The sun was sinking low, spilling amber light across the wheat fields that ringed the village. Crickets had begun their nightly song, and smoke from hearthfires curled lazily into the cool air.
To the villagers, it was an ordinary evening. To Ardyn, it was anything but.
He sat atop a low fence near the edge of the fields, gaze fixed on the treeline where the shadows grew thick. Though the night had not yet swallowed the land, he felt the disturbance as clearly as one feels a change in the wind before a storm.
"They're here," he murmured.
Mira, crouched beside him, looked up with wide eyes. "Who's here?"
Ardyn did not answer at once. His eyes narrowed, silver irises faintly catching the fading light. "Strangers. Riders. They move carefully, but not carefully enough."
Far beyond the last line of huts, three riders watched the village from cover of trees. Their horses shifted impatiently, breath steaming in the cool dusk.
The leader, a scarred man named Captain Rowan, lowered his spyglass. "So this is it. A quiet farm village on the edge of nowhere."
One of his men grunted. "Doesn't look like the kind of place that breeds demon children."
Rowan's jaw tightened. "Careful with your tongue. Lord Darius gave us orders. We watch. We listen. Nothing more. If there's truth to these tales, we'll know it soon enough."
The third rider, younger and less disciplined, spat into the grass. "I say we grab the brat and bring him back. End this nonsense quick."
Rowan shot him a glare sharp enough to silence him. "Fool. If the boy truly has power, laying hands on him without preparation is suicide. And if the stories are false, we'd earn Lord Darius's wrath for wasting his time. We watch. That's all."
Back in the village, Ardyn slid down from the fence, his expression calm but sharpened.
"Elira will worry if you're out late again," Mira said, though she lowered her voice, glancing nervously toward the forest. "Are you certain someone's there?"
"Certain enough," Ardyn replied. "Stay close to your mother tonight. And listen—if anything happens, you mustn't interfere. Not yet."
Mira hesitated. "But—"
Ardyn's eyes met hers, steady, unyielding. "Promise me."
She swallowed and nodded.
That night, the riders entered the village. Quietly, without banners, without steel drawn. To most, they seemed like travelers seeking shelter, their cloaks hiding insignias, their faces set in polite masks.
They stabled their horses, offered coin for food, and spoke little. Yet even the least perceptive villager felt unease ripple through the air. These were not simple wanderers. Their eyes lingered too long. Their steps carried the weight of soldiers.
From the shadows near the well, Ardyn watched them.
He studied their movements, their glances, their silences. Professionals. Not raiders, not mercenaries. Soldiers. Likely sworn to a lord. And if they're here, then the rumors have already reached noble ears.
One of the riders noticed him—a tall man with sharp features and a scar across his brow. Their gazes locked across the firelit square. Neither looked away.
The rider's mouth curved into the faintest of smirks, as though to say: I see you too, boy.
Ardyn said nothing, only let the moment stretch before he turned back into the shadows, vanishing into the night.
Later, as the riders retired to the guest house offered to them, Rowan spoke low to his men.
"You saw him, didn't you? The silver eyes."
The younger soldier shivered. "Aye. And he looked right through me. Like he knew every thought in my head."
Rowan poured himself a measure of ale, his voice quiet but edged. "Keep your wits about you. We're not here to provoke. Just watch. But mark my words—this is no ordinary boy. And if Lord Darius asks me… I'll tell him the truth."
He raised the cup, staring into the dark liquid as though it might hold answers.
"…That child could change everything."