Lily followed the right-hand road long after the sun disappeared.
At first, she tried to jog, driven by stubbornness, hunger, and the desperate belief that civilization was just up ahead. But the road stretched on beneath the trees, pale dirt and old wheel ruts winding through the dark, and soon her tired legs turned her heroic advance into a sluggish walk.
The forest stood on both sides like a wall of black shapes. Branches met overhead in places, cutting the moon into silver pieces. The clouds slowly parted above her, and the moonlight helped just enough to keep her from walking into ditches, trees, or any other punishments placed in the world for tired girls with poor planning skills.
Her stomach growled. Lily looked down at it.
"Shh," she whispered. "Stealth mission."
Her stomach growled again, louder, like a traitor.
She had eaten the last of her peas some time ago. The strawberries remained, but those were emergency strawberries. Very important. Sacred, even. She still had water too, so technically she was not yet close to dying. She was merely hungry, exhausted, barefoot, underprepared, and walking through an unknown medieval forest road at night while possibly being hunted by mercenaries.
Completely different.
Lily pulled Art's cloak tighter around herself and kept going. Minutes became more minutes. Then too many minutes. She did not know how long she walked. Her feet hurt. Her eyelids grew heavy. More than once she rubbed her eyes and told herself she would rest at the next good tree, only to pass the tree, then the next, then the next after that.
No retreat, no surrender, that was her law.
Eventually, just as her courage was becoming mostly spite, the trees ahead began to thin.
Lily slowed.
The road left the forest and opened beneath the moon. Fields spread out on both sides, wide and pale in the night. Wheat, she thought, or something close to wheat, standing in long dark rows that shifted softly under the wind. Low hedges divided the land into separate strips, some neat, some crooked, all unmistakably made by human hands. Beyond the fields, the forest continued in a dark ring, waiting at the edges like it had not decided whether to let her go.
To her left, a river moved through the moonlight, broader than the stream she had followed, its surface glimmering between reeds and low banks. To her right, the land rose into tree-covered hills. Ahead, the road curved between two hedge lines toward a darker shape.
Lily's tired heart lifted. She had found Civilization. Not just a bridge or a road, but real civilization.
She crept forward, trying to stay quiet despite the sudden urge to run. The hedges on either side of the road grew taller, and beyond them she saw more small fields, then the outline of a wall.
A wooden wall.
It was not a castle wall or anything grand, but it was definitely a wall: upright logs set close together, their tops sharpened into points. A simple palisade surrounded the village, dark and solid against the night. Behind it, Lily could see very little. A few faint lights glowed between gaps and over rooftops, warm orange pinpricks from fires or lanterns, but most of the village remained hidden in shadow. That made it exciting. It also made it terrifying.
Lily stopped beside the road and stared.
This might be Einsway.
It might also be a village of murderers, plague ghosts, man-eating monsters, cursed puppets, or perfectly normal humans, which was somehow not much less frightening.
She had no animal friends here. Just herself, Art's possibly forgotten cloak, a rusty knife, sore feet, and a stomach that had begun composing tragic music.
Then the wind shifted and Lily smelled food in the air, causing her whole body to go still.
She could smell it all, meat, vegetables, smoked fish, maybe. Something savory and warm. And beneath it all, unmistakable and holy, came the scent of actual fresh bread. Not acorn bread or seed-root-survival invention. Real bread.
Lily's mouth watered so fast it was almost painful.
"Oh no," she whispered.
Her stomach growled like a wounded animal.
Caution remained important. Very important. But so was bread. Civilization had many dangers, yes, but apparently it also had ovens, and that complicated the tactical assessment.
Lily hurried down the road toward the wooden gate, which stood between two thicker posts, tall and smooth, made of heavy wooden planks reinforced by crossbeams. In the darkness, it looked enormous. Lily placed both hands against it and pushed.
Nothing happened. So she pushed harder, bare feet digging into the dirt.
Still nothing.
Either the gate was barred from the inside, or it was simply too heavy for her, which was insulting and therefore probably false.
Lily puffed her cheeks and glared at it.
"Open. I am customer."
The gate did not respect her command, so she looked for another way in. The gate was too smooth to climb. The wall was high, with sharpened tops that did not encourage heroic vaulting. Digging under it crossed her mind, but crawling into a village like a criminal mole might create a poor first impression.
So she moved along the palisade, studying the logs.
Each trunk had little uneven places where branches had been cut away. Some knots jutted out. A few gaps were almost large enough for fingertips. Almost. Lily tested them one after another, searching for a grip, but every attempt ended with her sliding back down the wood in quiet frustration.
