Mey and Caelan stood in silence for a moment, the wind from the forest whispering through the leaves around them. The boy's curious expression remained fixed on Mey, though he hesitated slightly, as if waiting for something more. But when the stillness of the night fully surrounded them, he finally spoke, his voice brimming with the boundless energy of a child.

"You need to come with me now," he said, jumping up eagerly. "My brother, Drystan, is making bread! It's almost out of the oven, warm and fresh. And he'll be so happy to meet you."

Caelan's excitement was contagious. Even though the weight of her past still hung heavily on her, something about this simple, human moment — the innocent invitation to share in something so ordinary — felt oddly comforting. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and tragedy she had endured in the years gone by.

"You'll love the bread he makes," Caelan continued, as if revealing some great secret treasure. "And he makes a soup that's too good! You have to try it."

Mey rose slowly, her boots pressing into the cool earth beneath her. Though she couldn't see in the conventional sense, her heightened senses told her everything she needed to know about her surroundings. The air was crisp, the distant hum of the forest lingered at the edge of her awareness, and Caelan's excited movements were unmistakable as he turned and bounded ahead, glancing back to make sure she was following.

"Come on, Mey!" he called out, his small form bouncing along the path.

They left the forest behind, ascending the green hills that stretched before them like a sea of grass. The sky above was a deep, endless blue, and the clouds, so white and pure, looked as if they had been painted into the sky. The wind rippled through the tall grass in gentle waves, and as they climbed higher, the landscape unfolded before them. A shimmering lake glistened in the distance, and small animals darted across the fields.

"Look! Our house is right at the top," Caelan pointed out, his energy never fading. "Drystan always says that no matter how hard the wind blows, our house is the strongest thing on the hill. It might look a little crooked, but it's way tougher than it looks."

From afar, Mey sensed the structure. It was peculiar, large enough for two people to live comfortably, with uneven walls and a roof that slanted at an odd angle, as if hastily constructed. Yet, there was something warm and welcoming about it, like a place that had been built with love and care, waiting for their arrival.

"Drystan built it with his own hands," Caelan said proudly. "He's a bit weird with how he does things, but he put his whole heart into this house. You'll see, it's a special place."

As they neared the house, the rhythmic sound of wood being chopped reached Mey's ears. Drystan, around 23 years old, with broad shoulders and strong arms, was hard at work. His sweat-drenched face bore old scars, his hair tied back in a ponytail, and the muscles in his arms and back spoke of years of labor. There was a calmness in the way he moved, as if the act of chopping wood was as natural to him as breathing.

Caelan, without hesitation, ran ahead. "Drystan! We have a visitor!" he shouted, his voice carrying across the open field.

Drystan paused and turned in their direction. Although Mey could not "see" him as others might, her senses told her enough. His gaze was intense, and for a moment, everything around them seemed to grow quieter, as if the wind and the sounds of nature had stopped to witness their meeting.

Mey approached Drystan with measured steps, her commanding presence filling the space. Her voice, deep and naturally captivating, was calm but firm as she spoke: "Sorry to bother you... Caelan practically dragged me here."

Drystan, caught off guard, couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by her presence. Though she lacked the eyes most would expect, her beauty was undeniable. His heart raced, nervousness overcoming him, and when he tried to speak, his words stumbled awkwardly, "Ah... I... uh... nice... to meet you." He could barely hold himself together, his embarrassment clear on his face.

Caelan, full of energy as always, spun around them, laughing loudly. "She has superpowers, you know? Superpowers! She can read minds and do all sorts of amazing things!" The boy kept chattering away, circling Drystan and completely ignoring his brother's awkwardness.

Drystan, however, couldn't take his focus off Mey. His heart beat faster than he cared to admit, and Mey could clearly feel the warmth radiating from him. Years of interacting with humans had shown her a wide range of reactions — fear, disgust, distrust — but this one was different. There was no revulsion in his eyes, only a shy confusion and what seemed like admiration.

"Please... why don't you come inside?" Drystan finally managed to say, his voice a mix of nervousness and politeness. "The house is simple, but... it's open to you."

Drystan quickly grabbed a towel and began wiping himself down in a clumsy attempt to make himself presentable. After hours of hard work, he was well aware that he wasn't at his best, and in a hurried effort to freshen up, he applied some shaving lotion under his arms, trying to mask the sweat and odor. His movements were uncoordinated and anxious, revealing just how flustered he felt around Mey.

