The trees stood in silence, brittle and bare.
His feet pressed against the damp earth as he moved forward. The robe draped across his shoulders absorbed the morning dew. He walked without haste, without care, eyes forward, unreadable.
Past the forest's edge, the village stirred. Smoke rose from chimneys, carts shifted over cobblestone, and the distant chime of bells echoed against the hills. He didn't slow as he stepped onto the main road—no hesitation, no interest. Only motion.
The buildings here were worn but alive. Paint chipped, stone faded, but the people moved with the certainty of routine. He passed through unnoticed.
Almost.
"It's quiet today," Kraft said.
He wasn't wrong. Morning mist still clung to the cobbled paths, and the usual noise of carts and vendors was absent. Only the distant hum of mana lamps and the rustling leaves overhead marked the hour. It was the kind of quiet that made you feel like the world was waiting for something.
Lindsay didn't respond. Her amber eyes swept over the street, as if searching for whatever might break that silence.
The two officers moved side by side, boots tapping rhythmically against stone. They were stationed in one of the outer villages near the capital—an assignment neither glamorous nor dull. Crime was rare. Disturbances even rarer.
Which made the presence of the figure in the distance feel... off.
He emerged from the treeline as if he belonged to it—hood draped over his shoulders, robe trailing, face uncovered, but strangely unreadable. He walked through the main street with an odd certainty, passing others without so much as a glance.
Kraft narrowed his eyes. "You recognize him?"
"No," Lindsay replied quietly. "He's not local."
They kept their pace, trailing just far enough not to be noticed—or so they thought.
The figure turned a corner and entered a small provision shop. He didn't run. Didn't act suspicious. Just walked in, grabbed what he needed, and walked out.
Lindsay narrowed her eyes. "He didn't pay."
"You saw that?" Kraft asked.
"No." Her hand hovered near the small charm at her side. "I felt it."
They trailed him a little longer.
The strange boy moved with intent, but not urgency. Lindsay finally stepped forward and called out.
"Hey. You."
He stopped. Slowly turned.
He was younger than expected—barely a teenager, maybe thirteen at most. His eyes, however, didn't match the age. Cold. Detached. Not hostile, not frightened—just distant, like the world didn't concern him.
She approached, measured, cautious. "Name?"
Silence.
"Where are you from?"
Nothing.
Kraft stepped forward, tension rising. Lindsay put a hand in front of him, not turning.
One question. "How old are you?"
He looked at her. Really looked. Then, after a moment, he answered.
"Thirteen."
It was the only thing he said.
Then he turned and walked away, vanishing back the way he came.
Kraft clenched his fists. "We're just going to let him go?"
Lindsay didn't answer immediately. Her gaze lingered on the path the boy had taken, the faint chill he left in the air.
"He's not someone we're meant to stop."
Kraft looked at her. "What did you see?"
She shook her head. "Nothing I can explain."
They stood there for a moment longer. Then turned and resumed their patrol, saying nothing more.
The boy returned to the forest alone.
The village faded behind him, unseen and forgotten. No one followed.
Only the trees kept his secrets.