The Hollow was still asleep when Rowan opened his eyes. The sky above the thatched roof was gray, a thin mist seeping through the window slats. For a moment he lay still, listening to the slow hush of the stream outside. Verdant Hollow was quiet again, as though the night before had been a dream. But it hadn't been. He could still see the wolves falling, the armored soldiers withdrawing, Ari's arrows piercing the Beast Master.
This was not his home. It never had been. He had woken here, confused and empty, and though the villagers had offered food and a bed, their smiles never reached their eyes. They had tolerated him, nothing more. Now, as he pulled on his worn boots and slung the leather water pouch Ari had given him, he knew they would not miss him.
The square was nearly deserted when he walked through it. A few villagers swept ash and broken wood from the stones. One woman bent to scrub dried blood with a rag. They paused to glance at him, then lowered their heads quickly, whispering when they thought he could not hear.
The river boy.
Trouble follows him.
It's good he's leaving.
Rowan's hand tightened on the shaft of his new harpoon. He had nothing to say to them. Nothing to take with him.
From the healer's hut came a booming laugh that shattered the morning hush. Brennar stepped out, shirt half-laced, his shoulder bound in a thick sling. The bandage was already stained pink, but his grin was as wide as ever.
"Ah, there you are," he called, striding across the square. "Thought you'd sneak off without me? Not a chance."
Rowan shook his head. "You're hurt."
"Bah." Brennar slapped his good hand against the bandage. The healer's voice snapped from inside: "Stop pulling at it, you fool!" He only laughed. "It'll hold. Besides, what good is a Berserker who complains about scratches?"
Rowan noticed how two men carrying firewood crossed to the far side of the square rather than pass close to Brennar. A woman guiding her child inside closed the door quickly as they approached. The whispers followed Brennar too, though his grin never faltered.
"They look at you the same way they look at me," Rowan murmured.
Brennar leaned close, voice low for once. "Good. Means we don't belong. This place was never big enough for us anyway."
At the gate Ari was waiting. She leaned against the wooden post, bow already strung across her back, a full quiver at her hip. Her cloak hung still in the morning air, dark eyes fixed on the mist beyond the walls. She didn't look back when Rowan and Brennar approached. She only let her gaze flick over Rowan, from the harpoon strapped to his shoulder to the water pouch at his belt, and gave a single, curt nod.
"You're late," she said.
"We're on time," Brennar replied cheerfully.
Ari ignored him.
The gate creaked as it opened. The Elder stood just beyond, staff in hand, breath clouding in the chill. His eyes lingered on Rowan first.
"The Flicker is fragile," he said softly. "It burns bright, but it fades quick if not guided. Do not let it consume you."
Rowan swallowed and nodded.
The Elder turned to Brennar next. "Your fire will protect you, but it will also burn those beside you if you do not learn to hold it back."
Brennar's grin dimmed for just a heartbeat. He gave a short nod.
The Elder finally looked at Ari. No words passed between them, only a long silence. Ari lowered her chin slightly, as though the message had already been given.
Rowan found himself blurting the question before he could stop it. "Will I come back?"
The Elder's eyes were unreadable. "If the river wills it."
The words gave no comfort.
The Elder tapped his staff once on the earth. "Go. Do not look back too often. The road ahead is where your answers lie."
The gate swung wider with a groan of wood and iron. Mist clung to the trees beyond. The world outside waited.
Rowan's steps felt heavy as he crossed the threshold, Brennar close behind, Ari already striding ahead as though the Hollow was nothing more than a forgotten camp. He paused once and turned. The village stood small and gray in the weak light, smoke curling from a few chimneys. No warmth stirred in his chest. No sense of home. Only unease, like he was leaving behind a chapter of someone else's story.
The gate shut with a hollow thud.
They followed a narrow path into the forest. Dew wet the grass, soaking their boots. Rowan kept his eyes on the ground, on the way the mud clung to his soles. The harpoon felt heavy on his back, the pouch heavier at his side.
Ari stopped suddenly and crouched, one hand pressed against the earth. Rowan and Brennar halted behind her.
"What is it?" Rowan asked, voice hushed without knowing why.
Ari brushed a finger over a set of fresh marks in the soil. She studied them for a long moment, then stood, brushing dirt from her cloak.
"Tracks," she said.
Rowan's chest tightened. "Soldiers?"
Ari shook her head. "Boar. A big one." Her eyes flicked to Rowan. "Time to start your training."
Brennar's grin spread wide. "Best lesson there is. Kill it before it kills you."
Rowan stared at the tracks, the deep gouges in the mud, the thought of tusks and weight crashing through the underbrush. His mouth went dry. Training had sounded like drills, stances, practice swings. Not this.
The forest around them creaked and whispered in the mist. Rowan tightened his grip on the harpoon. For the first time, he truly felt the weight of leaving Verdant Hollow. This was no village square, no guarded wall. Out here, there were no whispers of fear to follow him. Only the raw, waiting silence of the wild.
And somewhere in that silence, a beast waited.