Time flowed gently in Maggy's welcoming cottage, tucked away on the fringes of what Gabriel discovered to be the village of Oakendale. Mornings began with a chorus of birds and the soft rustling of leaves while nights settled to the soothing cadences of crickets and the far-off calls of owls. Yet, his nightmares persisted.

Their conversations ranged from the mundane to existential contemplations. Her face was marked by the years yet her eyes still danced with life, Mags exuded a warmth that sank deep into Gabriel's soul. She spoke with straightforward sincerity, a refreshing contrast to the pretentiousness he was accustomed to among his noble peers. He realized there was a depth to Mags that was born from experience, from living a full, vibrant life. It was the wisdom that couldn't be found in pages but only through years of loving, losing, and learning.

In her company, Gabriel felt humbled. His former pride, rooted in his intellectual abilities, now felt naive. He listened more than he spoke, absorbing her tales and insights about the lands of Balatia.

Mags approached the task of teaching Gabriel the Balatian accent with a mixture of patience and mischief. “Roll your r’s,” she'd instruct. He'd attempt, sometimes sounding more like a purring cat than a Balatian speaker. “Not quite like that,” she’d laugh, barely holding back her amusement. She'd correct his intonations, erupting into laughter when he accidentally made a noise that resembled a squeaky toy. With her guidance, though, the once foreign sounds gradually seemed more at home on his tongue.

Gabriel settled into a seat outside the village tavern, which doubled as an inn. This humble edifice vibrated with life; it seemed to be the beating heart of the village. As the day's labors wound down, villagers would gravitate toward the square, gathering to share stories and laughter with their neighbors.

Gabriel observed the surrounding life while sipping his mead, its flavor a curious dance of bitterness and sweetness. For a fleeting instant, he felt an unfamiliar calm.

Surveying the tavern's clientele, the contrasts with Accamania were evident. The Balatian sun had kissed their skins a deeper shade. The men appeared more rugged, with short hair and gruff beards, unconcerned with the meticulous grooming in his homeland. And the women radiated a natural beauty, their faces free from the powders and adornments common in Accamania.

Just the day before, Mags had guided him into the village, her arm linked with his. Residents greeted her with genuine warmth everywhere they went, sharing anecdotes and tales that sent ripples of laughter through the crowd. While the jokes and stories eluded Gabriel, he couldn't help but smile, drawn in by the sheer happiness of their uncomplicated camaraderie. A pang of envy touched him. Although the villagers eyed him with initial curiosity, Mags' introduction ensured they embraced him as one of their own. Gabriel couldn't help but wonder who exactly Mags was in this community. Her presence seemed to command a universal affection, almost as if the entire village had adopted her as their beloved matriarch.

Genevieve and her brother Jack took seats across from him. Just yesterday, he had made their acquaintance; both, close to his age, they seemed thrilled to converse with someone from outside the village.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“You got some new clothes, I see,” Jack said with a grin.

Gabriel glanced down at his plain white tunic and relaxed navy blue trousers, mirroring the village's prevalent style. Though not brand-new, the clothing was durable and, crucially, allowed him to blend in. “Aye, Mags took me to Randel’s shop,” Gabriel responded.

“Did Uncle Randel talk your ear off?” Jack asked.

Gabriel chuckled. “I couldn’t keep up with the man. He doesn’t stop talking.”

“You should see him when he’s drinking. It somehow gets worse.” Genevieve added with a giggle.

Gabriel found himself increasingly at ease with the twins. Though not identical, anyone could spot their shared lineage with a glance. Both sported curly red locks and sun-kissed faces sprinkled with freckles. Yet, while Jack was robust, Genevieve was more slender and graceful. “So, what did you two get up to today?”

“I was with Pa at the forge,” Jack said.

Genevieve feigned a dramatic sniff, grinning. “You should have taken a bath before coming here.”

Jack nudged her shoulder with a playful gesture, causing her to teeter on the edge of the bench. Gabriel couldn’t help but laugh at their antics. The nobles at court would've gasped had he ever playfully jostled Sarah in such a manner. This was a different place with kinder hearts. The mere thought of Sarah stirred a mix of concern and nostalgia in him, his gaze drifting into the distance.

“I helped Ma around the house,” Genevieve said, breaking the lull.

Gabriel nodded, momentarily lost for words.

After a pause, Genevieve asked, “How are you finding the village so far?”

Gabriel reflected on his observations. Though home to just a few hundred souls, the village was a marvel of self-reliance. They cultivated their own food, drew water from their well, and relied on a barter system instead of money. The essence of community was vital here; each individual genuinely cared for their neighbor. The sincerity and openness of the people was unlike anything Gabriel had known. He pondered if it was the cultural difference of another kingdom or simply the contrast to his home among society's elite. I can’t think of Accamania as home anymore. I have none.

“It's...refreshing,” he finally said. “Everyone's genuinely kind. I’m enjoying the peace.”

Genevieve's eyebrow quirked, her interest piqued. “You’re from a big city, right? What's it like?” If Randel had an endless stream of stories, his niece had an unquenchable thirst for questions.

Gabriel absentmindedly brushed his fingers over his newly cropped hair. Before introducing him to the village, Mags had trimmed away his once-unruly mane, reducing it to a mere finger's width in length. The transformation was startling. The shorter style lent him an air of maturity, aligning seamlessly with his constructed Balatian persona. In a way, it felt as though, by shedding his locks, he had bid farewell to a former version of himself. The notion was illogical, yet it persistently lingered in his mind.

“It's bustling,” Gabriel began, searching for the right words. “So much so that despite the crowds, you often feel invisible. Amidst that sea of faces, loneliness often finds you.”

Jack furrowed his brow, leaning forward. “How's that possible?”

Gabriel chuckled, though his eyes betrayed a hint of melancholy. “Hard to believe, isn't it? But when everyone's engrossed in their own world, true companionship becomes rare.”

Genevieve's gaze softened. “Did you have many friends there?”

He hesitated for a heartbeat. “No. But the few I had were the best.” A wistful smile touched his lips, thoughts drifting to Lovren and Jessinta, hoping they were safe.

“You've got us now,” Jack declared with a grin, earning an affirming nod from Genevieve. “The boys are going to play some squash ball soon. Want to join?” Jack asked.

“I’m still sore from my travels, but I’ll come watch.”