"No grip," she muttered. "Bad wall design. Anti-stealth architecture."
She stood back and thought.
Then she remembered old climbing videos from her previous life. People in those could climb almost anything: walls, poles, smooth pillars, impossible urban nonsense. They pressed with their hands and feet, made friction, used leverage, and rose inch by inch like spiders with gym memberships.
Lily looked at the palisade. Then at her hands. Then back at the palisade.
"Possible," she whispered.
She placed both palms against one log, pressed hard, and tried to squeeze herself upward by force. Her small arms trembled. Her feet scraped against the wood. For one glorious second, she lifted herself a little, face pressed far too closely to the wall, cloak bunched awkwardly around her shoulders.
"Yes," she hissed. "Advanced technique."
Then she tried to move one hand higher. Her grip failed. Lily dropped straight down and landed on her backside in the dirt.
For a moment, she sat there in silence.
Somewhere inside the village, someone laughed faintly at something unrelated.
Lily chose to take that personally.
She stood, brushed dirt from the cloak, and stared at the wall with deep offended focus. The gate had refused her. The logs had betrayed her. Climbing like a professional wall-spider had ended in public spiritual humiliation, even if no one had actually seen it.
That left only one option. Her final plan. Her boldest plan. The most dangerous social technique known to lonely forest girls everywhere.
Knocking.
Lily stood before the wooden gate, lifted one small fist, then hesitated.
This was terrible. Truly terrible. If she could have climbed the wall, she could have looked first. She could have observed the people inside, judged their threat level, selected the least frightening target, and begun conversation from a position of tactical superiority.
But no.
The wall was anti-stealth architecture, the gate refused to respect customers, and her stomach was making decisions now. So she took a deep breath, raised both fists, and began pounding on the wood.
"Hello! Open please! I am traveler! Very small traveler! Not bad person!"
No answer came.
From somewhere inside the village, she heard faint laughter again, accompanied by low voices, and the distant clatter of people moving about. They were too far away, or too busy, or simply rude.
Lily hit the gate harder.
"Please open! I have no evil! Only hunger! I can pay maybe with strawberries! Very good strawberries!"
Still nothing.
Her social anxiety and exhaustion joined hands and jumped off a cliff, as Lily sucked in a huge breath and yelled, "If no one open, I scream! I serious! I warn you! Aaaaaah!"
The scream tore out of her, high, desperate, and deeply undignified.
"Aaaaaaah! Help! Gate people! Open door! I am not monster! I am cute and polite citizen! Mostly!"
Something barked on the other side of the wall.
Lily froze.
The bark came again, loud and rough, followed by the scrape of claws and an old man's voice shouting from somewhere within.
"Fenton! Quiet, you woolly fool! Gods above, what's making that noise?"
The dog barked once more, then fell into offended silence.
Lily heard footsteps beyond the gate, followed by the creak of old wood. Someone was climbing a ladder, possibly to get onto the wall. A moment later, a dark figure rose atop the wall to her right.
A man.
Large, at least from where Lily stood below.
At first, she could see only his silhouette against the moonlight: a hood pulled low over his face, broad shoulders beneath a rough cloak, and the curved shape of a bow held ready in his hands. An arrow already rested against the string.
Lily's breath caught.
The man looked down at her. Only for a moment. His gaze touched her, judged her small, alone, and probably not the greatest threat in the darkness. Then his head lifted, and he looked past her instead, scanning the road, the fields, the hedges, and the black line of forest beyond.
He was not afraid of her. He was checking what might have followed her.
That made Lily feel much less safe.
At last, the hooded man looked back down at her, suspicion roughening his voice.
"Who goes there?" he called. "Name yourself. What business brings you to our gate at this hour?"
Lily swallowed. Her mouth felt dry despite all the water she had drunk.
"I am Lily," she called, trying very hard to make her Albion clear. Unfortunately, fear squeezed her voice until it came out high, soft, and embarrassingly small. "Traveler. Looking for place stay night. No trouble, sir."
The bow lowered a little.
The man still could not see her properly. To him, she was probably nothing more than a small black bundle standing beneath the gate. But he could hear her, and whatever danger he had expected, it clearly did not sound like that.
"A child?" he said, leaning over the wall. "What in God's name is a little miss doing alone on the road after dark?"
Lily's face tightened at the words little miss.
They struck some sore, hidden place inside her. She remembered Art catching her so easily, turning her over his knee, scolding her, calling her reckless, treating her like something small and harmless that needed to be handled instead of respected.
She was not harmless.
