One year later, The Western Farmlands of Verdalis
The morning air was sharp with the scent of dew as it wrapped itself around the modest farmhouse, where the rhythmic sound of chopping echoed through the stillness. The sun hid behind a veil of clouds, casting a soft, gray light over the fields—a quiet morning, save for the steady swing of the axe.
Inside the house, just up the hill, a mother and daughter prepared the morning meal. The slightly greying woman stood at the stove, her hands moving absently as she peered out the window. Her gaze settled on the man working in the yard, and her expression softened with both pity and concern.
A gentle tug on her apron broke her moment of reflection.
"Mommy, can I go take him some water?" The girl's voice was bright, her feet shifting with excitement as she waited for a response.
The mother looked down at her daughter, who had only just turned eleven, her long brunette hair hanging down her back almost to her waist. She sighed, wiping her hands on a cloth. "You've taken him water three times already, Mina. Don't you think you've bothered the poor man enough?"
"But he keeps drinking them!" Mina's eyes sparkled with eagerness. "Please, Mommy?"
Before the mother could respond, a firm knock echoed through the room. She glanced toward the window and caught sight of the large brim of a farmer's hat. With a small smile, she poured water into a cup, placed it on a tray next to a piece of bread, and handed it to Mina.
"This is the last one, you hear me? I won't have you harassin' the new farmhand. Now go on," she said, patting the girl's head.
Mina flashed a grin and rushed out, the tray clutched tightly in her hands. The mother took a steadying breath before moving to the door. She opened it to see a familiar figure—an older man whose body bore the weight of decades of farm work. His back bent slightly under the burden of years, but his eyes remained sharp.
"Mornin', pretty lady," he said, tipping his hat with a small bow.
"Mr. Connell," she replied, a touch of surprise in her voice. "Back from the fishing trip already, I see."
Connell gave a hearty chuckle, stepping inside. He scanned the room as if expecting something out of place. Lara's smile faltered slightly at his practiced scrutiny. He settled into a chair, the old wood creaking under his weight.
"Wasn't much to catch this time," Connell said, adjusting his hat on his knee. He slowly set his heavy bag on the floor, his bones creaking with the motion. "So… how're you two fairin' these days? I reckon things must be harder now with Theric's passing."
Her eyes lowered to the table. A sudden sadness, fading with time but still present, washed over her. Her husband, Theric, had passed away earlier that year—just a few months after finding the new farmhand. She gazed into her cup, slowly swirling the water inside. "It's been tough without him. But things aren't so bad now that we have Ori around. Mina absolutely loves him—can't seem to leave him alone." She chuckled, a wistful smile on her lips.
Connell's gaze shifted toward the window, where Ori's silhouette stood, the axe rising and falling in a steady rhythm. "He's out early again," he muttered, his voice flat.
Lara nodded, her eyes following the man outside. "He always is. Keeps to himself, works hard. We're thankful for the help."
Connell's brows furrowed as he leaned back, his gaze never leaving Ori. "A man like that, showin' up half-drowned on your shore… It's strange. You ever wonder what he's runnin' from?"
Lara hesitated, her eyes lingering on Connell's face a moment longer than necessary. She quickly shook her head and focused on the cup in her hands, her fingers absently twisting the handle. "It's not my place to ask," she said, the words steady but carrying an edge of doubt. "He's broken, that much is clear. Whatever it is, he carries it alone. We're just here to give him the peace he needs."
Connell was silent for a moment, the creases around his eyes deepening as he glanced back toward Ori. The sound of the axe splitting wood echoed through the yard like a heartbeat—steady, unrelenting.
"I hope that peace isn't just an illusion," he said, his voice low and thoughtful. He stood, adjusting his hat and grabbing his bag off the floor. "But he's doin' right by you and the little one, apparently. As long as that doesn't change, I guess he's alright with me. Just be careful, you hear?"
Lara followed him to the door, her hand resting lightly on the frame as he stepped out. Connell paused, his back turned to her, his voice suddenly darker. "Oh, and Lara…"
She looked at him, brow furrowing in confusion. "What is it?"
Connell's eyes were fixed on the distant ocean, and he looked away from her, his gaze now intense and distant. "I lied about it bein' slim pickings on the fishing trip."
Lara blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly. "I… I don't understand."
"The reason we came back early… wasn't 'cause of the fish not bitin'. We saw ships—strange ones at that. Can't be anything good."
A cold shiver ran down Lara's spine. Her gaze shifted toward the distant horizon, her thoughts immediately racing toward Ori. She knew she was grasping at ghosts, but couldn't shake the feeling that the ships and Ori's appearance were somehow connected. She shook her head, trying to push the thought aside with a nervous smile. "I'm sure it's just military business. Nothing for us simple folk to be worried about, I'm sure."
