As the sun timidly climbed the misty skies above the forest, the five-person group stepped onto the village road with slow yet peaceful strides. The exhaustion of the night's battles lingered on their faces, but the lightness in their hearts made their steps a little more upright.

Altan gently brushed off the leaves occasionally landing on his shoulder, glancing at Daen from time to time. Daen had awakened with the first light of dawn, walking slowly with a hint of weakness. His eyes were still unfocused, but he grew steadier with every step.

"I haven't slept that deeply in ages…" Daen said in a soft voice, unable to hide his smile. "Maybe you should knock me out every night?"

Llyn shrugged. "Good idea. But next time, try not to faint while guarding your post."

Altan chuckled lightly. "If fainting is part of your strategy, it's not really a strategy."

The two strangers they had saved exchanged glances and nodded. The younger one spoke first: "Are you soldiers? Or perhaps… former guards?"

Altan remained silent for a few steps. Without turning his eyes from the path, he said: "Some don't need orders to survive."

The answer was short, but it carried a deep weight.

The older man bowed his head quietly. "You saved us. We'll never forget what that means."

Altan paused, turned around, and looked at them. "You owe us nothing. But if someday… you get the chance to help someone else, don't walk away from it."

When they reached the stone-paved road of the village, the air was thick with the scent of baked bread and damp earth. The village was quiet—but not for long.

A woman's scream echoed. Desperate, yet filled with hope.

"Daen! My son!"

A middle-aged woman ran, her apron still dusted with flour. When her eyes found Daen, her feet froze. Tears streamed down her face. She approached with trembling steps. Daen could only whisper one word:

"Mother…"

As she embraced him, the village fell silent. All that remained were the mother's tears— and a tear in Altan's eyes that never fell.

Altan stepped back gently.

Then he heard a small voice shout, "Brother!"

His little sister ran to him on tiny legs and leaped into his arms. Altan caught her and lifted her high.

"You took too long!" she said, caught between laughter and tears.

"I didn't bring you a gift," Altan said. "But I came back."

She rested her head on his chest. "I don't want a gift, brother."

When Altan's mother approached, her face was full of both peace and surprise.

"To see you like this… Your face is finally smiling," she said quietly.

Altan looked away. "I've made good friends, Mother."

He turned to see Llyn still standing alone at the village entrance. He took a step forward, then looked back.

"She's coming with me," he said.

His mother nodded. "Then you must all be hungry. Come, inside."

The village square soon filled with people. Whispers passed, and silent greetings were exchanged. While Daen was taken home by his mother, Altan said goodbye to the two strangers they had saved.

Llyn still scanned the surroundings—cautious even in silence.

"Is this the first time so many people have greeted you?" she asked.

Altan smiled. "I'm not used to it. But it doesn't feel too bad."

His little sister was still by his side. She looked at Llyn and asked, "Are you my brother's friend?"

Llyn looked a bit startled. "Sort of."

"Then… does he like you?" she asked.

Altan cut in. "I think I like her enough," he said with a laugh.

Llyn rolled her eyes. "This kid talks too much."

Altan's father stood in front of the house, holding an old wooden box. He looked at Altan, then carried the box inside. He said nothing.

They only met eyes—and in that gaze, no words were needed.

Altan approached his mother. "Is he… alright?"

She nodded. "He's been waiting for you to return."

Altan lowered his head. At that moment, he thought his father might have placed the cloak inside the box… but the cloak wasn't there. Maybe it had never been.

Far away, in the shadow of a tree at the edge of the village, a dark figure stood silently. Its cloak fluttered in the wind—visible for only a few seconds before fading away.

Altan glanced at the sky, as if sensing something unknown in the air.

Then he closed his eyes and whispered to himself, so softly only he could hear:

"A storm is coming…"

📜 End of Chapter Note:

Altan returned not with victory, but with salvation. This return would ripple through the village like a spark—one that would change not just his fate, but everyone's. But behind every spark, a fire waits. And that fire still hides in the shadows…