After I received the letter from the royal capital of Callibean, Cael and I decided to bid farewell to this peace we've found—and to the village that has sheltered us for weeks now. Parting is inevitable, especially when danger lurks so close to every border. I never thought I'd feel this much sadness again—not after all I've been through.
I remember the last times this weight settled in my chest: when my parents died in that dark alley back in Custodian's slums, and when Allan—my only real friend from the streets—succumbed to illness we couldn't afford to treat. After that, I'd forgotten how to feel much of anything. Even on the battlefield, watching comrades fall beside me, I felt nothing but cold focus—each death just another step toward survival, another name to add to a list I'd stopped keeping.
But standing here in Mear village as the sun begins its slow descent, I feel every ounce of grief at leaving. The children who used to chase me through the square with their wooden toys, Ben who taught me how to weave sturdy baskets, Marta who never let me go hungry even when supplies were tight—they've become more to me than just villagers. They've shown me a side of life I'd thought was lost forever.
I walk through the square one last time, stopping by the oak tree where we'd often sit to share meals and stories. Lila runs up to me, her wooden bird held tight in her small hands.
"Will you come back, Kael?" she asks, her big eyes wide with worry.
I kneel down and smooth her hair back from her face, forcing a smile that I hope doesn't look as shaky as I feel. "I promise I'll try, little one. And when I do… I'll bring you a real bird—one that can sing."
She lights up at that, hugging my neck before running off to show her friends the small stone I'd carved for her. As I watch her go, Tarrama joins me, carrying two saddlebags packed with supplies Marta had prepared.
"Ready?" she asks quietly.
I nod, looking out at the fields where farmers are heading home for the night. Smoke rises from chimneys in neat little columns, and somewhere in the distance, I can hear someone playing a flute—soft, gentle music that feels like a goodbye.
"I don't know what the future holds," I say to Cael, who stands beside me holding our horses ready. "I don't know if I'll be able to change what's coming, or if all my efforts will be for nothing. But I know this—if I can achieve what I've set out to do, if I can keep the darkness from spreading as far as it did before… I want to come back here. I want to walk these streets not as Kael the traveler, but as Prince Vernom of Callibean. I want them to know who I really am, and that they were the ones who showed me what worth protecting looks like."
Cael places a steady hand on my shoulder. "Then we'll make sure that day comes, Your Highness. Whatever it takes."
Marta approaches us then, her arms full of bread wrapped in cloth and a small pouch of dried herbs. "For the road," she says, pressing them into my hands. "And for when you need to remember that there are still good places in this world."
I embrace her tightly, feeling tears prick at my eyes for the first time in years. "Thank you," I whisper. "For everything."
As we mount our horses, the villagers gather at the edge of the square to see us off. They cheer and wave, calling out wishes for safe travels. I raise my hand in farewell, holding on to the image of their faces—warm, hopeful, alive.
The road ahead is long and uncertain. Ardias's shadow stretches across the land, and every step we take brings us closer to the conflict I know is coming. But as Tarrama leads the way and Cael rides beside me, I hold on to the promise I made to myself and to this village.
I will fight to protect this light. And one day, I will return to see it shine even brighter.
Lila's Point of View
I'm seven years old, and I know what sad looks like. Mama gets that look when she counts our coins and sees we don't have enough for bread. Papa gets that look when he talks about the taxes Custodian makes us pay. But Kael gets that look too, even though he smiles a lot and plays tag with us in the square.
Today, he's getting ready to leave. I saw him talking to Marta by the inn, and his face looked all tight like he was trying not to cry. I don't want him to go—he's the only grown-up who never gets mad when I ask too many questions, who helps me fix my wooden bird when it breaks, who tells me stories about faraway places where there are no soldiers and no one has to be scared.
I run to him as he stands by the big oak tree, holding my bird tight against my chest. "Will you come back, Kael?" I ask him. My voice sounds small even to me.
He kneels down so he can look me in the eye—his eyes are blue like the sky after it rains, and right now they look shiny and wet. He smooths my hair and smiles, and even though it's not his big smile, it still makes me feel better. "I promise I'll try, little one. And when I do… I'll bring you a real bird—one that can sing."
I hug him as hard as I can. His coat is rough and smells like wood smoke and dirt, but it's warm. When I let go, he gives me a small stone he carved into the shape of a bird—smoother than anything I've ever touched.
"For when you miss me," he says.
I run to show Tom and Anna—they think it's magic because it looks just like my wooden one, but it's heavy and cold and real. We watch as Kael gets on his horse, and the lady with dark hair who helps Marta sometimes gets on another one too. The boy who carries his things—Cael, just like his name but with a C—rides beside him.
All the villagers come to wave goodbye. Mama and Papa are there too, and Papa has his hand on the handle of his axe like he always does when strangers are around, but this time his face is soft instead of angry.
"Safe travels!" everyone calls out. "Come back soon!"
Kael waves back, and I wave my stone bird high in the air so he can see it. He smiles one more time, then they ride away down the road that leads to the mountains. I keep waving until they're just small dots in the distance, until even those dots disappear.
Tom says Kael is probably a prince in disguise. Anna says he's a wizard who can make bad things go away. I don't know what he really is—but I know he's my friend, and I know he'll keep his promise. I put the stone bird in my pocket where it can be close to my heart, and I go home to tell grandma all about the real singing bird he's going to bring me.
Maybe when he comes back, the soldiers won't come anymore. Maybe we'll all be able to play in the square without looking over our shoulders. Maybe he'll really be a prince, and he'll build us a big castle where no one will ever be hungry or scared again.
I go to the oak tree and press my stone bird into the bark where we carved our names together. "Come back soon, Kael," I whisper to the wind. "I'll be waiting."