Chapter 2

The first week in Greenhollow passed in a blur of mundane tasks. Harris found himself spending most of his time in the garden, clearing weeds, trimming overgrown bushes, and planting new flowers. The work was exhausting, but it brought a strange satisfaction he had never known in his previous life. There was something rewarding about seeing the results of his labor take shape in front of him.

Martha, true to her word, was always around, offering help or just stopping by to chat. Harris quickly realized that she was the type of person who knew everyone and everything about the village. It made her both a potential threat to his cover and a valuable source of information.

One afternoon, as Harris was struggling to pull out a particularly stubborn weed, Martha appeared at the gate again, a basket in her hands. “Brought you some apples,” she said, beaming at him. “Figured you could use a break.”

Harris straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Thank you, Martha,” he said, taking the basket. The apples were bright red, and he had to admit they looked delicious.

Martha leaned against the gate, watching him. “You’re doing a fine job with the garden. It was a real mess before you got here.”

Harris nodded, glancing at his progress. The garden was starting to look presentable, the wild chaos slowly transforming into something more orderly. “It keeps me busy,” he said simply.

Martha smiled. “Well, I’m glad you’re settling in. You know, there’s a festival coming up next week. The Harvest Festival. It’s one of the biggest events in Greenhollow. You should come. It’ll be a good chance to meet everyone.”

Harris hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. But refusing might make him stand out even more. “I’ll think about it,” he said noncommittally.

Martha nodded, seemingly satisfied with that. “Good. It’s a lot of fun, and we could use some help setting things up. You seem like the handy type.”

Harris forced a smile. “We’ll see.”

After Martha left, Harris looked down at the apples in the basket. He picked one up, turning it over in his hand. It was a simple gesture, a neighborly kindness, but it reminded him of how different this life was from the one he had left behind. In his old life, he had been surrounded by fear and power. Here, it was simple acts of kindness, people looking out for each other. It was... unsettling, but not entirely unpleasant.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He took a bite of the apple, the crisp sweetness surprising him. Perhaps, just perhaps, this life could work. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. His past had a way of catching up, no matter how far he ran.

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The day of the Harvest Festival arrived sooner than Harris would have liked. The village was bustling with activity, with stalls being set up, decorations hung across the streets, and the air filled with the scent of baked goods and roasting meat. Harris kept to the edges, trying to stay out of sight, but Martha spotted him almost immediately.

“There you are!” she called, waving him over. “Come on, we could use an extra pair of hands over here.”

Harris sighed inwardly but followed her to a group of villagers struggling to set up a large tent. He grabbed one of the poles, helping to lift it into place. The work was simple enough, and he found himself blending into the background, just another villager helping out.

As the day went on, Harris couldn’t help but notice the sense of community among the villagers. They laughed, joked, and worked together, their lives intertwined in a way that was entirely foreign to him. He had always been alone, even when surrounded by armies and followers. Here, everyone seemed to belong.

“Hey, Harris!” a voice called, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to see Liam, the young village guard, running over. “We’re going to have a contest later—archery. You should join! I bet you’d be good at it.”

Harris shook his head. “I’m not much for contests,” he said, trying to deflect.

“Aw, come on,” Liam insisted. “It’s just for fun. Besides, we could use more people. It’s not like it’s serious.”

Harris hesitated. He didn’t want to draw attention, but he also didn’t want to seem out of place. “I’ll watch,” he said finally. “Maybe next time.”

Liam grinned. “Fair enough. Just don’t disappear on us, okay?”

Harris gave a noncommittal nod, and Liam ran off to help elsewhere. Harris watched him go, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. It had been so long since anyone had wanted his company for anything other than power or fear. Here, he was just Harris, the newcomer. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

As evening fell, the festival lights lit up the village, a warm glow spreading across the cobbled streets. Harris stood at the edge of the crowd, watching as the villagers danced and celebrated. He felt a pang of something—longing, perhaps. A part of him wanted to join in, to be a part of this simple joy. But another part, the part that had been the dark lord for centuries, held him back.

He turned away, heading back to his cottage. The night was cool, the sounds of laughter and music fading behind him. He had chosen this life to escape, to be free of the burdens of his past. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, freedom wasn’t just about being alone. Maybe it was about finding a place where he could truly belong.

But that, he knew, would take time. For now, he was content to watch from the shadows, to be a part of the village in his own quiet way. And maybe, one day, he would find the courage to step into the light.