When the light of the crystal faded, they found themselves standing in a place wrapped in quiet wonder.
A gentle breeze brushed against their faces as dawn spread across the open valley. Soft green fields rolled into the distance, glimmering with dew. A stream cut through the land, murmuring like a lullaby beneath the hush of the waking world.
For a moment, none of them spoke. Even the air felt sacred — untouched, ancient, and waiting.
"Where… are we?" Leofric whispered, his eyes sweeping the endless meadow.
Eldric didn't answer. His hands were folded calmly behind his back as he walked ahead, his gaze fixed on the far horizon.
Leofric's instincts tensed. The place was too still. He drew his sword, its blade catching a shard of light.
"Edith," he murmured, "stay behind me."
Eldric turned at last, a faint, teasing smile under his beard.
"Why? Do you think beauty hides danger?"
Leofric blinked, uncertain. "Maybe. The world rarely gives peace without a price."
Eldric chuckled, the sound oddly warm in the still air. "Then stay close, warrior. You might just find the price worth paying."
They walked on. Grass brushed their boots as the land opened wider, the sky stretching vast and pale above them. Edith clutched the sleeping Olivia tightly as the faint outline of a small hut came into view atop a gentle rise.
The hut looked old — walls of weathered wood and stone, a roof patched with moss, vines crawling up its sides. But beneath its age, something in it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
When they reached the door, Eldric stopped. The wind stilled.
He turned, his eyes shining faintly. "Welcome, guests. This… is my domain."
Leofric frowned. "Your what?"
Eldric smiled, stepping aside. "A place apart from time. A home the world forgot."
The air changed — subtly, then deeply. The light around Eldric shimmered like heat on stone. His shadow grew long and bright at once, and the soft hum of power rippled outward.
Leofric stiffened, sword half-raised. Edith gasped, clutching Olivia close.
Then Eldric began to change.
Golden light flowed through his skin, his worn robes turning to silver-threaded garments marked with runes that pulsed softly. His beard shortened, his face smoothed, and his eyes burned with calm celestial blue.
He stood taller — ageless, commanding, yet utterly serene.
Leofric's voice trembled. "You're not just a blacksmith, are you?"
Eldric's — no, Wilfred's — gaze met his, steady and ancient.
"Once I was," he said. "But that was before the wars. Before the crown. The name you know me by is Eldric… but the name the heavens knew me by is Wilfred."
The world seemed to breathe again. The wind moved softly through the grass, whispering like a bowing chorus.
Leofric lowered his blade slowly, awe flickering in his eyes. "Then we were never lost, were we?"
Wilfred smiled faintly. "No. You were brought here — because the path ahead cannot be walked by mortals alone."
---
Far away, in the black heart of Osric, another power stirred.
The great hall of Lucifer's court was drowned in shadow. Ministers sat in two uneasy lines, their faces pale beneath the torchlight.
On the golden throne sat Lucifer, his gaze sharp enough to pierce steel.
"So," he said softly — too softly — "You lost them?"