Golden followed Harlen into the village, his legs heavy, muscles stiff from months of constant vigilance. Every laugh, every shout, every clatter of tools made his chest tighten. He had survived six months alone, relying on instinct and scavenging—but now, surrounded by humans, he felt… exposed.
The village was simple but organized. Small huts lined the dirt paths, gardens flourished behind wooden fences, and smoke curled from chimneys. Children ran past him, chasing each other with wooden swords. For a brief moment, Golden felt something he hadn't in months: a flicker of normalcy.
But the normalcy made him uneasy. He remembered the ruins, the monsters, the constant fight to survive. Could humans truly thrive here? Or was this just a fragile illusion?
Harlen led him to the inn at the center of the village. The warm air inside smelled of bread, roasted vegetables, and smoke. Golden's stomach growled, reminding him how long it had been since he'd eaten properly. He hesitated at the doorway, unsure whether it was safe to step fully inside.
"You'll be fine," Harlen said quietly, noticing his hesitation. "Eat first. Talk later."
Golden nodded, lowering himself onto a bench. The food was simple—stewed vegetables, bread, and dried meat—but it felt like a feast to him. He ate slowly, tasting the warmth and nourishment, letting himself relax a fraction.
Selyra, the innkeeper, watched him carefully. Her sharp eyes seemed to look right through him. "You've been alone for a while," she said softly. "It shows. Most people wouldn't last a month in the ruins."
Golden swallowed hard. He didn't know how to respond. Part of him wanted to brag, to show he had survived—but the truth was raw: he had barely survived, and every day had been a fight against hunger, fear, and despair.
"I… I've been alone… six months," he admitted quietly, his voice cracking. "It was… hard."
Selyra nodded, her expression softening slightly. "I can see that. You're lucky to be alive."
For the first time in months, Golden allowed himself a small exhale. He realized he didn't have to carry everything alone. Not yet.
After finishing the meal, Harlen led him outside to the village square. "If you're going to survive here, Golden," he said, "you need to start learning. Watch the villagers. Listen. Don't trust anyone blindly… but don't push everyone away either. Some people can help you."
Golden nodded slowly, processing the words. His mind, used to thinking only about immediate survival, began to stretch toward something new—observation, learning, adaptation. He didn't feel strong yet, but he realized strength wasn't just physical.
As the sun dipped below the violet horizon, Golden watched the villagers going about their lives: children playing, farmers working, blacksmiths hammering. For the first time in months, he allowed himself to imagine what life could be like if he learned to survive with others rather than only against everything.
It was a small step—but for Golden, it was the first step toward becoming more than just a survivor.