Night had fallen, wrapping the camp in a heavy, uneasy silence. No one spoke, no one even seemed willing to listen. The villagers huddled inside what remained of the bandits' tents, their faces pale and hollow, chasing scraps of warmth from a dying fire someone kept feeding just enough to keep alive. Children clung to their mothers, eyes wide open, but not a sound left their lips.
Doyle lay in the former leader's tent, breath ragged yet steady beneath layers of blood stained bandages. I sat at his side, sleep refusing to come. My hands wouldn't stop trembling not that it mattered whether it was from cold or nerves. Mnex offered the occasional whisper, a half hearted attempt at comfort, but even the AI seemed at a loss this time.
Every time my eyelids drooped, Doyle's broken body flashed behind them, jolting me awake again. A part of me hated myself for not finding another way, for letting it come to this. Mnex tried to soothe me, murmuring, "He doesn't blame you. You're alive, that's what counts," but it barely touched the knot in my chest.
When dawn finally crept over the horizon, exhaustion still clung to me like a second skin. People were already gathering what little they had, charred cloth, half empty sacks of food, a handful of tools. It wasn't much, but maybe it was enough to build the first stones of a new beginning.
We were twenty seven souls in total, mostly women and children, plus two elderly villagers. I couldn't help wondering why the bandits had kept them alive. Mnex and I had the same guess, there was no profit in selling old bones as slaves, only more mouths to feed. Their survival wasn't a bad thing, though. In fact, I was grateful, honestly. Doyle couldn't ride anymore, and they were the ones keeping him alive.
We laid him in a wagon, and I kept my horse close, fingers loose on the reins. I didn't know the way back; Doyle was our guide, but with him out cold, Mnex had to steer us instead. We retraced the same narrow trail we had used to come here.
For the first few hours, no one spoke. Only the creaking of wooden wheels and the heavy breath of tired horses filled the air. Fear clung to the group like a second shadow. Everyone carried it, everyone remembered, and no one would forget soon.
Days blurred together. The journey was slow but steady, a fragile rhythm of survival. Once, a child let out a small laugh, startled by his own voice breaking the silence. The old man driving Doyle's wagon turned his head toward me then, his gaze sharp despite the weariness lining his face.
"You must be wondering why we were spared," he said quietly. His wife looked up too, her timeworn face holding a faint, unbroken spark.
I didn't answer, but my silence was enough. We both knew the bandits weren't known for mercy.
"They wanted to use us," the old man continued. "I can read, write, and keep numbers straight. My wife knows herbs, what to press on a wound, what can stop bleeding. Those skills were worth more than our lives." A bitter chuckle escaped him. "A tool that still works isn't thrown away."
I lowered my gaze and nodded. "No one's going to use you like that again," I said. "Not while you're with me."
And for a moment, the promise almost felt real.
When the stone walls of Godfrey's Cross finally rose on the horizon, the tightness in my chest began to loosen. Seeing the city's silhouette after what felt like a lifetime on the road was like tasting hope for the first time in days. I was going home. My family was there. Just the thought of seeing their faces again felt like a gift from the heavens.
The closer we got, the more the wagons seemed to pick up speed, as if everyone sensed safety ahead. The wheels rattled on uneven dirt, pushing forward toward salvation.
At the gates, the guards first peeked out lazily, then snapped to attention when they recognized me. Their eyes widened in shock before they straightened, bowing low in unison.
"Young lord!" one of them called, his voice carrying both surprise and relief. "Open the gates! The young lord Godfrey has returned!"
The villagers stared, stunned. To them, I had been just another survivor, a strange boy with a few tricks up his sleeve. Watching the soldiers bend the knee unsettled them, as if they were seeing me for the first time. A few children whispered, "Young lord?" One woman gave me a look I couldn't quite read half awe, half something else.
"Don't get excited," Mnex piped up in my head, ever the buzzkill. "You're still a snot nosed seven year old, not a knight in shining armor."
I nudged my horse forward, voice steady as I barked an order.
"Get Doyle to a healer immediately. Use potions, use whatever it takes. I'll cover the cost just make sure he lives."
The soldiers didn't hesitate, rushing to lift Doyle's battered body from the wagon. I gave them a quick nod of thanks, a little of the weight on my shoulders easing.
"I need to make sure the villagers get inside safely," I said, my tone a razor thin line between command and plea. "Once they're taken care of, I'll check on Doyle."
