The early morning light filtered inside, resting faintly across the wooden floor and the edge of the bedroll.
Darrion shifted onto his back, his eyes fluttering once before opening.
He pushed himself up on his elbows, the fabric beneath him creasing as his weight shifted.
The space beside him was empty.
Erin was gone.
The place where the armor and sword had been left stood bare, the air there undisturbed.
A slow breath left his chest as he sat up fully, the stiffness in his shoulders pulling as he moved.
Where did they go…
He rose to his feet, the floor cool under his soles, and stepped toward the door.
The wood gave a quiet sound as he pushed it open, morning air brushing against his face as he moved outside.
He scanned the yard, his gaze moving slowly across the quiet space before his eyes caught sight of Erina near the back of the house.
She sat on a low rock with her sleeves rolled to her elbows, water darkening the fabric as she worked.
Damp cloth rested across her hands, and a shallow wooden basin sat at her feet, its surface rippling with each movement.
Darrion adjusted his stride and headed toward her, grass shifting softly under his steps.
The sound reached her before he did.
Erina lifted her head, fingers pausing against the wet fabric, and a small smile settled on her lips as she straightened slightly.
"Good morning, Sir Darrion," her voice carried easily in the cool air.
She brushed a strand of hair back from her face with the back of her wrist.
"You're an early riser, it seems."
Darrion stopped a short distance from her, his boots settling against the packed earth.
His gaze moved past her briefly, then returned, his jaw tightening as his arms came to rest at his sides.
"Have you seen my equipment?"
The words left him evenly, but his breath followed a fraction sharper, impatience pressing beneath the controlled tone.
Erina's fingers squeezed the damp cloth once more before she set it aside, water dripping back into the basin in a soft, uneven rhythm.
She tilted her head slightly, her smile turning light as she looked up at him.
"Oh, you mean that pile of scrap metal?"
Her shoulders lifted faintly as she spoke, the tease carried in the ease of her posture.
She nodded toward the path leading away from the house.
"My brother took it to his workshop. It's not far from here."
Darrion turned away without a word, his boots shifting against the ground as his shoulders angled toward the path leading away from the house.
Erina lifted her voice just enough to reach him, calm and unhurried.
"Wait."
She paused, watching his back, then gestured lightly toward the house with her chin.
"You can go to him later. For now… go ahead and eat breakfast. I made it earlier this morning."
Darrion paused mid-step, his back still turned.
His fingers curled once at his side before stilling, the leather of his glove tightening against his palm.
"And the witch?"
The words came out low and restrained, hanging briefly in the cool morning air.
Erina's eyes lifted to his back, the ease in her posture fading as her gaze tightened slightly.
She remained where she was, her voice steady as it carried across the space.
"I'm going to assume you mean Nora."
She gathered the damp clothes in her hands, twisting the fabric slowly until water ran down her fingers and darkened the ground beneath her feet.
"She's still asleep."
Her grip stayed firm, controlled.
"The journey she made before arriving here, and the strain of using her flames… it took more out of her than she lets on."
She stepped toward the line and hung the clothes one by one, the fabric pulling under its own weight as it settled.
Her hands moved with quiet precision.
"But I'm glad she did it."
Her palms smoothed a sleeve flat before moving to the next.
"She did it for the sake of our village. She saved all of us."
Erina lifted her gaze, a small smile forming as the cloth stirred lightly in the morning air.
"And now… we can rebuild."
Darrion's gaze moved across the clearing.
Men passed through the morning light with bundles of wood balanced against their shoulders, boots pressing into the damp ground as they returned from the forest.
Others worked closer to the damaged structures, axes rising and falling in steady rhythms as fresh cuts split the air.
Chips scattered at their feet, the scent of raw timber mixing with the cool breeze, the sound of rebuilding settling into a quiet, persistent cadence.
Darrion paused where he stood, the morning air brushing against his face.
He turned slightly toward Erina and inclined his head, the movement brief and restrained.
"Thank you for the meal."
Without waiting, he stepped away, boots pressing into the packed earth as he moved toward the side of the house.
After a short while, he crouched near the wash area outside, cool water running over his hands and face as he bent forward.
The chill pulled a slow breath from his chest.
He straightened, wiped the remaining moisture away with the back of his hand, then set off down the path toward Erin's workshop, his stride steady as the sounds of rebuilding faded behind him.
As he drew closer, warmth pressed against his skin, seeping out from within the workshop.
