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Chapter Thirty-Three: The Village Beyond the Ridge
The ridge wasn't high, but every step felt heavier than the last.
The Keeper walked ahead of me, silent, his shape outlined by the silver light of the rising moon. The air grew cooler as we climbed, and with it came sounds I didn't recognize — crickets, wind in the grass, something small scurrying through the dark.
The world was alive in ways the Hive never was.
By the time we reached the top, dawn had begun to touch the horizon. Below us, nestled in the valley, lay a cluster of wooden houses. Thin trails of smoke curled from their chimneys, carrying the smell of wood and bread. My chest tightened at the scent — simple, human, impossible.
The Keeper stopped beside me. "That's Maren Hollow," he said. "They've seen wanderers before. You'll find food. Shelter."
I swallowed hard. "And what will you do?"
He looked at me with a small, knowing smile. "I wait for the next one."
I didn't know why that answer hurt. Maybe because I had already grown used to his quiet steadiness, the way his presence filled the space around me without needing words.
"Will I see you again?" I asked.
His eyes softened. "When you're ready."
Before I could ask what that meant, he turned and walked back down the hill, vanishing into the mist. I watched until he was gone, then forced myself to keep moving.
The path into the valley wound between fields, their soil dark and rich. I passed a fence lined with sunflowers — tall, bright, impossibly golden. The air buzzed faintly with bees, and for a moment I froze, instinct rising before I could stop it. My hand twitched, half expecting the Hive's hum to return. But it didn't. The bees ignored me, content in their own quiet work.
I exhaled slowly and kept walking.
By the time I reached the village edge, the sun was up, painting everything in warm gold. Children's laughter drifted between the houses, and somewhere a woman was singing. It was… beautiful.
And terrifying.
A man spotted me first — older, with grey in his beard and a kind of wariness in his eyes. He stood from the cart he was repairing and called out, "You lost, miss?"
His voice was rough, human, and it made my heart lurch. I hesitated before answering. "I… think so."
He frowned slightly, taking in my torn clothes, my bare feet. "You from the north?"
"I don't know."
He blinked. "You don't know?"
I shook my head. "I woke up near the river. The willow tree."
Something in his expression changed — not fear, exactly, but recognition. He lowered his voice. "Ah. So the Keeper sent you."
I stared at him. "You know him?"
"Everyone here knows the stories. Not many believe them." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Come on. You look half-starved. My wife'll have my hide if I let you stand there."
I followed him hesitantly through the small streets. The houses were built of dark wood, smoke rising lazily from chimneys. People watched as we passed — curious, but not unkind. A few offered cautious nods. One little girl peeked from behind her mother's skirts and waved. I waved back before I could stop myself.
The man led me to a cottage near the center of the village. "Name's Orlen," he said, pushing the door open. "This is home."
The warmth hit me first — firelight flickering against stone walls, the smell of bread baking in an oven. A woman stood by the hearth, her sleeves rolled up, hair tied back with a strip of cloth. She turned, surprise flickering in her eyes before she smiled.
"Another one?" she asked gently.
"Found her by the ridge," Orlen said. "Keeper's mark, maybe."
She looked at me closely, then nodded. "You're safe here, love. Sit."
Her kindness almost undid me. I sat because I didn't know what else to do. She set a bowl of soup in front of me — thick, steaming, fragrant. My hands shook as I lifted the spoon. The first mouthful was… overwhelming. Too warm, too real. My throat closed.
She noticed. "Easy now," she murmured. "You've been through something."
I could only nod.
After a while, when the shaking stopped, Orlen sat across from me. "There's a healer in the village," he said. "She helps folk like you — the ones the Keeper sends. Says the world's full of second chances, if we're brave enough to take them."
"Does she… know what we were?" I asked quietly.
He met my eyes. "She doesn't ask. None of us do."
That night, they gave me a small room in the attic. A bed — soft, strange, impossible. I lay on it, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The Hive never slept. The silence was almost too much.
But then I heard it — faint, distant — the sound of the river, the whisper of the willow leaves in my memory. It lulled me. I dreamed of tunnels, of Vire's face, of the god's light dissolving the darkness. And then, beneath it all, the Keeper's voice:
> "When you're ready."
When morning came, the healer was waiting. She was tall, with weathered hands and eyes that seemed to see too much. Her name was Lira. She didn't speak as she examined the faint amber traces on my skin. Instead, she smiled.
"It's fading," she said softly. "Give it time."
"What if it doesn't?" I asked.
"Then you learn to live with the glow."
She led me outside, to the garden behind her house. "These," she said, showing me rows of green shoots, "are what keep us alive through winter. Every one of them started buried in darkness."
Her words settled deep inside me.
Over the next few days, I worked in the fields. The villagers didn't treat me like a stranger. They didn't ask about the Hive. They let me plant, carry, laugh — small, ordinary things I never knew could feel holy.
At night, I sat beneath the stars and wondered if the Keeper could see me.
Sometimes, when the wind moved through the grass just right, I thought I heard his voice again:
> "Love will make you human again."
I didn't understand what he meant — not yet. But as I watched the fireflies rise from the fields like sparks of memory, I felt something stirring where fear used to be.
Something like hope.
And for the first time, I whispered into the night,
"Maybe I'm ready."
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To be continued…
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