We pile inside the cottage, which feels like a comfortable home. Several doors lead into different rooms, and a woman wearing a white apron instantly greets us with a smile as warm as the fireplace. The room consists of a round dining table, fit with enough chairs to seat a large family, a cauldron in the corner, stacks of books near a rocking chair by the furnace, and a workbench near the stairs. The walls were littered in decorations, all looking handmade out of sticks and leather straps. Most of the decorations were shaped like birds or feathers.

The old man leads Duncan inside one of the rooms. He's so distraught, he nearly catches Charlotte's head on the doorframe.

"Oh, I see," the woman says. "So you were ambushed?"

"Yes," I say. "I hope your husband can cure her."

"Of course. Macalosh knows the remedy for that poison like it was his morning routine!" she says while grabbing several wooden bowls and cups from her cupboard. "You two look hungry. Have a seat, I made porridge."

Ameline and I sit at the long end of the table and quickly scarf down a bowl of porridge with honey and two cups of hot tea. But all the while, I can hear both Duncan barking at the good doctor, and Charlotte writhing in pain still. Mrs. Winsmore tries to keep our spirits elevated with small talk, while Alistar stays in the corner and whittles a trinket with his knife.

The Winsmores were from a region known as Witheridge. Hearing that word brought a fresh batch of memories into my mind. The Witherins believed in nature's protection and cherished its beauty, so the village's large Gigangia trees were hollowed and made into homes and stores. The largest tree was the town hall where the village elder lived and appeased the masses. That tree was so tall its leaves could touch the rolling clouds. But the most memorable thing about Witheridge was the Falcors, those massive birds. Their wings could cast shadows on entire villages, and one flap could blow an entire house down. They came in assorted colors, not a single one of them was lacking in beauty.

I was only in Witheridge for a short time. But those are memories I'm glad I still have.

The Winsmores had migrated to Pirema to search for financial support after losing their farm to a massive flood. Here in the Crimson Forest, they grow wheat and raise chickens for eggs. Mr. Winsmore also treats patients with ancient medical techniques. Alistar works outside of the village as a messenger, which explains the sack of letters sloppily sitting in the corner.

Ameline is enthralled by a small creature that jumps in front of her bowl and sniffs her fingers to gain her scent. The creature is coated in bright green fur, with teal-colored ears that are long like a rabbit's. Its tail is also quite long as it whips around ferociously.

"Oh, that's Majesca," Alistar says. "She's my pet Junja. Ain't she precious?"

Soon, Duncan and Mr. Winsmore finally come out of the room. Mr. Winsmore goes to his chair while Duncan steps out the door, leaving the room eerily silent. I watch him lean on the cottage's porch, and I feel obligated to have a word with him.

I silently join him on the porch. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. But I just can't help but worry about her," Duncan says. "That woman means more to me than life itself."

"I understand. I'm sure this is difficult not just for you but for her too."

"Not like either of us have ever had it easy," Duncan moans while he looks up at the sun-drenched sky. "We've only had each other through these hard times. In fact, we met on the day her town's council sentenced her to be burned at the stake."

"They were gonna kill her? For what?"

"I never found out," Duncan continues. "I just joined the crowd when they were gathering around the center, and there she was up there tied to a post and begging for mercy. There was fire everywhere, and she kept screaming. And the next thing I knew, I was climbing up there and cutting her loose. I don't even know why I did it. Maybe I'm just a sucker for a pretty face. Or maybe I felt sorry that even her own family wanted her dead."

"Well, it takes a brave man to risk his life for someone he hardly knows. That must be why you did the same for me and Ameline. I can see why she loves you."

"Yeah?"

With another small smile, Duncan decides to pull out his map. Maybe he's trying not to think about Charlotte.

"We're not very far off from the route we were going, so if we get ourselves some transportation, we should be able to get back on track without a problem. So long as we don't run into that old codger again."

That reminded me of that old knight we encountered. He looked so ancient, yet his strength was incredible. And that beautiful greatsword, looking like it had tasted gallons upon gallons of blood during its time. A man like that surely must have stories to tell and wisdom to teach.

"Oi," Duncan says with a snap of his fingers, breaking me out of my trance. "You hear me? We'll need a ride if we're getting to Theoton on time."

"Pardon me, Mrs. Winsmore?" I call over my shoulder. "Would you and your husband happen to have a carriage for us?"

"I'm afraid not," she says. "Macalosh needs our cart for his deliveries in the morning. But if you ask Torvald, the village thane, I'm sure he'll find one for you. He lives in the clay house just on the other side, near the blacksmith."