Each strike of hammer against metal rang through the air in steady intervals, the sharp echoes carrying past the doorway.
He pushed the door open, heat rolling out to meet him.
Erin stood inside with sweat clinging to his skin, a white tank-top tunic darkened along the chest and back.
A headband was tied tight around his head, holding his hair back as his arms rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
The hammer struck the heated metal on the anvil, each impact ringing sharply through the space.
Erin gripped the piece with tongs, turned it once, then fed it back into the forge.
Burnt wood and charcoal glowed beneath, sending up waves of heat that thickened the air.
After a moment, he drew the metal out again and brought the hammer down, shoulders flexing with each strike.
When he was satisfied, he lowered the piece into a trough of water.
A hiss followed as bubbles surged to the surface and burst rapidly.
Steam curled upward, briefly obscuring his hands.
Erin straightened and drew in a deep breath, his chest rising slowly.
He lifted the back of his hand and wiped the sweat from his cheek, then steadied himself beside the anvil as the last of the water's movement settled.
Erin turned, already still from his work, his hands lowering as he noticed Darrion near the doorway.
Heat hung around him, sweat beading along his temple as he set the hammer aside and straightened.
"Oh… Mr. Knight."
He adjusted his grip on the tongs before letting them rest against the anvil.
"What brings you here?"
Darrion's gaze moved briefly across the workshop before returning to Erin, his posture rigid, shoulders squared.
"I came here for my equipment."
His jaw set as the words left him, his eyes holding steady on Erin.
"The ones you took."
Erin followed Darrion's line of sight, then lifted his arm and pointed toward a wooden box resting in the corner of the workshop, its edges darkened and scuffed.
"Oh, you mean that scrap metal?"
Darrion's arms crossed over his chest, leather shifting as he settled into the stance.
A slow breath left him through his nose, his gaze fixed forward.
The thought passed through him without expression—no different from his sister. The bluntness clearly ran in the family.
Erin stepped closer to the box, crouching slightly as he rested a hand on its rim.
The scent of heated iron still clung to the air around him.
"I was planning on checking them," he continued, straightening again.
"They were badly damaged during your fight with that arch fiend the other day."
"What do you mean by checking it out?"
Darrion's question came evenly, carried by a steady breath as his eyes returned to Erin, waiting.
Erin straightened slightly, shoulders rolling back as he faced Darrion.
One hand lifted to the back of his head, fingers rubbing against damp hair beneath the headband.
A grin spread across his face, easy and unguarded, as he let out a short breath.
"I may not look it, but I'm a blacksmith."
Darrion looked him over once, then let his gaze settle.
"Right…"
The pause that followed carried the doubt.
Erin shifted closer to the box and lifted Darrion's chestplate into his hands, turning it slightly as his eyes traced the cracks and dents along the surface.
"Well… my father used to be a blacksmith. He also worked as a lumberjack."
His fingers pressed along the damaged edge, testing it with care.
"He passed those skills down to his only son. Me."
The plate lowered a little as his hands stilled.
"One day, while traveling in the mountains," he continued, his grip tightening just slightly, "he lost his life in a rockslide."
"…I see."
After a moment, Darrion inclined his head just enough to be noticed.
"My condolences."
The words were restrained, formal, and brief—offered without softness, but without cruelty—before the silence settled again between the two men.
Erin set the chestplate back into the box, the metal settling with a dull sound.
A small smile crossed his face, brief and practiced.
"None needed. We get by just fine without him."
He straightened and rested his hands at his sides.
"My sister sells fruit and vegetables from our small farm. I work here."
His gaze lowered toward the floor for a moment.
"Even though he passed his skill to me, I only make simple things. Knives. Forks. Shoes. Machetes for the villagers."
The pause stretched, the heat of the workshop pressing in.
"No one here needs armor," he continued.
"No one even wants it."
His shoulders eased downward as the words left him.
"People rarely pass through, so I only sell a few pieces now and then to wandering merchants. That's what brings in money."
He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, his eyes staying on the box.
"Sometimes I feel like I dishonored him."
The words came quieter than before.
"Like I'm a failure."
Erin straightened, the hesitation from earlier gone as his posture firmed.
"But then I found some fiend essence," he continued, his focus steady now.
"It came from a rotting goblin I passed on the road to a neighboring village. At first, I thought it was just a shiny stone."
He lifted one hand slightly, fingers closing as if recalling the weight.
