Thorin awoke the next morning feeling strangely lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. For the first time in months, he could take a deep breath without feeling the crushing pressure of grief. The pale light of dawn crept through the cracks in the wooden shutters of the cottage, casting soft golden hues across the room. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms, and for a moment, he felt ... almost normal.

The events of the previous night—the visit from his father, the comforting words that had filled the hollow space in his heart—still echoed in his mind. Thorin had always been skeptical of the supernatural, and yet …

For a brief moment, Thorin had believed that he might be able to find peace, that he might be able to move forward. The heavy grief that had clung to him for so long seemed to loosen, like fog lifting from a valley. He had felt lighter, more hopeful, as if the struggles he faced was no longer an insurmountable mountain, but something within reach.

However, by the time Thorin dressed and stepped outside, the air felt colder than he remembered. The pale sun was weak against the season’s chill, and the fields before him—once his families pride, once filled with life—now seemed to stretch on in endless emptiness. The crops, once abundant, were withered and brown, and the quiet of the land pressed in on him. The voices of his family, the sounds of laughter, and the warmth of shared meals had all been swallowed up by the silence that surrounded him.

It didn’t take long for the weight of grief to settle back in. The ghosts of his family, the memories of his father’s wisdom, the sound of his brothers' laughter—they haunted him in moments like this, when the world seemed too still, too empty. Thorin found himself staring out over the fields again, just as he had so many times before. His hands rested on the wooden fence, his eyes dull and unfocused, his thoughts drifting back into the fog of loss.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when a voice broke through the silence. At first, he thought it was just a trick of the wind—a whisper that he had imagined. But then it came again, clearer this time, unmistakable.

"Thorin."

Thorin’s heart skipped a beat. He stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was so familiar—so unmistakable. It was his father’s voice.

He turned slowly, his eyes wide, his body frozen in place. And there, standing just behind him, was Alaric. His father’s figure shimmered in the air, faint but undeniably present. Thorin’s breath came in short gasps, and his mind spun. The apparition of his father had returned, just like the night before.

“You … you’re here again?” Thorin whispered, his voice barely a breath. “You were real?”

Alaric smiled, his translucent form flickering in the pale light of the morning. “I’m always here, Thorin. Those we love never truly leave.”

Thorin felt the pressure in his chest tighten again, a mixture of wonder and confusion. “But … how is this possible?”

His father’s smile softened. “It is not for me to explain, son. But you do not need to feel as if you are walking this journey alone.”

The words hit Thorin like a hammer, the weight of them sinking deep into his heart. “I don’t know how to keep going, Father. I don’t know how to move forward without you. Without all of you.”

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Alaric took a step closer, his presence enveloping Thorin like a warm embrace. “It’s alright to move on, Thorin,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “It’s alright to keep living. You don’t have to have all the answers.”

Thorin blinked, his brow furrowing. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, his father interrupted him, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “I know you think that you need to have everything figured out, that you need to know the way forward, but you don’t. I know I sure didn’t. I didn’t have all the answers.”

Thorin’s confusion deepened. His father, the wise and steadfast man he had always looked up to, had never been uncertain, had never seemed lost. Alaric had always been the one with the plan, the one who knew what to do in every situation. The idea that he had ever appeared unsure. That he hadn’t always had the answers … was impossible to imagine.

“You didn’t?” Thorin asked, his voice a whisper.

Alaric chuckled softly, the sound warm and comforting. “No. There were times, many times, when I didn’t have a clue what was going on. But I learned, Thorin. I learned to trust myself, and I learned that sometimes, the best thing you can do is simply keep going, even when the way forward isn’t clear.”

Thorin stood still, absorbing his father’s words. It didn’t make sense. How could his father, who had always been the rock of their family, the one who had kept everything together, admit to not knowing what to do?

Alaric must have seen the confusion in his eyes because he smiled again, a warm, knowing smile that Thorin remembered so well. “Let me tell you a story, Thorin. It might help.”

Thorin nodded, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his melancholy. He had always loved his father’s stories—his knack for weaving wisdom into the simplest of tales.

“I’m sure you must have heard this story a dozen times,” Alaric began, his voice slow and measured, “but do you remember hearing about the hunting trip with some of the villagers, when we were deep in the woods. Well, it was a long trek, and we had been out for days, trying to track down a wild boar that had been troubling the nearby farms. Well, we finally found it, but things didn’t go as planned. The boar turned on us, and in the chaos, one of the men got hurt. We had to make a decision—flea back to the village and leave him behind, or stay and try to fight off the boar risking more injuries for just the chance to get him to safety. It was a bad situation, Thorin. There was no good answer. But I knew one thing—if I let the fear control me, we’d all have been lost.”

Thorin remembered this story although each time he had previously heard the story there had been no hesitation in his father’s decision. He leaned in, his heart racing as he hung on to every word.

“I didn’t know what to do, not really,” Alaric continued. “But I stayed calm. I spoke to the others like I knew exactly what the plan was. I made them believe that we had everything under control, even though inside, I wasn’t so sure. I told them to follow my lead, and they did. And it was because of that that we were able to kill the boar. It was because of that that we got the man back to the village, and we all made it home safe. But the truth was, I had no idea what I was doing at the time.”

Thorin blinked, his eyes wide in disbelief. “But ... but you made it sound like you had everything under control. Like you knew what you were doing.”

Alaric chuckled softly, his form flickering as he laughed. “That’s the thing, Thorin. Sometimes, in life you don’t know what the best choice is, you don’t know what you should do. But more often than not, if you keep moving forward, if you keep pretending like you’ve got it figured out, you find the way. Not because you’re some kind of genius, but because you refuse to give up. You keep walking, and eventually, you get through it.”

Thorin was quiet for a moment, processing the story. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away hastily, embarrassed. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed hearing his father’s voice, his father’s wisdom. Even now, when everything felt lost, his father was still guiding him, still teaching him.

For a brief moment, Thorin felt something deep within him shift. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to have all the answers. Maybe, just maybe, he could move forward without knowing what the future held.

Alaric’s ghost smiled warmly at him, as if sensing the change. “You are not alone in this, Thorin. And you never will be. You have the strength to move forward. You always have.”