The trees thinned after six days of silence.
Kaelen didn't notice at first. His feet moved from habit, not intent. The Hollowed Spine hung low at his hip, its segmented length dusted with dried blood and ash. Wind no longer howled just whispered, like a voice unsure of itself.
Then, the smell hit him.
Not rot. Not smoke.
Wood smoke, yes but cleaner. Touched by herbs and roasted grain. Beneath it: the faintest sweetness. Cooked fruit?
Kaelen slowed.
He crested the next hill, and there it was tucked beneath the ribs of two sloping cliffs. A village. Wooden homes huddled together, ringed not by walls or guards, but gardens. Chickens clucked in dirt yards. Faded prayer cloths hung from porch beams. A child ran barefoot down the main path, laughing as a dog chased him.
Kaelen stared.
No armor. No soldiers. No crowns. Just people.
For a long time, he didn't move.
Then the child saw him.
The boy skidded to a halt, dog barking protectively at his side. Dust clung to his feet. He stared up at Kaelen with wide eyes, then turned and bolted down the road, shouting something in a language Kaelen hadn't heard in years. Not Crown-speak. Not Temple-tongue. Old speech.
His legs ached. He should've left. But curiosity gnawed at him harder than hunger.
So he stepped forward.
The village didn't flee. Didn't shut its doors.
Instead, by the time he reached the main path, three people were waiting. An old man with a walking stick, a middle-aged woman with calloused hands, and of course the child, peeking out from behind her legs.
The woman stepped forward.
"You look like death," she said.
Kaelen didn't reply.
"Hungry?" she added.
He nodded once.
She motioned to a house down the lane. "Come."
Kaelen didn't trust it. But his legs moved anyway.
The house was simple. Wood beams. Clay hearth. A table with uneven legs. A chipped bowl of lentils waited for him, still steaming. Kaelen sat on the floor, knees folded. He didn't remove the his weapon from his side.
The child sat nearby, staring. At his face. His clothes. His scars.
Kaelen met his gaze.
"You scared me," the boy whispered.
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you still here?"
The boy grinned. "Mama says only people who've been scared know how to stay calm."
The grin reminded him of another child.
One with hair matted in ash. Bones scorched black. Eyes that no longer blinked.
Kaelen's fingers twitched. His breath hitched. Just for a second.
The boy reached for his hand.
Kaelen jerked back.
The bowl clattered.
Silence fell.
The woman returned, saw the scene, and said nothing. She picked up the bowl, refilled it, and placed it gently back.
"Eat," she said. "We'll talk after."
Kaelen forced himself to finish it. Every bite tasted like memory.
That night, they offered him a bed.
He refused. Sat on the porch instead, watching stars gather above the cliffs.
The village slept quietly. Peacefully. He could hear someone snoring. Another humming in their sleep. A baby crying, then quieting just as fast.
It was too gentle.
Too soft.
Too much like the city of Bhuddha before it burned.
Kaelen leaned back, gripping the Hollowed Spine in his lap. He didn't close his eyes.
He used to dream of what ifs.
What if the city had survived? What if they never came? What if someone some how survived?
But that was before.
Now, he wouldn't be caught dreaming, not anymore