She was Lily. Expert lakeside survivalist. President of a sovereign republic. Former police officer, technically. Future rich, educated civilization person who would one day speak Albion properly and make everyone regret underestimating her.
She did not want to be a helpless little girl people looked down on. She wanted to be big. Strong. Useful.
"I not little miss!" she snapped before she could stop herself. "I am boy. Big boy."
The man paused.
Even in the dark, Lily could feel him staring down at the tiny cloaked shape below his wall.
"Aye," he said slowly. "And I am the King of Camelot."
Lily's cheeks burned.
The man gave a rough chuckle, but not an unkind one. "Well, be that as it may, I'll not judge a traveler at my gate. Though you do have a mighty sweet voice for a little master."
"I am very master," Lily muttered.
"Sure you are." His tone sharpened again, though the bow lowered fully now, the arrow no longer aimed at her. "But you still have not answered me proper. What business brings you here? Where are your parents? Are you alone out there? Or are you some orphan child chased out by bandits, beasts, or worse?"
The question hit harder than the teasing.
Parents.
Lily looked down at her bare feet in the dust. She knew she should lie, or at least say less. That was smarter. Safer. But she was tired, hungry, frightened, and standing outside the first real village she had ever reached.
Besides, lying badly could be worse than telling a careful truth.
"I have parents," she said defensively. "I not orphan."
The man said nothing.
Lily's fingers curled in Art's cloak.
"I just… not see them long time. Six winters, maybe eight, or nine, but maybe ten." She frowned, angry at her own uncertainty. "I not know exact. I live in forest you see. So now I come look for them. And I know that my papa from village called Einsway. His name Rob, he is a good hunter, sometimes a guard. He is very tall, strong, handsome, kind. Maybe you see him?"
The old man above went very still.
"Rob?" he repeated.
Lily looked up quickly. "You know?"
"Rob," he said again, turning the name over like a small bone. "Could be half a name, that. Robb, Robin, Robert. Folk shorten names all the time." He scratched his beard. "And this is Einsway, little master, though I am surprised you came all this way without knowing it. Nearest village by road is more than forty kilometers off. If you had taken the other road, you'd have walked till morning and found nothing but sore feet."
Lily's stomach tightened at the words, forty kilometers. That was a long way. It seemed that her choosing right had indeed been right.
For once, the universe had not betrayed her.
The old man continued, "There is no Rob here that I know. There is a Robin, hunter's lad. Fine with a bow. But he is far too young to be the father you describe. His father might know more, though."
Lily's hope rose and fell at the same time.
"Robin?" she whispered.
"Maybe a clue. Maybe nothing." He leaned farther over the wall. "Tell me your father's family name. I've lived in Einsway my whole life. If your Rob belonged here, I should know the bloodline."
Lily opened her mouth, yet nothing came out. For what was Robs family name, she did not know.
Rob had never told her. Or if he had, she had been too young, too frightened, too bad at Albion to understand. He had been Papa. Just Papa. Rob. The man who brought food, fixed things, smiled, carried her, and promised he would come back.
Was Rob even his real name? The thought made her feel cold.
"I… not know," she admitted.
The old man sighed, not cruelly. "Poor little thing."
Lily hated that, but less than she should have.
Then the old man moved, and he vanished from the wall for a moment. Something scraped. Then a rope dropped beside the gate.
"Climb," he said. "Quickly now. I'll not open the gate alone at night, not for a stranger and not with the forest breathing down my neck. Up you come before something else finds you."
Lily grabbed the rope at once.
The climb should have been easy, but her arms were tired, her stomach was empty, and Art's cloak kept trying to join the battle. Halfway up, the old man reached down, caught the back of the cloak, and hauled.
Lily squeaked.
"Do not lift like sack!"
"Then climb faster, little sack."
With humiliating ease, he pulled her up the last stretch and set her on the wooden walkway behind the palisade. Lily stumbled, caught herself, and looked up at him properly for the first time.
He was old, but not weak. Broad-shouldered, thick-armed, and only slightly bent by age. Gray hair stuck out from beneath a worn cap. His patched clothes smelled of smoke, dog, old wool, sweat, and something onion-related. A short bow hung from one hand, and a knife sat at his belt.
Rough, yes. Dangerous, maybe. But his small green eyes looked kind.
He crouched a little so he would not tower over her. "You all right, little miss? Didn't frighten you too badly?"
Lily puffed her cheeks.
"I say already. I boy. Also not scared. That sound was tactical surprise noise. It happen sometimes. No ask."
The old man blinked.
Now, in the faint lantern light, he could see beneath her hood: huge violet eyes framed by long lashes, travel-flushed cheeks, pale hair spilling loose in messy strands, scraped knees, bare feet, and the stubborn expression of a child trying very hard to look like a dangerous adult.
