Darian pushed open the door to the Dancing Dragon, wincing as the laughter from the common room hit him like a slap. Breck looked up from where he sat nursing an ale, relief immediately washing over his face.

The blacksmith lurched to his feet, nearly knocking over the bench in his haste. "Darian! Thank the gods, lad, I was about to go out looking..."

He trailed off as he got a good look at Darian, taking in the boy's red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked face. His brow furrowed in concern.

"What happened? Are you alright?" Breck crossed the room in three great strides, closing the distance between them. He gripped Darian's shoulders, giving him a once-over as if checking for injuries.

"I'm fine," Darian mumbled, looking anywhere but Breck's worried eyes. He was ashamed. He shouldn't have run off like that, not without a word. Breck had enough to deal with without Darian adding to his troubles.

"I just...I needed some air." It sounded weak even to his own ears.

Breck pursed his lips, clearly unconvinced. But he didn't push, just gave Darian's shoulders a gentle squeeze before releasing him.

"Well, you're back now, that's what matters." He steered Darian toward their usual corner table, waving off the curious looks from the other patrons. "Come on, sit down before you fall down. I'll get you something to eat."

"I'm not hung-" Darian's stomach chose that moment to let out a truly enormous growl. He flushed as Breck raised an eyebrow.

"Not hungry, eh?" Breck's mouth twitched, but he had the grace not to laugh outright. "Well, I am. So just sit tight, and we'll get some grub in us both."

Darian slumped onto the bench, suddenly realizing how utterly exhausted he was. The mad dash across the city, the confrontation in the cathedral, the talk with Elias...it was more ‘excitement’ than he'd had in months, and it had left him feeling burned out and hollow.

He propped his elbows on the table, dropping his head into his hands. Closing his eyes, he tried to organize his thoughts into something resembling sense.

The church had lied. The priest with the kind face had looked Darian in the eye and promised aid he had no intention of giving. Whether the man had been sincere and overruled by his god, or simply telling Darian what he wanted to hear to get rid of him...it didn't really matter.

The result was the same. People were dead. Innocent people. People he had promised to save.

Kara. Her father. Those students and their families. Their blood was on the church's hands...but it was on Darian's too, at least in part. If he had tried harder, done more, would they have taken a different route? Waited a day longer? There was no way to know.

Tears pricked at his eyes again, and he dug his fingers into his hair, pulling until his scalp ached. It wasn't fair. He'd tried so hard, done everything he could think of...and it still hadn't been enough.

A heavy hand on his shoulder startled him out of his spiralling thoughts. He jerked upright to see Breck sliding onto the bench across from him, two steaming bowls of mystery stew in his hands.

The blacksmith set one down in front of Darian, keeping the other for himself. "Eat," he said, nodding at the bowl. "Trust me, lad, everything looks a bit brighter with some hot food in your belly."

Darian wanted to argue, to say he couldn't possibly eat, not now...but the rich, savoury smell drifting up from the stew made his mouth water. His stomach cramped painfully, reminding him that he hadn't had a bite since morning.

Slowly, mechanically, he picked up his spoon and dipped it into the bowl. The first mouthful burned his tongue, but he barely noticed. The meat was tough and stringy, the vegetables mushy and indistinct...but it was hot and filling, and that was all that mattered.

They ate in silence for a while, the clinking of spoons against bowls and the low murmur of the other patrons the only sounds. Darian forced himself to keep eating even after having his fill, knowing he needed the energy.

When the bowls were scraped clean, Breck sat back with a sigh, fixing Darian with a steady look. "Alright, lad. I known you didn’t go out to get some air. So, out with it. What's got you so twisted up?"

Darian fiddled with his spoon, avoiding Breck's eyes. Where to even begin?

"The church," he said finally, the words bitter as bile. "They promised to help, but they lied. They didn't do anything to stop the attack."

Understanding flickered across Breck's face, followed by a weary resignation. The blacksmith sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"Aye, I figured it might be something like that," he said heavily. "I'm sorry, lad. Truly, I am. You put your faith in them, and they let you down."

Breck leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table. "But I'll tell you something I've learned over long, hard years. Relying on others...it'll only disappoint you in the end. People are fallible, flawed. They make mistakes, they get scared, they look to their own interests first. Even those who seem the most righteous."

He reached across the table to squeeze Darian's wrist. "You did everything you could, son. More than anyone could expect of you. This whole mess...it was bigger than any one person could handle alone. So don't go beating yourself up over it, hear?"

Darian felt his throat tighten, vision blurring. He blinked rapidly, looking up at the ceiling.

"So lad, how did you know? How could you possibly have known this would happen?"

