Milo:

I saw it—a shape, barely visible through the fog, moving toward us. My body froze, every nerve on high alert.

“Who’s there?” I called out.

No answer. Just the sound of something—or someone—getting closer. Raven snorted, shifting beneath us, and I tightened my grip on the reins, ready to bolt if I had to.

Then, out of the fog, a figure stepped forward. Tall, cloaked in this beat-up, ragged robe, face hidden under a hood. He looked like someone who had been out here for years—unkempt, rough, eyes too sharp, like he saw everything but didn’t trust any of it.

He stopped a few feet away, one hand resting on a dagger strapped to his side. “You’re lost,” he said, his voice low and raspy. But there was something off about the way he said it, something… familiar.

I squinted, trying to place the feeling. His posture, the way he moved—it all felt weirdly recognizable, but I couldn’t make sense of it.

“We don’t want any trouble,” I said. “We just need help. My friend—” I looked down at Orla, who was barely conscious now, “she’s sick. She needs to rest.”

The guy’s eyes shifted to Orla. “And why would I help you?”

“I don’t know. But we don’t have a choice. She’s burning up.”

The guy just stood there, staring us down. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“No, we’re not.”

He continued to stare at me, like he was sizing me up, the silence heavy.

“Can you help us?” I asked again, more desperate this time.

Orla was slipping further, and I couldn’t hold her up much longer.

“No,” he said flatly.

My heart dropped. “No? What do you mean, no? There has to be a village nearby or something. A hospital—”

“Hospital?” he repeated.

“Yes, a hospital. You know, with doctors? Medicine? Come on, man.”

“Medicine, you say?” His expression shifted, as if something had finally caught his interest.

“Yes, medicine!” I said quickly. “She needs it. Herbs, remedies—anything you’ve got to bring her fever down.”

At this point, I didn’t care if we found a hospital or not. Whatever this guy had—ancient herbs, weird plants—I’d take it. Orla needed to get better, and I wasn’t about to lose her out here.

He seemed to consider this, his eyes narrowing as if calculating. After what felt like forever, he nodded. “I have what she needs,” he said, “but it will cost you.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “Whatever you want, just help her.”

A strange smile twisted his lips—more unsettling than comforting. “Follow me.”

He turned and disappeared into the trees. My gut screamed not to trust him, but what choice did I have? I nudged Raven forward, but he didn’t move.

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“What’s going on? Why aren’t you moving?” I muttered, my frustration spilling over. As if answering me, Raven huffed, his ears flicking back, like he knew exactly what I was thinking, and didn’t trust this guy either.

I leaned in closer. “Look, there’s no time to question this guy. If you don’t want Orla to die, we’ve got to move.”

Finally, Raven shifted, his muscles tensing before he reluctantly stepped forward, following the stranger into the fog.

We followed him through the forest, and the further we went, the worse it felt. Something about this place wasn’t right. The trees seemed too close, the air too still. It definitely felt like we had wandered into a world we didn’t belong in.

Finally, we reached a small clearing. In the middle of it stood a thatched hut—if you could call it that. It was barely more than a few pieces of wood thrown together, smoke lazily curling out of the chimney. The guy pushed open the door and waved us inside.

“Bring her in,” he said.

I slid off Raven, my legs barely holding me up. Orla was out of it, her skin too hot as I carefully lifted her down from the saddle. She stirred a little, her eyes flickering open for a second before they shut again.

“Easy,” I whispered, holding her close as I carried her into the hut.

The inside was small and cluttered with jars of herbs, dried plants hanging from the ceiling, and strange tools scattered everywhere. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and something else—something medicinal, but not in a comforting way.

The guy was already at a small table, grinding herbs into powder. “Lay her down,” he ordered.

I found the low bed in the far corner and carefully set Orla down. She was shivering now, her face pale except for the flush of fever. My chest tightened as I brushed her hair away from her face.

The guy worked in silence, his hands moving quickly as he prepared whatever strange remedy he had in mind. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Will she be okay?” I asked, my voice shaky.

He grunted, not bothering to look at me.

“I’m serious,” I pressed, stepping closer. “Is she going to make it?”

Finally, he turned, his expression unreadable. With a bowl of herbs in-hand, he brushed past me.

Frustration bubbled up, and I whirled around. “Hey! I asked you a question.”

The guy stopped and turned, his eyes boring into me. That’s when I saw it—the eyes. His beard might’ve thrown me off, but the eyes were familiar. Too familiar.

He stepped right up to me, his voice low. “If you want her to live, you’ll do what I say. Get out of my way.”

“What?”

He nodded toward the door. “There’s a pile of wood outside. Stack it. If you stay in here, you’ll just be in the way. Let me work.”

“You want me to stack wood while my friend’s lying here dying? Are you serious?”

His gaze hardened. “Yes. If you want her to live, go outside. Now.”

“How can I trust you alone with her?”

“If I wanted to hurt her, I’d have done it already,” he said, glancing back at Orla.

I narrowed my eyes. “How do I know you won’t poison her?”

He shot me a steely glare. “Do you have any experience with herbal medicine?”

“No,” I admitted reluctantly, my stomach knotting.

“Then you’ll have to trust that I know what I’m doing,” he said firmly, turning back to his work. “Now leave me to it. Don’t disturb me again.”

I clenched my fists, anger boiling inside me. I didn’t want to leave Orla, but the guy was right. Standing around wasn’t going to fix anything. “Fine,” I muttered, turning for the door. “But if anything happens to her…”

I didn’t finish the sentence, but I didn’t have to. He was already back to tending to Orla, his focus completely on her.

Outside, the cold hit like a slap. The fog still clung thick around the clearing, making everything feel even more surreal. There it was—a pile of freshly cut wood piled haphazardly near the side of the hut. My mind raced as I stared at it. This guy—it was clear as day now—he looked like Kwan. But not the Kwan I knew. This version was rougher, harder, and when had Kwan ever grown a beard? I grabbed a log, tossing it onto a more organized pile, trying to make sense of the situation. The resemblance was uncanny, but this place was messing with my head, twisting everything I thought I understood.

I glanced back toward the shack, half tempted to rush in and demand answers. But then I saw Orla through the open doorway, lying there, pale and vulnerable, and the urgency to confront him faded. She needed me focused, not distracted by impossible questions.

Still, the thought wouldn’t leave me: What was this place? And would we ever find our way back?

I turned back to the woodpile, my hands moving automatically as I worked, trying to ignore this nagging feeling in my chest.

©Sky Mincharo