The forest smelled of wet bark and moss, sharp and tangy with the scent of rain. My legs throbbed, muscles still humming with the aftershock of the Stormstag fight, but Duke didn't slow down. He moved through the undergrowth as if the forest belonged to him, hopping over roots and vines like he'd been doing it all his life—which, as it turned out, he had.
"You're walking funny," he said over his shoulder, eyes bright with mischief. "Step one of surviving Stormcrest: make it look like you're in control even when your legs are screaming betrayal."
"I'm not walking funny," I snapped. "I'm… tactical."
"Tactical?" he echoed, clearly enjoying the absurdity of my words. "Right. Tactical. That's what people say when they trip over a root and almost eat dirt in front of their new best friend."
I shot him a glare. He only grinned and hopped over a low branch, brushing leaves off his shoulders as if tripping and almost dying was part of a casual stroll.
"Seriously," I said, trying to catch my breath, "how do you know this village is safe? How do you know there's anything waiting for me other than… more danger?"
Duke slowed just enough to glance back at me. "Mostly safe is still safer than getting eaten, electro-shocked, or impaled by trees. That's the Stormcrest promise."
"Mostly safe?" I repeated, stomach dropping. "That doesn't exactly sound like a selling point."
"You're new here," he said, grinning. "Eventually, you'll learn mostly safe is practically luxury."
We descended into a shallow valley, and through the trees I caught my first glimpse of Graymist Village. Small wooden homes leaned against one another, smoke curling from crooked chimneys, and children darted between them like they had never learned to stay out of trouble. Adults paused in doorways, tools frozen mid-task, staring at us with expressions that ranged from suspicion to curiosity… to something that made my stomach tighten.
"What is it with them?" I asked. "Why are they staring?"
Duke smirked. "You're an outsider. They've got eyes for anyone who doesn't blend in—or smells like someone who nearly got electrocuted by a giant moose. You've got that, plus the 'mysterious boy who survived the forest storm' aura. Very intimidating for a first impression."
I frowned. "Intimidating? I look like I just fell out of a river and fought a moose."
"Exactly," Duke said. "Intimidating, heroic, and a little wet. Solid package."
I groaned but followed him down the slope, stepping carefully over roots and puddles.
A tall figure emerged from the largest building, robes brushing the wet earth, and I froze. White hair framed a face lined with time and battle, but his eyes were sharp, alert, almost predatory. Yet there was something calm beneath the weight of his presence—a man who had lived through worse than any Stormstag or storm could throw at him.
"Duke," he said, voice steady but carrying a faint edge of humor. "And you must be… Daniel. The boy who survived a lightning stag and lived to tell the tale."
I blinked. "You… know me?"
He didn't smile, though his eyes twitched almost imperceptibly, like he'd just noticed the absurdity of my soaked and battered appearance. "I know enough. And I can tell you possess strength that does not belong to someone your age. That kind of power… it's dangerous, and it will draw attention if left unchecked."
I glanced at Duke. He rolled his eyes and grinned. "See? Told you he'd be scary. But in a wise-old-priest, slightly humorous way."
The priest's gaze swept over me, calculating, almost amused. "And you," he said, turning to me fully, "look like you have a tendency to get into situations that will end badly if left unchecked. Luckily, I have a reputation for making the unchecked… checked. Mostly."
"Mostly?" I asked warily.
He shrugged, lips twitching. "Let's just say if I had been in charge of Stormcrest, half the local fauna would have learned to fear me. The other half… well, they'd be part of my breakfast. Now come inside. Eat. Rest. And then we start teaching you not to accidentally destroy the village before your morning porridge."
Duke nudged me in the ribs. "See? Sarcasm runs in the family. You're going to love him. Mostly."
The villagers watched as we approached, some whispering, some staring openly, and some children sneaking curious peeks from behind doorways. I could feel every gaze like a soft weight pressing on me. It was… uncomfortable, but also strangely exhilarating.
Father Roran guided us inside, robes brushing the floor and his posture perfectly composed. Yet there was a spark of humor in the corner of his eyes, a hint of playfulness beneath the wisdom. "Sit," he said. "Eat first. Survive second. Then we talk about controlling that strength of yours—before it decides to get you arrested, maimed, or worse."
I took a tentative step forward, realizing the weight of the priest's presence. He was strong, wise, dangerous in the sense that he understood exactly how dangerous the world—and I—could be. And yet, behind that edge of authority, there was a flicker of humor, the same sharp, slightly cruel wit I had already noticed in Duke.
For the first time since the Stormstag, I felt a cautious spark of… possibility. Not hope—yet—but a feeling that maybe survival could lead to more than just staying alive.
And with Duke at my side, and Father Roran guiding the way, I realized that for the first time in a long while, I wasn't just surviving. I was beginning to grow.