The inside of the building was warmer than I expected.
Not comfortable—just alive. Firelight flickered against reinforced wooden beams, many of them clearly salvaged from ships. Rope knots decorated the walls in strange, deliberate patterns. Broken chains hung from iron hooks—not as trophies, but reminders.
Father Roran moved with the ease of someone who had lived in dangerous places and survived them. He poured water into rough clay cups, slid one toward me, and then took a seat across the table.
Duke flopped into a chair beside me, stretching like he hadn't just walked half a day through storm-scarred wilderness.
"So," Duke said cheerfully, "before you start interrogating him—"
"I already am," Roran replied.
His eyes never left me.
I resisted the urge to shift under his gaze. Nobles in Zetrion looked down on people. Guards looked through them.
This man looked into you.
"You're tense," Roran said. "Hungry. Exhausted. And still standing like you expect a knife in your back."
I swallowed. "Stormcrest isn't exactly gentle."
"No," he agreed. "But that's not what I meant."
Duke leaned back, folding his arms. "He's been through a lot. Electrocuted moose. Near drowning. Mild existential collapse."
Roran didn't look at him. "You're unusually quiet about the parts where this was your fault."
"Because I'm being considerate."
"You've never been considerate."
"I'm growing."
Roran snorted softly and turned his attention back to me.
"You carry violence carefully," he said. "That's the dangerous kind."
My shoulders stiffened.
"I don't enjoy it," I said.
"That's worse," Roran replied. "Those who enjoy violence burn out quickly. Those who hate it tend to lie to themselves."
Silence settled over the table.
Then Roran stood and placed a bowl of food in front of me.
"Eat."
I hesitated.
His eyes sharpened.
"That wasn't an offer, it was an order!" he said mildly.
I ate.
The stew was thick and hot, heavy with roots and salted meat. The warmth spread through me slowly, loosening muscles I hadn't realized were locked tight.
Duke watched with interest. "See? Told you he'd live. I deserve credit."
"You deserve less responsibility," Roran said.
"That's what everyone says."
Roran waited until I finished before speaking again.
"Duke trusts you," Roran said. "That alone keeps you under this roof."
Duke perked up. "See? I am useful."
"You're persistent," Roran corrected. "There's a difference."
"I prefer my version."
Roran ignored him and turned back to me. "Stormcrest does not offer charity lightly. If you stay here, it will be because you contribute—or because removing you would cost more than keeping you."
"That's… comforting," I said.
"It's honest," he replied. "Which is more than most places offer."
I studied him more carefully now. The way he stood, the balance in his posture, the old scars that didn't belong to a man who spent his days preaching peace.
The chains on the wall caught my eye again.
I exhaled slowly. "Are you really an actual priest?"
Duke froze.
Roran raised an eyebrow. "That depends. Are you really an actual pacifist?"
Duke choked. "Oh, I like him already."
I held Roran's gaze. "You don't move like one."
"No," Roran said calmly. "I move like someone who learned what happens when prayer isn't enough."
He stood and crossed the room, resting a hand against the hanging chains. They clinked softly.
"These were once used to bind people," he said. "Slaves. Prisoners. Debtors. I broke them."
Duke added, "Very dramatic. He did it shirtless, if the stories are true."
"They are not," Roran said without turning. "And if you repeat that again, you'll be scrubbing the docks for a month."
Duke shrugged. "Worth it."
Roran turned back to me. "Faith kept me alive long enough to regret what I did with my strength. That is why I stayed. That is why this village still stands."
Something about the way he said it made my spine tighten.
"You sensed it," I said quietly. "My strength."
"Yes," Roran replied. "Immediately."
Duke frowned. "Immediately? You didn't say that part."
"You didn't ask," Roran said. "And you tend to interrupt."
"That's my charm."
Roran's eyes flicked briefly to Duke—fond, sharp, tired. "Your strength does not belong to someone your age," he said to me. "It is contained. Restrained. That tells me two things."
I swallowed. "What?"
"First—you've hurt someone before."
The room went still.
"Second," he continued, "you're terrified of doing it again."
My fingers curled slowly against the table.
"I didn't want it," I said.
"No one ever does," Roran replied. "That is what makes it dangerous."
Duke leaned forward, quieter now. "He saved someone."
Roran nodded. "I know."
That startled me. "You—?"
"I can see it in how you carry yourself," Roran said. "You protect inwardly. You put yourself between danger and others, even when no one asks you to."
Duke smirked. "See? Hero tendencies."
Roran didn't look at him. "Hero tendencies get people killed when paired with ignorance."
Duke grimaced. "And that's my cue."
I exhaled slowly. "If I stay… what happens?"
Roran folded his hands. "Then you follow rules. Few, but absolute."
Duke counted on his fingers. "Don't burn the village down. Don't punch anyone important. Don't punch anyone unimportant unless deserved."
Roran stared at him.
"…I'm paraphrasing."
"You will not draw attention," Roran continued. "You will not unleash power you cannot control. And you will not pretend the world will forgive mistakes simply because your intentions are pure."
I nodded. "And if I fail?"
Roran's voice dropped slightly.
"Then Stormcrest will teach you the lesson I'd rather you learn from me."
The weight of it settled deep in my chest.
Roran stood. "Sleep. Both of you."
Duke stretched again. "See? Warm welcome. Barely threatened you at all."
"Tomorrow," Roran added, "we begin assessing whether you are a danger to this village… or a boy worth investing time in."
He paused at the doorway and glanced back at me.
"Because strength like yours does not stay hidden forever."
Then he left.
Duke let out a long breath. "Well."
"Well," I echoed.
He grinned sideways at me. "On the bright side, he didn't tell you to leave."
"That's the bright side?"
"For Roran?" Duke said. "Absolutely."
I leaned back, exhaustion finally catching up with me.
For the first time since my mother was taken, I wasn't being judged by my birth… or my weakness.
I was being judged by my restraint.
And somehow, that terrified me more than anything Stormcrest could throw my way.