Gray stirred from his nap, his body buried beneath the coarse fur blanket that clung to the scent of smoke and old wood. The aches in his limbs were still there, dull and persistent, like ghosts of the violence he had survived. The memory of the Pale Maw loomed behind his eyelids, scenes flickering in fragments: Calem slumped and motionless, blood spreading like a map across the floor, the monster's eyes glinting in the fog before it vanished. The memories came like a flood, but now, somehow, they felt distant.
The air in the room was warm but heavy. A slow-burning fire crackled softly in the hearth. For once, it was not the cold that kept him awake, but the tension coiled deep in his chest.
Earlier that morning, the group had sat together around the cracked dining table. Their breaths were visible, despite the heat. There had been little discussion, but they had agreed on one thing: they would prepare. The next three days would be spent training, recovering, and arming themselves for the trial that awaited.
Korr, his leg still splinted and swollen from the crash, had made it clear he would not be joining the fight.
"I'll stay here and make sure the place doesn't fall apart," he had muttered with a half-hearted grin, trying to mask the frustration in his eyes.
Lira, Gray, and Orrin had initially been chosen to form the strike group for the mission into the monster nest. But Adel, still pale and wrapped in bandages, had spoken up.
"I'm not some fragile child," she had said, her voice unwavering ."I can fight. And with my Affinity, I can help us move undetected in the mine."
Her Affinity was indeed mist, just how Renn predicted it. A subtle power. It allowed her to project a veil around herself, masking her presence like vapor curling into shadow. With enough concentration, she could extend that veil to those nearby.
Lira had been skeptical at first, her mouth set in a doubtful line. But even she had admitted it would help.
"Fine," Orrin had offered, glancing between them. "Then I'll stay behind. I'll guard the others."
The decision had been made. The next steps were clear.
Lira stood as the meeting ended. "I'm heading to the training grounds."
Gray had looked up. "Where is it?"
"Western side of the village," she had answered. "I found it this morning. You should train too."
He nodded. "Maybe after I visit Renn."
Now, back in the present, Gray slowly sat up, the fur slipping from his shoulders. The chill of the room pricked his skin despite the lingering warmth. His stomach rumbled. On the nearby table sat a bowl of soup, mostly cooled, and a piece of hard bread. He reached for the bowl, took a cautious sip, and grimaced.
"If I eat any more of this, I might die," he muttered dryly to no one in particular.
He dressed quickly, pulling a thick fur coat over his shoulders. As he stepped outside, the cold touched his face with familiar teeth. The sky was a flat grey, the sun hidden behind a curtain of clouds. Snow coated the village, but it was no longer untouched. Footprints and wagon trails crisscrossed the paths. Children ran along the streets, laughing and hurling snow at one another. Their joy was genuine.
But the adults looked at Gray differently.
Some glanced and quickly looked away. Others avoided his eyes entirely. A few turned and walked the opposite direction. They feared him, or perhaps resented him. He didn't care to guess.
He continued walking, heading for the forge.
The blacksmith's shop sat at the edge of the village, surrounded by stacks of firewood and barrels. Smoke billowed from the chimney in thick, dark waves. The clang of hammer against steel rang out in measured rhythm.
The blacksmith was younger than Gray had expected. Broad-shouldered with soot-stained skin and pale blue eyes. His long hair was tied back, and a leather apron was fastened over his chest. He worked with practiced ease, shaping metal like a sculptor shaping stone.
Gray stepped closer.
The blacksmith looked up. "You looking for the gear?" he asked, voice clear and direct, and also understandable.
'Still don't know how they speak my language...'
"I'm looking for Renn," Gray replied.
The blacksmith nodded toward the rear of the shop. "Back there. Under the mess."
Gray circled around the building. The remains of their truck rested under a wooden shelter. It had been moved here for some reason.The frame was dented, twisted in places. Parts had been removed or melted. The wheels were half-buried in ice.
A sound. A thump. Then a grunt.
Gray knelt beside the wreckage and called out. "Renn?"
A familiar voice responded. "Gray? Yeah, I'm good. More or less."
Gray frowned. "That's not convincing."
Renn slid out from beneath the chassis. His face and arms were streaked with grime, and his right arm hung in a sling. He looked tired, but not defeated.
"Truck's a mess," Renn admitted, wiping his hands on a rag. "Engine's toast. Frame's buckled. Fuel leaked out after the crash. There's not much left to salvage."
Gray crouched beside him. "But the villagers said they'd fix it."
Renn shrugged. "They did. The Kaan himself said it. Still, not sure what they're planning. I'm doing what I can."
Gray looked away for a moment. "You're doing good."
They remained quiet for a while until Renn spoke up again.
"Do you think Calem's group died because of us?"
Gray didn't hesitate to answer him. "No. They were killed, and we weren't. Thats what matters."
'Technically... it was their fault. They lured the Pale Maw, not us.' Gray mumbled quietly under hia breath, but Renn picked it up.
He then reached out and clasped Renn's shoulder.
"Keep going. I'll check in on you every once in a while, alright?"
Renn nodded quietly and went back to working.
Back at the front of the forge, the blacksmith was wrapping something in cloth.
"Your weapon's ready," he said. "Not your full set, but enough to get started."
Gray unwrapped the bundle. His katana had been reforged. The blade gleamed with fresh steel. The handle was wrapped in new leather, and the weight was familiar. Welcome.
He turned to grab the wristbands lying beside the forge, but his hand was stopped by the blacksmith.
"Don't touch that yet." His voice was stern, demanding.
Gray nodded in silent confusion. "Understood."
He slung the weapon over his back and headed home to drop it off.
The house was quiet. Korr was asleep. Adel was sitting by the fire, eyes closed in meditation. Lira was gone.
Gray left again, wandering through the winding alleys of the village. He passed narrow paths, closed doors, and silent gazes.
Eventually, he reached the western side.
The training ground was a flattened clearing bordered by wooden stakes. Snow had been cleared. A few guards practiced sparring with wooden blades. Others stood around, watching.
In the center, Lira fought.
She ducked under a swing, countered with a quick strike to her opponent's ribs, then twisted and sent him sprawling. Her movements were clean. Controlled.
The man groaned and pushed himself up.
Gray approached, calling out. "Not bad."
Lira turned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You want to try?"
Before Gray could respond, a larger man stepped forward. He had arms like tree trunks and a grin full of challenge.
"I'll fight him," the man declared.
Gray stretched his shoulders. "Alright."
The crowd stepped back.
Gray moved into stance, unarmed for now.
The man charged.
Their training had begun.