Year 400, Duskrend Wildlands
Takaya woke to warmth.
Not the bitter heat of running blood, not the sear of fever or fire, but the steady, domestic kind—a hearth's breath filling a room, woven with the faint perfume of dried herbs hanging from rafters. His cheek pressed against coarse linen, scratchy but clean, and for a moment he didn't move.
It was so alien he almost mistook it for a dream.
Then the ache in his shoulder reminded him it wasn't. A sharp throb pulsed through bandages tight against torn flesh. When he shifted, fire lanced down his arm and forced a hiss from between his teeth.
"You're awake," a woman's voice said.
Takaya turned his head. Lira sat by the bed, sleeves rolled to her elbows, fingers stained faintly with crushed herbs. Her eyes were steady, not unkind, but not indulgent either. She had the look of someone who had seen wounds before and didn't waste time pitying the bearer.
"You should not be moving," she said, unrolling a strip of cloth from a wooden bowl. Steam rose from it, carrying a bitter scent.
Takaya tried to sit up. "I've had worse."
"You'll have worse again if you tear this open," she replied flatly, pushing him back with surprising strength. "Stay down."
The Veyl's voice slipped into his head, dry as always. "Imagine that. Someone who actually knows what she's doing. A rarity for you."
Takaya ignored it. He watched silently as Lira peeled away the old bandage. The wound was ugly, an angry red slash across his shoulder where the monster's claw had punctured him. Yet the bleeding had slowed, and the edges were already cleaner than he expected.
The faint sound of movement made him glance aside.
A small figure stood half-hidden in the doorway. Eri, the girl, wide-eyed and clutching the wooden frame with both hands. She didn't come closer, but her gaze never left him. Not fearful—curious.
"Sit," Lira told her without looking up. The girl shuffled in and perched on a stool near the hearth, kicking her feet against the leg.
Takaya's stomach growled suddenly, loud enough to echo. The girl giggled into her hands.
Heat rose in his face. "…Sorry."
Lira tied off the new wrap and stood. "Don't be. You need food."
Minutes later she set a bowl in front of him—something simple, a thin stew with roots and a few shreds of meat. Takaya didn't wait for ceremony. He lifted it with both hands and drank greedily, the warmth burning his throat, filling a hollow he'd nearly forgotten was there.
For the first time in weeks, he wasn't cold. For the first time in longer, he wasn't alone.
"Careful", the Veyl whispered, softer now. "This kind of comfort has teeth".
The stew left Takaya's chest warm long after the bowl was empty. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set it down on the small wooden table beside the bed.
The house wasn't large—just one main room with a low ceiling, the hearth built into stone at the center. Wooden beams crisscrossed overhead, herbs and dried roots dangling from twine. The air smelled of smoke, earth, and faintly of lavender.
Eri sat by the fire, knees pulled to her chest. She traced patterns in the ash with a stick, humming under her breath. When she noticed him looking, she gave a tiny wave.
"Hey," Takaya muttered. His voice came out rough.
She tilted her head, considering him, then asked, "Did it hurt?"
"What?"
"When the monster scratched you."
Takaya gave a humorless smile. "Yeah. A lot."
Eri nodded seriously, as if cataloging the answer. Then she went back to drawing circles in the ash.
Lira moved about the room with practiced ease. She gathered the used cloths into a basin, checked the herbs hanging above, and finally turned her attention back to him. "You'll stay here until you can walk without bleeding through the bandages."
Takaya raised a brow. "That might take days."
"Then you'll stay for days," she said, matter-of-fact. "You saved us. This is the least I can do."
Takaya leaned back against the pillow, the stiffness in his shoulders easing. He wanted to argue, to insist he'd be fine outside, but the warmth of the room and the steady weight of food in his stomach made the words die in his throat.
The Veyl stirred. "Look at you. Housebroken already. A warm bed and a meal, and suddenly the wilderness means nothing".
"Shut it," Takaya muttered under his breath.
Lira glanced up. "What?"
"Nothing. Talking to myself."
She gave him a long, searching look but didn't press. Instead, she pulled up a stool near the bed. "You've been out for nearly a full day. I thought you might not wake up."
Takaya blinked. "…A full day?"
"The fever broke this morning. You're lucky."
Eri piped up from the fire, "Mama said the herbs would work! I helped too!"
Lira's mouth softened into the smallest smile. "You held the bowl. It was a good start."
