Panic surged through him. He wanted to reach her as quickly as possible, but no matter how hard he ran, he couldn't get closer. His legs grew weaker, his breathing heavier.

Despite it all, he pushed forward. He wanted to embrace his mother, to tell her how much he missed her. But it wasn't enough. He collapsed onto the grass, his eyes starting to close. Only his arm still fought on, clawing forward in desperation.

But his mother didn't react. She remained kneeling, smiling softly at Osen. Her mouth opened.

"Wake up, Osen." His eyes shut completely.

When he opened them again, he saw a wooden ceiling above him. His bed, though soft, now felt like a slab of pure stone. After lying there for a few minutes, his mind blank, he pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. His clothes still hung over the chair frame, so he grabbed them and dressed quickly.

Even though he felt slightly downcast, he knew there wasn't any time to waste. The sun was already high in the sky. He needed to get to work.

After quickly washing his face, he grabbed his bag, threw on his coat, and opened the door. Whether Joshua was home or not, he didn't care to check.

The sunlight greeted him, and he flinched. The warm sensation on his face—how long had it been since he last felt it? In this village, it was almost always gray and dark.

For a brief moment, he simply stood still, admiring the beautiful weather. It reminded him of his dream. But instead of making him uncomfortable, it somehow made him feel pure, complete in a certain way. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and set off.

The axe should still be lying in his section of the worksite since he hadn't thought to return it yesterday. To get there, he'd have to walk through the village, which wasn't usually an issue. But today, something unusual seemed to be happening.

In the large, round marketplace, a sizable crowd had gathered, seemingly observing something. They were energetically chatting with one another. Many seemed upset, but there were also plenty of excited and laughing faces.

Even though such events were rare, Osen didn't want to get involved. But then, a voice rang out—a voice whose owner he knew very well.

Joshua?

It was unmistakably his voice, speaking with someone. But Osen couldn't quite make out the sentences.

What is he doing?

He began making his way toward the center of the gathering. Pushing through the crowd, he paid no attention to the people around him. Some gave him strange looks, others seemed almost angry, but many simply let him pass. Whether they did so because of his connection to Joshua, he didn't know, and he didn't care to find out. Reaching the front row, he looked ahead.

The first thing he noticed was a luxurious carriage, two horses hitched to it, munching on what appeared to be freshly brought hay. On either side of the carriage stood two armored men. They carried their swords with great pride, which was evident from their expressions.

But his thoughts were interrupted by a high, yet firm voice. A man in a white suit, with glasses perched high on his nose and his head held arrogantly aloft, seemed to be looking down on Joshua, even though he was significantly smaller in both size and stature.

"…attack…" Osen's ears perked up immediately. He leaned forward as much as he could to catch what the man—whom he had mentally dubbed "the pompous one"—was saying.

"They will reach this place sooner or later, Sir Hohenfeld. Your little amateur guard will not suffice," the man sneered, casting a glance at the few village guards surrounding them. "The Council of Elders itself has decided to send soldiers to this region. The property of this land cannot be considered in the matter. The threat is simply too great," he said in a tone that began to irritate Osen. He sounded like a vulture, and in every story Osen had read, whenever a vulture appeared, it never ended well for someone.

The soldiers standing behind the man stiffened at his declaration. Some of them occasionally cast glances in Joshua's direction. Whether they did so out of respect or for security reasons, Osen couldn't tell through their narrow visors, but he didn't need to.

Something big was brewing. If even the Council of Elders—the highest authority in Verelium next to the Emperor—was reacting this way, then the village must be facing a massive problem. But there was something else that puzzled him.

Joshua is the owner of this territory?

Joshua was rich and a noble? What in the world is he doing here?

"Sir Fugen," Joshua began, "I understand the situation, but I must insist on having a say in the movements and tactics of the division. If it's such a large horde, the villagers must be evacua—" But before he could finish, the so-called Sir Fugen interrupted him.

"We simply don't have the resources to deal with evacuating the villagers. You must all understand that even sharing this information with you and these people is already a risky move for us," he concluded.

His gaze struck Osen as dismissive, as though Joshua was nothing more than an obstacle. But Joshua was clearly far from pleased. For the first time in a long while, Osen could see something on Joshua's face that could only be described as anger. His hands clenched into fists, his chest rose, and his gaze turned cold as it locked onto Sir Fugen. The latter simply stared back, a slight twitch breaking the edge of his otherwise indifferent mask. The knights flanking Fugen seemed tense, as though they were waiting for the smallest motion to justify drawing their swords.

"Of course," Joshua said coldly, "I will personally oversee the evacuation. If you'll excuse me." Then he turned and slowly walked away from the carriage. Fugen, having delivered his message, gave a slight bow and climbed back inside. Two of the knights headed further into the village, seemingly toward the barracks, while the other two took seats at the front and rear of the carriage.

Joshua's gaze briefly fell on Osen, who simply stared back, stunned.

Evacuation? Leave the village? His breathing grew faster and faster. He had to retreat. He couldn't stay here any longer.

He pushed his way back through the crowd. The villagers, still tense and waiting for Joshua's reaction, didn't even glance his way as he bumped into some of them. They didn't just fail to react; they grew very loud.

"Did you hear that?" someone shouted.

"Evacuation?" yelled another.

"What's going to happen to the village?" a panicked woman asked, clutching her child in her arms.

He was just about to run home when someone grabbed him by the shoulder.

It was Kale, with his mother and sister behind him. Kale's family looked so alike that, for a brief moment, Osen—already dazed—thought he was seeing his friend three times over.

"Osen!" Kale called again, his voice uncertain, nervous. "Did Joshua say anything to you about this? Did he tell you what's going on?" Kale's eyebrows furrowed into a serious expression. But Osen didn't understand his situation. All he knew was that, in this moment, he was losing control of his future and the fragile sense of security he'd found despite his troubles. His blank stare fixed on his friend, his eyes not even slightly focused, even though they were generally facing Kale's direction.

Before Kale could shake Osen's shoulder again, something tugged on the collar of his coat. Behind him, Kale's mother wore a stern expression, though it wasn't directed at Osen—it was aimed at Kale.

"Boy, did I raise you to treat your friend like this?" she snapped sharply. Kale's sister stepped next to Osen, gently placing a comforting hand on his back. She was two years older than the boys, and even though Osen never fully understood it, she always took care of him in her own way.

"Mother," she said firmly, with resolve. "I'll take Osen and Kale home first. I assume you'll want to speak with Sir Joshua."

Kale's mother relaxed, her gaze shifting to her daughter, a smile forming on her face.

"I understand, Maris. Take them and look after them. I'll follow with Sir Joshua later—he still owes me a favor, after all," she replied. Maris nodded quickly, her own smile mirroring her mother's.