The fire had burned low. Only faint orange embers flickered in the hearth, casting long shadows across the walls of the tavern.
Most of the other patrons had gone.
Only Mira, the winged wolf, and I remained—seated in quiet that no longer felt tense, but tired.
She returned from the kitchen with a ring of keys, pausing beside my table.
"You've eaten, and your eyes look heavier than you'll admit." Her voice was soft, but firm. "You and your companion need rest."
I blinked, as if pulled out of a trance. "We'll sleep by the stable if it's less trouble—"
Mira held up a hand.
"Don't insult an old woman's hospitality," she said with a faint smirk. "I have an empty room. It's warm. Private. Has a window that doesn't scream too much when it rains."
Her eyes flicked toward the winged wolf.
"And if your beast doesn't try to eat the mattress, he can stay with you."
I turned toward the creature. It lay curled by the hearth, eyes half-closed. One ear twitched at her words but it didn't move.
"He won't."
She handed me the key.
"I know."
She guided me up a creaky wooden staircase, each step groaning beneath our weight. The hallway above smelled faintly of dried herbs and old oak.
The room she opened was small—but clean.
A bed with patched blankets. A table with a chipped basin and a worn mirror. A stool. A shuttered window.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
It felt like a blessing.
"You can bar the door from the inside," Mira said, setting a folded towel on the stool. "And if either of you collapse the floor, I'll blame it on ghosts."
Despite myself, I smiled faintly.
She turned to go.
"Mira…" I said, quietly.
She paused at the door.
"…Thank you."
Her eyes softened again. "Don't thank me yet. Just rest. That's what the living are meant to do."
She closed the door behind her.
I exhaled.
The room was still.
I walked to the bed and sat down slowly, running my hand over the rough blanket.
The winged wolf padded in moments later, brushing its side against the doorframe as it entered. It hesitated—then curled in the corner by the window, its eyes watching me in the dim firelight leaking through the shutter.
"I guess we have a roof again," I murmured.
It didn't respond, but it didn't leave either.
That was answer enough.
I loosened my cloak. Set my satchel on the floor. Placed the silver comb on the table, beside the locket still warm around my neck.
For the first time since the fall…
I lay down.
And sleep, for a few brief hours, came without pain.
A soft knock stirred me from sleep.
Then the smell followed—warm bread, cooked eggs, herbs steeped in steam.
My eyes opened slowly. The small room was bathed in pale morning light that filtered through the shuttered window. Dust danced in the sunbeams. The winged wolf still lay curled in the corner, ears twitching, nose tucked beneath its paw.
Another knock, gentler this time.
"It's just Mira," came the muffled voice. "Brought breakfast."
I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Come in."
The door creaked open.
Mira entered, holding a wooden tray with two small bowls, half a loaf of sliced bread, and a steaming tin of tea. She moved quietly, setting it on the table beside the mirror without speaking at first.
She glanced at the wolf. "Didn't eat the mattress. I owe myself two coppers."
The creature gave a quiet snort in reply.
I managed a faint smile. "He's more mannered than most men I've met."
"That's a grim statement," Mira said, pouring a cup of tea and offering it to me.
I took it carefully, letting the warmth settle into my fingers.
She settled on the stool, facing me as I sat at the edge of the bed.
"I won't ask names," she said. "Names come with danger these days."
She tore a piece of bread and handed it down to the wolf, who accepted it with a soft grunt.
"But purpose…"
She stirred her own tea with a chipped spoon.
"…purpose is different. Purpose is what keeps your bones from falling apart."
Her eyes met mine.
"Where are you going, traveler?"
I didn't answer right away.
Steam curled between us.
Outside, the quiet of the village stirred with the sounds of carts rolling, boots in gravel, and birds calling overhead.
I looked down at my locket.
Then at the wolf.
And finally, back to her.
"I'm… looking for someone," I said.
Her expression didn't change.
"Someone alive?"
