—LAKE—

Claude shrugged, his smile widening just a fraction. “Why not? It’ll do us both some good.”

For a moment, I hesitated. But there was something in his quiet and steady gaze that made the decision for me. I found myself nodding, the weight on my chest easing just a little.

“Alright,” I agreed softly. “Let’s go.”

The path to the lake wound through the forest, the trees tall and silent sentinels on either side. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and moss. We walked in comfortable silence, the occasional crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound.

When we reached the lake, the water stretched out before us, a mirror of dark glass reflecting the black sky. Claude set down the fishing poles, casting a line with practiced ease. I watched him, the way his shoulders relaxed, the small, contented smile that played on his lips.

He glanced back at me, catching my gaze. “You thinking about Brother Ealhstan?”

I let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking my head. “I promised to come back for him.”

“It was his decision to stay, Ryne. And he knows that you will. You're working yourself to the bone again preparing for his arrival.” He smiled at me knowingly. “Besides, I think he can take care of himself.

It was such a simple thing to say. And yet, those two words wrapped around my heart, chasing away the lingering shadows of doubt. I took a deep breath, the cool night air filling my lungs, and I looked out over the water.

“I feel… lost,” I admitted quietly, thinking again as I harvested the blood from our villagers. “Like I’m betraying everything I stand for. Everything I was taught.”

Claude’s gaze didn’t waver. He stepped closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he stood beside me. The contact was brief, but it sent a ripple of warmth through me.

Before I could speak, Claude’s fishing line jerked sharply. He let out a soft curse, his hands moving swiftly as he fought to reel it in. I stepped forward, watching as the line thrashed, the water churning.

“Got something big?” I asked, a hint of amusement coloring my tone.

“Feels like it!” he grunted, his muscles straining. With a final heave, he pulled the fish from the water, its scales glistening in the moonlight.

It was a striped bass, its body sleek and powerful. I stared at it, my eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, that’s new.”

Claude grinned, holding the fish up for me to see. “Seems like they’re getting more common. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“A sign?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said with a playful shrug. “A sign that things are changing. For the better.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his optimism. Claude had a way of turning even the bleakest situations into something bearable.

We spent the rest of the night fishing in companionable silence, our baskets filling with silvergill and occasionally, striped bass. By the time we returned to the village, the tension in my chest had eased, replaced by a sense of calm.

The villagers welcomed us back with smiles and murmurs of approval. The fish we brought were more than enough for a feast, and soon the scent of roasting meat filled the air. Laughter and conversation buzzed around us, the warmth of the communal fire casting flickering shadows across familiar faces.

I found myself standing at the edge of the firelight, watching as the villagers shared stories and laughter. Claude stood beside me, his gaze soft as he looked out over the gathering. Woodrow came up behind me and squeezed my shoulder.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “You’re not a monster, Ryne. You’re their hope. Their protector.”

I turned to look at him, my heart swelling with a mix of gratitude. Claude overheard and though he did not quite understand, smiled gently, “I believe in you, too. Even if you don’t believe in yourself.”

The words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, and I let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Claude’s smile widened, and he reached out, squeezing my hand briefly before letting go. “Come on, let’s enjoy the feast. You’ve earned it.”

As the night wore on and the firelight flickered against the darkness, I felt something shift within me, twilight turning into the dawn. I will continue atoning for drawing blood.

For tonight, though, I allowed myself to simply be. To exist in this moment, surrounded by the people I was sworn to protect.

And with Claude beside me, that seemed just a little bit easier.

—MEADOW—

The obelisk’s flame burned brighter in the night. I felt it as I was helping Wilbur mix vitamins. We hurried to the meadow at once.

Something mixed with the fragrance of wildflowers and freshly turned earth. A deep, heady scent that carried with it memories of distant fields and simpler times. I glanced down at the cluster of dark berries cupped in Wilbur’s weathered hands. They were small and plump, almost gleaming with the juice they held, droplets glistening like precious gems in the dim light.

Wilbur’s sharp gaze shifted to mine, and he arched a brow. Without a word, he plucked one berry from the bunch and popped it into his mouth. His expression remained neutral as he chewed thoughtfully, then gave a small nod.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Elderberries,” he murmured, his voice as soft as the whisper of leaves overhead. “I can make these into healing balms. If not that, then to oats and pottages.”

That is exactly what I did. I delighted the villagers when I served them warm oats cookied in milk and mashed elderberries and scorchberries. Agate and Harlan slumped over holding their bowls. “I was seven when I last had these,” Harlan said. I smiled at how they lost themsleves to childhood, imagine a much smaller Harlan being trained by Agate.

The next evening was grazing night. I watched as Wilbur gathered more of the berries, his fingers moving swiftly through the foliage. Around us, the meadow buzzed with quiet life. Sheep grazed in clusters, their woolly bodies dotted against the darkening grass like shadows. Claude stood nearby, his silhouette steady, the curve of his shoulders relaxed in the fading light.

I took a deep breath, feeling the lingering remnants of miasma that had once tainted this place dissipate further with each breeze. Ealhstan’s battle with the direwolves had helped the land, and the earth seemed to sigh with relief beneath our feet. The meadow felt more alive than it had in weeks, a subtle pulse of vitality thrumming through the soil and roots.

“It’s quieter now,” Claude remarked, his voice breaking the gentle hum of the evening. He turned to me, his gaze thoughtful. “Since Ealhstan dealt with the wolves.”

I nodded, my gaze following how the light made his dark curls brown, a burnished halo against the encroaching dusk. “The miasma’s thinning.” I glanced at Wilbur, who had finished gathering half of what the meadow had to offer. “What do you think?”

Wilbur looked up, brushing the dirt from his fingers. “I’m glad I can replant these elderberries on our soil, and soon we’ll have more remedies.

