The hidden village wasn't much at first glance—wooden walls patched with moss, torchlight flickering along narrow paths, huts half-buried into the earth like they wanted to disappear into the forest. But to Alaric, staggering on half-dead legs, it looked like a miracle.
A roof. Smoke curling from chimneys. The faint smell of cooked meat. Civilization.
Finally. People. Real people. Maybe they'll even have beds that aren't made of rock.
He didn't even get to savor the thought before the stares began.
Faces peeked from doorways and between torch poles. Men and women, their features rough from a life too close to the wilderness, their eyes sharp like hunters'. Some wore leathers patched with bark, others held simple tools that could easily double as weapons.
And every single one of those eyes locked on Ashen.
Their gazes hardened, lips curled in quiet snarls, hands drifting to knives and bows. A ripple of unease spread like fire through dry leaves.
Alaric felt it immediately. The weight of fear. Suspicion. Hatred.
He glanced up at Ashen, who walked beside him with his usual composed silence. Cloak white against the shadows, gloves neat despite the wilderness, silver-gray eyes giving away nothing.
Of course. To the villagers, he wasn't a protector. He was a monster wrapped in dignity.
Great. Day one in the village and my babysitter's already the bogeyman. This is fine. Totally fine.
A child's voice rang from one of the huts. "Mama, what's that man?"
Her mother yanked her back inside before she could finish.
Alaric winced. His little legs wobbled, and he tightened his grip on his staff. "Y'know, guys, staring's rude," he muttered under his breath.
No one heard him. Or maybe they did, and ignored him.
The hunters kept them moving through the village until they reached a broad hut at the center. Unlike the others, it was reinforced with carved beams, symbols etched into the wood that faintly glowed when touched by torchlight. A large fire pit smoldered outside, embers drifting into the night air.
The lead hunter halted and turned, his tone flat. "Wait here. The elder will decide."
Alaric nearly slumped onto the ground. His legs screamed, his head spun. The staff wobbled in his grip.
But then Ashen's gloved hand rested lightly against his shoulder, steadying him. A simple touch, but it kept him upright.
The boy shot him a sideways look. "…You're not fooling anyone. You look calm, but you're worried, aren't you?"
Ashen didn't answer. He rarely did. But his eyes softened ever so slightly, enough to say Yes, but don't show weakness here.
Alaric sighed. "…Fine. I'll keep standing."
The hut doors opened with a low creak. Two villagers stepped out, older men with gray streaks in their beards, bows slung across their backs. Between them, the air itself seemed to part.
And from the shadows within emerged the elder.
He was tall, but bent with age, his cloak a weave of green and brown that shifted like leaves in the wind. His hair was white, long and tangled, but his eyes were sharp—piercing green that shimmered faintly, like he'd stared at mana itself too long.
The villagers around them bowed their heads as he approached. Even the hunters lowered their weapons.
Alaric blinked. "…Okay, I wasn't expecting forest-Gandalf."
The elder stopped before them, leaning on a carved staff wound with vines. His gaze swept first over Ashen, lingering, unreadable. Then it dropped to Alaric.
The boy squirmed under the weight of it. Those green eyes weren't just looking at him—they were seeing him, peeling back layers he didn't even know how to hide.
Finally, the elder spoke. His voice was low, rasped by age, but carried across the silent square.
"…Life and death."
The villagers stirred uneasily.
The elder tilted his head, studying Alaric like a puzzle. "The boy carries both."
Alaric swallowed, shifting his staff nervously. "…Uh. Hi?"
Silence.
Great. First impression nailed it. Absolutely nailed it.
The elder's eyes flicked once more to Ashen. Then he turned, motioning toward the hut.
"Bring them inside. We will speak where the wards listen less."
The hunters hesitated, but obeyed.
Alaric let himself be nudged forward, though his chest twisted with unease. The fire crackled behind him, the murmurs of the villagers fading as the heavy door closed.
Inside, the air was thick with herbs and smoke, charms dangling from the rafters. A long table carved from a single tree trunk stretched across the chamber, etched with spirals and symbols that pulsed faintly like veins.