"While I was hammering a sword, it suddenly merged with the metal."
A brief pause followed.
"After that, the blade became stronger."
His gaze shifted back to the box.
"So I began experimenting. Different colors, different effects."
His shoulders eased a little.
"They were low-class essences, and the weapons weren't anything impressive. Nothing special."
He looked up again, meeting Darrion's presence without wavering.
"I've never had the chance to work with armor and weapons of your quality before."
Darrion's gaze hardened, his focus settling squarely on Erin.
"I don't recall giving you permission to tamper with my armory."
The words fell flat and measured.
Erin's shoulders dipped slightly, his chin lowering for a brief moment before he looked back up.
"Oh… right."
A short pause followed.
"I'm sorry."
He shifted his stance, then lifted his gaze again, the question forming carefully.
"Even so…"
His eyes moved toward the doorway, then returned.
"The capital is still a few days from here, isn't it?"
The silence stretched just enough before he continued.
"What will you do if you run into a fiend as strong as that ogre?"
Darrion remained still, his gaze fixed ahead.
The pause stretched, unbroken, his silence answering for him.
Erin drew a breath, the earlier hesitation gone as his focus sharpened.
"If I work on it, I might be able to preserve the core essence."
His hands lifted slightly, then steadied.
"I could even create additional sockets. For more essence. For your armor as well."
The thought carried him a step forward.
"The possibilities are many."
He stopped himself, straightened, and cleared his throat once, the excitement pulled back under control.
"I only ask that you place your trust in me."
His voice settled, even and sincere.
"I won't let you down."
A breath left Darrion slowly, his shoulders easing just enough to show the release.
"Can you have it done by tomorrow?"
Erin's face brightened at once, the shift immediate.
He lifted his hand and gave a firm thumbs-up, the motion sharp with confidence.
"You bet."
Darrion held his gaze on Erin for a moment longer, the weight of the decision settling in his stance.
"All right."
A brief pause followed.
"I'm putting my trust in you with my weapons."
His eyes narrowed slightly, steady and unyielding.
"Don't ruin them."
Darrion walked back into the heart of the village, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and splintered wood.
A few children were playing nearby, their footsteps scuffing the ground, but the sound cut off as soon as they noticed him.
Their shoulders stiffened, and they scattered down the paths, leaving the space quiet under his steady, unsmiling gaze.
A breath left his chest, slow and audible, as his eyes shifted toward the edge of the forest.
The trees stood dark and unmoving, their shadows stretching across the ground.
Movement near the path caught his attention.
An elderly man with a long, unkempt beard lurched forward, his balance breaking.
The edge of a thick sheet of plywood scraped against the dirt as it slipped from his grasp.
His foot caught, and he staggered, one hand flailing as the weight dragged him down.
Darrion closed the distance in a few long strides, the ground shifting softly under his boots.
He reached out and steadied the man, guiding him upright until the weight settled back into his legs.
The old man's hands, thick and marked with deep lines from years of work, trembled as they adjusted their grip.
His head dipped once in a small, unsteady motion, his breathing uneven.
"Thank you… young man."
"Here… I will carry it for you."
The words left him evenly as he stepped closer.
His fingers slid beneath the edge of the plywood, the rough grain pressing against his palms for a brief moment before the weight shifted.
He lifted it with a smooth motion, the plank settling against his shoulder without strain.
His gaze moved past the old man and traveled through the village.
Broken beams lay half-buried in damp soil.
Stone foundations jutted out where walls had collapsed, their edges darkened by moisture.
Roof panels were scattered across the ground, some split clean through, others resting at odd angles like discarded debris.
A faint creak came from somewhere deeper in the ruins as loose wood shifted in the breeze.
Several homes had fallen completely onto their sides, doorways turned sideways, interiors exposed to the open air.
The old man straightened slowly, one hand settling behind his back as his weight shifted.
His shoulders rose with a careful breath before his eyes followed Darrion's line of sight across the ruins.
"The goblins brought much harm to this place."
His fingers pressed lightly against his back as his weight adjusted, the movement careful.
"Still, we were fortunate."
A quiet breath passed his lips.
"There were no casualties."
He turned his head slightly, gaze drifting toward the inner paths where people were beginning to move again.
"That was because of a kind young lady who came to our aid."
His expression eased, not into a smile, but into something calmer.
"She is young, but she stood firm."
"A brave one."
Darrion stared into the open space ahead.