Connell studied her for a moment, his eyes sharp but unreadable. He gave a small nod, but his expression remained somber. "I sure hope you're right about that. But even so… you and the little one stay safe out here. I'll stop by tomorrow morning to check on you two, maybe bring some of those treats she likes so much. How's that sound?"
Lara smiled, grateful for his concern. "That'd be wonderful, Mr. Connell. I'm sure Mina will love it."
Connell gave a brief wave and started down the hill, taking one last glance at Ori before continuing on. His footsteps slowed as he walked, his eyes lingering on the man outside. The worry in his gaze had not yet faded.
As Ori swung the axe, the rhythm of the motion became mechanical—a distant, repetitive task that gave him just enough distraction from the thoughts that clawed at his mind. The first swing was easy, controlled. The second brought an echo from deeper within—an image of a battle, of flashing blades, and the ground shaking beneath his feet. His hand trembled, the axe's weight suddenly too much to bear.
He quickly steadied himself, blinking hard as the memory faded, and the present rushed back. Another swing, and the image returned. A flash of a woman's voice, a scream lost to the wind, his sword heavy in his hands, drenched in blood. He gritted his teeth and swung again, harder this time, as though trying to outrun the ghosts chasing him.
The flashes were brief, fragmented—like scattered pieces of a broken mirror. There was no cohesion, just snippets of his past life that he couldn't piece together. The battle. The blood. The faces—some familiar, some unrecognizable. And then the emptiness. That suffocating void when he couldn't remember why he was running, or who from.
A shiver ran through him, and for a brief moment, the axe felt alien in his hands—too much weight, too much history. He wished he could shut off his brain, even for just a few moments. He paused, rubbing a hand across his scruffy jaw. His hair was longer and unkept, eyes no longer burning with fire—a hollow shell of the king he once was.
He continued chopping, pushing through the torment of his memories. Each crack of the axe was followed by a new ghost to remind him. He chopped harder—losing the fight to drown the voices. Each one came back louder and more vivid. It was deafening, almost enough to make him scream, but it was soon broken by another sound.
"Ori?" A small voice brought him back, and he looked up to see Mina standing there, her brown eyes wide with curiosity, a tray balanced in her small hands.
He forced a smile, the tension melting from his features. "Another drink for me?" he said, trying to mask the weariness in his voice.
Mina nodded eagerly. "Mommy said it's the last one, but you always look so thirsty."
Ori's smile widened, genuine this time. He took the cup and sipped, the cool water a welcome relief against the burn in his throat. For a moment, the ghosts of his past receded, pushed away by the brightness of the little girl's presence.
"Thank you, Mina. You're very kind," he said, handing back the empty cup with a nod.
He then took the piece of bread, holding it up as a silent thank you. Mina lit up with satisfaction as she made her way back to the house. Ori took a moment to eat. Watching the girl prance away. He remembered how eager his sister would be to see him, smiling just as big—a bitter sweat memory for him now.
He worked until sundown, only stopping for the the call for supper. He hoped that maybe food and sleep would help, the same hope he had everyday, only to be revisited by his demons once he awoke.
Dinner that night was as quiet as any other. Ori sat at the table—face down in his plate while Lara and Mina enjoyed the meal. Mina would occasionally ask Ori questions about random things, to which Lara would save him from having to answer. She couldn't help but be curious herself though. Even still, she respected his privacy as much as possible. She noticed how his table manners were like that of nobility. His silverware neatly placed beside his plate, Elbows never touching the table. It was unusual for a common working man to eat so delicately.
"How are you enjoying the food, Ori?" She asked. Her voice carrying a soft nurturing touch. "Mina and I noticed you really like the potatoes."
"I am graceful for whatever food you would spare." Ori's response was minimal, only stopping to speak briefly before continuing to finish his food.
Lara frowned. Being humble is an admirable quality, but it was clear that Ori was shutting her out, answering in ways that leave little to expound upon. She watched him eat a while longer, struggling to find a way to open him up. She didn't want to pry, but it was difficult seeing him suffer in silence. She finally opened her mouth to speak once more, but it was too late. Ori was finished eating. He slowly placed the silverware on his plate, standing up from the table with a blank stare in his eye.
"Thank you for the food—delicious as always." Ori spoke with a soulless gratitude. "If no one needs me…I'm going to retire for the night."
Lara reached out, gently grabbing his arm as he stepped away, her voice covered in concern. "You don't have leave yet. You know you're like family to us now. Won't you stay awhile? Mina and I could use the company."
Ori paused, eyes locked on something not physically present, refusing to meet Lara's gaze. "I appreciate the offer…but I really must rest. I'd like to get an early start on my chores."
