Jake woke to the quiet creak of timber and the faint scent of smoke drifting up from the lower floor. For a moment, he lay still, staring at the wooden ceiling, listening to the cottage breathe around him. It had taken months for this place to stop feeling borrowed. Even now, comfort came in careful doses.
He stretched, joints popping softly, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The sickness had not visited him in the night, which already made the morning a victory. Standing, he dressed slowly, pulling on the white tunic and cotton pants folded with habitual precision on the nightstand. The fabric was worn soft from repeated washes, mended more than once at the seams. Proof that time here was no longer hypothetical.
Jake opened the drawer beneath the nightstand and took out a slim leather-bound notebook and a stubby pencil. He flipped through pages dense with cramped writing, diagrams, half-formed thoughts, and dates scratched out and rewritten. He stopped on the most recent entry.
Day 180:
The sickness seems to have settled down for today. No new nosebleeds or nausea. It has been six months since I came here, and yet it feels like I arrived yesterday. I still catch myself expecting my phone to buzz. I still reach for light switches that are not there. I hope Lily is doing okay. I hope she is safe.
Jake closed the book and let out a slow breath. Thinking about Lily always came with a dull ache, but it no longer paralyzed him. It sat in his chest like a promise instead of a wound.
A knock came at the door, sharp and familiar.
"You ready, Jake?" Luna's voice followed, bright and unmistakably excited. "First hunt day. No backing out."
He smiled despite himself. "Give me a minute. I'm grabbing my stuff."
Jake crossed the room to a wooden stand near the wall. He lifted the spear resting there, the shaft worn smooth by his hands. It was shorter than most, just over four feet, balanced for quick thrusts rather than sweeping strikes. He slung a satchel over his shoulder, feeling the reassuring weight of bandages, rations, and a small sharpening stone.
"I'm ready," he called, opening the door.
Luna stood in the hall, taller than he remembered her being when they first met, now easily brushing past six feet. Training had changed her, carved her into something powerful. She wore a fitted black tunic and matching pants, practical and tight enough not to snag. Her once straight hair had grown into loose curls that framed her face, tied back loosely for movement.
"Good," she said. "Let's go before Lucas starts lecturing us again."
"Don't have to tell me twice."
Lucas had become something between a guardian and an older brother over the months, hovering just enough to be annoying and just enough to be reassuring. He had drilled safety into them until it became instinct, and Jake knew that without him, they would have died long ago.
They descended the stairs, passing Rowan at the hearth, who gave them a brief nod while tending a pot that smelled faintly of herbs and meat. The morning light spilled in as they stepped outside, painting the cottage and the surrounding field in soft gold.
The forest waited beyond the treeline, dense and alive.
An hour into the hunt, they found their target.
In a clearing where the grass grew in uneven patches, a two-headed dog crouched over the remains of a Wolfken. Its hides rippled as it fed, jaws tearing flesh with wet, rhythmic sounds. Jake's grip tightened on his spear.
He moved first.
Jake lunged, muscles coiling as he aimed for the left head, timing the thrust to the creature's movement. Then his vision swam. His balance faltered. The world tilted.
Damn it.
The sickness surged like a sudden wave. His legs gave out and he hit the ground hard. The dog snapped toward him, jaws closing inches from his throat. Jake barely managed to raise the spear in time. Teeth splintered the wooden shaft, tearing chunks free.
Then Luna was there.
Her sword plunged down in a single decisive motion, piercing straight through both heads. The beast collapsed without another sound.
"That timing was awful," Luna said, kneeling beside him, her voice tight with concern.
"You're telling me," Jake muttered. He wiped his nose and stared at the blood on his fingers. "You mind carrying me back?"
"Not even a little."
She hoisted him over one shoulder with ease, then slung the carcass over the other. Jake kept watch as they moved, scanning the forest, listening for movement.
Then he blinked.
And when he opened his eyes again, something stood ahead of them.
"Luna," Jake said quietly. "Stop."
She froze, hand moving to her sword. "What is it?"
"I think it's a beyonder," he said slowly. "Or… something pretending to be one."
She followed his gaze.
About twenty feet away stood a suit of full plate armor. Empty. No body inside. No sound of breathing. Just polished steel reflecting the forest light.
"It's waving at us," Jake added.
The armored figure lifted its hand and gave a slow, deliberate wave.