We left the village under the cover of night.
Malrik insisted, muttering that if we stayed until morning, the villagers would either build me a shrine or burn me alive.
"Both would be inconvenient," he said flatly.
Narsh stretched and yawned. "Inconvenient? You mean hilarious."
Me? I was still proud.
"They'll thank me later when their chickens are twice as fast!"
"…Shut up, Ark," both of them said in unison.
---
The road grew quieter.
For the first time in days, there was no chaos, no screaming, no feathers flying through the air. Just the sound of crickets and our footsteps.
It felt… strange.
Almost too quiet.
---
By the next town, we noticed it.
People were whispering.
Not about my muscles (which they should have been).
But about me.
"That's the boy."
"The one who brought back the dead."
"Gods walk with him… or curse him."
Every time we walked through the streets, heads turned. Mothers pulled children closer. Old men muttered prayers.
And me? I tried to smile, but my stomach twisted.
---
That night at the inn, Malrik sat across from me, eyes hard.
"You see now. Word spreads like wildfire. Every soul you save becomes a spark."
Narsh leaned on the table, frowning. "Yeah, but is that really bad? People need hope."
Malrik slammed his staff down.
"Hope built on forbidden power leads only to fear and bloodshed. Mark my words—someone dangerous will come looking for him."
The firelight flickered across his face, grim and heavy.
---
Later, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling.
The whispers wouldn't leave my head.
The faces of the merchants.
The sobbing wife.
The fear in the villagers' eyes.
I clenched my fists.
"…Am I a hero, or a curse?"
No answer came.
Only the sound of the wind outside.
And for the first time since leaving home, I felt like the road ahead wasn't just about chasing dreams anymore.
It was about survival.
---
[Author's Note: The laughter fades… and the shadows close in. Ark's journey is no longer just muscle training—it's becoming dangerous.]