The sun kept rising and falling, carving golden arcs across the sky. Time drifted onward, step by step, hour by hour. Days passed in quiet rhythm.

Auren was alone in the wilderness, walking north as Ryvek had told him to. His feet were sore and blistered. His throat sometimes felt raw from breathing cold air too sharply. Yet he kept going.

He hunted small animals for food: hares with soft brown fur, quail rustling in dry grass, sometimes fish he managed to catch in creeks with trembling fingers. He wasn't an expert hunter. The kills were messy. The first time he slit a hare's throat, he'd vomited in the bushes afterward.

Still, he kept himself alive. That was all that mattered.

Each night, as shadows grew longer and the air turned chill, Auren built himself a bed out of leaves and moss. He'd gather armfuls and arrange them into a rough oval, sometimes pressing them down with his hands until they felt a little like a real mattress.

And every single night, before lying down, he'd shape an arrow out of sticks on the ground, pointing north. It was a tiny ritual. A promise to himself: Keep going.

On the fifth night, darkness swallowed the forest in black velvet. Stars blinked overhead like tiny lanterns. The leaves rustled around Auren's bed as he lay staring up, sleep hovering just out of reach.

His heart thumped faster than usual. He felt nervous. Cold. His mind kept spinning with thoughts of the village burned to ash. He thought of Ryvek, left behind to bury the dead. And of Roderic, a man he'd never met.

He wondered if he'd made a mistake leaving Ryvek alone.

Slowly, his eyes drifted shut. He felt his consciousness slipping.

A gentle voice drifted into the silence:

"Welcome, Unwritten One."

Auren's eyes flew open—but he was no longer lying among leaves.

He stood ankle-deep in rippling black water. The world around him was pure emptiness stretching into every direction, except above him, where a giant face hovered in the sky like a mask cut from darkness itself. It had no true features, just shifting shadows, yet somehow he felt its eyes watching him.

Auren swallowed. "Hey," he said, his voice trembling slightly.

"You're worried about the village, aren't you?" said the shadowy being.

Auren blinked. "Not just that," he blurted. "What am I supposed to do without Ryvek? What if his brother doesn't like me? And after that... what then? What am I supposed to do with my life?"

The figure listened silently, ripples moving around its dark silhouette. Then it spoke:

"In three days, you will reach the northern capital city, Northbound. Fate will guide you to what you must do."

Auren tilted his head, trying to process that. "Fate?" he repeated softly.

He imagined a wooden chair, and in this strange place, it appeared beside him, rising out of the water like a ship from the sea. He sat down on it, trying to appear calm.

The towering shadow nodded.

For a moment, they both sat in silence, one enormous and ethereal, the other small and fragile.

"You seem less tense than before," the being said at last. "Good."

"Thank you," Auren said quietly.

The blackness around him began to fade.

Light broke across his eyelids. He opened his eyes and saw pale dawn stretching through the trees. The sun's rim was barely above the horizon, painting everything gold.

Auren pushed himself upright from his bed of leaves, brushing dirt from his hair. His muscles ached like he'd been running all night.

He glanced down at the arrow of sticks he'd left pointing north. It was still there, undisturbed.

Auren tightened the scarf around his neck—a scarf Ryvek had given him—and started walking once more.

Three more days passed, and Auren didn't let himself stop for sleep. He moved through pale sunlight and bone-white moonlight, driven by the dream's words. He drank from cold streams, wiped dirt off his face, and let the wind numb his thoughts.

On the third day, he crested a rise and gasped.

Before him rose giant stone walls stretching across the horizon like a mountain range. Towering watchtowers loomed along the ramparts, each one linked by colossal black iron chains anchored deep into the ground. Even from this distance, Auren could see the glint of a fortress spire piercing the sky at the city's center.

It was Northbound.

Auren's steps slowed as he stared.

He slipped his fingers beneath the strap of his shoulder armor. After a moment, he tugged the armor off and tossed it into a patch of bushes. Then he unbuckled his sword belt and cast the sword away too. He wanted to look like an ordinary boy, not a warrior.

The scarf Ryvek had given him lay softer across his throat without the weight of metal pressing it.

He started forward again, moving quicker this time, determined not to lose his nerve.

As he neared the city gates, he saw two guards in shining breastplates. They leaned on long spears, eyeing the trickle of travelers moving through the gate.

Auren swallowed his nerves and walked up to them.

"Greetings," he said politely, trying to sound older than he felt.

The guards exchanged a glance, sizing him up from head to toe.

"Who are you, boy?" one guard asked. "And what's your business in Northbound?"

