The road stretched on and on, rising and falling with the hills. Days blurred together—sunrises washed in pale gold, nights lit by cold stars. The boy kept walking, spear dragging at his side, blistered feet wrapped in strips of cloth he tore from his shirt. Hunger gnawed constantly, but he found roots and the occasional bird's egg, enough to keep moving.
At last, on the third evening, he saw lantern light flickering in the distance. His steps quickened despite the pain. The road curved, and then the town came into view—low stone walls, rooftops clustered like sleeping beasts, smoke curling from chimneys. Laughter drifted on the air, mingled with the scent of roasting meat. The boy's throat tightened.
As he approached, two guards at the gate straightened. One, a tall man with a trimmed beard, raised a hand. "Halt there! Where are you from?"
The boy stopped a few paces away. His voice was hoarse. "A village… to the east."
The guards exchanged a glance. "Name of the village?"He hesitated, then lowered his eyes. "It… doesn't exist anymore."
Silence. The bearded guard stepped closer, looking him over—torn clothes, hollow cheeks, dirt-streaked skin. His tone softened. "You've seen trouble, haven't you, lad?"
The boy's lips pressed into a thin line. He nodded once.
The second guard scratched his head. "Should we…?"The bearded one sighed. "Aye. Go on in. Just don't cause any trouble. And stay clear of the forest, you hear? Even seasoned hunters don't go near it."
The boy stepped through the gate, lantern light bathing him in warm gold. The town was alive with sound—merchants calling out their wares, children darting between stalls, the smell of spiced meat and bread drifting from an inn. It felt like another world entirely.
He wandered the cobblestone streets, dizzy from exhaustion and the sudden rush of life. A woman carrying vegetables paused, frowning at his ragged appearance, but he moved on before she could speak.
Eventually, he found a narrow alley leading to an old inn with weathered signs. Through an open window drifted music and laughter. He stood outside, staring, too tired to step in.
A kindly voice startled him. "You look lost, dear."
An older woman with graying hair and an apron stood in the doorway. He swallowed, shaking his head. "Just… tired."
She looked him over and sighed. "Come on. You can sleep in the stables tonight. It's warm, at least."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you."
The stable smelled of hay and horses. He curled up in a corner, straw scratching his skin, and for the first time in days, he felt almost safe. Outside, lanterns flickered. Somewhere distant, someone sang a tune he almost remembered.
He stared at the rafters above him, whispering to no one, "I'll get stronger… I'll find them… I'll kill him."
And then, exhaustion claimed him, and the stable fell silent save for his slow, steady breathing.