The wagons rolled on through the gates, wheels clattering on smooth stone now. The villagers still stared, not in fear anymore but in stunned curiosity. For me, their looks didn't matter.
"Well," Mnex drawled, smug as ever, "you should admit it. You live for these adoring stares. Don't be shy, bask in the glory."
I ignored him, but couldn't stop the faint smirk tugging at my lips. Damn AI couldn't let a serious moment stay serious if its life depended on it.
The gate groaned open, and Gareth came sprinting out, his face a mixture of shock and relief.
"Young lord…" he said, bowing quickly. "We weren't expecting you for at least another two weeks at best."
I straightened in the saddle, tired but determined. "Things got complicated on the road," I said. "I'll explain later. Where's Lord Father?"
Gareth hesitated, his gaze darting away, the tension in his shoulders betraying more than his words. "Ah… well, things have gotten a little complicated here as well," he said carefully. "But in a good way, young lord. The Count isn't home at the moment. Perhaps you should speak with Lady Adelaide first, she'll explain everything."
A knot of unease formed in my gut. "What happened?"
"I'm not the one to say," Gareth replied, voice respectful but firm. "My lady will tell you what you need to know."
Mnex sighed theatrically in my head.
"Perfect. You come home half dead, your dad's gone, and even the servants are acting like you're part of a family mystery novel. Truly heartwarming."
I stayed quiet, but the unease gnawed deeper. Whatever this was, it wasn't small. We walked toward the mansion in silence, the villagers trailing behind. At the courtyard, I left the villagers and made my way inside.
The mansion was too quiet. No cheers, no warm welcome, just clean halls filled with morning light and silence.
Mnex couldn't resist another jab.
"Relax. Your grandfather's probably still alive. Your siblings too. Your parents… maybe. I mean, there's always a chance Grandpa finally kicked the bucket, but hey, who's counting?"
Not the time, Mnex.
Gareth stopped at a door and knocked softly before opening it. Inside, my mother stood by the window, her figure framed by sunlight. Agatha was beside her, calm as always, holding Beth. Roderic sat perched on a chair, playing with a wooden toy.
When the door opened, my mother's eyes landed on me. There was a flicker of relief, exhaustion, and something else in her gaze like she had a thousand words to say but couldn't choose which one to speak first.
Gareth bowed low. "My lady, the young lord has returned."
Roderic lit up like a lantern. "Henwy!" he shouted, launching himself at me. His small arms wrapped around my neck, banishing days of fatigue in an instant.
Mother finally moved, closing the distance quickly, her fingers brushing my hair before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Henry," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm so glad you're home."
I held her hands tightly, but worry gnawed at me. "Where's Father? Gareth wouldn't tell me."
Mother glanced at Agatha, who dipped her head slightly. Beth stayed quiet in her arms. Taking a deep breath, my mother met my eyes. "Good news, Henry. Some mountain villagers may have found gold. It could be a real vein."
Roderic nearly bounced out of his chair. "Henwy, they found gowd! We'we wich!"
I laughed, ruffling his hair. "We're already rich, you little rascal."
But Mother's brow stayed furrowed. "Your father left immediately. If it's a true find, wealth isn't the only thing it brings. Gold draws vultures, nobles, mercenaries, merchants, and worse. Even the King's tax collectors might double their demands."
Mnex snickered darkly.
"Oh, gold? Wonderful. More money, more problems. A Godfrey family tradition, really. Guess which category you fall under: opportunity or curse?"
Roderic tilted his head innocently. "But gowd makes evewything bettew, wight? No one will be poow anymowe!"
I forced a smile, but unease coiled in my stomach. "If only it worked that way, Rod. Gold… usually brings more enemies than friends."
Mother nodded, her gaze grave. "Your father took Theo and a few trusted men, but news like this spreads fast. If the wrong ears hear…"
Straightening my back, I felt resolve settle over me. "I'll go and see for myself," I said. All eyes turned to me. "I came up with a new spell during the hunt. If there's really a gold vein, I can tell how big it is and whether it's worth the risk."
Mother looked surprised, ready to argue, but then she stopped. She pressed her lips together, thinking, weighing my words.
Mnex muttered dryly, "A gold hunt, huh? Let's hope this one doesn't end in chains or arrows. But then again, this is the Godfrey life, chaos comes free with the surname."
Roderic glanced between us, hopeful eyes fixed on Mother. She finally sighed, nodding slowly. "Very well… but don't do this without telling your father. And promise me, Henry… be careful."
I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I will. I'll only take a look and come straight home."