The elder moved to the far end and lowered himself into a seat, staff across his knees. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim.
"Sit," he said.
Alaric glanced around. "Uh, no chairs my size? Rude."
Ashen adjusted his cloak, standing silently at Alaric's back.
The elder leaned forward, green eyes fixed on the boy.
"…Tell me, child. Who are you?"
The words hit harder than they should have.
Alaric's throat dried. His fingers tightened around the staff, and for once, he couldn't think of a sarcastic reply.
Because the truth was… he didn't know.
The elder's words lingered in the smoke-thick air.
"Who are you?"
Alaric gripped his staff tighter. His legs dangled off the stool, nowhere near the ground, but the weight of the question pressed harder than any battlefield.
Who am I? …I don't even know.
Back in his old life, he'd been a nobody. No parents. No friends. Just a blur of days until a stupid accident ended him. And now? A newborn dragged into blood, raised by a silent corpse-knight, living in a haunted ruin.
He forced a crooked smile, masking the churn in his chest. "Uh… your average four-year-old?"
The elder's green eyes narrowed, cutting through the humor. "No child carries both threads. You wield life's warmth, yet your shadow drips with death."
The staff slipped in Alaric's sweaty hands. He didn't answer.
Behind him, Ashen's presence loomed steady as stone. Not a word, not a twitch, but somehow his silence gave Alaric strength.
Then the door slammed open. A rush of villagers spilled inside, voices sharp with fear.
"Elder, you see it too!" one shouted. "That thing—" he jabbed a finger at Ashen, "—it's an abomination! We can't let it stay here!"
"He reeks of death!"
"Destroy it before it corrupts the boy!"
The hut filled with angry whispers, a storm of fear disguised as fury.
Alaric's throat closed. His small body trembled, but his voice cracked out anyway. "Stop it! He's not—he's not what you think!"
Dozens of eyes turned to him. A child, snow-white hair sticking up in tufts, golden eyes bright with stubborn fire.
Alaric puffed his chest, even as his knees shook. "Ashen's not a monster. He's the reason I'm alive! He protects me, he—he feeds me! Without him, I'd have died the day I was born!"
A scoff cut through. "Lies. The undead don't care. They consume."
"No!" Alaric stomped his foot on the wooden floor, staff rattling. "He's different! You don't get it—he's mine!"
Silence followed. The villagers stared, stunned by the sheer audacity of a child shouting down a hall of adults.
Then the elder raised a hand, quieting the whispers. His gaze softened—not warm, but curious. "…Yours, you say?"
Alaric nodded fiercely, clutching his staff so tight his knuckles hurt. "…Yeah. He's mine. I made him. Sort of." His voice dropped, trembling with the truth. "I didn't mean to, but I did. And he's been with me since. So if you want to get rid of him, you'll have to get rid of me too."
Ashen's shadow stretched long across the floor. His silver-gray eyes flickered, but his face remained calm. Only Alaric noticed the faintest shift—the tightening of his gloved hands, the smallest tilt of his head toward the boy.
The elder's brows lowered. He rose from his seat, staff scraping against the floor. With each step toward Alaric, the green glow of his eyes brightened, until it felt like the whole hut was watching.
"Child," he murmured, stopping before him, "if he is truly bound to you… then prove it."
Alaric blinked. "…Prove it how? You want me to draw you a picture? Because my crayons are kinda limited."
The elder didn't smile. He reached out with one hand, fingers gnarled but steady, and pressed them against Alaric's forehead.
A shock rippled through him. Life mana surged from his core, golden threads rushing outward. But with it came the chill of death—black strands twining, entwined so deeply they could not be separated.
The elder gasped softly. His staff trembled.
Behind him, the villagers shifted uneasily, whispering.
"What is it?"
"What did he see?"
The elder's eyes burned brighter. "The boy's soul anchors both. Without him, the knight would unravel. And without the knight, the boy would collapse under the weight of it."
The words hit like thunder. The villagers recoiled.
Alaric blinked up at him, chest heaving. "So… you're saying we're… stuck with each other?"