Inside the house, Mey's senses picked up every detail with precision. She could "see" Drystan's every fumble as clearly as if she had eyes. Each awkward gesture was obvious to her, from the way he checked his scent to his hurried attempts at grooming himself. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, amused by his clumsy yet charming effort to impress her.

The house itself felt welcoming. The vibrant colors — green, blue, pink, yellow — were clearly chosen by Caelan, bringing life to every corner. Though the walls were imperfect, they had a unique charm, each stroke of paint revealing the effort and creativity of Drystan.

Candles were scattered around, casting a soft, inviting glow. Plants added freshness to the space, and the handmade furniture, though slightly awkward in design, was incredibly comfortable. The couch, adorned with colorful cushions, seemed to beg for someone to sink into its softness. The beds, covered in bright quilts, radiated an irresistible coziness.

In one corner of the room, a giant, handmade teddy bear added a playful, almost childlike touch. The place felt like something out of a dream — full of imperfections but brimming with warmth and human effort. Shelves were filled with books and small wooden sculptures, crafted with care, though lacking the precision of a professional.

Despite its simplicity, the place exuded comfort and peace. In the midst of this colorful, charming chaos, Mey felt something rare: a desire to stay, to lose herself in a home built from hard work, affection, and creativity.

Drystan made his way toward the kitchen, where the chaos was evident. Utensils were scattered, ingredients out of place, but what dominated the atmosphere was the irresistible smell of soup and freshly baked bread, just out of the wood-fired oven. Even Mey, with her usually impeccable composure, felt her mouth water ever so slightly. The aroma filled the air in an almost magical way.

"Caelan, come here! Time to set the table!" Drystan called.

Caelan ran over excitedly and began arranging plates, cutlery, and cups for three. He did it with a mischievous grin, his tongue sticking out in concentration. Despite his playful manner, the setup was perfect, and soon the table was ready.

As everything was set, Caelan began banging his utensils on the table, eagerly. "I'm hungry! Let's eat already!" he laughed, barely able to contain his excitement.

Drystan finally brought the food, placing the warm, homemade bread in the center of the table. Steam rose from the loaf, filling the air with the comforting smell of wheat and warmth. He then placed a large bowl of soup on the table, the scent so inviting that it seemed to wrap them all in a sense of home.

As Drystan arranged the table, he accidentally knocked over a jug of grape juice. Before either he or Caelan could even register what had happened, Mey, in an almost imperceptible motion, caught it mid-air and placed it back on the table with ease.

"Thanks for the help," Drystan muttered absentmindedly, unaware that the jug had nearly fallen. Mey smiled faintly, saying nothing.

Caelan, ever energetic, grabbed a ladle and began serving everyone, carefully ensuring that he didn't spill anything. "Here you go, Mey! And for you, Drystan!" He beamed, proud of his contribution. "Thanks for the food!" he added cheerfully.

Mey, accustomed to far different forms of interaction, followed his lead. "Yes, thank you for the meal," she said, her voice soft and serene.

Drystan sat down at the table, watching the scene for a moment, a light curiosity flickering in his eyes. "So, Mey," he began, stirring his soup thoughtfully, "we've been isolated on this hill for years. Nobody ever comes around. Caelan's never left, and he's never met anyone but me." He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "What brought you here? Not that I'm complaining... you seem kind, so I wasn't worried about Caelan."

Caelan, with his mouth full of bread, nodded enthusiastically, not fully grasping the depth of his brother's question, but happy to have someone new around.

Mey allowed a slight smile to touch her lips. "I'm headed to the Apprentice's Camp in southeast Prisma," she said, her tone casual.

"The Apprentice's Camp?" Drystan asked, his curiosity growing. "So, you're going to become an adventurer?"

Mey let out a small laugh, shaking her head slightly. "Not quite. I was invited by a friend to teach there. I'll be giving a few lessons."

Drystan raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Teaching at the Apprentice's Camp? That's... wow. I've heard people from all over the world go there to learn how to fight, use magic, and become experts."

Caelan, who had been listening intently, frowned. "What's the Apprentice's Camp? Drystan never lets me leave here," he said, glancing at his brother with a mixture of curiosity and frustration. "He says there are dangerous people out there, and he only trains me with wooden swords... but what's he protecting me from? I've never seen anyone, and you're the first person I've ever met."

Drystan sighed deeply at his brother's words. "I just want to protect you, Caelan. The world out there can be... complicated."