Ameline wipes the crumbs off her mouth and scoots out the door with us.

"You go on without me," Duncan says. "I'll stay here."

With a wave to Duncan, she and I start walking along the dirt path. She occasionally glances in every direction like the curious little girl she is. Then, without warning, she grabs my hand. It almost took me by surprise.

"Is Charlotte gonna be okay?" Ameline asks.

"I think so. Those people sound like they know what they're doing."

"But what if she dies?"

"Hey, now. Don't think like that."

"Why not?"

"It's unhealthy. Try and stay optimistic. This is a nice little village, and maybe the Winsmores will serve us a warm meal for dinner."

Finally, after walking for a little bit, we find a more extensive house than the rest just past the blacksmith's shop. The roof is higher and more pointed, and the walls are reinforced with clay, which looks cracked, almost as old as the village itself.

Ameline steps to the door and gives it a few light knocks. In the window, a lanky old man looks out to his porch before opening the door. He has a noticeable gold badge on the right shoulder, almost as bright as his circular glasses.

"Evening..." he mutters with a shake in his voice. "How can I help you?"

"Good afternoon, we're looking for Torvald?"

"Ah, that would be me. Please, come in."

Ameline practically sprints inside. Brushing past the senior, I catch a sweet but organic aroma from a small teapot, which rests on a steel pedestal over a hot fire. There's a cauldron cooking soup in the corner. The dining room is small but welcoming, with four separate wooden stools and a round table.

An old woman tastes her freshly made soup as Ameline looks in the pot.

"Leeks..." she says with a retch.

"Hello, there," the woman says. "Who might you be, little one?"

"I'm Ameline."

"And I'm Triton. Triton Netherbane."

"Triton... Netherbane..." the old man says. "So it is true. Our Flame has returned." After shaking his hand, Torvald offers me his chair at the table. "Tea? It's freshly brewed," the old man says.

"Yes, please!" Ameline says while holding up her cup.

"This is a nice home you have. Very accommodating," I say while my own cup is filled.

"Well, for as ancient as this house is, that's flattering. I built it with my own hands almost forty years ago, and it sure looks that old," Torvald said. "So how may I help you?"

"Well, we were hoping you would have a carriage we can use. We need to travel a great distance in a short amount of time."

"I'm sure we can spare one. Most of our carriages just collect dust these days anyway. We've been without business for so long, most of my civilians are going hungry."

"Why's that?"

"Well," Torvald groans. "Recently, more refugees have been arriving. Pirema is so crammed full, that we've even had to start turning people away. And plus, our land doesn't provide much. Livestock and grains is all we can raise beyond shoddy weaponry, and even that can barely support a family here."

"I'm sure your people would have more faith if you attended mass," I say with a shake of my head. "It was enforced by law in my time."

Torvald leans forward, without a sense of care in his foggy eyes. "There was once a chapel here, yes. But it became a useless hovel once the Wells went cold."

The old man looked up at the ceiling, his mind lost to a barrage of old memories.

"Before then, people would pray with hope in their hearts, but they would leave the chapel with only more dread. The Herald we entrusted swore that the fire would return to the Well. But he began to obsess over the loss. He stopped holding mass, just so he could pray for the light to return on his own. We found him lying dead across the Well one day, having starved to death. Without a Herald, we had no further use for the chapel."

He tapped his foot on the floor.

"You're on the land where it once stood. He was buried right in our backyard."

"Triton..." Ameline says with a mournful frown.

"But what about the Fiends?" I ask. "Don't they threaten you?"

"Oh no," he says. "The Fiends aren't to be feared. They're harmless mounds of dark and nothing more. In fact, we welcome them. There's no Well to light, and the Forest is abundant with fireflies, so they are harmless."

"But how?" Ameline says while tilting her head. "Fiends kill everything they see, don't they?"

"That's a secret, little one," Torvald says with a smile. "Nothing for someone like you to be worried about."

"She asked you a question. And I'd like to know too," I tell him, with a bit of sternness in my voice.

Torvald's smile slowly drops. When he bows his head, the light of the fire bounces off his bald scalp. Torvald digs his fingers into his head so fiercely his skin starts to wrinkle.

"Mister?" Ameline asks. "Are you okay?"

A cold chill was left in the air, just as I decide to stand up. I suddenly have a bad feeling in my stomach.

"This is about the Shadowhearts, isn't it?"

Torvald gasps as I tower over him. I can feel the old man trembling as I hold his shoulder.

"Tell me. What have we walked into?"