Lara released his arm, saddened by her ineffectiveness to warm his heart. She watched him retire to the barn where he slept, letting out a sigh before cleaning up the table and sending Mina to bed.
Later that night…
The flickering of the firelight was the only source of warmth as Ori lay restlessly on his bed of straw. The house was quiet, but the stillness only deepened his sense of unease. Shadows seemed to stretch across the walls, dancing and morphing in the flickering glow, and as his eyes closed, the weight of the day slipped away, only to be replaced by the crushing force of a nightmare.
In his dream, Ori was back on the battlefield. The sky was black, pierced by the light of flickering fires, and the sounds of war filled the air—clashing steel, the cries of the dying. His hands were stained red with blood that wasn't his own.
He was running—no, fleeing—from something, or someone. But there was nothing to see, only the sensation of being pursued, the smell of iron and smoke filling his lungs. He could hear the rhythmic thumping of boots behind him, the drag of weapons scraping the dirt. The panic was suffocating, but his legs refused to stop.
"Help me!" someone screamed from behind him—he couldn't recognize the voice.
The ground beneath him gave way, and he was falling—no, sinking—into blackness, swallowed whole by the earth.
Then, suddenly, the image of a woman flashed before his eyes. She stood in the distance, but Ori couldn't make out her features. She was standing still, watching him fall. He reached out for her, but his body was frozen, unable to move, only to watch as she disappeared into the darkness.
The dream was always the same. The terror, the helplessness, the never-ending fall.
Ori's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as if he had been holding his breath for an eternity. He was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his ears, and the cold sweat on his skin clung to his clothes. He needed air, maybe a walk to clear his mind. He stepped outside into the cold night air, the breeze instantly freezing the sweat on his body and cooling him down. It was refreshing—a small sliver of relief.
As he stood out in the grassy field, he heard movement toward the main house. He looked to see a cloaked figure standing at the front door. He heard the person knock, and immediately he threw himself behind the wall of the barn.
Inside the house, Lara sat in front of the fire, mind racing from the conversation with Mr. Connell and Ori's secrets. Then came a knock at the door. Slightly startled, she quickly put away her knitting tools and stood up from her rocking chair. She hesitated for only a moment before answering, her hand tightening on the doorknob as she opened it to reveal a cloaked figure standing in the shadows, a silhouette of mystery and authority.
The woman's cloak billowed slightly in the evening breeze, obscuring her face, but Lara could feel the weight of her gaze through the dark fabric. The woman stood still, not moving to step inside, but her presence was undeniable, unsettling in its quiet intensity.
Lara blinked, trying to place the woman's voice, which had an eerie calmness, like a voice she'd heard in dreams.
"I heard you have a ghost living on your farm."
Lara's breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat. The mention of the "ghost" was more chilling than she could have anticipated. Her eyes darted toward the house, where Ori rested. She couldn't quite place why, but the stranger's presence set her on edge. The unease she had been feeling all day suddenly crystallized, turning into something more tangible, more dangerous.
The cloaked woman's eyes remained locked on her, unwavering. She didn't need to say more. The words hung in the air like a threat, or perhaps a warning. But Lara felt the weight of something unsaid between them—an understanding that Ori's past, whatever it was, was not so easily buried.
"What exactly do you want?" She asked nervously, clutching her robe tightly.
The woman responded sharply. "Do you know the man living on your farm? Who he is—what he is?"
Lara's concern grew as she struggled to comprehend. She wondered if not asking questions was a mistake. Should she have pried harder? It was hard to tell if she was in danger, or was Ori?
"I don't know what you're talking about. Now if you'll excuse me…it's very late." She began to close the door, but the woman's voice, sharp as the crack of a whip, stopped her cold.
"I completely understand. But could you relay a message for me?"
Lara's fingers tightened against the wood, her mind racing. The fire behind her cast long, wavering shadows that leapt like restless specters. She hesitated, her heart thundering as the woman's next words fell like stones.
"Tell his majesty…he can't hide forever."
A chill ran down Lara's spine, and for a heartbeat, the crackling fire seemed muted, swallowed by the weight of silence. The woman didn't wait for a response; she turned, her cloak sweeping behind her as she melted into the darkness, leaving only the ghost of her warning behind.
From the corner of the barn, Ori's eyes followed the shadowy figure as it receded into the night. He stood motionless, half-hidden in the glow of the moonlight, but his pulse roared like a storm within him. The quiet dread he had buried for so long rose to the surface, clawing at the edges of his composure.
His sanctuary was no longer safe. The past he had fought so desperately to escape was closing in, and he could almost feel its cold breath on his neck.
Ori's jaw clenched, and a shiver rippled through him, sharp as the wind that swept through the open door.
This was only the beginning.
Chapter end—