They're grateful to that witch, huh…
His jaw shifted as he let the thought linger.
Nora stirred on the bedroll, the fabric bunching beneath her as she shifted onto her back.
A slow yawn slipped free, her jaw opening before she drew her arms up and stretched, muscles tightening along her shoulders and spine.
Strands of hair fell loose around her face, uneven and tangled from sleep, some sticking out at odd angles as her head tilted back.
Her hands moved up, rubbing at her eyes as she blinked against the light filtering in.
"I'm still a little sore from yesterday…"
She rolled her shoulders, the motion deliberate, testing the lingering stiffness.
A quiet breath followed as the tension eased.
"But… that was good rest."
Her arms lowered, fingers brushing through her hair without really fixing it, leaving it just as tousled.
A faint warmth settled across her cheeks from the stretch as her breathing slowed and steadied.
She pushed herself up and moved to the window, her steps unsteady as she leaned closer.
Light poured in, and her eyes widened at the angle of the sun.
"Wha— it's already afternoon?!"
She cried out, her voice rising as warmth rushed to her face, her hands lifting in a small, flustered motion.
I really overslept… but it couldn't be helped. I was exhausted.
She let out a slow sigh, her shoulders easing—then a quiet rumble came from her belly.
Her lips pulled into a small pout as her brows knit together, a hint of strain crossing her face.
One hand moved there instinctively, pressing lightly.
"Ugh… don't worry. You'll be fed soon enough, my friend," she muttered, rubbing her stomach in small, absent circles.
I hope that knight made us breakfast. His cooking was so delicious.
The thought sparked something in her—her eyes brightened and she pumped her fist into the air, a quiet burst of energy running through her arm.
Saliva gathered at the corner of her mouth as her stomach tightened again, anticipation spreading through her chest.
That's right!!
"Tasty eggs… and warm bread… here I come," she murmured, her lips curling upward as her feet shifted, already eager to move.
The steady metallic sound reached her first—measured, persistent.
Clang… clang… clang.
Nora paused, her shoulders settling as she turned toward the window.
She leaned closer, peering out as the noise filled the air below.
"Oh… the villagers are still working."
Her voice came out low as she leaned closer to the window, her gaze settling on the movement below, as she watched them work.
Then her gaze fixed on one figure, and her eyes widened.
Darrion moved through the half-rebuilt square with quiet purpose, a long plank balanced against his shoulder as he carried it across the dirt.
He lowered it into place, adjusted the angle with a brief glance, then reached for a hammer without hesitation.
The strike rang out clean and sharp, followed by another, the rhythm steady and unbroken.
His arms tensed with each swing, muscles tightening as sweat darkened the fabric at his shoulders.
He didn't slow, even as the work pressed back against him.
From where Nora stood, she could see how the rubble was changing slowly but at a faster pass with his help.
Gaps closed.
Frames took shape.
What had been scattered ruin was slowly becoming shelter again.
A man nearby lifted one end of a plank and called out,
"Hold it there—yeah, just like that."
Darrion adjusted his grip and nodded once.
The two worked in sync, lifting and setting the timber together before Darrion secured it with firm, practiced strikes.
"Good work," the man added, breathing hard but smiling.
"Didn't think we'd get this far today."
Darrion didn't answer with words—he simply moved on to the next plank, already reaching for more nails.
At first, the other villagers had only watched.
They pause mid-motion—hands resting on stone, tools held loosely—as their eyes followed him.
Then, one by one, they stepped closer.
Someone passed him a bundle of boards.
Another steadied a frame while he worked.
Their movements grew quicker, more certain, as if his presence had pulled them out of sheer exhaustion and back into intention.
A woman carrying a water jug approached him and held it out with both hands, her posture careful as she stopped in front of him.
"Please… drink some."
Darrion paused, lifting one arm to wipe the mud from his hands before taking the jug.
He gave a brief nod, tipped it back, and swallowed, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment.
"…Thank you."
He handed the jug back gently, then turned without hesitation, reaching for his hammer as the rhythm of work resumed.
Children hovered at the edge of the square, peeking from behind stacked lumber.
Their eyes followed each swing of the hammer, their whispers quiet, full of awe.
Nora's fingers curled against the window frame as she watched, her expression tightening—not with anger, but with something sharper, unsettled.
Her chest rose and fell with a slow breath as a light breeze brushed through her hair, lifting a few loose strands against her cheek.
So… he's this kind to normal people, huh…