A smile tugged at my lips. We lingered a while longer, watching the sheep graze and the twilight deepen. The sky shifted to a deep indigo, the first stars flickering into view like the tentative glow of the torches. I closed my eyes, breathing in the cool air. For a moment, everything seemed still and perfect; the weight of our struggles lifted, if only briefly.

But Wilbur’s words brought me back to the present.

“Claude,” he said suddenly, his tone more serious. “Where did they bury the dead in Rothfield?”

Claude turned, brow furrowing slightly at the shift in topic. “For nobles, it’s inside the church. But for commoners... They’re laid to rest in the softlands.” He gestured vaguely in the direction we’d come from. “Remember the scattered boulders and the soft ground before our farm? That’s where they rest.”

Wilbur only nodded, his expression inscrutable. He rose to his feet, the elderberries bundled carefully in his hands. “Good to know. Thank you.” He offered a tight smile and, with a nod to both of us, made his way back to the monastery.

I watched him go, a small knot of something forming in my chest. There was something in his voice, but I let it be. For now. Claude stepped closer, his presence a quiet comfort at my side. He glanced at me, his eyes searching my face. “What is it?”

“Just thinking about nothing,” I murmured, shaking my head slightly. I managed a smile, but it felt strained even to me.

He didn’t press further, just nodded and turned his gaze back to the meadow. “Well, if you’re ever ready to talk, I’m here.”

I smiled and squeezed his shoulder. We stood like that for a while, the silence between us comfortable and unspoken words hanging in the air like mist. When we finally returned to the village, Wilbur had already set some of the elderberries aside, and the villagers were bustling about, preparing for supper.

The communal fire crackled, casting long shadows against the trees. The villagers of Kent gathered around, the scent of roasting fish and simmering stew filling the night air.

—EALHSTAN’S CAVERN / HOWLITE CAVERN—

Come Saintsday, the new pews had been arranged neatly, and everyone settled on the sturdy benches, their chatter and laughter a low murmur against the crackling firewood.

Life had found a fragile balance again. And yet, the unease remained, a shadow lurking at the edge of my thoughts when I collected their blood once more. But this was the last time I would do so for another while. For when I poured all their blood into the bottle I used for collecting them, It almost reached the brim. It was enough for Ealhstan.

That night, when the crowd had thinned and the fire burned low, I slipped away, my satchel heavy with Ealhstan's welcoming gift. The blood I’d gathered sloshed softly in the bottle, dark as wine in the moonlight. I told no one where I was going, but Wilbur and Woodrow stood guard at the monastery doors, waiting for us to come home.

The vines carried me swiftly through the winding paths of Mount Lhottem, Ember’s small form always at my side. The tunnels whispered around us. Inside the chambers, we encountered two stray direwolves. Ember and I burned them away with the kindflame, the flames licking at the tunnel walls in a burst of warmth and light. The smell of charred fur hung in the air long after they were gone.

I reached Ealhstan's cavern entrance, pressing my hands against the rough stone that he had used to seal himself inside. “Ealhstan,” I whispered, my voice reverberating through the hollow chamber. “It’s me.”

The stone shifted with a low groan, and Ealhstan’s massive form emerged from the darkness. He smiled down at me, his teeth gleaming white against his ashen skin.

“Ryne,” he rumbled, his voice like brooming thunder in the still air.

I held up the bottle, offering it to him. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

Ealhstan waved a hand dismissively, his smile widening. “What is time to us?” He took the bottle, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent of the blood. “This... this is rich.”

“Wilbur and Woodrow fasted for weeks,” I murmured.

“Bless them,” I murmured, watching as he downed the bottle in one gulp. The blood flowed through him like liquid fire, and I saw his shoulders straighten, his eyes brighten with renewed strength.

He smacked his lips. “I feel alive,” he sighed, rolling his neck and clenching his fists. I flinched, but Ealhstan’s gaze softened. He reached down, his hand encompassing mine. “I do my best not to think of our people as cattle. It’s not their fate. Not while I draw breath.”

My heart tightened, and I nodded slowly. “We’ll do good, Ealhstan. We’ll make it worth it. Somehow.”

He nodded. “I know we will.”

And then, as if to chase away the somber air between us, he scooped me up, placing me on his broad shoulders like he used to. Before everything changed. My legs dangled over his back, and I laughed despite myself.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, his voice rumbling beneath me. “Let’s show me what I’ve missed.”

We made our way back to Rothfield, the village torches shining like a beacon in the night. The villagers stirred at our approach, a mix of fear and awe in their eyes. Agate and Harlan met us in the center of the fields, their weapons held steady, though the unease in their stances was clear. They thought we were intruders.

I raised a hand, calling for peace. “This is Brother Ealhstan,” I said softly. “He’s come home.”

Slowly, the tension eased. Agate lowered her spear, her gaze flickering between me and Ealhstan. “You weren’t exaggerating. He is a tank." Harlan, beside her, nodded mutely, his eyes wide.

Ealhstan tried to make himself look small; tried to lessen his presence, but it only made him appear more comical. He smiled sheepishly, a giant among men, and I saw the villagers’ fear melt away, replaced by hesitant smiles.

We returned to the monastery, and under Gaelmar’s watchful gaze, Ealhstan bowed low, murmuring thanks for the chance to atone. We showed him the infirmary, the kitchens, the crypts we slept in. He laughed, a deep, rolling sound, when he saw the size of the sarcophagus.

“I won’t fit in here,” he said with a grin, the soft soil cradling his massive form.

"We don't sleep inside," I chuckled.

That night, as the stars wheeled overhead and the village quieted, I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of my brothers’ presence around me. The burden of our existence hung heavy still, but for the first time in a long while, it felt bearable. For tonight, we were together.

And the world was right again.