The walk was quiet—not the peaceful kind, but the heavy, settling silence that follows danger. It clung to their skin, lingering in the air like an invisible residue. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves overhead, carrying the scent of damp earth and the ghost of distant smoke.
When the three finally returned to the village, the soft afternoon light was draping itself over the rooftops like a warm amber blanket. Trails of smoke curled lazily from chimneys, dissolving into a sky where a few chickens clucked rhythmically near the fences. The tranquility was jarring, a sharp contrast to the predatory tension of the werewolf den they had just escaped.
In the garden, Dravien's massive frame was hunched over the soil. Despite his size, his hands moved with surprising gentleness as he helped the old woman replant seeds in the dark earth. Nearby, Morvath's laughter boomed across the yard; he was lifting heavy bags of potatoes for the local men, his effortless strength kicking up puffs of dust with every dull thud of a sack. Beneath a small awning, Iris and Seraphaine sat on wooden stools, their fingers engaged in a practiced dance of needles and yarn with the local women.
Iris was the first to notice them. Relief washed over her face as she set her crochet aside so quickly the yarn rolled unheeded into the dirt. "Oh! You guys made it back okay!" she cried, her voice bright with genuine joy.
Dravien and the old woman approached, brushing the soil from their clothes. "So, did you handle those damn werewolves?" the woman asked, her eyes sharp and suspicious.
"Yes," Selyndra replied, brushing a stray leaf from her shoulder. "The one responsible will be here tomorrow to apologize."
Satisfied, the old woman shuffled into her cottage and returned with a large bag bulging with bread, dried herbs, and wrapped parcels. "Your friend told me you're on a journey," she said, handing the supplies to Eiden. "You'll need this."
Eiden accepted the bag, and though his expression remained a mask, Vaelus noticed a subtle tension in his shoulders. Vaelus watched him closely—not because anything was wrong, but because he found himself noticing Eiden more than he ever meant to.
"Thank you so much!" Selyndra said with a warm smile.
Morvath jogged over, bouncing on his heels. "Should we head out then?"
"You all be careful," the woman warned. Her gaze shifted to Eiden, narrowing with a strange, piercing intensity. "And Eiden, was it? Could I speak with you in private?"
Eiden handed the bag to Morvath. "Sure. Lead the way."
Inside the cottage, the air was cool and dim, smelling strongly of rosemary, sage, and lavender. Bundles of herbs dangled from the ceiling, swaying gently as the door clicked shut. The old woman walked slowly toward the mantle, her boards creaking faintly under her weight. She stopped to look at a framed picture of her younger self—smiling, bright-eyed, and full of life.
"You know, Eiden…" she began, her voice trembling. "After I heard you died, I truly thought you were gone."
But the voice was changing. It no longer sounded old.
Eiden's brow furrowed. Before his eyes, her grey hair began to shift. The dull strands brightened into radiant gold, the transformation spreading from the roots like sunlight at dawn. Her wrinkles smoothed away like mist, and her posture straightened into a youthful, familiar alignment. Her dull brown eyes shimmered, turning a brilliant, ancient gold that seemed to glow from within.
Her hair grew long, cascading down her back in waves of molten gold that scattered the dim light across the room. It was breathtaking—like watching time reverse, or a memory stepping bodily into the present. She turned toward him fully, moving with a grace he had seen long ago and never expected to witness again.
Eiden's breath caught. "Aurelienne?"
"But… how?" he whispered. "Your people—the Ironcrest Clan—were all killed by Uzak'me…"
Aurelienne shook her head slowly, her expression heavy with a resilient, painful memory. "That is what we allowed Uzak'me to believe," she said quietly, her golden eyes reflecting the soft glow of the window. "So he would announce it to the world. But it was never true."