Kaelen had never seen morning so soft.
Mist clung to the trees like silk, drifting low between the roots. Light filtered through the branches in strips, golden and quiet, not sharp like the sun he remembered on battlefields or at the end of funerals.
He stood just outside the crooked house, Hollowed Spine rolled up on his side , his breath visible in the crisp air. The stew had gone cold in his gut. The warmth of it lingered longer than he expected.
The boy's voice broke through the silence.
"You're up early!"
Kaelen turned. The boy was balancing a basket on his head, half-filled with herbs and bright wildflowers, proud as any soldier with a flag. "Mama says I should bring these to the elder. Want to come?"
Kaelen didn't answer. But he followed.
They walked through the village paths, dirt packed firm under their steps. Smoke drifted from clay chimneys. A couple waved as they passed. An old man nodded. No fear. No whispers. Just… presence.
"Isn't it weird?" the boy asked suddenly. "You're like, tall and scary, and don't talk much, but nobody here's scared of you."
Kaelen gave him a sidelong glance. "They should be."
The boy laughed. "That's what makes it funny."
They passed others. A woman stitching a broken shoe. A man repairing a well. Children chasing a hoop made from stripped bark. There was no crown's banner. No guards. No traders with bloated coin sacks. But there was order. A rhythm to things.
A life.
And the more Kaelen saw, the more it ached.
Because this simple, ragged, joyful life was what had been stolen from the cities he knew. From Bhuddha. From his people. Not gold. Not power. Just this.
When they reached the elder's hut, the boy bounded up the steps and disappeared inside.
Kaelen waited beneath a tree. His muscles were stiff today. The kind of dull pain that bloomed from old wounds and restless nights. His body strong, yes was still marked by time and cruelty. Bones that healed wrong. Skin that stretched too tight over scars. Strength that came slower each morning.
But he endured.
He always endured.
The door opened again, and this time the boy came out with a girl they called Maelra who seemed to be in her 20's with sharp eyes and a wiry build. She looked at Kaelen, hesitated, then offered a simple nod. "You should eat lunch with us later. My dad caught fish."
Kaelen responds plainly,"I don't eat with strangers."
"Then don't be a stranger."
She walked off without waiting for an answer, the boy chasing after her with a grin.
Kaelen remained a moment longer beneath the tree, the bark rough at his back. The village breathed around him. A place without walls. Without armor. Vulnerable. Alive.
And for the first time in a while, he didn't sharpen his blade.
He just listened.