"I hope so."
"A loved one?"
"No. A legend."
That made her pause.
"A legend, huh?" She leaned forward slightly. "You'd be surprised how many chase those."
"She's real."
Mira tilted her head.
"She?"
I nodded.
"The Great Sage of the Silent Age. Jhenna Ferez."
The name felt heavier in the room the moment I spoke it.
Mira's brows rose slightly. "Haven't heard that one in years."
The name settled between us like a falling feather.
Jhenna Ferez.
Mira didn't speak right away.
Instead, she sipped her tea, her eyes not leaving mine.
"You're not the first to come through this village looking for stories," she said quietly. "But most pass through with swords drawn or books too heavy for their backs. You don't seem like either."
I looked down at my cup.
"I'm not either anymore."
She gave a small nod, as if she understood something I didn't have to say.
Then leaned back, letting the chair creak beneath her weight.
"I've heard whispers," she said at last. "Old tales. Caravan tongues."
She gestured toward the east-facing window, where the mountains shimmered faintly in the morning haze.
"They say a woman walks the northern peaks alone. Never aging. Never slowing. They say the runes along the snowline sometimes light up during storms—symbols no one's dared to carve for centuries."
Her gaze returned to me.
"Some say she's a myth. Others… that she's a warning."
I listened silently, the locket warm against my chest again—reacting, faintly, like a compass unsure of its pull.
"Why do you seek her?" Mira asked at last, tone still gentle.
I paused.
Then answered, voice low but firm.
"Because something ancient destroyed my home. And I believe she's the only one who might know why."
Mira let out a long breath.
She stood, placing a few slices of bread near the edge of the table, letting the wolf sniff them.
"You'll want to take the old trade road north," she said. "It winds through forgotten places. And those who walk it tend to see things others don't."
I looked up at her.
"You believe me?"
She shrugged, smiling faintly. "I've lived long enough to know truth doesn't always wait for proof."
She turned toward the door, tray now empty.
"But be careful, girl," she said, pausing at the threshold. "The mountains won't greet you kindly. And the one you seek? She may not be the same as the stories remember."
The door clicked softly behind her.
The room fell silent once more, save for the soft chewing of the wolf and the distant toll of a bell outside.
I finished the tea slowly, eyes on the pale northern sky.
The journey was far from over.
But now… it had a direction.
The peace didn't last.
It never does.
Outside, just as I brought the last piece of bread to my mouth, shouting cracked through the air like the snap of a whip.
Followed by the thud of boots and the harsh clatter of something wooden smashing into stone.
The winged wolf's ears perked.
Then, a woman screamed.
I stood quickly, rushing to the window.
Down the village lane, five men—draped in mismatched armor and rough cloaks—marched through the street like they owned it. One shoved a merchant into the mud, another grabbed a sack of grain from a barrel.
Steel glinted beneath their cloaks.
Bandits.
No—a gang. Organized. Emboldened.
They weren't just looting.
They were collecting.
"Bring it out!" one barked, slamming his boot into the door of the apothecary. "Toll's doubled this moon, on account of south road risk."
"No more excuses!" another shouted as he snatched a small pouch from a trembling farmer. "You pay, or we take it out of your bones."
Mira's voice came from behind me, calm but laced with bitterness.
"They're from the Bonebrand circle. Claim to 'protect' this region." She stepped beside me. "Been demanding tribute for three years now. Lordless lands breed maggots, you see."
I clenched my jaw, watching as one grabbed a young boy by the collar and tossed him aside just for sport.
The wolf growled low beside me, rising slowly to its feet.
"They'll take what they want," Mira said, folding her arms. "Until someone worse comes along."
She didn't say unless someone stops them.
She didn't need to.
I turned from the window and reached for my cloak.
"They came to the wrong village this morning."
Mira didn't stop me.
She only spoke one last time before I stepped through the door:
"Be careful, child. Heroes bleed the fastest."