The days in Delsworth stretched on, each one an echo of the last, and yet, something felt different. Aelric could sense the change, a quiet unease that had begun to take hold in the town. It was in the way people whispered to each other, their eyes shifting nervously as they glanced around. He could feel it when he walked through the streets—the unspoken suspicion that lingered like a shadow.

He hammered at the sword before him, the repetitive clang of metal a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in his mind. But no matter how hard he tried to lose himself in the rhythm of the forge, the tension in the air was impossible to ignore.

"Aelric," Rurik’s gruff voice called from across the forge, pulling him from his thoughts. "You’re hammering that blade like you’re trying to kill it. Focus."

Aelric blinked, realizing he had been gripping the hammer too tightly. He eased his grip and took a breath, trying to calm the restlessness within him. "Sorry," he muttered, setting the sword back on the anvil.

Rurik eyed him, his face unreadable. The old blacksmith had always been observant, but lately, it seemed like he was watching Aelric more closely, as though he sensed something was off. Aelric had done his best to stay hidden, to blend in, but even the most careful acts of control were beginning to slip.

"Get your head straight," Rurik warned. "Mistakes in the forge can cost you more than a day’s work."

Aelric nodded, though his mind was far from the sword in front of him. The rumors of witch burnings had reached Delsworth, spreading like wildfire through the town. People were scared, and fear had a way of turning into suspicion. And when people began to look for someone to blame, it was only a matter of time before they pointed their fingers at the wrong person.

By the time Aelric left the forge that evening, the sun was sinking low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets. The marketplace was quiet, most of the villagers having retreated to their homes, but the tension remained. Aelric could feel it, the unease clinging to the air like a storm waiting to break.

As he walked toward the edge of town, his mind drifted to the whispers he had overheard earlier that day. Another witch burned in a neighboring village. The people had accused him of summoning a storm to destroy crops, and without trial or hesitation, he had been put to death. It was happening more often now—any hint of magic was enough to warrant execution.

Aelric quickened his pace, eager to reach the safety of his small shack. He had been careful, so careful, but the rumors gnawed at him, reminding him how precarious his situation truly was.

As he approached the outskirts, where his shack stood alone on the edge of the forest, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, his heart racing, to see a figure approaching through the dimming light. It was Elda, the town healer, her cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders against the evening chill.

"Aelric," she called out, her voice low but urgent. "I need to speak with you."

Aelric frowned, unsure of why the healer would be seeking him out at this hour. He glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby. "What is it?" he asked.

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Elda glanced over her shoulder, her expression wary. "Not here," she whispered. "It’s not safe."

Aelric’s unease deepened, but he followed her into the cover of the trees at the edge of the forest. Once they were far enough from prying eyes, Elda stopped and turned to face him, her face pale in the fading light.

"They're starting to ask questions, Aelric," she said, her voice tight with concern. "The council... they’ve heard the rumors. They think there’s a witch in Delsworth."

Aelric felt his stomach drop. "And what does that have to do with me?" he asked, his voice colder than he intended.

Elda hesitated, her gaze searching his face. "People are scared. They’re looking for someone to blame, and you… You’ve always kept to yourself. They’re starting to notice."

Aelric’s heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "So because I don’t spend my time gossiping in the market, I’m a witch now?" he said, his tone edged with offense.

Elda’s brow furrowed, her voice lowering. "I’m trying to help you. You’ve been acting strangely, and it’s drawing attention. I’ve heard people talking—Calder’s been watching you."

Aelric clenched his fists at his sides, forcing himself to breathe steadily. "I’m not doing anything wrong," he said, his voice hard. "I’m a blacksmith’s apprentice, not some witch conjuring storms."

Elda’s eyes flicked over him, her expression unreadable. For a moment, it seemed as if she might say something more, but then she shook her head, stepping back. "Aelric, if there’s anything… anything you’re hiding, now is the time to tell me. I can help you."

Aelric stiffened, his pulse quickening. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said, the denial coming out sharper than he intended. "You’re accusing me of something dangerous, Elda."

Elda held up her hands, her voice soothing. "I’m not accusing you. I just want to make sure you’re safe. If the council starts looking into you—"

"I have nothing to hide," Aelric interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "And I don’t appreciate being accused of witchcraft."

For a moment, the two of them stood in tense silence, the weight of Aelric’s denial hanging in the air. He could see the uncertainty in Elda’s eyes, the hesitation as she considered his words. But Aelric had learned long ago how to hide his fear, how to keep the truth buried deep where no one could see it.

Finally, Elda sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I’m sorry," she said quietly. "I just… I don’t want to see anyone else hurt because of these witch hunts. Be careful, Aelric. Calder isn’t the only one keeping an eye on you."

Aelric’s jaw tightened, but he nodded curtly. "I’ll be careful," he said, his voice cold. "But you should be careful too, Elda. Accusations like that can get someone killed."

Elda’s eyes softened, but she said nothing more. She gave a brief nod and turned to leave, her cloak billowing behind her as she disappeared back toward the town.

Aelric watched her go, his heart still racing. He had played the part of the offended innocent well enough, but the truth gnawed at him like a festering wound. Elda might not have known the truth, but she was right about one thing—people were starting to ask questions. And if the council or someone like Calder got too close, it wouldn’t be long before his secret was exposed.

Turning back toward his shack, Aelric walked quickly, his thoughts a whirl of fear and frustration. He couldn’t keep this up forever. The magic inside him was growing, more restless by the day, and the harder he tried to suppress it, the more dangerous it became.

He entered his shack and closed the door behind him, the quiet settling over him like a heavy blanket. The small room was dark, the faint smell of damp wood and straw filling the air. Aelric lit a candle and sat at the edge of his bed, his mind still racing.

The rumors were spreading, the fear of magic growing stronger with each passing day. It was only a matter of time before they came for him, just as they had come for others. And when that day came, he would have to make a choice.

For now, though, all he could do was keep his head down and hope that the lies he had woven were enough to protect him.