Mey directed a gentle gaze toward Caelan, her voice calm. "The Apprentice's Camp is a place where people go to learn and train in different skills, like sword fighting and archery. They also study the beasts that grant humans powers, the Arcan."

Caelan blinked, processing Mey's explanation. "So you're going to teach people how to fight?"

Mey smiled again, shaking her head. "No, I'll be teaching other things..."

Drystan, still observing the conversation, was clearly impressed. "You must be very respected to be invited to teach there. I've always heard that the masters at the Apprentice's Camp are the best in the world. You must be... pretty powerful."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Mey maintained her soft smile. "It's a place where learning never stops, both for students and teachers. There's always something new to discover." She turned to Caelan, who still looked intrigued. "And who knows, maybe one day you'll go there too, if you'd like."

Caelan looked thoughtful for a moment, but soon returned to his usual energy. "That would be cool! But Drystan never lets me go anywhere," he said with a playful tone, causing Drystan to let out a nervous laugh.

Through the window, the full moon dipped on the horizon, its soft light illuminating the inside of the house as laughter echoed within. In the reflection of the glass, the scene seemed to come to life, as if a camera was slowly pulling away, revealing the cozy interior where Drystan, Mey, and Caelan shared a meal in relaxed companionship. The warmth of the soup and the aroma of the bread still lingered in the air, as the three laughed together like old friends.

Time passed, and the scene shifted. Now, Caelan was fast asleep on the couch, wrapped in blankets, while Mey and Drystan remained seated at the table, their conversation continuing in softer tones.

Drystan, without meaning to, let his gaze wander. His eyes fell on Mey's arms, where the tight-fitting clothing revealed scars that stretched across her skin. He noticed that beneath her clothing, there were likely many more hidden. As she shifted slightly in her seat, other discreet scars became visible, suggesting that her body bore countless marks. Curiosity stirred within him, and for a moment, he considered asking her about them but hesitated.

Before he could make up his mind, Mey broke the silence with her calm, firm voice: "Don't worry. My scars don't hurt anymore." She adjusted the choker around her neck as she continued. "I have many all over my body, and my clothes hide most of them. Sometimes, they slip out, like now." A small smile tugged at her lips. "I wear this choker to keep people from seeing them. Caelan noticed a few earlier when we were in the forest. He's a very kind boy."

Drystan was slightly taken aback, but slowly, everything started to make sense. He remembered the moment Caelan had been shouting about Mey having "superpowers." While it had been a mystery to the boy, Drystan had met people with powers during his occasional trips to town. He looked at Mey with understanding, realizing there was far more to her than she let on. "You don't try to hide anything, do you?" he asked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Mey let out a soft laugh, her sightless face somehow appearing even more serene. "It's more of a curse than a power, sometimes," she admitted, her voice sincere. "I don't want to read people's thoughts... but sometimes it happens without me trying."

Drystan shifted slightly in his chair, feeling momentarily exposed, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside. "I guess there's not much you can do about that," he commented, accepting the strangeness of the situation.

Mey, changing the subject, stood up gracefully. "I need a pair of scissors," she said, running her hands through her hair. "I want to cut it a bit."

Drystan, always helpful, went to a small cabinet and brought out a towel, a pair of scissors, and a hand mirror. He handed them to Mey, who walked toward the mirror to begin cutting her hair. As she moved, Drystan noticed something on her back — a red, glowing mark that resembled a tattoo. The glow seemed to intensify subtly every time he thought about something. He quickly pieced it together — this was her "Arcan," the source of her powers. Each time she read his thoughts, the mark brightened. He also remembered hearing rumors in town: if the Arcan was covered, her powers would be diminished.

Curious but cautious, Drystan asked, almost without thinking, "What happens if your Arcan is covered?"

Mey, without hesitation, responded as she continued to cut her hair. "I perceive less. Not that I 'see' in the usual sense, because, well... I don't have eyes," she chuckled briefly. "But I sense less. I can't pick up thoughts as clearly, and my awareness of what's around me also weakens."

Drystan nodded, absorbing her response. He refrained from asking more questions, not wanting to invade her space any further. He was grateful that she had shared so much but knew that he had already taken enough from her for one night. All he wanted was for Mey to have a moment of peace.

