The clang of hammer on anvil echoed through the early morning air as Caz stood in the doorway of his father’s forge, watching the familiar motions of a lifetime’s work. His father, Darren, was a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair and a face weathered by years of toil. Despite the lines of age, his hands were still strong, and the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.

“You’ll need a proper blade for the road,” Darren said without looking up, his voice a deep rumble that carried over the sound of metal striking metal. “Something with weight, but not too heavy. You’ve always preferred speed over brute force.”

Caz nodded, stepping into the warmth of the forge. The heat was intense, wrapping around him like a familiar embrace. “I was thinking of taking the short sword you made last spring,” he replied. “It’s balanced, and the hilt fits my hand just right.”

Darren paused in his work, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He glanced over at the sword in question, hanging on the wall among other weapons and tools. “A fine choice,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “It’ll serve you well.”

There was a brief silence as Darren set down his hammer and turned to face his son. His gaze softened as he took in the sight of Caz, fully equipped and ready to leave. “You’re really going, then?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Caz met his father’s eyes, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “I have to, Dad. Thorncliff… it’s not enough anymore. There’s more out there—things I need to see, things I need to do.”

Darren nodded slowly, his expression a mixture of pride and sadness. “I knew this day would come,” he said quietly. “Ever since you came back from the academy, you’ve had that look in your eyes. Like you’re searching for something, even if you don’t know what it is.”

Caz didn’t respond immediately. He knew his father understood him better than anyone else, and there was no point in trying to hide his restlessness. “I’ll come back,” he promised. “When I’ve found what I’m looking for, I’ll come back.”

Darren stepped closer, placing a hand on Caz’s shoulder. “I know you will, son. And when you do, this forge will still be here, and so will I. But until then… be careful. The world’s not as forgiving as Thorncliff.”

“I will,” Caz replied, his voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, they stood in silence, father and son, two men bound by blood and the shared understanding that this departure was as much a beginning as it was an end. Darren’s grip on Caz’s shoulder tightened briefly before he let go, turning back to the forge with a sigh.

“I’ve left something for you by the door,” Darren said, his voice steady again. “A parting gift.”

Caz turned to see a small bundle wrapped in cloth resting by the entrance. He picked it up, unwrapping it carefully to reveal a finely crafted dagger, the blade gleaming in the light of the forge. The hilt was engraved with intricate patterns, and the balance was perfect.

“Made it myself,” Darren said, his back still turned as he resumed his work. “Thought you could use a bit of home out there in the wilds.”

Caz ran his fingers over the hilt, feeling the weight of the gift—and the unspoken love that came with it. “Thank you, Dad,” he said quietly, knowing the words weren’t enough but hoping they would convey what he couldn’t put into sentences.

Darren didn’t respond, but Caz saw the way his father’s shoulders tensed, the way he paused in his work for just a fraction of a second. It was enough. Without another word, Caz slipped the dagger into his belt and turned to leave.

As he stepped out of the forge and into the cool morning air, Fides trotted up to him, his tail wagging slightly as he nudged Caz’s leg. The scruffy black dog had been by his side for years, through thick and thin. Caz knelt down, scratching behind Fides’ ears. “Ready for the road, boy?” he asked softly. Fides responded with a soft bark, his eyes bright with anticipation. “Good,” Caz murmured, “because it’s just you and me out there.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Caz made his way to his modest stone cottage at the edge of Thorncliff. Inside, the shelves were lined with memorabilia from his years at the academy—old training weapons, scrolls of notes from his lessons, and a few mementos from village life. Among them was a small wooden carving of a wolf, a gift from his childhood friend, Garrick. The hearth still held the warmth of last night’s fire, and the familiar smell of woodsmoke filled the room.

As he packed his belongings—clothes, supplies, and a few keepsakes—Caz’s thoughts turned to the people he was leaving behind. Garrick, his closest friend, would be arriving soon with his wife, Elena, to take care of the house while Caz was gone. They were newly married, still full of hope and plans for the future. Caz had no doubt they would make a home of their own soon enough, but until then, his cottage would be theirs.

A knock on the door pulled Caz from his thoughts, and he opened it to find Garrick standing on the threshold, a wide grin on his face. “Ready to head out, then?” Garrick asked, clapping Caz on the shoulder as he stepped inside.

“Almost,” Caz replied, returning the grin. “Just finishing up.”

Elena followed Garrick in, her eyes sweeping over the room with a mixture of curiosity and warmth. “We’ll take good care of the place,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

“I know you will,” Caz said, feeling a surge of gratitude for his friends. “And if you need anything, just send word. I won’t be too far.”

The next hour passed in a mix of conversation and preparation. Garrick and Caz shared stories from their younger days—tales of mischief and adventure that brought laughter to the room. Elena listened with a smile, occasionally adding her own memories of the village and the times they had all spent together.

At one point, Garrick picked up the wooden carving of the wolf. “Remember this?” he asked with a chuckle. “Took me weeks to get it right. Still don’t know how you convinced me to carve a wolf.”

Caz grinned, taking the carving from him. “You were always better with a knife than I was. Besides, it’s a good reminder of home.”

Elena touched the carving, her fingers tracing the lines of the wolf’s fur. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “You two have shared so much. I’m glad we’ll be here to keep this place safe for you.”

The conversation drifted from topic to topic, ranging from lighthearted banter to more serious discussions about the journey ahead. Fides lay by the hearth, his head resting on his paws as he listened to the familiar voices. Occasionally, he would lift his head and look at Caz, as if sensing the change that was about to come.

As the time to leave drew closer, the mood in the room shifted. The laughter faded, replaced by a quiet understanding that this was a turning point—both for Caz and for the village he was leaving behind.

“Take care of yourselves,” Caz said finally, his voice thick with emotion.

“You too,” Garrick replied, clapping him on the shoulder again. “And don’t get into too much trouble out there.”

Elena smiled, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “We’ll be here when you get back,” she said softly.

Caz nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. With a final wave, he stepped out onto the road, Fides trotting at his side. The journey ahead was uncertain, but as he looked back at the faces of those he was leaving behind, Caz knew that he wasn’t truly alone.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when Caz made camp for the night. The road to Morigan had been quiet so far, the familiar sounds of nature a comforting backdrop to his thoughts. Fides sat by the fire, his dark eyes reflecting the flames as he watched Caz unpack his belongings.

Caz set out a simple meal—dried meat, bread, and a flask of water. He unwrapped his father’s dagger, turning it over in his hands as the firelight danced along the blade. “I’ll keep it close, Dad,” he murmured to himself, tucking the dagger into his belt.

As he sat by the fire, Caz looked at the few items he had chosen to bring with him. A well-worn map of the region, marked with notes and routes from his time at the academy. A small leather pouch filled with silver coins—enough to get him through the next few weeks. And, of course, the short sword his father had made.

Fides nudged his hand with his nose, and Caz smiled, giving the dog a piece of dried meat. “You’re the only one I can trust to keep me out of trouble,” he said fondly, scratching behind Fides’ ears.

As the fire crackled and the night deepened, Caz found his thoughts drifting to the road ahead. Morigan was still a few days’ journey, and he knew the path would be fraught with challenges—both known and unknown. But with Fides by his side, and his father’s blade at his hip, Caz felt a sense of calm determination settle over him.

He would face whatever came his way, and when the time was right, he would return to Thorncliff—changed, perhaps, but with stories to tell and a heart full of the adventures he sought.

With that thought, Caz laid back against his bedroll, staring up at the stars as sleep gradually overtook him, the quiet snores of Fides his only companion.