Eri puffed up proudly, and Takaya couldn't help the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
For a brief moment, the house felt lighter. Warmer than the hearth could ever make it.
Takaya swung his legs off the bed, testing his weight. The stitched shoulder ached like fire, but it held. His boots scraped the wooden floor, louder than he meant.
Lira looked up from the hearth. "Sit back down."
"I can stand," Takaya said.
"You can bleed too."
"I'll manage." He forced himself upright, gripping the chair for balance.
Eri abandoned her stick and scampered closer, watching him wobble like a newborn foal. "You look funny when you walk," she said.
Takaya shot her a flat look. "Thanks."
She grinned, unbothered.
The Veyl stirred in his head, voice like a knife's edge. "Pathetic. You nearly died from one scratch, and now you can barely stand. Do you think they'll protect you if another beast comes?"
Takaya's jaw tightened. He ignored it, moving step by step until he reached the table. His arm throbbed, but the motion stretched the stiffness out of his legs.
Lira sighed. "If you tear those stitches, I won't fix them again."
"You will," Takaya muttered.
Her eyes narrowed. "What makes you so sure?"
"Because you didn't leave me in the forest."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, the crackle of the fire the only sound. Lira turned back to her pot, stirring slowly. "Don't test me," she said at last.
Eri tugged at Takaya's sleeve. "Come outside later? I'll show you the garden."
Takaya looked down at her, surprised. "Garden?"
"It's small," she admitted, "but it's ours. I grow carrots. Mama grows bitter leaves for medicine. And flowers—sometimes."
Lira added without looking up, "Mostly weeds."
"They're not weeds!" Eri protested, stamping her foot. "They're pretty."
Takaya almost laughed, but the sound caught in his throat. His chest tightened instead, the warmth of something unfamiliar pressing against the usual iron weight inside him.
The Veyl chuckled low. "Careful. You linger too long in this softness, and it will make you weak."
Takaya gripped the back of the chair. "Or it'll remind me why I need to fight," he whispered.
Eri tilted her head. "What did you say?"
"Nothing," Takaya said quickly. "Show me later."
Her smile returned instantly, bright enough to make the dim cottage feel less heavy.
Takaya's eyes drifted across the hall once his body stopped screaming from exhaustion. The cottage was carved partly into the mountain, its stone walls rough and uneven, timber beams wedged across the ceiling to keep it from caving in. Smoke stains curled upward into black veins that spidered across the rock.
The hall wasn't large—barely enough space for the wooden table, a low shelf lined with jars, and the hearth where the stew still simmered faintly. Bundles of dried herbs dangled from the beams, filling the air with sharp, earthy scents that half-masked the smell of smoke.
His gaze shifted to the far side, where another doorway opened into a smaller room. He pushed himself up with his good arm and crossed over. The room was spare, almost bare—just a bed made of coarse straw and wood, a thin blanket folded unevenly on top. Against the far wall, a cracked mirror leaned, its surface warped and dull, splitting his reflection into jagged fragments.
Takaya stared at it for a long moment. A stranger looked back: blood crusted on his cheek, hair matted with sweat, eyes sharp but sunken.
"You look worse than the dead thing you fought," the Veyl muttered.
Takaya's lip curled. "No shit."
The mirror distorted his jaw into something almost monstrous. He turned away.
There were no ornaments, no luxuries. Just survival. Every nail, every timber, every scrap of cloth carried the weight of necessity, not choice. Yet the place was… lived in. He could see it in the way the blanket was patched in three different fabrics, in the uneven burn marks on the wooden spoon left by the hearth, in the small shoes tucked neatly near the bed's edge.
"Fragile," the Veyl said. "This is what they cling to instead of strength. Walls that will burn. Wood that will rot. A bed that will break. Pathetic."
Takaya touched the frame of the broken mirror with his fingers. "It's still something," he whispered back.
He let the silence linger, then turned and returned to the hall, the fire snapping in the hearth as if daring him to argue further.
"Big Brother Taka!". The call was light, almost sing-song. He turned toward the doorway, finding Eri standing there, half-hidden in the sunlight. Her small hand waved him over.
"Come outside! I want to show you something!"
Takaya eased himself up, shoulder still throbbing under the bandage. He followed her past the doorway and into the crisp air. The outside was brighter than he expected—the road cutting past the mountain tunnel stretched in one direction toward dense woods, in the other toward open hills. The air smelled faintly of damp stone and pine, but it was the lake that stole his attention.