Mey, clearly aware of Drystan's kindness, finished cutting her hair. Her fingers smoothed the now-shorter strands, which fell just above her neck but still below her chin. The shorter style accentuated her beauty in an unexpected way. As she turned, the red Arcan on her back glowed more prominently, the pulsing mark appearing even stronger under the soft light of the house. The leather choker around her neck highlighted her poised stance, while her scars told silent stories.

Drystan, watching her, smiled slightly. "You can stay here tonight, you know? You don't have to camp outside or anything."

Mey faced him, appreciating the offer, as Drystan stood up. He walked over to Caelan, who was still sound asleep on the couch, and gently lifted him in his arms. "You can take my bed," he said, carrying his brother to the bedroom. "I'll sleep on the couch."

With one last glance at Mey, Drystan wished her a good night and carried Caelan to the room, laying him down on the bed. He tucked the blankets around the boy and returned to the living room, settling onto the couch, ready to finally rest as the quiet night enveloped them.

Mey woke slowly, her senses reaching out to the world around her. The ceiling was adorned with drawings and memories, clearly made by Caelan and Drystan. Childish scribbles and personal marks filled the space, giving it a unique and cozy touch. The smell coming from the bed, a mix of wood and sweat, brought Drystan to her mind. Something about the scent made her think of him in a way she hadn't expected.

She stood and, approaching the window, sensed Drystan training Caelan in the field with two wooden swords. Their dedication was evident. Drystan, though not a professional, performed the movements with firmness, and Caelan, despite his small size, showed impressive intensity. His strikes were quick and precise, and his feet were always well-grounded, absorbing every bit of Drystan's teachings.

As Mey focused on their movements, the Arcan on her back began to glow more intensely. She noticed something special about Caelan. The way he held the sword, the speed at which he moved, and his natural ability to adjust his footing with precision were all signs of raw talent. Though still young, he was already able to make Drystan retreat, even though he was half his brother's size. In that moment, Mey knew that with the right training, Caelan could become an incredibly strong swordsman. His work chopping wood had developed his strength and reflexes, making him naturally agile and powerful.

Suddenly, something in the distance caught her attention. She heightened her Arcan's power and sensed a presence at the edge of her perception. About nine kilometers away, at the edge of the forest, three horsemen were approaching. They weren't threatening — merely guards from Prisma, passing through. Mey quickly assessed them: they carried swords and common supplies like food and papers. There was no malice in their intentions, but at that distance, she couldn't read their thoughts clearly. She decided to wait until they drew closer before deciding whether to alert Drystan or take action.

After dressing and gathering her thoughts, Mey walked over to a basin of water and pulled a simple toothbrush from her bag. Keeping clean, after years in rough environments, was a necessity she had learned to value deeply.

When she stepped outside, she turned her attention back to the training session in the field. Drystan and Caelan were still focused on their strikes and parries. Mey approached slowly.

"May I join?" she asked, her voice calm yet firm.

Caelan, always full of energy, beamed from ear to ear. "Yes! I want to see you fight! Bring it on!"

Mey laughed softly and shook her head. "Not against you, Caelan... against Drystan."

Drystan raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised but intrigued. "Me?"

Caelan burst into laughter, jumping up and down with excitement. "Crush him, Mey! Destroy him!"

Mey picked up the wooden sword that Caelan had tossed to her, smiling slightly. "I'm not very good with swords," she said in her soft voice, "but we can try."

"LET'S GOOO!" Caelan yelled, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

Drystan exchanged a nervous look with Mey, feeling the weight of the situation. He was about to face someone who wasn't just a teacher from the legendary Apprentice's Camp but someone who clearly surpassed him in ability. He knew this, but his pride and determination kept him standing firm. Adjusting his stance, he gripped the sword tighter, trying to steady his breathing and nerves.

Mey, on the other hand, remained calm, fully aware of Drystan's racing heartbeat. Her powers allowed her to read every hesitation, every doubt. As he prepared to strike, she briefly checked on the distant horsemen, now climbing the hill and slowly approaching, still posing no immediate threat. "I'll keep an eye on them," she thought, turning her focus back to Drystan.

Determined to act, Drystan launched forward with a confident strike, aiming for Mey's left side. His movements were strong, but predictable for someone who could anticipate thoughts. Before his sword even came close, Mey had already shifted, effortlessly avoiding the blow.

Undeterred, Drystan pressed on, delivering a series of rapid strikes from varying angles, hoping to catch her off guard. Yet, each time he attacked, Mey was already one step ahead. She danced around his blows with an almost supernatural grace, dodging without even breaking a sweat. For her, the fight wasn't about sword skill — it was about controlling the situation, predicting and reacting before the strike was even made.