He looked at her up and down.
"A boy named Lily," he said mildly. "With a face like that."
Lily froze.
That did sound weak.
He saw her expression and lifted one hand peaceably. "No judgment from me, child. The world is strange enough already. I am Alcott Alsfield, though most here call me Old Man Al. You may do the same."
Lily nodded slowly. "Old Man Al."
"There we are." He straightened, glanced once more over the dark road beyond the wall, then turned inward. "Well then, Lily, little master or little miss as God sorts it, welcome to the village of Einsway."
For a moment, Lily forgot her hunger, as she heard the name again, Einsway.
She had found it. The village was real, and she was standing inside its wall.
Maybe someone here knew Rob. Maybe someone knew where Mama had gone. Maybe this was the first thread in the enormous tangled mess of her life.
Although food still mattered, a lot.
The village itself looked stranger than she had imagined. Moonlight and scattered lanterns revealed a long oval settlement enclosed by the wooden palisade. The dirt road ran straight through it from this gate to another gate at the far end, where she could just make out a second guard with a bow. Beyond one side of the wall, the river moved unseen in the dark.
Inside, the buildings did not stand freely like the cottages in old fantasy pictures. Most were low wooden houses with thatched roofs and dark walls, gathered in tight clusters around small inner yards. Each cluster had only one narrow entrance. Few doors or windows faced outward. Everything turned inward, guarded and cautious, as if every home expected the outside world to become dangerous without warning.
It made the village feel less like a peaceful farming place and more like a collection of little forts pretending to be homes.
Farther in stood a small chapel with a simple cross. Near the far side rose something that made Lily stare harder: a tall windmill, sturdier and more advanced than the houses around it. Near the river, half-hidden by shadow, she could see the shape of a watermill too.
Those did not belong with the dark little defensive houses. They looked newer, something from a later age.
Old Man Al followed her gaze and sounded proud. "Fine things, aren't they? New tower mill for grain, watermill for sawing wood and other useful work. Lord's project. Funded with royal coin, or so the chief says. Crown prince himself sent designs for better mills, better posts, better roads. Clever young prince, they say. Always inventing something."
Lily stared toward the mills and felt something inside her sink.
A crown prince inventing things?The thought struck harder than it should have.
Years ago, before the bad men came to the cabin, she had drawn little designs on bark. Wheels, mills, better tools, small machines, anything she could remember from her old world's history. Back then, she had imagined showing them to the world one day and being useful, valuable, clever enough that people would need her.
Then the bad men had come and stolen those drawings.
After that, Lily had spent years trying to rebuild civilization by herself, one clumsy experiment at a time. Stone tools, clay ovens, paper, bows, traps, better cooking, better growing, better everything. She had thought those skills might matter once she finally reached people.
Yet here she stood, looking at a windmill and a watermill already built, already useful, already claimed as someone else's clever idea. Both looked far too advanced for the dark little houses around them.
Lily's hands tightened inside Art's cloak.
How was she supposed to compete with that? What if all the simple inventions she had hoped to sell already existed? What if this world had moved ahead without her? What if her grand future-knowledge money plan was nothing more than forest-girl nonsense that no one would buy?
Maybe civilization did not need her after all. Maybe she had spent years preparing to be useful in ways nobody cared about.
Before that thought could dig too deeply into her chest, Old Man Al pointed toward the brightest building in the village.
It stood near the center, larger than everything else: three stories of whitewashed walls, dark timber, warm lanterns, and smoking chimneys. Voices drifted from inside, mixed with the clatter of cups, boots on floorboards, and the heavenly smell of food. Most of Einsway lay dark and quiet, but that place glowed with life.
"That there is the Dancing Dragon," Al said. "Inn, messenger post, gathering house, and the only place still awake at this hour. If you want food, a bed, or work for small hands, go there. Sweeping, washing cups, carrying plates, that sort of thing."
Lily's stomach growled so loudly that Al looked down.
She covered it with both hands.
"Stomach low on food," she said.
The old man chuckled.
"The town mayor named Ein is long asleep, and I have the night watch till sunrise," he added. "But if the inn turns you away, you can still come back here. I have a small cottage and a pot that usually has something in it. You can sleep there if you need, and later the village elder can possibly find you work once he awakens."
Lily stiffened at once.
"I not need charity," she said quickly. "I can work. I useful."
Al looked at her for a moment, then softened. "Aye. Useful folk still need help sometimes."
Lily looked away.
She did not like that sentence. It sounded too dangerous and kind.