"Like you said, it was a…nightmare," Darian squirmed under Breck’s intense gaze.

"A nightmare?" Breck rubbed his chin. "More like a vision, I'd say. Darian, lad... I think you might have a touch of the sight."

"The sight?" Darian blinked. "You mean like... like a prophet?"

"Aye," Breck said. "Those nightmares of yours, they weren't just nightmares. They were warnings, sent by the gods."

"But if it was a true vision," Breck mused, brow furrowing, "then why didn't the church act on it? Why didn't they send help when you asked?"

Darian shrugged, the bitterness welling up again. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I begged them to help...but they didn't believe me. Or didn't care."

Breck sighed, shaking his head. "I wish I could say I was surprised, lad. But the truth is, the gods rarely make things that simple. They move in mysterious ways, or so I'm told. And they're not always inclined to explain themselves to us mere mortals."

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He fixed Darian with a steady look, something ancient and weary in his eyes. "There's multiple gods out there, Darian. They're not a united front, and they're certainly not always on our side."

Darian swallowed hard, a chill prickling down his spine. In all the tales he'd heard, all the services he'd sat through growing up...never once had he considered that the gods might be at odds. That they might use mortals as pawns in their own cosmic games.

The thought made him feel very small...and very angry. What right did they have, to toy with people's lives like that? To dangle hope and then snatch it away?

But even as the anger surged, a tiny, treacherous voice whispered in the back of his mind.

What if it wasn't a vision at all?

What if the reason the church hadn't acted...was because there was nothing for them to act on? Nothing but the delusions of a grief-stricken boy, desperately trying to make sense of a senseless tragedy?

After all, Darian knew the truth. He hadn't seen the future in a dream.

He'd lived it. Every terrible, blood-soaked moment. And then, impossibly...he'd undone it, winding back time like a spool of thread.

But how could he ever explain that? To Breck, to anyone? They'd think him mad. Hell, sometimes he wondered if he was mad, if this was all just some fever dream born of stress and trauma.

Just a few weeks ago, when he had been mauled by a panther in the woods, he had felt the same terrifying sensation of death, only to wake up once again the morning of the day.

At the time, Darian had searched for answers but with no leads to follow, no explanations to be found, he had been forced to push the incident to the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to dwell on it, not with the exams fast approaching and a family to provide for. But now, with the bandit attack, it had happened again.

There was no denying the truth anymore: somehow, Darian was able to turn back time, to relive days that had already passed. It was a power that defied all logic, all natural law. And yet, it was real. Darian had seen the proof with his own eyes, had used his knowledge of the future to save lives even if he couldn’t prevent a tragedy.

But where did this power come from? And why had it been given to him, of all people? Darian's thoughts turned to his conversation with Widow Tana.

Arkanias…the God of Time.

Could it be that Arkanias had chosen Darian for some unknown purpose? The thought seemed absurd, almost narcissistic. What could an insignificant village boy offer to a god, especially one who had been absent from the world for nearly a thousand years?

And yet, the evidence was undeniable. Twice now, Darian had been pulled back from the brink of death, given a second chance to alter the course of events. It was a power that could only come from divine intervention, from a force beyond mortal understanding.

Darian felt a chill run down his spine. If he truly was connected to Arkanias, if the god had bestowed this gift upon him... what did it mean? What was he supposed to do with it?

The idea of being chosen, of having a destiny... it was too big, too heavy.

"Aye, well," Breck said at last, pulling Darian away from his musing. "It's done now, in any case. Can't change the past, much as we might wish to."

If only you knew, Darian thought bleakly. But all he said was, "No. No, we can't."

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The next few days passed by quickly. Darian couldn't seem to sit still, his skin itching with the need to move, to act, to do something.

But there was nothing to be done. The attack had happened, the bodies were buried, the survivors were left to pick up the pieces as best they could. Life went on, as it always did, heedless of individual tragedy.

Lila was a godsend during this time. She seemed to understand intuitively that Darian needed distraction, needed to feel useful. So, she kept him busy, dragging him all over the city on endless errands and adventures.

They visited the grand library, where Darian lost himself for hours in the towering stacks, breathing in the scent of leather and parchment and dust. They climbed to the top of the Clock Tower, Lila daring him to lean out over the railing and spit a cherry pit onto the head of the unsuspecting fruit seller below.

And in the evenings, Darian met Elias in a quiet corner of the Dancing Dragon's courtyard, where the adventurer began teaching him the basics of fighting.

"Keep your guard up," Elias barked, circling Darian with his fists raised. "Chin down, elbows in. You're leaving your ribs wide open."

Darian adjusted his stance, trying to remember everything at once. Feet shoulder width apart, one slightly forward. Knees bent, weight on the balls of his feet. It felt awkward and unnatural, nothing like the easy crouch he fell into when stalking game in the forest.

