Morning came softly, filtered through moss and stone. A faint wind stirred the ferns outside the cave, bringing the smell of damp earth and river mist. Lyra stirred first, blinking away the fog of sleep as she listened to Kael's steady breathing beside her.
He was still healing. His breaths no longer rattled, but movement was painful. She watched him for a moment, then quietly rose and stepped outside.
The forest had shifted again. Not in hostility, but in watchfulness. The oppressive weight from days before had lifted, yet it left something behind—a memory of silence.
Her stomach growled. She set off along the riverbank in search of something edible. She didn't carry a blade, only a satchel made from twisted roots and bark she'd woven during their stay. Her eyes scanned the undergrowth.
Noxy's voice emerged softly in her mind.
"The darkberries are poisonous. But those yellow-petaled buds just beneath the rock ledge—they're safe. Boil them to soften the bitterness."
Lyra knelt, brushing aside a few leaves to uncover a patch of clustered bulbs. They smelled faintly sweet. As she reached for them, something shifted faintly inside her—a flicker of knowledge that wasn't hers.
An echo.
She saw a vision—blurred hands preparing a poultice, muttering words she didn't recognize. A bowl of herbs, a flame, a whisper of heat and scent.
Then it faded.
She exhaled slowly. "Thank you," she whispered, to both Noxy and the echo that stirred.
She returned to the cave with her small harvest. Kael had woken up by then, attempting to sit up.
"You went out alone?" he asked groggily, his brow furrowed as he tried to straighten.
Lyra set down the satchel and crouched beside him.
"You could barely stand. I figured I had better odds than you."
Kael groaned. "Still… I don't like being dead weight. You shouldn't have to do everything."
"You're not a burden," Lyra said softly. "You're just recovering. There's a difference. Besides, I didn't mind. It felt… peaceful out there."
He studied her for a moment before sighing and leaning back.
"Peaceful, huh? I'm not sure I remember what that feels like."
She boiled the buds in a hollowed stone basin, using the fire pit they'd built near the cave's entrance. When they cooled, she passed one to Kael.
He sniffed it suspiciously. "This doesn't look like food."
Lyra smirked. "It's not supposed to win awards for appearance. Just eat it. My feeling says it won't kill you."
Kael gave a mock glare. "That's very comforting."
"It's the best I can offer."
They shared a small laugh, the first in days. The sound echoed lightly against the stone walls.
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Several days later, Kael could walk more steadily. He still favored one side, but the strength in his steps had returned. They began venturing together beyond the cave—gathering roots, checking for fish traps Lyra had set with stones, refilling their water flasks from the river.
It felt like he had almost completely recovered.
One morning, Kael stopped at the edge of the riverbank, squinting toward the north.
"We should be able to leave tomorrow," he said.
Lyra tilted her head. "You sure you're up for it?"
Kael flexed his fingers, wincing slightly. "I can travel normally now. I won't slow you down."
"To the village you mentioned before?"
"Yes," he confirmed. "If we follow the river upstream, it'll take us most of the way there. I passed through it just before… everything that happened."
They spent the rest of the day preparing: drying what little food they could carry, checking Kael's bindings, packing bundles of fern-wrapped roots. By nightfall, their cave felt less like a shelter and more like a place they were meant to leave behind.
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By midday of the following day, they were on the move. The river curved like a silver thread through the trees, and the forest grew gentler as they moved north.
The journey was slow but steady. Kael walked with determination, though Lyra often spotted him glancing behind them—as if expecting something.
Lyra broke the silence.
"Back then, when we were hiding… you said they wanted to sell you because of your Gift. What exactly is a Gift?"
Kael looked at her, then ahead. "It's… complicated. A Gift is something you awaken into. Most people are born with it dormant, like a seed waiting for the right conditions. When it stirs, it can change everything—your body, your senses, even your instincts. For some, it's subtle. For others… not so much."
Lyra frowned. "So it's not something you can just… choose to have?"
He shook his head. "No. And that's what makes it valuable. Unpredictable. Dangerous, even."
"Can everyone awaken?" she asked.
