Morning arrived quietly.
I woke to the familiar scent of food carried on the air, mixed with the soft crackle of firewood burning outside. My muscles still ached from the hunt, a dull soreness clinging to my body, but the crushing exhaustion from the night before had faded. After washing up, I joined Charlie for breakfast. The meal was simple, as it always was, yet warm and grounding, enough to steady my thoughts and ease me into the day.
I had barely finished eating when a knock sounded at the door.
Charlie rose at once to answer the knock. A moment later, his voice carried back into the room, calm but attentive.
"Young master, Miss Vaela is here."
I stood and made my way toward the doorway. Vaela was waiting just outside, her posture relaxed as if this were an ordinary visit. Her injured arm was neatly wrapped, the cloth clean and secure, and she showed no sign of discomfort. Seeing her like that eased my chest.
"Sister Vaela," I greeted.
"Elder Dravik," she replied simply. "Skra-want you."
I coughed in surprise, the words catching me off guard. "You mean… he wants to meet me?"
She nodded once, expression unchanged.
"Why?" I pressed.
"Skra-not know."
The answer did nothing to ease my unease. If anything, it made my thoughts churn faster, a quiet tension settling in as I wondered what Elder Dravik could possibly want with me now.
Not long after, the three of us were making our way through the village. Morning had settled in fully now, the paths alive with quiet activity... smoke rising from cooking fires, villagers moving about with practiced ease, the sounds of daily labor blending into a familiar rhythm. Normally, it was a comforting sight.
Today, it did nothing to calm me.
Elder Dravik wasn't the type to call someone over without reason. The fact that he had summoned me directly sat like a stone in my stomach, each step forward tightening the unease in my chest as I tried and failed, to guess what awaited me.
As we walked, my gaze drifted to Vaela's forearm, the clean bandage standing out starkly against her skin. "How is your injury?" I asked quietly, keeping my voice low.
She glanced at me and offered a faint, reassuring smile. "Skra-good."
I studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. Whether it was pride or honesty, I chose to accept her answer and kept walking, even as my thoughts continued to churn.
Elder Dravik's home came into view soon after, set apart from the others in a way that was subtle yet unmistakable. Like the rest of the village, it was built of wood—solid, practical, and weathered by time, but the space before it was noticeably wider, an open stretch deliberately kept clear of clutter or foot traffic. It felt less like a path and more like a place meant for quiet focus.
The elder himself sat at the center of that open space. In his hands were thin wooden threads, pale and flexible, which he wove together with calm, methodical precision. His fingers moved with practiced ease, looping and tightening the strands into a form I couldn't identify, no matter how closely I watched. Each motion was measured, unhurried, as though the world around him had ceased to exist.
For a moment, I wondered if he even noticed our approach at all.
We stepped into the open space and came to a stop a short distance behind him, careful not to disturb his work. The faint sound of wood shifting against wood was the only noise as he continued weaving, utterly focused.
"Elder," Vaela called out, her voice respectful and clear.
He didn't respond. He didn't even glance back. His hands moved without pause, looping the thin wooden threads together, tightening them with small, precise adjustments, as though our presence meant nothing at all.
Uncertain, I shifted my weight slightly and glanced at Vaela, wondering if I should speak up. She noticed immediately. Without turning her head, she gave a subtle shake, her eyes steady, telling me to wait.
So we stood there in silence, the minutes stretching on as the elder finished his work at his own pace.
Minutes slipped by in silence. The only sounds were the soft scrape of wood against wood as the threads slid into place, and the faint breeze moving through the village, carrying with it the distant murmur of daily life. I stood still, forcing myself not to fidget, even as a quiet tension settled into my chest. Just when I began to wonder if he intended to ignore us entirely, his hands finally slowed.
The weaving stopped.
He set the finished piece aside with deliberate care and, after a brief pause, slowly turned to face us.
Elder Dravik was bald, his figure neither imposing nor frail, balanced somewhere in between. He appeared to be around the same age as Elder Thryssa, yet the resemblance ended there. Where she carried a calm warmth and quiet patience, his expression was rigid and severe, as if it had been carved from stone and left untouched by time. His face bore no hint of welcome, only scrutiny.
His gaze settled on me first, then shifted to Charlie, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle. It wasn't anger I felt from him, nor outright hostility, but something colder, heavier, as if he were weighing us against an unseen scale.
Then he spoke.
"What is your goal in staying here in the village?"
The question struck without warning.
For a moment, I simply stared at him, caught off guard, not only by the bluntness of it, but by the clarity of his words. He was speaking the outside language fluently, without hesitation or accent.
I blinked, my thoughts scrambling.
Before I could respond, he continued, his tone even and unhurried, as though he had already anticipated my reaction.
"Most elders can speak the outside language," he said calmly. "So do not be surprised." His eyes sharpened slightly. "Now answer my question."
I let out a slow breath, forcing the tension in my chest to settle before I spoke. There was no point dressing the truth up.
"I… don't have a choice," I said quietly. "There are enemies outside the village. People who want me dead."
His eyes never left my face. He didn't react, didn't question me, didn't soften. He simply watched, as if weighing the sincerity of every word.
After a long moment, he nodded once.
"I don't care if Elder Thryssa regards you highly because of her foolish prophecies," he said bluntly. "Nor do I care that the leader chooses to believe them." His voice remained steady, but there was a clear edge beneath it. "What matters to me is the welfare of this village."
I listened in silence, my back straight, hands clenched lightly at my sides.
"If you intend to stay here," he continued, "then you will contribute like everyone else. You will take on tasks for the village. You will not live here freely, protected by others, while giving nothing in return."
I bowed my head slightly, keeping my voice steady. "Yes, Elder."
He didn't acknowledge the gesture. Instead, he continued as if the matter were already settled.
"You will go hunting once every month," he said. "The same as everyone else. Ask Vaela when your turn comes."
"I understand," I replied, nodding again.
His gaze shifted, sharp and assessing, landing on Charlie. "You too."
Charlie inclined his head respectfully. "Yes, Elder."
For a few seconds, Elder Dravik simply watched us... silent, unreadable, before lifting one hand in a curt, dismissive motion.
"Leave."
There was no anger in the word, no warmth either.
We didn't linger.
We bowed once more, out of courtesy rather than obligation, and turned away. The quiet behind us felt heavier than words as we walked back through the village paths.
As we moved farther from Elder Dravik's home, a single realization settled firmly in my mind.
He didn't like me.
The thought wasn't sudden, nor was it surprising.
In fact, the more I considered his words and the way he had looked at me, the clearer it became. To him, I wasn't a guest, nor a blessing shaped by prophecy. I was an outsider, an unknown variable that had been allowed inside the village walls because of Elder Thryssa and the leader's decisions.
Outsiders were things you watched carefully... things you didn't trust.
Understanding that didn't make his attitude hurt any less, but it did make it easier to accept. If proving my worth was the price of staying here, then so be it.
A sharp smack landed squarely between my shoulders.
I hissed and lurched a step forward, the sudden sting ripping me out of my thoughts. I turned on her at once. "What was that for?"
Vaela only shrugged, her expression maddeningly casual, though I caught the faint glint of amusement in her eyes.
"Skra-think too much."
For a moment, I could only stare at her. Then, despite myself, a small breath slipped out of my chest, some of the tightness loosening as I nodded. Maybe she was right. Dwelling on it wouldn't change anything.
By the time we reached my home, Vaela stopped at the edge of the path. She turned away without ceremony, lifting a hand in a brief, careless wave before heading off on her own.
I watched her go for a moment, then turned toward the door, my thoughts quieter than they had been moments before.