The elder's hand withdrew slowly. "…Yes. Bound. Not master and servant. Not parasite and host. Balance."
The hut rippled with unease. Some villagers muttered prayers. Others hissed, voices rising again.
"This is dangerous!"
"You can't let them stay!"
"They'll doom us all!"
The elder's staff struck the floor with a sharp crack, silencing the crowd.
Alaric panted, sweat dripping down his face. His whole body shook, his mana drained by the sudden test. His vision blurred—but he still glared at the villagers, golden eyes fierce.
"…I told you. He's not leaving me." His voice wavered, but the stubborn fire in it refused to die.
Ashen stepped closer, gloved hand resting on the boy's shoulder once more. Silent. Solid.
And in that silence, the elder's face was unreadable.
"…So it is," he said at last.
But his tone carried both weight and warning.
The hut was still thick with the aftertaste of mana, like lightning lingering after a storm.
The elder straightened, leaning heavier on his staff than before. His eyes dimmed from glowing green back to weary age, but the weight in them remained.
"This bond cannot be severed," he said at last. "To destroy the knight would shatter the boy. To strip the boy of his power would collapse the knight. They are one."
The room erupted.
"You can't be serious!"
"Elder, you've seen what he is! That… thing is an abomination!"
"The boy's cursed! He'll bring ruin!"
Alaric flinched at every shout. His little fists tightened around his staff, his breath shallow.
The elder lifted his staff again. One sharp strike silenced the hall.
"They stay."
The words dropped like stones in a river, ripples spreading through the villagers.
The elder's voice grew stronger. "The boy will remain under our watch. He will learn. He will grow. The knight…" His eyes flicked toward Ashen, unreadable. "…will be bound by our wards. He may not walk the village freely, but he will not be destroyed."
Ashen didn't react. He stood like stone, silver-gray eyes calm. But his gloved hand lingered on Alaric's shoulder, tightening faintly, as if to anchor him.
The villagers didn't take it well.
"You can't just let them live among us!"
"They'll draw monsters to us!"
"Elder—!"
"Enough." The old man's voice cracked like dry wood, but it carried power that silenced the protests again. "This is not mercy. It is necessity. If you fear the boy's power, then guide it. If you fear the knight, then bind him. But you will not harm them."
Alaric's vision blurred. The tension, the mana test, the shouting—all of it crashed down on his tiny body at once. His knees buckled.
Ashen caught him before he hit the floor.
The boy sagged into the butler-like arms, eyelids heavy, breath shallow. "…I'm not… weak…" he muttered, voice breaking. "…Don't… let them…"
His words slurred off into nothing.
Ashen lowered his gaze, pale hair falling across his face. For once, the silence around him felt less like emptiness and more like… mourning.
He adjusted his hold on the child, wrapping the cloak tighter, brushing damp strands of snow-white hair from the boy's forehead with a gloved hand. A motion so careful, so deliberate, it was almost human.
The elder watched in silence.
"See him for what he is," the old man finally said, his voice quieter now, meant for the hunters nearest. "The knight is not leash nor curse. He is the boy's shadow. So long as the child draws breath, so too will he."
The hunters looked uneasy, but none dared argue.
The elder leaned back in his seat, his green eyes dimming further. "Take them to the lower hut. Ward it. The boy rests tonight. Tomorrow… he begins."
The villagers muttered, reluctant but obedient.
Ashen rose smoothly, carrying Alaric as though he weighed nothing. His white cloak trailed behind him as he moved, steps silent, presence heavy enough to part the crowd without a word.
The boy stirred faintly in his arms, golden eyes fluttering half-open. His lips tugged into the ghost of a smirk. "…Told you… not… leaving…"
Ashen's gaze softened, just for a heartbeat.
Then his expression returned to calm, unreadable as stone, as he carried his charge out into the night.
The fire outside the elder's hut crackled against the wind. The village still whispered, fear and doubt thick in the air.
But in the shadows beyond the torchlight, something shifted.
The forest watched.
And Alaric's next trial was about to begin.