"Good." Elias nodded approval. "Now, let's see how you move. Keep that guard up and just try to stay out of my reach.

Darian nodded, bouncing lightly on his toes. How hard could it be? Elias was still nursing his wounds from the battle. Surely he wouldn't be too quick…

Elias lunged, a lightning-fast jab that Darian barely managed to dance away from. Cursing, he backpedalled, only to catch a light tap on the ear as Elias' other fist came swooping in.

"Dead," the adventurer said. "Or at least missing an ear. Do you know how hard it is to look dashing with only one ear?"

Darian scowled, resisting the urge to rub his stinging ear. He squared up again, determined to do better.

They circled each other, Darian focused on keeping his hands up and his feet moving. He watched Elias' shoulders, trying to anticipate the next attack.

There! A twitch of muscle, a shifting of weight. Darian slipped to the side, feeling a rush of triumph as the jab whistled past his cheek.

Only to yelp in surprise as Elias' leg swept his feet out from under him, dumping him hard on his back in the dirt.

"Oof!" Darian lay stunned for a moment, blinking up at the sky. Elias' face appeared above him, grinning smugly.

"Dead again," the adventurer said cheerfully. "That's twice now. Going for a record?"

"Shut up," Darian grumbled, accepting the hand up. "You're not even really trying, are you?"

"Well, no," Elias admitted. "You're greener than spring grass, kid. I'm going easy on you. But that's not the point."

He stepped back, settling into his stance again. "The point is to get you used to taking a hit and getting back up. To teach your body how to move without you having to think about it."

Darian set his jaw, raising his fists. "Again."

Elias' smile flashed in the dimming light. "That's the spirit."

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The days blurred together, until finally a week had passed. The ache in Darian's chest never quite went away, but it eased a little more with each passing day. Spending time with Lila, training with Elias...it helped. Gave him something to focus on besides his own spiralling thoughts.

But all too soon, it was time to say goodbye. Breck couldn't afford to stay away from his forge any longer, and Darian had a family waiting for him back in Brookhaven. He had never been away from the village, nevermind being away for nearly two weeks. He couldn't wait to see them.

Yet, he knew he would miss Lila and, though he would never admit it, Elias too. He packed his belongings, trying not to think about how much heavier his heart was than his rucksack. He hugged Lila goodbye in the inn's courtyard.

"You'd better write to me, Dare," she sniffled into his shoulder. "I want to hear all about how boring Brookhaven is without me there to spice things up."

"I will," he promised, giving her an awkward squeeze. "And you'd better write back."

Lila pulled back, swiping at her eyes with a watery grin. "It's a deal."

Breck chuckled, clapping Darian on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "If you two keep this up, you'll be a Da before long."

"Breck!" Darian yelped, his face going even redder. Lila just laughed, giving him a final hug before dancing away.

They made their way through the city, Arbrook seeming shabbier and less exciting now that Darian was leaving it behind. At the gates, a familiar figure lounged against the wall, picking his teeth with a knife.

"Well, well. Look who it is." Elias straightened, tossing Darian a lazy salute. "Heading out, are you?"

Darian nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak around the sudden lump in his throat.

Elias walked over, sheathing his knife. "You did good these past few weeks, kid. Kept at it, even when I put you in the dirt. That's something."

Coming from Elias, it was high praise indeed. Darian felt a flush of pride, even as he shrugged it off. "Didn't have much choice, did I? Not if I wanted to get any better."

"True enough." Elias smirked, ruffling Darian's hair. Darian scowled and batted his hand away. "But still. You've got potential. So don't go getting lazy just because I'm not around to kick your arse, hear?"

"I won't," Darian promised. Then, greatly daring, "Maybe next time we meet, I'll be the one putting you in the dirt, old man."

Elias threw his head back and laughed, the sound startlingly bright in the morning air. "Big words, sprout! I'll look forward to that day."

He held out a hand, clasping Darian's forearm firmly. "Until then...take care of yourself, Darian. And remember what I taught you. Never know when you might need it."

Darian gripped his arm in return, meeting his eyes steadily. "I will. Thank you, Elias. For...for everything."

Elias' smile softened, just a bit. He squeezed Darian's arm once before letting go. "Ah, away with you. Afore you make me blush."

With a final nod to Breck, the adventurer turned and sauntered off, never looking back. Darian watched him go, wondering when he would next see him.

"Come on, lad." Breck's heavy hand landed on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. "Daylight's wasting, and it's a long walk home."

Darian took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. With a last look at the city, he followed Breck out the gates.

Towards home. Towards an uncertain future.