The village unfolded before Vigdis like a graveyard of old-world ambition. Rusting locomotives, their hulking frames long since stripped of purpose, loomed over the cluster of repurposed boxcars and shacks. Each creak and groan of metal seemed amplified in the stagnant air, a constant reminder of the precariousness of this place. The platform that once welcomed travelers now served as the village’s hub, its faded tiles cluttered with makeshift stalls and weary villagers.
Vigdis strode into the square, her boots crunching over gravel and scattered bits of rusted metal. Her gear shifted with each step: the axe strapped securely to the right of her pack and the crossbow slung neatly on the left. The massive leather-and-cloth backpack was well-worn but efficient, sitting snugly against her broad back and leaving her arms free. Its bulk didn’t slow her stride; she moved with purpose, her towering presence cutting through the murmur of daily activity.
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A wiry man stepped forward from the crowd, his patched jacket flapping in the faint breeze. His face was lined with worry, though a faint flicker of relief softened his expression as he recognized her.
“You’re back,” he said, his voice carrying both hope and exhaustion. “And... no more disappearances?”
Vigdis nodded curtly. “It’s done. No husks. No missing villagers.”
The man sighed, his shoulders sagging as though a weight had finally been lifted. He gestured toward a small sack at his feet, which clinked faintly when one of the villagers handed it to her.
She hefted the sack briefly in one hand, feeling its weight and the familiar shift of shards and other valuables inside. Without ceremony, she crouched down and opened her pack, her movements smooth and efficient. She slid the sack into the main compartment, adjusting it to sit snugly between bundles of supplies. The motion was second nature, her gear shifting slightly as she resettled the pack on her shoulders.
“What was it?” a woman’s voice broke the relative quiet. Vigdis glanced up to see a stout villager clutching a bundle of dried herbs, her brow furrowed with a mix of curiosity and unease.
Vigdis didn’t answer immediately. She adjusted the strap across her chest and gave the axe at her side a quick glance, ensuring it was properly secured. “Nothing you need to worry about,” she said finally, her tone measured but firm.
“But—” the woman began.
“Whatever it was,” Vigdis interrupted, her green eyes hardening, “found its new target.” The slight edge to her voice silenced the gathering crowd. She rose to her full height, towering over the villagers, her gaze scanning the group before settling back on the speaker. “It’s gone. That’s all you need to know.”
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There was a beat of silence, the creaks and groans of the village filling the gap where questions might have been. The man nodded hesitantly. “We’re grateful,” he said, his voice lower now. “Truly.”
Vigdis gave a faint nod in return, slinging her pack comfortably across her shoulders as she turned toward the edge of the village. The crowd began to disperse behind her, their relief palpable but laced with lingering unease.
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Her boots carried her down a winding path through the outskirts of the village, past rusting train cars and forgotten debris. The metal structures groaned faintly in the wind, a symphony of decay. She was about to crest a small rise when something made her pause—a clearing to the side of the path, marked by rows of rough stones.
A graveyard.
She stepped closer, her pace slowing. The stones were simple, each etched with names in uneven letters, some barely legible from years of weathering. Vigdis’s gaze swept over them, until it landed on one near the edge—a single name, carved with a blade in rough strokes: Aiden.
Her breath hitched.
The memory hit her before she could stop it. A kiss, soft and lingering, his calloused hand brushing against her cheek. His smile, easy and unguarded, the rare kind that made her feel like the world wasn’t so broken after all. And then... the sheets, tangled around their bodies as they moved together in the glow of a flickering lantern. She could almost hear his voice again, warm and teasing, calling her name.
She exhaled sharply, pulling herself back to the present. Her hand tightened on the strap of her pack as she stared at the stone. That was years ago. Another life. Another mistake. He was gone, and she was still here—drifting, surviving, fighting.
Vigdis straightened, her jaw tightening. She nodded once at the grave, a quiet acknowledgment, and turned back to the path. The weight of her pack seemed heavier now, her steps slower as she walked away.
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Further along, the village crept back into view through the rusting structures. She kept her pace steady, her gaze fixed ahead, but something flickered in her periphery. A flash of motion. A figure weaving between the makeshift stalls.
She froze, her breath catching in her throat. It was just a glimpse—a lithe frame, quick movements, and a cascade of pale hair. Blonde. Or was it red? It swayed as the figure moved, vanishing almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Vigdis’s pulse quickened, her mind reeling. Runa. The name came unbidden, dredged up from a place she didn’t like to visit. She scanned the crowd, her sharp eyes darting between the villagers, but the figure was gone.
She clenched her fists briefly, forcing herself to breathe. It couldn’t have been her. Runa was gone. Had been gone for years. And yet, the motion, the way the figure carried themselves—it was so familiar.
“This,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head, “is why I avoid crowded places.”
With a final glance over her shoulder, she adjusted the strap of her pack and stepped out of the village, leaving the creaking, rusting shadows behind.