Ravendale wasn't always dead. Once, it was alive with noise — kids screaming while playing tag, neighbors shouting across fences, merchants calling out deals like they owned the whole world. And in the middle of town stood that huge oak tree, the one everyone swore would never fall.
Now? Silence. Houses cracked open like broken shells, grass swallowing the roads, the oak tree split and blackened as if the sky itself had struck it down.
Aelar walked the empty street, boots crunching against dirt and shattered glass. A pack of ruined weapons clanked against his back, loud in the stillness.
"Feels more like a graveyard than a village," he muttered.
He shoved the door to their cottage open. Dust exploded everywhere. The air smelled of old smoke and rust.
"Father?" he called.
Nothing. Then came the slow, heavy thump-thump-thump of boots. Aelar's hand went to his sword before he saw who it was.
Rioran stepped out from the back room, broad-shouldered, gray streaks in his beard. His eyes softened."You're back."
Aelar dropped the pack onto the table with a thud. "And I brought what you asked for."
Rioran peeked inside, whistling low. "Hmm. A bent spear, a cracked blade, and something that might've been a knife once. Fine collection, son."
Aelar grinned. "Hey, you said 'whatever metal I could find.' Didn't say it had to be pretty."
Rioran snorted, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Sit. I made stew."
"You?" Aelar blinked. "Cooking? That's… dangerous."
Rioran raised an eyebrow. "Watch your mouth. I was feeding myself long before you came around."
"Yeah, on burnt bread and mystery meat."
"Eat it before I decide to starve you."
The stew was simple but warm, and for a moment, the ruins outside didn't exist. Aelar pulled the broken weapons from the bag, laying them across the table.
"It's not much," he said, "but it's something."
Rioran picked up the cracked sword blade, turned it in his hand, then nodded. "Still good steel. Ugly, but useful. We'll forge it again."
"I want in this time," Aelar said quickly. "Not just bellows and polishing. The real work. I'm ready."
Rioran's eyes narrowed, studying him. Then the old man smirked. "Tomorrow, then. But don't cry when your arms fall off."
Aelar leaned back, smirking. "Just don't cry when I out-hammer you."
"Out-hammer me?" Rioran chuckled, shaking his head. "Boy, I am the hammer."
The days blurred into one another. The forge roared, sparks leapt, and the clang of iron sang through the empty village. Father and son worked side by side, sweat mixing with laughter, arguments over technique filling the silence Ravendale left behind.
Years later, Aelar held his first finished sword. Not perfect, but strong. Balanced. His.
"It's done," he whispered.
Rioran tested the weight, swung it once, then handed it back. "Good work. It belongs to you."
Aelar couldn't stop smiling, swinging it through the air like it was part of him.
Then Rioran's voice dropped lower. "Aelar… if I told you to leave Ravendale, would you?"
Aelar froze. "…Leave? To where?"
"Anywhere that's not here," Rioran said quietly. "This place is dead. Out there, people still live, still fight. You need to see that world. You need to matter in it."
Aelar hesitated, jaw tight. "…If you come with me, then yes."
A rare smile tugged at Rioran's lips. "Then we leave at dawn."
Morning came with mist over the river. A small boat sat ready by the shore.
"You built this?" Aelar asked, wide-eyed.
"While you were snoring through the nights," Rioran said flatly. "Took me a year."
Aelar whistled. "Guess you really were tired of my cooking."
They loaded their supplies in silence. Aelar turned, giving Ravendale one last look. No sadness. Just a final goodbye.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Padas," Rioran answered. "An old friend waits there. He can teach you more than I ever could."
As the boat pushed forward, Aelar held his sword tight, the weight of it grounding him. His chest buzzed with both fear and excitement.
"Father," he asked softly, "you think we'll ever come back?"
Rioran kept his eyes on the horizon. "If we do… we won't be the same."
Aelar nodded, gripping the blade, eyes fixed on the mist ahead. Whatever waited in Padas, he was ready.