Year 1460 – Border Town of Shersia
"Welcome to Shersia," someone said.
Alaric blinked awake to the sound of hooves on proper stone and people talking in a dozen overlapping threads.
The wagon had rolled under an archway while he slept. Now it rattled down a wider street lined with stone and timber houses. Flags bearing a seven‑pointed star and river motif fluttered above doorways. There were more people here than in all of Shuru, traders, women with baskets, children darting between legs.
They looked wary, but… not broken.
"First time in a Shersian town?" Sister Elaina asked from beside him.
He nodded, throat tight.
Buildings here looked… sturdy. The road was cobbled instead of dirt. Men in simple armor with matching tabards patrolled in pairs. On one corner stood a chapel with a carved relief of seven women in flowing robes, hands outstretched over a kneeling figure.
The Church of the Seven.
The seven gods Dad talked about. The ones that Mom had prayed to .
People paused to glance at the wagons. Some faces softened when they saw Elaina. Others went hard at the sight of the cart behind them, the one with the cloth‑covered shapes.
Elaina's mouth tightened, but she kept her chin up.
They turned down a narrower lane and stopped in front of a stone building attached to a larger chapel. A wooden sign above the door bore an emblem: the seven‑pointed star again, but smaller, framed by a circle.
"This is where you'll be staying," Elaina said gently. "For a while, at least."
She hopped down lightly, then turned and offered her hands. "Come on."
Alaric hesitated, his legs still felt like they belonged to someone else but took her hands and let her help him down.
His knees almost buckled when his feet hit solid ground. He clung to the side of the wagon for a moment while his head spun.
"Easy," Elaina said. "You've been lying down for days. One step at a time."
He nodded, clutching his bag tighter with his free hand. The bag felt ridiculously heavy for something so small.
A door opened.
A middle‑aged man in a simple priest's robe stepped out, wiping his hands on a cloth. His hair was thinning on top, beard trimmed short.
"Back safely, Sister Elaina?" he asked. His gaze moved to Alaric. "And with one more than you left with."
"Father Corwin," Elaina said, inclining her head. "This is Alaric. From… Horsin's side."
Corwin's expression softened. "From there?"
Elaina nodded once.
Corwin's shoulders sagged, just a little. "I see."
He turned to Alaric and crouched to bring his eyes level.
"I'm Father Corwin," he said. His voice was deeper than Tomas's, but there was a similar tired kindness there. "This is the orphanage attached to our chapel. You'll be safe here. We'll see to food, bed, and basic schooling."
Alaric swallowed. "Do I… have to do anything?"
"Eat. Sleep. Try not to fight over toys," Corwin said dryly. "Later, we'll see about chores. For now, you look like a stiff breeze would knock you over."
Elaina snorted softly.
"There are other children," Corwin added. "Some from demon raids, some from sickness, some… like you."
"Like me?" Alaric echoed.
"With nowhere to go back to," Corwin said quietly.
Alaric looked down.
Elaina's hand brushed his shoulder. "Come," she said. "Let's get you washed and into something that doesn't smell like a campfire."
Inside, the orphanage was simple but solid. A long room with beds along the walls, a smaller room at the back with a basin and buckets, the faint smell of soap and stew.
Elaina helped him peel off his ruined clothes. He tried not to look at the bruises and thinness of his own limbs. The cuts on his arms and legs were mostly healed, pink and shiny where new skin had formed.
"Into the tub," she said, pointing to a wooden basin half‑full of lukewarm water. "We're not a noble estate, you get one bucket, so make it count."
He managed a weak snort at that.
As he scrubbed, the grime ran off in gray streaks. Underneath, he was still… himself. But somehow not.
I died once already, didn't I?
Not here. Somewhere else. Under a different name, in a different world. People shouted words like "missile" and "shelter." Sirens wailed through concrete canyons.
He'd felt that heat.
He'd died.
And then he'd woken up as a farmer's son in Horsin.
And now he was… here.
His head throbbed.
"Don't scrub your skin off," Elaina warned, handing him a rough towel. "We'll need that."
He dressed in the simple linen shirt and trousers she'd left for him. They were a little big, but soft, and smelled like soap instead of smoke.
By the time he stepped into the main room again, a few children had appeared, watching him with open curiosity from their beds or from behind doorframes.
"Is he the new one?" a girl with braids whispered.
"He looks like he'll blow away," a boy muttered.
Alaric's fingers dug into his bag strap.
Elaina clapped her hands once. "All right, give him some air. You'll have plenty of time to poke at him later." Her tone turned gentler as she looked at Alaric. "We'll find you a bed. Supper's soon. After that, you sleep. Tomorrow will look different."
Different.
He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.
But it was… something.