It was massive, a sheet of silver stretching out from the mountain's side, calm enough that the sky reflected on its surface like a mirror. The water lapped gently against the rocks, but further out, it disappeared into a haze, impossible to tell where it ended.
"Over here!"
Eri tugged at his sleeve, leading him toward the side of the house. Just at the edge where the mountain wall curved out, there were rows of plants growing in earthen pots and dug-out patches of soil. He hadn't noticed them before—herbs, wildflowers, and a few stalks of something that looked vaguely edible.
"These are mine," she said proudly, crouching next to a leafy patch. "Mama says they don't always grow well here, but if you talk to them and water them every day, they get stronger. Look!" She pointed to a wilted stalk. "This one was almost gone last week, but now it's standing again."
Takaya crouched down beside her, running his fingers over the edge of a leaf. It was rough, torn at the edges but still alive. "Not bad," he murmured.
Eri grinned, her eyes bright. "When I grow up, I want to make everything green here. Not just the pots. All around the lake and the road too. Mama says the land used to be kinder before the monsters."
The Veyl's voice coiled in his mind, sharp as ever.
"Pathetic. As if plants will keep the beasts away."
Takaya ignored it. Instead, he asked softly, "Why do you like plants so much?"
Eri looked up at him as if the answer was obvious. "Because they don't hurt anyone. They just… stay. And if you take care of them, they give you something back. Flowers. Food. Or just… a nice smell." She picked a sprig and held it up to him. "Here. Smell."
He took It reluctantly, bringing it close to his nose. The scent was faint, a little sharp, but somehow grounding. For a moment, the ache in his shoulder didn't feel as heavy.
"You'll help me water them tomorrow, right?" she asked.
Takaya glanced down at her wide, expectant eyes. He hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
Eri beamed. "Okay! But you have to see them now so you know which ones to water!". Running off to check another row of pots, while Takaya lingered by the lake's edge, staring at the endless sheet of water that seemed to swallow the horizon whole.
"Takaya."
He looked back from the edge of the lake where he'd been watching the lake. Lira was standing near the doorway, holding something long and wooden.
Halfway to the house, she tossed it toward him — he caught it clumsily, realizing it was an old fishing rod, patched in places but still sturdy.
"If you're healthy enough to stand around and dilly-dally, you're healthy enough to fish," Lira said, folding her arms. "Maybe you'll actually catch something with those big muscles."
Takaya blinked, unsure if she was serious or mocking him. "Muscles don't really help with fishing…"
Her lips curved into a smirk. "Then we'll see if you've got any patience instead."
He looked at her more closely. For someone raising a daughter, living tucked away in the mountains, she didn't look much older than him. Her voice carried a kind of calm authority, but her face, her posture — nothing about her felt like an aging mother.
Takaya scratched the back of his neck. "You're not really giving me a choice, are you?"
"No," she said simply, already turning back toward the table to knead something in a bowl. "The lake's full. Even you should manage."
He glanced down at the rod in his hands, then out toward the shimmering water beyond the tunnel. A sigh escaped him — but there was no real annoyance in it.
"Fine," he muttered, adjusting his grip. "I'll try."
"Good." Lira didn't look at him, but he could hear the satisfaction in her tone.
With the rod slung over his shoulder, Takaya stepped outside, the sunlight striking his face as he made his way toward the lakeside.
The lake spread out before him like a sheet of glass, broken only by the occasional ripple of wind. Takaya walked to the edge, the fishing rod hanging awkwardly in his hand.
He found a flat rock jutting out near the water and sat down, threading the line as best he could. His fingers were stiff, untrained, but the motion gave him something to focus on. When he finally cast the line, the plop of the baited hook echoed softly across the surface.
For a while, nothing happened. He leaned back, watching the sunlight scatter across the waves. The silence here was different — heavy, but not unpleasant.
Then, faintly, he felt it.
Something enormous moved beneath the surface. Not a fish. Not anything he could picture. The water shivered for just an instant, a shadow slipping through the depths too quickly for his eyes to catch.
Takaya straightened, gripping the rod tighter. "…What was that?" he muttered.
The Veyl's voice stirred within him.
"Do not waste thought on it. The lake hides more than you can face. For now—fish."
Takaya frowned but let out a slow breath. "Right. Fish."