"My adoptive father told me to visit my step-uncle," Auren explained quickly. "He's a blacksmith here."

One of the guards tilted his head, curious. "And what's your uncle's name?"

"Roderic."

The guard's eyes widened a fraction. He reached up and pulled off his helmet, revealing a square-jawed face and short dark brown hair. Without the helmet shadowing his features, his eyes were a surprisingly clear shade of blue.

"Does that mean... your 'father' is Ryvek?" the guard asked, voice softer now.

Auren nodded, feeling warmth and relief spread through his chest.

"I knew him," the guard said, a gentle smile flickering over his lips. "He was a skilled blacksmith. He left Northbound years ago for his wife. I heard... she died. Tell him my condolences, will you?"

Auren blinked in surprise. He hadn't known Ryvek had ever been married.

The guard shifted his spear to his other hand. "Come on, I'll take you to Roderic." He turned to his partner. "Oi, Glenn. Take over for me, would you?"

The other guard gave a brisk nod and resumed watching the road.

"Call me George," the first guard said as they stepped through the gates into Northbound.

Inside the city, the streets bustled with life.

Merchants shouted from their wooden stalls, trying to lure customers with woven carpets, spices, and shimmering jewelry. Children darted past with kites shaped like giant insects. Tall buildings loomed overhead, their roofs tiled in orange or blue. Here and there, beastfolk moved among the crowds—some with feline ears, others with scales running along their jaws.

Auren stared around, overwhelmed. The air smelled like metal, roasting meat, and horse sweat.

George glanced at him sideways. "You haven't answered my question yet. Who exactly are you?"

Auren blinked and realized he'd been gaping at a merchant's glasswork. "Auren," he said simply.

They continued weaving through the busy streets.

They passed by workshops where hammering rang out, by the tall silhouette of a church with stained-glass windows, and by clusters of people shouting politics from wooden stands.

Finally, George slowed in front of a squat building with thick stone walls. A sign swung overhead: Roderic's Forge.

"Here we are," George announced. He pushed open the heavy door.

Inside the forge, heat blasted Auren in the face like a desert wind. The walls glowed with a faint orange haze. Sparks flew around the room as a huge man slammed a hammer onto an anvil.

Steel hissed and steamed as he plunged a glowing sword into a bucket of water.

The man had broad shoulders and arms like tree trunks. His hair was short and gray, his skin bronzed and crisscrossed with old burn scars.

George grinned. "Oi, you old slacker!"

Roderic looked up sharply. His dark eyes flicked from George to Auren. He frowned. "What do you want? Who's that boy? Did you kidnap him or something? He doesn't look older than sixteen."

Auren let out a small laugh. "My name is Auren. I grew up with Ryvek."

Roderic froze, then barked out a laugh so deep it rattled the forge. He squinted at Auren as though trying to see Ryvek in his face.

"By the names of Vsyria," Roderic boomed, "I didn't know my cowardly brother would ever have a child."

"I'm not related to Ryvek by blood," Auren said quickly.

"Knowing my brother, he probably thought of you as a son," Roderic said, still chuckling. His voice was deep and a bit raspy, like gravel scraping steel.

He wiped sweat from his brow and rested his hammer against the anvil. "So why are you here, boy?"

Auren hesitated. "Ryvek sent me here. The village to the west was destroyed... by someone called Virion."

Roderic's face hardened. "What happened to Ryvek? Who's this Virion?"

"Ryvek's alive," Auren said, hoping his voice sounded convincing. "He stayed behind to bury the dead and look for survivors. And... I don't really know who Virion is."

Roderic's eyes searched his face, then he nodded slowly. "So. My brother sent you here so I could keep an eye on you, yeah?"

Auren shrugged, unsure.

Roderic sighed, rising to his full height. He towered over Auren and George both.

"Am I going to stay here now?" Auren asked, uncertain.

"I guess so," Roderic said gruffly. "Call me Uncle Rode."

Auren smiled and nodded, a flicker of warmth sparking in his chest.

Roderic gave him a long, measuring look. Then he tilted his head. "So... what weapon?"

"What?" Auren blinked. "Weapon?"

Roderic rolled his eyes. "What weapon do you want to use, boy? You're not staying in my forge swinging nothing but your fists."

Auren stared down at his empty hands, thinking. The sword he'd carried so far hadn't felt quite right. A spear would be too long for him to handle. An axe felt too heavy, too wild. He wanted something that could pierce rather than chop or slash.

"I... I want to try using a rapier," Auren said finally.

Roderic grinned, teeth flashing white. "Now that's interesting."