—GRANGES—

The communal fire blazed high, casting a warm, golden glow over the clearing. The scent of cooked fish and ale with elderberry juice wafted through the air, mingling with the hum of conversation. We brought Ealhstan slowly at the edge of the circle, his broad form a shadow against the firelight. The conversation muted.

The settlers of Kent stared, eyes wide and mouths agape. Some of the children shrieked, hiding behind their mothers’ skirts, peering out with wary curiosity. Though the villagers had been warned and reassured about his presence, seeing him up close, towering and imposing, was another matter entirely.

Woodrow stepped forward, his voice smooth and reassuring, already weaving stories of Ealhstan’s gentle nature and strength of character. Wilbur, standing tall beside us, exuded a calmness that helped ease the tense atmosphere. Claude moved through the crowd like a breeze, speaking softly to those who looked the most unsettled. He was crucial to making them feel calm, for he was one of them; mortal and bleeding.

I reached up and tapped Ealhstan’s arm. He glanced down, and I gestured for him to bend. “Make me fly?” I whispered.

Ealhstan’s eyes sparkled with understanding. His low chuckle rumbled like distant thunder, and before I knew it, he scooped both me and Claude up as though we weighed nothing at all. There was a collective gasp from the villagers as we were launched high into the air, the world spinning beneath us in a blur of firelight and shadows. Laughter bubbled from my chest, mingling with Claude’s beside me. For a heartbeat, we were weightless, caught between the earth and sky.

When Ealhstan’s massive hands caught us safely, cradling us back to the ground, there was an astonished silence, and I worried that my plan scared them more. Then a cheer rose up from the crowd. I glanced at Claude, our faces inches apart as we caught our breath. His eyes shone, the firelight reflecting the warmth of his smile. He held my gaze for a moment longer, a look of shared exhilaration passing between us. I found myself grinning back.

“Do it again!” one of the braver lads called, his voice high and excited. He stepped forward, his small form trembling slightly. I nodded to Ealhstan, who lowered a hand, palm up and steady.

“Don’t worry,” I murmured, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s back. “Ealhstan’s as gentle as a lamb.”

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The boy bit his lip, hesitated, then placed a tentative foot on Ealhstan’s hand. With a slow, deliberate motion, Ealhstan lifted him, as though raising a fragile fledgling from its nest. The boy’s eyes widened, his fear melting into pure joy as he was lifted high, high above our heads. He spread his arms, face turned toward the sky.

“I’m flying!” he cried, laughter breaking free like the first song of spring.

And just like that, the floodgates opened. Children flocked to Ealhstan, their small hands reaching, clamoring for their turn. His deep laughter boomed through the clearing, filling the night. He lifted each child with care, raising them gently into the air, and lowering them back to the ground as if they were no more than feathers caught in a breeze.

It was a sight that tugged at something deep within me; a memory of another time, another place. I saw, for just a moment, the old Ealhstan surrounded by children from Trushire monastery, his arms outstretched as they climbed over him like squirrels scampering up a tree. Their laughter had been the same then, bright and carefree, and he had always worn that same smile of genuine contentment.

Claude moved closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “That didn’t take long,” he murmured softly. I nodded, my gaze still on Ealhstan’s towering form, the children perched on his arms like sparrows. “Things will change for the better, Ryne. You’ll see.”

His conviction seeped into me, and I turned to him, my heart swelling. I wanted to say more, to thank him for always being there. For believing in me, in Ealhstan, in all of us. But I couldn’t find the words. Instead, I reached out, brushing my fingers lightly against his. Claude’s eyes flickered down at the contact, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Stay with me?” I asked softly, the question carrying a weight I didn’t fully understand. It was a request for his company, but more than that, for his steadiness, his presence beside me in whatever lay ahead.

“Of course,” he whispered, his hand closing around mine for the briefest of moments before he stepped away.

Ealhstan’s laughter drew my attention back to the scene unfolding before us. The villagers, once apprehensive, now looked on with smiles and soft murmurs. The children continued to scramble up to him, their voices a symphony of delight.

And in that moment, I felt so much hope, like I did that first night in Rothfield after Gaelmar connected with me, bestowing me his kindflame. With Ealhstan here, with Claude beside me, with all Woodrow and Wilbur, we could rebuild Rothfield. We could turn this fragile hope into something lasting.

“I’ll do good here,” I murmured to Gaelmar, my voice low.

“We already are,” Wilbur said next to me, his gaze soft as he watched the children swarm Ealhstan.

And as I stood there, the warmth of the fire wrapping around us, the night alive with the sound of laughter and joy, I felt the truth of his words settle deep within my bones.

Rothfield would heal. It would thrive. I looked at Ealhstan’s mighty stature. Woodrow’s easy smile and quick hands. Wilbur’s gentle, resolute form. Claude’s sword sparkled on his belt. He smiled at me.

We’ll make sure of it.