The first thing Ethan felt when his eyes peeled open was the sharp sting in his foot. A raw, pulsing ache shot up his leg, the memory of the storm and twisted terrain returning like a cruel reminder. He hissed under his breath, forcing himself upright. His head throbbed, vision still blurred at the edges, and for a moment he didn't know where he was.
When his sight cleared, his wounds were wrapped,not perfectly, but good enough that he could rewrap and fix them later.
Ethan blinked, dazed. Then panic flared through his chest.
"Theo?" he called, sitting up too quickly, his pulse racing. His gaze darted through the clearing. "Theodore?"
Silence answered him at first. Ethan scrambled halfway upright, ignoring the sting in his foot. His heart pounded as his breath quickened, until he finally caught sight of movement.
Theo appeared from between the trees, in his left hand he had a branch that almost looked like a sword. Relief washed over Ethan, stronger than he wanted to admit. He sat back with a shaky exhale, running a hand down his face.
"Kid, you nearly scared the life out of me," Ethan muttered, voice low.
And then Theo pointed off toward the trees. "There's a stream not far. Real fish, too. I saw them jumping! Maybe we can catch some."
Relief washed over Ethan so suddenly it left him dizzy again. He crouched and ruffled the boy's hair. "Good work, kid."
Theo's eyes brightened at the praise,
Back in Elmsworth, the great iron bell tolled across the rooftops. Its deep, booming voice carried through windows, jolting the village awake. Curtains shifted, doors cracked open, voices murmured in confusion. Children peeked out, mothers hushed them, men pulled boots on hastily.
"What's going on?"
"Emergency, that's what it means…"
"God help us."
The villagers poured into the square, one by one, until a restless crowd filled the cobbled center.
At the heart of it, Theodore's mother stood pale and frantic, wringing her hands. She spoke, trembling but strong, recounting everything: how Theo never returned home, how she had searched the riverbank, how she'd called his name into the night until her throat broke. Then she told them of Ethan and how he offered to help me find him. He left that night. Neither of them have returned."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
A heavy silence followed.
"They're missing," she finished, voice breaking.
Gasps and disbelief spread through the crowd. Some faces hardened with concern, others whispered with suspicion.
"This isn't the time for gossip!" Theo's mother suddenly snapped when a voice muttered about Ethan. Her fury cut the square quiet. "Two lives are at stake. My boy, and Ethan Lowe. And he, he cared enough to go after my son when no one else did. So keep your foolish rumors to yourselves."
Hana, near the edge, lifted her chin. "She's right."
Another villager raised his voice, rough and decisive: "We need a search party. Strong men. Now."
Theo's mother nodded fiercely. "That's what Ethan said if they weren't back after the storm, we were to form a party."
A villager scoffed. "Why didn't you call us sooner?"
Tears welled in her eyes. "I tried. But the storm… no one could hear. And Ethan didn't want to risk more lives in the dark."
The square buzzed with anxious murmurs. Hana's hands twisted around her apron, her breath shallow. Two names echoed on every lip: Ethan and Theodore.
Into the woods the sting came again in Ethan's foot, sharper now that he was moving across the uneven forest floor. He winced but didn't stop, every step reminding him of its weakness. The pain was a constant, gnawing reminder that survival would not come easy.
He slowed just enough to glance at Theo, who skipped ahead, plucking berries from a bush. The boy's small fingers stained purple, his mouth sweetened by the fruit.
"Theo," Ethan called, his voice firm. "Where'd you get those?"
The boy looked back, cheeks puffed with berries. "Over here. They're good."
Ethan's tone sharpened. "Don't eat them. Could be dangerous." He stepped closer, worry cutting into his expression. "and where did you get these bandages?"
Theo blinked, then dug into his small pack with an innocent sort of pride. He pulled out a weathered, leather-bound book. Its cover was faded, the corners bent, but the words Field Guide to Fruits, Roots, and Remedies were still etched into it. Alongside it, strips of old cloth folded neatly.
"It was my grandfather's," Theo explained, placing the book in Ethan's hands. "He always said it would help me one day. It shows what you can eat, what will hurt you. And how to make medicine."
Ethan flipped through the pages, pausing at sketches of leaves, diagrams of berries, survival tips scribbled in margins. His brow softened, curiosity breaking through the tension. "This… this is cool," he murmured, almost to himself. Then louder: "Your grandfather… he was smart."
Theo's chest puffed slightly, proud of the inheritance.
"Come on," Ethan said after a moment, closing the book carefully. "Let's keep moving, we need to get there before dark out". We'll need water if we're going to last out here."
The forest stretched wide before them as they walked, shafts of sunlight breaking through the canopy. Theo swung the stick he'd picked up like a sword, humming a tune under his breath. Ethan limped alongside, his patience tested but softened by the boy's presence.
"You're quiet," Theo said suddenly, eyes narrowing up at Ethan. "Why do some people hate you?"
The question hit like a stone. Ethan froze mid-step, his jaw tightening. He hadn't expected that, not here, not now. For a moment, silence pressed between them, only the wind filling the gap.
"They don't hate me," Ethan answered finally, voice low but steady. "They're just… unhappy with themselves. And they need someone to blame."
Theo studied him for a long while, then nodded, as if that explanation settled something inside him. Ethan offered a faint smile, though the heaviness of truth lingered.
Back in the village men from every trade stepped forward: carpenters, smiths, depot workers, doctors. Orders flew, names were called, ropes and lanterns gathered. The village square became a storm of preparation.
Jonas stepped forward too, his voice loud. "I'll help." His eyes flicked toward Hana, standing at the edge of the crowd.
Later, when the party assembled at the forest edge, Jonas lingered near her. "Don't worry, Hana. I'll find him. I'll find them both."
Hana crossed her arms, unimpressed but Greatful. "This It about saving lives, nothing else."she said.
Mira smirked from the side. "ironic, she sees through you, Jonas. Always has."
Jonas bristled, muttering under his breath as he turned away.
The search began and soon after an argument flared.
"You're leading us in circles!" Jonas barked at the man who was leading them.
"Well lead us better then letter boy" the man exclaimed.
"Both of you shut it," another growled. "This is no time for ego."
Yet the tension simmered, threatening to unravel the group.
The men's voices had risen sharp and cutting, clashing in the shadows of the forest path. Jonas stood stiff, his jaw tight, while two of the older men muttered under their breath about wasted time.
"Enough," one finally said, shaking his head. "Arguing won't bring the boy back any faster. Save your tempers for when we've got something real to fight."
The group fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the crunch of leaves beneath their boots. Jonas exhaled sharply.
"Fine," he muttered, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Let's just keep moving."
The others exchanged weary looks but said nothing more. The line of men shifted forward again, their footsteps carrying them deeper into the forest. Though tension still lingered in the air, it softened with every step, replaced by the steady rhythm of their search.