By nightfall, the village had already turned the morning into a story.
It always did.
By the time the fires were lit, Malek had gone from reckless to heroic, the mammoth twice as large, and the distance between tusk and flesh somehow smaller.
That's how Irinclad worked.
We survived something—and then we laughed about it.
Torvin was already halfway through his second plate when we sat down, grease running down his hand like he hadn't noticed—or didn't care.
"You're late," he said through a mouthful of meat.
"Saving lives takes time, Torvin," Malek said, dropping into his seat like he owned the place.
"So does losing them," Freya added.
Malek reached for food anyway. "Details."
"You almost got crushed," she said.
"Almost doesn't count."
"It does when I'm the one watching," Freya shot back.
"You were watching?" Malek grinned. "I knew it."
Torvin snorted. "Hard not to. You tend to make a scene when you're trying not to die."
"I wasn't trying not to die," Malek said. "I was trying to save someone."
"Same difference," Torvin said.
I leaned back slightly, watching them fall into the same rhythm we always did—sharp words, easy laughter, nothing ever meant to stick.
"You missed the best part," Torvin added, pointing his knife at Malek. "He flew."
"I did not fly."
"You flew," Torvin insisted. "Two full steps in the air. I've never seen someone so close to death look so confident about it."
"That's because I was confident," Malek said.
"You were lucky," Freya corrected.
Malek shrugged. "Luck favors the bold."
"Luck favors the alive," she said.
"And I'm alive."
"Barely."
He grinned at her again, softer this time. "Still counts."
Torvin groaned. "Gods, if you two start this again, I'm leaving."
"You won't," I said.
"No," he admitted, shoveling another bite into his mouth. "There's still food."
Malek laughed, leaning back on his hands, completely at ease like the day hadn't nearly killed him. Like none of it had mattered.
That was the thing about him.
The world could fall apart around us, and somehow he made it feel like a story we'd tell later. Something to laugh about. Something already survived.
"You still owe me coin," Torvin reminded him.
Malek didn't even hesitate. "I saved a child today. I think that clears my debts."
"It absolutely does not."
"Morally, it does."
"Financially, it doesn't."
"That feels like your problem."
Torvin pointed his knife at him again. "You flattened Brenna's fence."
"It was already leaning."
"You flattened her cart."
"Weak structure."
"You scared her goats into the river."
Malek paused.
"…they swam," he said.
Torvin stared at him for a long moment.
Then shook his head. "You're unbelievable."
"And yet," Malek said, reaching for more food, "you continue to associate with me."
"One day," Freya said, "that confidence is going to get you killed."
Malek smiled.
Not bothered. Not even a little.
"Then it'll be a good story."
Freya didn't laugh.
I noticed that.
The fire crackled between us, sending sparks up into the dark. Around us, the village had settled into its usual rhythm—voices, music, the low hum of people who believed tomorrow would look just like today.
I used to believe that too.
I stared into the flames for a moment longer than I meant to.
"Something wrong?" Malek asked.
I shook my head. "No."
It wasn't a lie.
Not entirely.
"That kid from earlier," I said after a moment.
Malek glanced over. "What about him?"
"Did you see him after?"
"He was fine," Malek said. "Shaken, maybe. That's expected."
"No," I said slowly. "Not that."
The words felt strange even as I said them.
"He just… sat there," I said."Didn't cry. Didn't speak. Just stared."
"At you?" Freya asked.
"Through me," I said.
The fire popped loudly, making Torvin flinch.
Malek waved it off. "Kid was scared. Happens."
"Maybe," I said.
But it didn't feel like that.
I couldn't explain why.
I just knew the look in his eyes didn't belong to someone who had just been saved.
It looked like someone who had seen something else entirely.
Something I couldn't see.
Malek bumped my shoulder lightly. "You're thinking too much again."
"Someone has to," I muttered.
He laughed.
And just like that, the moment passed.
The fire burned.
The food disappeared.
The night carried on like it always did.
One by one, people drifted off from the fire.
Torvin left first—something about sleep and "real work in the morning," though he'd said the same thing every night that week.
A few others followed.
Eventually, it was just the three of us.
Then two.
I stood, brushing dirt from my hands. "I'm turning in."
Malek didn't look away from the fire. "You always do."
"Someone has to survive long enough to tell your stories," I said.
He smirked. "Then make sure it's worth telling."
"That won't be hard."
Freya didn't laugh.
I noticed that.
I gave her a quick glance, then Malek, then decided I didn't need to be there anymore.
"Don't die," I muttered as I walked past him.
"No promises," he said.
That was the problem.
I left them there with the fire burning low between them.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The village had quieted, the noise fading into the distance—just the crackle of flames and the soft pull of wind from the sea.
Freya sat across from him, elbows resting on her knees, staring into the fire like it might give her an answer.
"You scared me today," she said finally.
Malek let out a quiet breath, leaning back on his hands. "You've said that."
"I mean it."
He glanced over at her, something softer flickering in his expression—but it didn't stay long.
"I saved him."
"That's not what I'm talking about."
He didn't answer.
Freya shook her head slightly, frustrated.
"You don't even think about it," she said. "You just go."
"Someone has to."
"No," she said, sharper now. "Not like that."
The fire popped between them.
"You act like you can't die," she continued. "Like it doesn't apply to you."
Malek huffed a quiet laugh. "I'm still here, aren't I?"
Freya looked up at him then.
Really looked at him.
"That's not the point."
He held her gaze this time, but didn't interrupt.
She hesitated. Just for a second.
Then—
"When you ran at that thing…" she said, quieter now, "I couldn't breathe."
The words hung there.
Malek's expression shifted—confusion, more than anything.
"You were fine," he said.
"I wasn't talking about me."
He frowned slightly.
Freya looked back at the fire, her voice steadier now, but lower.
"It felt like everything just… stopped," she said. "Like if you didn't move again—if you didn't get up—"
She stopped herself.
Shook her head.
"I hate that feeling."
Malek was quiet for a moment.
Then he shrugged, like he didn't quite know what to do with it.
"But I did get up," he said.
Freya let out a small, frustrated breath.
"That's not something you get to count on."
"It's worked so far."
"That's what scares me."
He didn't have an answer for that.
So instead, he smiled—smaller this time, but still there.
"You worry too much."
Freya looked at him again.
There was something in her expression then—something he didn't quite understand.
"And you don't worry enough," she said.
The fire burned low between them.
Neither of them spoke again for a while.
Somewhere out past the edge of the village, something moved in the dark.
Neither of them noticed.
But I kept thinking about the boy.
And the way he looked past me.
Like something had followed him back.
And maybe—
it had.