The afternoon sun dipped low as Arcanis and Merrin followed the narrow road into a shallow green valley. Beyond the tall reeds, rooftops appeared in gentle clusters — simple wooden homes gathered beside a glittering ribbon of water that shimmered under the softening light.
Arcanis slowed his horse without meaning to.
This… wasn't like the capital.
No marble halls.
No towering spires.
No lines of armored knights.
Just life — quiet, breathing, unguarded life.
Children splashed barefoot in the shallows, their laughter bright as riverbirds. Women knelt along the riverbank, their hands moving in rhythmic arcs as they scrubbed clothes. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the scent of stew, woodsmoke, and warm bread. Men repaired fishing nets, hammered loose planks, and waved when someone passed by.
Even the layout was comforting in its simplicity:
The river ran through the heart of the village.
Homes lined both sides in scattered, uneven rows.
Small gardens grew behind cottages.
A single waterwheel turned slowly at the far bend.
Chickens scampered across dirt paths chased by giggling children.
And at the center stood a wide square with a communal firepit, benches, and a wooden notice board.
Arcanis took it all in with a kind of still awe — as if this place were a forgotten painting someone finally let him see.
Merrin watched him carefully.
"Are you alright, Your Highness?"
Arcanis did not look away from the scene.
"It feels… real."
Merrin's lips tugged into quiet understanding.
"It is."
---
— Entering Riverbend
They crossed the old wooden bridge, its planks creaking softly beneath their horses. Villagers paused at the sight of newcomers. Some wiped flour-streaked hands on aprons; others leaned on weathered walking sticks. Children squinted curiously from behind barrels.
Not one of them bowed.
They simply watched.
And for the first time in his life, Arcanis was not being greeted as a prince —
but as a traveler.
Something inside him quietly exhaled.
A boy sprinted toward the road, stopping only because Merrin lifted a gentle hand to slow him.
The boy pointed directly at Arcanis's horse.
"Sir! Your horse looks really proud!"
Arcanis blinked — caught off guard — before a warm curve softened his features.
"Does he?" Arcanis asked gently.
The boy nodded with absolute certainty.
"He looks like he listens when you talk."
Merrin stifled a quiet laugh.
Arcanis leaned slightly closer.
"He does. Especially to people who speak kindly."
The boy beamed before dashing back to the riverbank, shouting to the others that he'd spoken to a noble "who wasn't scary at all."
Merrin murmured under his breath, amused,
"At this rate, they'll adore you without even knowing who you are."
Arcanis only smiled.
---
— Why He Hides His Identity
As they walked deeper into the village, Merrin whispered:
"Your Highness… should I inform the chief about your identity?"
Arcanis shook his head gently, still watching the villagers —
women washing clothes,
children weaving through the paths,
men carrying crates,
elders dozing in the shade of porches.
"No," he said softly.
Merrin hesitated.
"May I ask why?"
Arcanis's voice lowered, honest and delicate.
"Because… I want to see people as they are.
Not as they become when they face a prince."
His gaze drifted toward a girl offering flowers to a passing fisherman.
Toward a woman kneading dough with calm, practiced hands.
Toward a man fixing a broken fence without glancing up.
"In the palace, everyone changes when they see me," Arcanis continued quietly.
"They bow, straighten, measure their words. But here…"
Merrin followed his gaze.
"They don't know me," Arcanis whispered.
"And for a moment… I want to breathe without a crown."
Merrin's expression softened into something warm.
"Then as you wish, Your Highness.
I'll keep your silence."
Arcanis gave him a gentle look.
"And Merrin… call me Arcanis."
Merrin swallowed, startled, almost flustered.
"O-okay, your—… Arcanis."
A faint laugh escaped the prince — quiet, warm.
"Thank you, Merrin."
---
— Meeting the Village Chief
An elder approached them, leaning on a carved cane. His silver hair was tied neatly at the back, and his eyes carried a weathered kindness that seemed to slow the world around him.
"Welcome, travelers," he greeted warmly. "I am Rowan, Chief of Riverbend. You're far from the main roads. What brings you here?"
Arcanis bowed respectfully.
"I'm exploring the kingdom's outskirts. Apologies for arriving unannounced."
Rowan chuckled, shaking his head.
"No need. The river welcomes all gentle souls."
No fear.
No trembling.
Just sincerity.
Arcanis felt an immediate fondness for the man.
"We'll need a place to rest," Merrin added.
Rowan nodded thoughtfully.
"There's an empty cottage beside the river. Not luxurious, but warm and clean."
Arcanis's smile was soft.
"That's more than enough."
Rowan's eyes warmed.
"I'll have someone prepare it at once."
---
— A Glimpse of Village Life
As Arcanis walked deeper into Riverbend, everyday life unfolded around him like a quiet tapestry.
A woman hummed as she kneaded dough.
An elder dipped his net into the river with decades of practiced ease.
A toddler waddled toward him with sticky hands — only to be scooped up by a laughing mother.
Two teens argued over fish sizes, waving wildly to prove their point.
Arcanis absorbed it all — unfiltered, unpolished, human.
Merrin observed him quietly.
"You look like someone seeing sunlight for the first time."
Arcanis's smile grew faint, warm.
"Maybe I am."
---
— The River Cottage
The cottage Rowan arranged for them was simple and welcoming — two beds, a wooden table, shelves lined with clay cups, and a window facing the river.
Arcanis placed his cloak down and stepped directly to the window.
Evening light spilled over the water, brushing everything in gold.
He whispered without meaning to:
"Aria would love this…"
Merrin chuckled softly.
"She'd probably be in that river before you finished the sentence."
Arcanis laughed, quiet and warm.
---
— Evening With the Villagers
As dusk deepened, lanterns lit the paths in gentle pools of light. Villagers gathered around a communal firepit, sharing warm meals and louder stories.
Arcanis stood among them — welcomed not as royalty, but as a traveler.
A woman handed him a bowl of stew with a teasing smile.
"For the polite young noble."
Arcanis bowed lightly.
"Thank you."
The stew was hearty, smoky, imperfect —
and somehow more comforting than any palace dish.
Merrin nudged him softly.
"You look… peaceful."
Arcanis breathed out slowly.
"I feel peaceful."
---
— Quiet Night, Quiet Warning
Later, when night wrapped the village in cool silver, Arcanis stepped outside the cottage. The moon cast ribbons of light across the river, and a soft breeze tugged at his hair.
But something felt off.
Merrin approached, rubbing his arms.
"Can't sleep?"
Arcanis's eyes drifted toward the treeline.
"The air feels… heavy."
A dog barked sharply in the distance.
Then silence.
Merrin offered a small smile.
"Maybe the river wind?"
Arcanis didn't respond immediately.
He placed a hand on the window frame, letting instinct move through him.
Mana—
faint.
distant.
but real.
A warning.
But he didn't want to alarm anyone without certainty.
He stepped inside quietly.
"Tomorrow," he murmured.
"I'll look into it."
He lay in the small bed, the night humming softly around him.
And somewhere deep in the dark forest—
A low growl rolled through the trees.