The morning sun slipped through the trees, soft and pale. I sat on Nick’s porch steps, the wood cool beneath my palms. Inside, the faint clink of metal and quiet footsteps told me he was preparing for the day.

Nick came out with two mugs, warm steam rising between us. “Coffee?” he offered, settling beside me.

I nodded, breathing in the scent of pine and something faintly smoky on the breeze.

“Quiet morning,” Nick said, eyes drifting toward the forest.

I hesitated, the unease tightening in my chest. “Something’s coming,” I said softly. “Something that’s been waiting.”

Nick looked at me, searching my face. “You mean trouble?”

I swallowed hard. “More than that. It’s hard to explain. But I can feel it—like a shadow moving just beyond the trees.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, then nodded slowly. “We need to be ready.”

I glanced at the flickering carrot-root lantern hanging nearby. Its light pulsed like a heartbeat.

“Do you think it will come here?”

Nick’s gaze met mine, steady and calm. “If it does, we won’t be caught off guard.”

The forest held its breath around us, silent and watchful.

Nick took a slow sip of his coffee, then glanced toward the village just beyond the tree line. “Tonight, there’s a gathering at the hall. A chance to rest and remember what we’re protecting.”

I followed his gaze, imagining the little cottages and warm lights waiting there. “A party?”

He chuckled softly. “Maybe not what you think. More like stories, quiet music, and the comfort of company.”

The thought warmed me more than the coffee ever could.

“I’d like that,” I said, feeling the weight in my chest ease just a little.

Nick smiled. “Good. Because sometimes, even when the storm is coming, we need moments like this.”

The lantern’s soft pulse matched my steadying heartbeat.

I hesitated, then finally said, “Nick… I heard something. From the edge of the forest—riders are coming.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Riders?”

“Yeah. A group, maybe the day after tomorrow. They’re not here for trade or talk.” I swallowed hard. “They plan to burn Cottonwell to the ground.”

The warmth in the air seemed to vanish.

Nick’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing like steel. “Burn the village? Who would do that?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. But we need to get ready. Warn everyone. Prepare.”

Nick stood, setting his mug down carefully. “Then we have no time to waste.”

He glanced around the porch, then back at me. “We’ll gather what we can. Food, weapons, anything useful.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling the cold prickling down my spine again.

Nick’s voice was steady but low. “This isn’t just about surviving anymore. It’s about standing our ground.”

The carrot-root lantern flickered brighter, casting longer shadows across the porch.

“We’ll be ready,” I said.

Nick’s eyes met mine, fierce and sure. “We have to be.”

I swallowed my nerves and asked, “Nick… is there any weapon I can use? Something to protect myself with?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded slowly. “There are a few old things in the back shed. Mostly hunting tools, but some could work.”

He pushed himself up from the steps and gestured toward the side of the house. “I’ll show you.”

We walked to the shed, the wooden door creaking as Nick opened it. Inside, tools hung on the walls — old bows, hunting knives, and a few rusted spears.

Nick picked up a worn bow, running his fingers over the wood. “This one’s held up pretty well. You know how to use one?”

I shook my head. “Not really. But I can learn.”

He smiled faintly. “Good. Because you’ll need to.”

Nick handed me the bow, and I felt the smooth curve of the carrot-root wood in my hands. Its faint amber glow pulsed softly beneath my fingers.

Suddenly, a blue message appeared before my eyes, hovering in the air like a silent whisper—only I could see it.

“Forest’s Reach” Lv.19
Information unavailable. Fulfill criteria to unlock.

My heart skipped a beat. What was this? Some kind of message? Why could only I see it?

I tightened my grip on the bow, feeling its weight settle comfortably in my hands. A strange mix of excitement and unease twisted in my stomach. Whatever this was, it felt important. Like the bow was waiting for something... or someone.

Nick glanced at me, unaware of the glowing text only I could see. “It’s made from the finest carrot-root,” he said. “Strong, light... perfect for a quick shot.”

I forced a smile, nodding slowly. But inside, questions swirled. What did the message mean? And what criteria was I supposed to fulfill?

Then Nick reached into a crate nearby and pulled out a quiver filled with arrows. “These are made from the carrot-root wood the village farms. Stronger than they look and surprisingly light.”

I ran a finger along one of the shafts, noting the faint orange hue and smooth finish. “Carrot-root wood... I never knew it could be used like this.”

Nick shrugged. “It’s been a secret weapon around here for a while. The roots are tough, and the wood holds up well under pressure. Makes for perfect arrows.”

I nodded, fitting an arrow onto the bowstring. “Feels different… but good.”

“Good,” Nick said. “Because we’re going to need every advantage if those riders come.”

Nick led me away from the shed, the bow resting heavy but somehow familiar in my hands. Morning light filtered softly through the trees, casting long, slender shadows across the forest floor.

“We’ll start simple,” he said, voice calm but firm. “First, get a feel for the bow. Balance, tension, draw.”

He gestured toward a clearing nearby, where a rough circle was painted on a tree trunk—our target.

My heart thudded as I stepped forward. Nick watched quietly, arms crossed.

