Year 1459 – Late Harvest, Village of Shuru
The next day was strangely normal.
Too normal, Alaric thought, like the village was pretending nothing had changed.
People still brought grain to the mill. Children still splashed each other at the creek. Chickens still escaped their pens and destroyed Marla's neat vegetable rows.
"Stop glaring at the sky and help me with these," Marla said, shoving a basket into his hands. "The clouds aren't going to drop answers on your head."
"I wasn't glaring," Alaric said. "I was just… looking."
"Same thing." She knelt to pull up a carrot. "You're thinking too much again. That's bad for little boys."
"Is it bad for big boys too?" he asked.
"That depends on the boy." She almost smiled. "Now less thinking, more pulling."
He worked beside her, fingers digging into cool soil.
Later, he met Joren and Lena by the creek.
"Did you see the soldier yesterday?" Joren asked immediately, skipping a rock. "He had a scar on his neck this big." He spread his fingers wide, exaggerating.
"He was hurt," Lena said, frowning. "You shouldn't stare at people's scars. That's rude."
"I wasn't staring, I was observing," Joren said primly. "Big difference."
Alaric tried to listen, but his eyes kept drifting to the road.
"What if Buckland really comes?" he asked quietly.
Joren hesitated. "My dad says they'll go for big towns first. We're just a dot. He says they won't bother with us."
"My mom says dots burn just as easily as big circles," Lena said flatly. "She's already counting how many bags we can carry if we have to leave."
Alaric swallowed. "My parents were talking about that too."
For a moment, none of them said anything. The creek burbled on like it didn't care.
"I don't want to leave," Joren muttered. "Who'll feed the ducks if we go?"
"You," Lena said. "Wherever we end up."
"That's not the same."
Alaric nudged a pebble into the water. "If we go to Shersia, maybe there'll be more mages there."
"You and your magic," Joren sighed. "You like books more than sticks."
"Sticks don't light campfires," Alaric said. "Not without splinters."
Lena snorted. "You'll probably end up one of those serious Church mages who glare at everyone and talk in big words."
"I don't want to glare at people," Alaric said. "…Probably."
He just wanted strength. Enough that people like Lord Valen couldn't decide a place's fate in an afternoon.
On their way back, they heard wagon wheels long before they saw anything.
A small line of carts creaked along the main road, not turning into Shuru but passing a little distance away. White cloths fluttered from their sides, each painted with a seven-pointed star above a flowing line.
"Church folk," Harn said, appearing beside them with surprising quiet. "Shersian, most likely. Relief carts for the southern towns. Must be going along the old demon road."
The wagons were loaded with sacks and crates. A few men and women in simple robes walked alongside, guiding the horses. No heavy armor, no drawn steel, just the steady pace of people used to long roads.
"They still have food to send away," Lena's mother murmured nearby. "Shersia really is stronger than us."
Alaric watched the wagons until they vanished behind distant trees.
Seven-pointed star… Church of the Seven.
He tucked the symbol into his mind, next to white horse and black spear.