Instead, she studied the village. The palisade, the guards, the inward-facing houses, the narrow courtyard entrances. Even in the dark, the place looked strange. The buildings were not open to the road like normal houses should have been. They were clustered into little squares, with doors and windows turned inward, as if every family lived inside a tiny fort.
"Why village built like fight coming?" Lily asked. "Walls. Guards. Houses all closed. Is this place safe?"
Al's smile faded.
"So no one told you anything," he said.
Lily shook her head.
The old man rolled up one sleeve and showed her several pale scars crossing his forearm. Some were old and thin. Others were thick and ugly.
"Bandits," he said simply. "Hard times make hard men. Hungry men. Angry men. Men who decide taking is easier than working. Einsway is safe because we keep it safe. Walls, gates, bows, dogs, and neighbors who wake when trouble comes."
Lily looked at the scars.
"I saw men in forest," she said quietly. "Black clothes. White lion."
Al's expression changed. "White Lions?"
"Maybe. Naughty Lions."
He did not laugh. "Stay away from companies like that. Some mercenaries serve honest coin. Some serve any coin. Best not learn which is which alone on a road."
Lily touched the rusty knife hidden at her waist.
Al noticed.
"Listen, child," he said, voice lowering. "Inside these walls, keep to the rules and you should be fine. Outside them? A little thing like you is easy prey."
"I boy."
"A little boy who looks like a pretty little girl, then," Al said without missing a beat. "Bandits catch you, and you may not simply be robbed. You may wake with a collar on your neck."
Lily went still.
"Collar?"
"Slave collar," Al said. "Or a brand, if they are cruel or want no argument."
Her eyes widened. "That illegal, yes?"
Al gave a short laugh, not mocking, just surprised. "Slavery? No. It is punishment. Debt. Sentence-work. A thief who cannot pay works. A fool who burns another man's barn works. We have no great stone prisons feeding idle mouths for years. Folk work, guilty folk most of all."
Lily understood the ugly logic before she liked it.
She hated that.
"But taking free people is crime," she said.
"Aye. A hanging crime, if proven." Al's face grew grim. "But proof needs voices. Kin. Neighbors. Someone to say, that child is free, that child is ours. A lone child with no one to name her? Bad men see opportunity."
Cold moved through Lily's stomach.
"So if someone put collar on me…"
"Some would ask questions," Al said. "Good folk would. Bad folk would not. That is why I am telling you: stay inside the walls. Go to the inn. Find work. Sleep under a roof. Do not wander out alone."
Lily lifted her chin.
"I not be slave."
Al looked at her small clenched fists and smiled sadly. "Most folk say that before the world teaches them fear."
"World try," Lily said. "World fail."
This time he laughed, warm and rough. "I like your fire. Just keep it from burning down someone's barn, or you will learn my lesson too well."
"I burn no barn."
"Good. Then here are the village rules. No stealing. No sneaking into homes. No starting fights. No climbing walls after I just let you in. Ask before taking. Work honestly. Keep clear of strangers who smile too much."
"I mind many rules," Lily said. "Some rules stupid, but I consider."
"That is less comforting than you think."
A bark came from below.
Lily looked down and saw the dog properly for the first time: huge, shaggy, and gray-white, with fur hanging over its eyes and a tail wagging like a broom trying to escape its owner.
"That's Fenton," Al said. "Loud fool, good heart. Do not worry about him. Now go and remember to follow the rules."
Lily nodded and climbed down the ladder into the village yard. Fenton immediately came to inspect her. He sniffed her cloak, her hands, her pouches, her bare feet, and then licked her cheek with great seriousness.
Lily squeaked and pushed at his muzzle.
"Too wet! Bad greeting!"
Fenton wagged harder.
Despite herself, Lily smiled and patted his shaggy head. The dog was nearly chest-high to her, warm and solid and smelling of grass, smoke, and dog crimes. After a few satisfied sniffs, he lost interest and flopped beside the gate as if his duty had been completed with honor.
Al leaned on the wall-walk above her. "Go on, then. Straight to the Dancing Dragon. And if trouble finds you, come back here."
Lily gave Al a stiff little nod.
"Thank you, Old Man Al. I go be useful now."
"Good luck, little miss."
Lily huffed as she lifted one eyebrow and said, "I boy."
Old Man Al smiled like he did not believe a single word of it.
"Course you are."
Lily narrowed her eyes. Maybe his memory was bad. Maybe everyone in civilization was rude. Either way, food came first.
She pulled Art's hood lower over her pale hair, gathered what remained of her dignity, and walked toward the Dancing Dragon Inn.