"No," Kael replied. "Some people never do. And some try so hard they end up hurting themselves or others. But those who can… they become something different. The world pays attention to them—sometimes in good ways, often not."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Are Gifts the only way to gain strength?"
Kael's expression softened. "No. There are two other paths you can take to grow stronger. First is martial training. The body can be shaped, hardened, focused. With enough discipline, someone without a Gift can match or even surpass a weak Gifted."
"And the second?"
"Magic," he said. "Real magic. It's out there, and in theory, anyone can learn it. You don't need to be Gifted. You just need patience… and the right tongue."
Lyra's eyes lit up. "You mean spells?"
"Exactly," Kael said. "But they're not easy. The language used in magic is ancient. No one really knows what it means anymore. You don't need to understand it—you just have to say it right. Perfectly."
"Like a song," Lyra murmured. "Or a poem."
"Or a ritual, to be exact," he added. "Mess up the rhythm or the phrasing, and you could waste hours of effort—or worse."
She looked thoughtful. "So someone like me—with no memories—I could still learn them?"
Kael nodded. "You could. You might've even known some spells already. That feeling of yours… it was like some kind of spell to me."
Lyra smiled faintly. "Maybe I'll try, once we find somewhere safe."
He smirked. "If you end up casting fire from your fingers, warn me first."
She laughed. "No promises."
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They walked in silence for a time. The sky had begun to warm to gold when Kael finally pointed ahead.
"There. Through the trees."
Nestled at the edge of the river was a modest village—stone cottages with mossy rooftops, smoke curling from chimneys, and a central bell tower rising like a sentinel.
They paused at the ridge overlooking it. Lyra stared down at the sight with curiosity in her eyes.
She took a breath. "Do you think they'll let us in?"
Kael considered it. "We're not enemies. Just travelers. I've been here before. They didn't chase me off then, and I wasn't exactly… polite."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Polite?"
He shrugged. "Let's just say I was in a rush and may have borrowed something."
She gave him a look. "You mean stole something."
He grinned. "Borrowed. With no intention of returning it."
She sighed, but smiled. "Let's just hope they've forgotten your face."
Kael touched his still-bruised cheek. "Hard to forget a face this charming."
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They had finally reached the village.
The village was small—perhaps twenty structures of wood and stone, built along a narrow road that ran between gentle hills dusted with golden grass. A faded wooden post stood near the path's edge, its carvings nearly worn away by time and weather. Faint trails of smoke curled from chimneys, drifting lazily into the sky.
There were people here. Few, but present—figures moving slowly between buildings, leading livestock, hanging laundry, stacking crates along the side of a worn barn. It wasn't bustling, but it was alive. Grounded.
Lyra slowed, staring at the quiet place before her. She could smell bread on the wind. Hear the murmur of voices, the creak of wagons, the bark of a dog in the distance.
Kael paused beside her. "Let me talk first. If anyone here remembers me, it might go better that way."
Lyra nodded without a word.
They stepped out of the trees.
One of the villagers glanced up as they neared the outer fence. An older woman, arms full of firewood. She frowned at first, then blinked in surprise at Kael. Recognition softened her face.
"Kael?"
He gave a tired wave. "Hey, Maret. You still remember me, huh?"
"What in the world happened to you?" she said, rushing forward. Her voice was loud, but not accusing—just sharp with concern. "You look like death itself chewed you up and spat you out."
"Close," he muttered. "Bandits."
The woman's gaze narrowed. "They're getting bolder these days."
Lyra stood silently at his side, observing.
The woman's eyes shifted to her. "And you?"
Kael glanced back. "This is Lyra. She helped me."
The woman gave Lyra a once-over—cautious, but not unkind. "You're welcome to rest here. We don't turn away wounded folk. Not unless they make trouble."
Lyra gave a small nod. "I won't."
"Good," Maret said. "Come on, both of you. You need warmth, food, someone to look at those wounds… and perhaps some new clothes and boots."
They followed her down the path.
As they walked into the village, Lyra felt the shift deep in her chest.
Not just safety.
Something like the beginning of belonging.