Frustrated by his inability to land a hit, Drystan paused, adjusting his stance. This time, he went for a stronger, more precise attack, swinging wide with an arc aimed high, trying to destabilize her. But once again, as if anticipating every detail, Mey ducked gracefully, the attack missing her entirely.

Drystan, breathing harder now, tried a low sweep aimed at her legs, hoping to knock her off balance. Mey responded with a light jump backward, effortlessly avoiding the strike without losing her footing.

Minutes passed, and beads of sweat began to form on Drystan's forehead. He was giving it his all, but nothing seemed to work. Mey remained calm, dodging every attack without ever retaliating. It wasn't a matter of strength or fighting technique — it was simply her advantage of knowing what he would do before he even moved.

Drystan, now panting and visibly exhausted, decided to make one last desperate attempt. He spun quickly, aiming for a surprise strike from below, targeting her legs once again. This time, Mey decided it was time to end the match. She allowed him to complete his motion but, before his wooden sword could make contact, she stepped forward with lightning speed.

In a flash, she delivered a devastating punch straight to Drystan's wooden sword.

The impact was immense.

The sound of the wooden sword shattering echoed across the hill, and a powerful gust of wind followed the force of her strike, tearing up the grass and creating a small crater where Mey had landed her blow. Drystan's sword splintered instantly, and he was thrown backward by the force, flying about ten meters before crashing to the ground. He tumbled, finally landing on his back in the grass, dazed and clutching the broken hilt of his sword, his hair disheveled and his body covered in bits of grass. Despite the fall, he wasn't hurt.

Caelan, who had been watching the entire scene with wide eyes and a huge grin, shouted, "Whoa, Mey! Punches don't count! It was supposed to be a sword fight!"

Mey handed the broken sword back to Caelan with a small smile, while Drystan, still catching his breath and brushing the grass off his body, approached her with a crooked smile. He couldn't deny what had just happened.

"That was... definitely educational," Drystan said, still trying to compose himself, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. "I think that lesson will stick with me for a long time."

Mey smiled softly. "It was a good practice. Both of you have impressive potential." She turned to Caelan. "You have a natural talent, Caelan. Keep training, and you could surpass even the best swordsmen."

Caelan's eyes lit up with pride. "I'm going to train every day, Mey! One day, I'll be as strong as you!"

Mey chuckled quietly, appreciating his enthusiasm. Despite the heavy burden of her journey, there was something touching about Caelan's innocence and determination that stirred something within her.

As they made their way back to the house, the sky was beginning to take on the soft hues of evening. The laughter inside the cozy home contrasted with the quiet peace of the surrounding hills. Mey, now silent, allowed herself to momentarily forget the dangers that lay beyond this refuge, relishing in the rare warmth of companionship and simplicity.

She knew she would have to continue her journey soon, but for now, she permitted herself to enjoy this brief sense of peace.

As they neared the house, the calmness of the environment remained, but Mey was already aware of the approaching riders. Their simple, unassuming thoughts indicated they had no ill intentions. They likely just wanted to speak with Drystan, perhaps about some local issue. However, Mey knew that even if the situation changed, these riders posed no real threat.

Approaching the house, she felt a brief surge of arrogance within herself. She knew that, should anything happen, she could deal with those knights in mere seconds. Controlling the situation was easy, and the thought of always being in control gave her a momentary sense of superiority.

But then, she stopped. She composed herself. Control didn't always need to be so direct. Mey sighed, pushing aside that arrogance, reminding herself that not every situation required a show of power. After all, she was in a place of tranquility, and the simplicity of this moment was what truly mattered.

As they approached the house, they heard a firm knock on the door. Drystan glanced at Mey with a curious expression, and she gave him a slight nod. "They're just city knights," she said calmly. "Here to talk, nothing to worry about."

Drystan nodded and walked toward the door, while Mey remained a step behind. Though she was calm, she knew that if necessary, she was ready.

The door opened, revealing the knights, who did not have an intimidating stance. Mey observed the scene with serenity, knowing that in the end, this place remained safe — because she was there.

Yet, something deeper tugged at her attention, an unseen unease lingering in the background. Though the knights were harmless, she sensed something beyond them, something moving in the shadows, a distant presence that shouldn't have been there.

Her Arcan glowed faintly, as if responding to this sense of unease.