Morning came without ceremony.
The boy woke before the bell rang, though he wasn't sure why. The light through the window was pale and thin, the kind that made everything look unfinished. He stayed where he was for a while, listening.
Voices drifted in from outside. A cart wheel creaked. Someone coughed, deep and wet. The settlement was awake.
That alone should have been comforting.
It wasn't.
He dressed slowly, fingers stiff as he tied the laces of his boots. When he stood, the room felt larger than it should have—emptier. The mage's things were still where they had always been, books stacked unevenly, chalk marks faint on the table. Dust had already begun to settle.
No one had come to claim them.
No one had asked him what should be done.
The Square
The square was busy.
Not loud. Not tense. Just… active.
A man was repairing a broken axle near the well, working with the steady patience of someone who had done it a hundred times before. Two women argued lightly over the weight of bread, the argument ending in laughter. A group of children chased one another between crates, nearly knocking into a passerby who scolded them without real heat.
The boy stood at the edge of it all, unnoticed.
No guards stood by the gate.
He looked for them anyway. His eyes kept returning there, expecting to see raised voices, spears, anything that would justify the knot in his chest.
The gate was closed. Quiet. Ordinary.
As if it had always been that way.
Casual Memory
Someone mentioned the mage.
Not by name.
"Shame, really," a man said while lifting a sack onto his shoulder. "He knew things. Hard to replace that."
Another shrugged. "People like that don't last."
"That's true," the first agreed easily, and the conversation moved on.
The boy felt the words settle somewhere deep and cold inside him.
The Open Door
He hadn't meant to go there.
His feet just… carried him.
Mara's house stood with its door ajar. Not forced open—just left that way, like someone might return at any moment. Inside, the shelves were stripped bare. Pots and bowls were gone, taken carefully. A stool lay on its side, forgotten.
Two people stood inside, speaking in low tones.
"We should leave something," one said. "Just in case."
"And waste it?" the other replied. "Winter doesn't care about 'just in case.'"
They noticed him then.
"Oh," the first said, straightening. "You shouldn't be in here."
"I was just—" He stopped, unsure what he had been about to say.
"She made her choice," the second added, not unkindly. "We didn't force her."
The boy nodded because that was easier than arguing.
He stepped back out into the street.
Reasonable People
Near the well, a small group had gathered.
They weren't whispering. They weren't hiding. They were talking openly, calmly, like neighbors discussing weather or tools.
"We were too soft before."
"That's what almost ruined us."
"If we don't hold the line now, there won't be anything left."
Someone noticed the boy listening and smiled at him.
"You'll understand when you're older," the man said gently. "It's not about cruelty. It's about survival."
The word cruelty lingered in the air long after the man turned away.
News Travels Fast
By midday, a trader arrived from the river settlements.
He looked tired, dust clinging to his boots, but he smiled easily as people gathered around him. News was currency, and he knew its value.
"Things are changing," the trader said after a few questions. "Same problems everywhere. People are… adjusting."
"Adjusting how?" someone asked.
"Well," the trader said, scratching his beard, "there was a village upriver. Man refused to share his tools. Slowed everything down."
"What happened to him?" another voice asked.
The trader hesitated just a fraction of a second. "They sent him away."
"Alive?" someone pressed.
"Of course," the trader replied quickly. "They're not monsters."
The word echoed in the boy's head.
Monsters.
The Card
That evening, the boy returned to the room that still smelled faintly of old paper and ink.
He placed the card on the table.
It didn't glow. It didn't hum. It was just there—solid, silent, wrong.
He stared at it for a long time.
The mage had believed people could be saved by preparation. By knowledge. By power shaped carefully enough to be used for good.
The boy wasn't sure that belief had been wrong.
He was starting to fear it had been incomplete.
Understanding Without Answers
No one had been possessed.
No spell had twisted minds.
No demon had walked among them, whispering lies.
People had simply looked at fear and decided it made sense.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against his folded arms.
"If this is enough," he whispered into the quiet room, "then we were never as safe as we thought."
Outside, the settlement settled into sleep.
Somewhere far beyond sight or sound, something unseen took note—not with triumph, not with laughter, but with certainty.
The world had not resisted.
It had reasoned.
And it had agreed.