Altan and his father returned, the dust of the road still clinging to their clothes, as the sun had already begun to dip westward. Altan's heart was still racing—he had ventured beyond the village borders for the first time, seen unfamiliar hills, heard strange bird songs, and witnessed his father take down a group of bandits single-handedly. Yet, he didn't speak of any of it. He walked in silence, his mind overflowing.
As they approached the house, the warm scent of cooked vegetables and smoked meat greeted them. The wooden door opened before they could even raise their hands.
"Welcome back," his mother said with a smile. "We have a guest."
Altan blinked and tilted his head slightly. His father raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
The answer came from inside.
"I didn't want to intrude. I was just passing through. I offered to fix a few things in exchange for a warm meal."
The voice was deep, calm, and carried the weight of experience—but not exhaustion. A man with a gray beard and a pale cloak sat at the table. A small bag rested on his shoulder, and a cup of herbal tea was in front of him. His eyes were like steel, tempered by time.
Altan stepped inside. Their eyes met. Something he couldn't quite name passed through him in that moment. No words were exchanged, but there was a faint resonance in that glance—like one was trying to see into the other's soul.
"This is Thalor," his mother said. "He fixed the hinges on the barn and gave us good advice for the grain storage. He knows his way around iron and wood."
"I'm just a wandering craftsman," Thalor replied with a slight nod.
Altan kept staring. There was something in Thalor's posture. The quiet way he observed the room, the alertness in his eyes… Altan felt exposed, as if the man could read his mind.
They ate dinner together that evening. The conversation was light. Thalor spoke of the bridges he had repaired and the markets he had visited. Altan said little. His father was curious, but didn't press, merely observing with polite interest.
After dinner, Thalor stood to thank them. "The road is long. There are other places I must visit," he said, glancing briefly at Altan.
"You're welcome to stay the night," his mother offered, but Thalor smiled gently and shook his head.
As he disappeared into the night, Altan watched him from the door. He didn't know why, but something about the man felt… unfinished. Like the beginning of a story missing its next chapter.
The next morning started like any other. Altan was practicing near the barn with the wooden spears he had crafted himself. Just then, a quiet boy approached. It was Daen, who lived two houses down.
"Altan…"
He usually wasn't the one to speak first.
Altan turned. "Daen?"
"Um… could you show me how you made those spears?"
Altan furrowed his brow slightly but nodded. "Do you have a knife?"
Daen pulled out a small blade. For the next half hour, they sat under the shade, carving together, talking, even laughing a little. It was the first time Altan had seen Daen smile so genuinely.
Around noon, Daen went home. He didn't return for the rest of the day.
As the sun began to set, Daen's mother started knocking on doors, panic rising in her voice. "Have you seen my son?"
A cold fear began to settle over the village. Torches were lit. Search parties were formed. The forest was combed. Not a single footprint was found.
"I told him not to go near the southern ruins!" his mother sobbed. "But he kept saying he saw someone there. Just a few days ago, by the lake…"
Altan's blood ran cold. The ruins?
That night, the house was eerily quiet. His parents sat whispering in the corner. Altan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Daen's shy yet warm smile that morning haunted his thoughts.
He wouldn't have gone alone. He didn't have the courage.
But what if someone had called him there?
Altan sat up. Quietly dressed. Took the wooden sword he had made. He told no one. Didn't even leave a note.
While the stars watched and the world slept, he stepped outside. Moonlight draped the ground like a thin veil.
The forest waited before him.
And Altan was no longer just a child.
He was a hunter tracking the echo of a missing heart.
---
End of Chapter Note:
In this chapter, Altan made his first independent choice—to help someone. A quiet disappearance, a shadowed stranger, and a mystery yet to be unraveled. But what really happened to Daen? Will Altan find him? Or will this search open doors to something much deeper?
In the next chapter: Altan ventures into the forest's heart… only to discover a darkness he never imagined.