Hilda, was ladling the thick, fragrant mixture into wooden bowls for the arriving villagers.
"Evening, aunt Hilda," Alph said, trying to sound casual despite his gnawing hunger. "Could I trouble you for some of that stew? I've been, uh, studying all day and forgot to eat."
Hilda smiled warmly at him, her round face flushed from the heat of the fire. "Of course, dear. Growing boys need their strength, especially with that mind of yours working overtime on those dusty tomes." She filled a bowl to the brim with the steaming stew, chunks of turnip, potato, and wild herbs visible in the thick broth. "Here you go. Eat up now."
"Thanks," Alph said gratefully, accepting the bowl and a wooden spoon. He spotted Kael waving from a corner of the hall where he, Emil, and Astrid had claimed a small space on one of the benches. Carefully balancing his precious meal, Alph made his way over to them.
"What do you think this is all about?" Astrid whispered as Alph settled beside her, immediately diving into his stew. The first spoonful was heaven – hearty, savory, and wonderfully hot.
"No idea," Kael replied, his eyes darting to where the adults continued their serious discussion. "Look at uncle Borin's face – something's happened."
Alph swallowed a mouthful of stew, savoring the warmth spreading through his body. "It might have something to do with those poachers Finn mentioned. The ones who nearly shot him."
Emil nodded vigorously. "Grandpa was really worried when uncle Borin came back. I heard him tell sister Elara to prepare extra healing salves."
"Healing salves?" Astrid's voice rose slightly before she caught herself. "You don't think there's going to be fighting, do you?"
Alph took another spoonful, considering. "If there are armed men in our woods, close enough to nearly hit Finn with an arrow... that's not just a few desperate hunters passing through."
Leif squeezed onto the bench beside them, his leather merchant's vest still dusted with snow. "At the market, Baron Ashworth's men paced the stalls, whispering warnings about bandits prowling the southern trade routes. Those same outlaws might've crept up here, away from his patrols."
The hall continued to fill as more villagers arrived, stamping snow from their boots and shedding heavy outer layers. The anxious murmuring grew louder, punctuated by occasional nervous laughter as neighbors greeted each other, everyone trying to mask their concern with forced normalcy.
Alph scraped the last bits of stew from his bowl just as Hemlock moved to the center of the room. The old druid raised his gnarled hands, and a hush fell over the gathering. Even the crackling fire seemed to quiet in deference to the village elder.
"Friends, neighbors," Hemlock began, his voice surprisingly strong despite his years. "I've called you here because a situation has arisen that concerns us all."
Alph set his empty bowl aside, his full attention now on the druid. He noticed Aunt Elara's expression – a mixture of concern and determination that made his stomach tighten despite its newfound fullness. Borin stood like a statue beside Hemlock, his weathered face set in grim lines.
"Earlier today," Hemlock continued, "Borin encountered a group of armed men camped in our southern woods. They claim to be mercenaries passing through, but their numbers and positioning suggest otherwise."
A collective intake of breath rippled through the hall. Alph glanced at his friends, seeing his own apprehension mirrored in their faces. Whatever was happening in their peaceful mountain village, it was clear that their lives were about to change.