Vesperyn followed Harlen.
They walked until the trees thinned and a low structure emerged from the dark—wood and canvas, reinforced with old metal plates. A caravan hut, half-permanent, half-ready to be gone at a moment's notice.
"This is where I live," Harlen said.
He pushed the door open.
The moment Vesperyn crossed the threshold, something shifted.
The forest sounds dulled. The air felt… firmer. Like stepping indoors during a storm.
Vesperyn slowed, glancing back.
Harlen noticed. "Barrier," he said. "Keeps things from wandering in."
Inside was simple. Firelight flickered from a small hearth. A worn map hung crookedly on one wall. Tools lay where they had last been used, not neatly arranged, but not careless either.
Harlen pointed at a sturdy wooden chair by the fire. "Sit."
Vesperyn dropped into it.
Harlen crouched, rolled up Vesperyn's sleeve without asking, and studied the claw marks.
They weren't deep, but they burned.
He dug out a small tin, scooped out a thick green paste that stank of pine and something sharper.
When he smeared it on, Vesperyn sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"Stings, yeah," Harlen said, not looking up. "Better than infection."
He wrapped the arm in clean cloth, knotting it tight.
"Should be closed by morning. Try not to pick at it."
Vesperyn managed a nod.
Harlen stood, leaned against the edge of the table, arms folded. He studied Vesperyn the way you'd study a stray dog that might bite.
"You've got no idea where you are," he said. It wasn't really a question.
"No," Vesperyn admitted.
Harlen huffed a small breath. "And you don't know what you are, either. Fine. We'll leave that alone for tonight."
He rubbed the back of his neck, glanced toward the door like he was already regretting this.
"You can stay here. For Few days. But there are rules."
Vesperyn looked up. "Rules?"
Harlen counted them off on his fingers, voice flat.
"You stay inside after dark—no exceptions."
Harlen stopped for a second and then speaks,
"And if you hear something calling your name from the trees? You don't answer. I don't care if it sounds like your mother or a god; out there, a voice is just a lure attached to a mouth."
He again paused before the third finger, eyes narrowing.
"And lastly—keep your blood inside your skin. In this Reach, a fresh wound is a dinner bell for things that haven't eaten in a century. I'm not scrubbing your remains off my floor because you were careless."
Then Harlen went to the fire, tossed on another log, watched the sparks rise.
"Things out there," he said finally. "Used to be people once."
Vesperyn's mouth went dry. "Used to be?"
He moved to the fire, poking at it with a stick.
"They're what happens when the Path breaks a man. They don't die properly because they've forgotten how to be still. Now they're just hunger wrapped in a skin-suit."
Vesperyn swallowed.
"They live out there?" he asked quietly.
"Mostly," Harlen replied. "Especially in places like this."
He glanced at the bandage. "Blood draws them. So don't give them a reason."
Vesperyn sat back, the weight of it finally settling in.
This wasn't a forest near home.
This wasn't home at all.
"…Why don't they come during the day?" he asked.
Harlen snorted softly.
"They fear Sunlight,"
Harlen stretched, joints popping audibly.
"That's enough for today," he said, already turning away. "You nearly got yourself eaten, wrecked my evening, and now I'm tired."
Vesperyn blinked. "Oh. Um… thank you. For saving me."
Harlen waved a hand without looking back. "Try not to die before morning. Makes things awkward."
He dropped onto the narrow bed near the wall, boots still on.
Five seconds passed.
Then—
Snrrrk.
Vesperyn stared.
The sound was loud.
"…Is he human?" Vesperyn thought.
He had never seen anyone fall asleep that fast. Not even him, who could nap through thunderstorms. There was something almost impressive about it—the kind of surprise you felt when watching someone you assumed was serious do something completely ordinary.
Vesperyn had always liked sleep. It was one of the few things he was good at. But right now, it felt strange. Like lying down after running for too long—your body ready, your mind not quite there.
He eased himself onto the other bed.
The moment his back touched the thin mattress, the firelight dimmed.
Then vanished.
The room went dark.
Vesperyn sat up instantly.
"…What?"
He swung his legs off the bed.
The light returned, soft and steady.
Then slowly lay back down.
Darkness.
He sat up again.
Light.
He tried it once more, slower this time.
Dark.
Light.
His mouth curved upward despite himself.
"Wow," he whispered. "Magic is… great."
He lay back down and closed his eyes.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
"Ves."
His eyes snapped open.
The voice was faint. Soft. Too familiar.
"Ves, wake up."
His heart stuttered.
It was Darian.
Exactly the way he always sounded in the mornings—annoyed, half-laughing, too close to his ear.
Vesperyn swallowed.
It's not real, he told himself. The old man warned you.
Still, his fingers curled into the blanket.
"How does he know?" he thought. How does he know my family?
The voice came again, clearer now.
"Come on. You'll be late."
For a second—just one—he almost answered.
Instead, he turned his face into the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut.
Don't answer whispers.
The voice grew louder.
Closer.
"Ves."
His heartbeat thudded in his ears.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't breathe any louder than he had to.
Eventually, the sound faded. Not all at once—just thinning, like a memory losing its edges.
Silence returned.
Exhaustion finally won.
Vesperyn drifted off, clutching the blanket like an anchor.