“Hold it steady,” he instructed. “Don’t rush. The bow’s an extension of you, not a tool to force.”

I raised the bow slowly, fitting an arrow onto the string. It felt strange, almost alive, pulsing faintly beneath my fingertips.

“Draw back gently,” Nick said, stepping closer to guide me. “Keep your elbow level. Breathe.”

I pulled the string, feeling the tension stretch like a tight wire. My arms trembled.

“Good,” Nick nodded. “Now aim.”

I focused on the target, the painted circle blurring slightly in my vision.

“Let it go,” he said.

The arrow flew—wobbly but true—thudding near the edge of the circle.

Nick smiled. “Not bad for your first try.”

I exhaled, adrenaline rushing through me, mixed with the sting of failure.

“Again,” Nick said. “This time, keep your breath steady. The bow listens when you do.”

We repeated the motion, shot after shot, each a little steadier, a little truer.

My arms ached after a while, but something inside me settled. The bow wasn’t just a weapon—it was a link. A pulse. A promise.

Nick clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re catching on faster than I expected.”

I smiled, feeling the quiet thrill of progress.

“We don’t have much time,” Nick said, voice serious again. “But every moment counts.”

I nodded, gripping the bow tighter.

As I held it steady, fingers brushing the smooth carrot-root wood, a faint blue glow flickered in my vision—a soft message, just for me:

“Checkpoint reached. Accept save? [Yes] [No]”

I hesitated, then silently chose ‘Yes.’

Nick glanced up, noticing my pause. “Everything okay?”

I smiled, lowering the bow. “Yeah. Just… getting ready.”

He nodded, unaware of the quiet choice I’d just made.

The sun dipped low, painting the village in a soft amber glow. Nick and I walked the familiar path back, the sounds of the gathering growing louder ahead.

“You ready for this?” Nick asked, flicking his tail with a grin. “Soup night gets lively.”

I adjusted the quiver on my back. “After today’s training, I think I can handle it.”

We pushed open the door to the banquet hall, and warmth and laughter spilled out. Rabbits sat in circles around the fire pit, mugs clutched in paws, faces flushed from cider and conversation.

A young rabbit with flour on her apron waved as she spotted Nick. “There you are! Mama Thistle’s been asking for you all evening.”

Nick groaned, rubbing his neck. “She wants a story. And I missed soup.”

“Better not keep her waiting,” the young rabbit said with a teasing smile, slipping back inside.

I took a seat next to Nick on a low bench. The fire crackled, throwing dancing shadows over the gathering.

“So,” Nick began, taking a slow sip of cider, “how’s the bow handling?”

I lifted the wooden bow, fingers brushing the smooth curve. “Feels different today. Like it’s waiting for something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not imagining things?”

Before I could answer, Elder Moss’s gravelly voice cut through the chatter. “Ah, Sebastian returns. How fares your training, young one?”

I looked up to see the elder rabbit, her fur streaked with silver and eyes sharp beneath bushy brows.

“Better,” I said, nodding. “Nick’s been helping me.”

Elder Moss smiled faintly. “Good. We’ll need all the strength we can muster soon.”

A younger rabbit nearby leaned forward eagerly. “Do you think the forest will shift again? Like the last time?”

Nick snorted. “If it does, I’m blaming the spirits for messing with our maps.”

I laughed softly, but the elder’s gaze stayed serious.

“The forest is alive,” Elder Moss said. “It listens, it remembers. And it tests us.”

From the other side of the fire, a rabbit with bright eyes spoke up. “Then maybe it’s testing you, Sebastian. To see if you’re ready.”

I met their curious looks, feeling the weight of their hopes.

Nick nudged me. “Don’t get all serious on me now. Save some for the stories.”

“Speaking of stories,” Mama Thistle’s voice rang out from the back, “Nick! It’s time. And you’re not getting out of it this time.”

Nick groaned dramatically but stood, offering me a grin. “Come on, you’re in this too.”

As Nick launched into his tale, the village settled closer, the firelight warming more than just the night.

Around us, the forest whispered beyond the walls, and for a moment, everything felt connected.

As the last embers of the fire faded and the chatter softened to sleepy murmurs, Nick and I stood and stretched.

“Ready to call it a night?” he asked, tugging his coat tighter around his shoulders.

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

We stepped outside into the cool night air. The village was quiet now, lanterns glowing softly along the paths like little stars fallen to earth.

The scent of pine and damp earth filled my lungs as we walked back toward Nick’s house, the familiar crunch of leaves underfoot grounding me.

Nick was silent, humming a low tune, his steps easy and sure.

When we reached the small porch, Nick kicked off his boots and leaned against the doorframe.

“I’ll get the lantern,” he said, pulling a carrot-root crystal from his pocket. Its soft amber light cast gentle shadows inside.

I settled into the hammock, the fabric cradling me like an old friend.

Nick’s footsteps softened as he came to sit nearby, his presence steady and calm.

“Goodnight, Sebastian,” he said quietly.

“Goodnight, Nick,” I replied, my eyes already closing.

Outside, the forest whispered in the dark, holding its secrets close.

And for the first time in a while, I felt ready for whatever was coming next.