The shadow was forgotten, at least for now. He let his shoulders relax and fixed his gaze on the bobbing line, waiting for a bite. Minutes dragged into hours, the sun crawling across the sky. A few small fish nibbled, slippery and quick, but he pulled up nothing.
"Patience," the Veyl murmured once more.
"I'm trying," Takaya whispered, casting again.
And so the afternoon passed, quiet save for the sound of water and the occasional splash.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the water. Takaya's arms ached from holding the rod, the line stubbornly motionless except for the occasional teasing nibble.
He adjusted his grip, tried different angles, and even muttered under his breath, "Come on… just one."
The Veyl's voice snorted in amusement.
"Your arms are strong, yes. But strength does not command the lake."
Takaya glared at the invisible voice. "Yeah, thanks for the pep talk."
A ripple passed under his line, sharper this time, like something brushing against the bait. His heart kicked up, and he jerked the rod instinctively. Nothing.
He stared at the lake, feeling again the faint, deep pull of something enormous beneath the surface. It was far too big to be a normal fish, but he told himself it was nothing — just the way the water moved, the wind, maybe even his imagination.
Hours crawled by. The sun lowered further, turning the lake a burning gold. Takaya's fingers were raw, knuckles white from gripping the rod. The smaller fish kept teasing him, biting and escaping in a dance of frustration.
"Stop whining," the Veyl murmured, almost sharp now. "The lake teaches patience. Learn it."
Takaya let out a low groan. "Yeah, I'm learning…" He cast the line again, letting it float lazily across the surface.
A sudden tug made him jump. His muscles tensed, pulling the rod with all the force he could muster. The line rattled, the bait dipping and bouncing as if something substantial had taken it.
He wrestled with the line, sweat beading on his forehead, every motion awkward but forceful.
Minutes dragged, and finally a decent-sized fish broke the surface, glinting in the late sunlight. Takaya gasped, gripping it with both hands as it flopped wildly.
"Finally," he muttered, panting, heart still pounding.
The Veyl's voice hummed quietly.
"Small victory, but victory nonetheless. Remember this feeling."
Takaya let the fish slip back into the lake, watching it disappear into the depths. The shadow of something enormous shifted beneath him again, darker and slower than before, almost aware of him.
He didn't react this time. Just let it pass, focusing on the lake's surface, the warmth of the fading sun, and the simple act of casting once more.
Even with the huge, mysterious presence lingering below, Takaya felt a rare sort of calm. Here, at the edge of the mountain lake, fishing with his own two hands, he realized Duskrend wasn't only a place of blood and monsters. It had small moments like this, fleeting but alive, teaching him patience, observation, and restraint.
And he would need all of it.
The sun was low now, melting into the horizon, and Takaya's arms throbbed from hours of holding the rod. He cast again, more out of habit than hope, when the line suddenly jerked violently.
His heart skipped. The rod bent sharply, almost snapping in his grip. "What the—" he muttered, staggering back a step, legs trembling from the sudden force.
The fish on the other end wasn't small. Not at all. It pulled and twisted with strength that nearly lifted him off his feet. Takaya braced himself, planting his boots into the soft mud at the lake's edge.
The Veyl's voice hissed with amusement.
"Finally. Not a nibble, not a tease. Something real. Don't let it win."
Takaya gritted his teeth, muscles straining as he wrestled the rod. Every tug was a challenge, the water erupting in splashes around the line. He felt the presence below, huge and watching, but ignored it. The fish above mattered now, tangible, real, alive.
Minutes dragged like hours. Takaya's arms shook violently, sweat dripping into his eyes, but he refused to let go. His fingers curled tightly around the rod, knuckles white. The line creaked and groaned under the weight, and he let out a low growl, forcing every muscle to obey.
Finally, with a last heave, he pulled the creature close enough to see it breaking the water's surface.
His jaw dropped. It was massive. Scales glimmered in the dying light, fins thrashing like storm-wracked sails. He estimated it easily matched Eri's height, maybe taller if fully stretched.
"By… gods…" Takaya breathed, staggering back, the fish thrashing violently in the shallow edge of the lake. He wrapped his arms around it, struggling to keep it from slipping back into the depths.
The Veyl's voice hummed in his head, amused, almost approving.
"Strength and patience. Both required. You are learning."
Takaya finally managed to drag the fish fully onto the