His fingers clawed uselessly at the ground. He couldn't feel his hand properly anymore. Everything hurt too much to think.
The creature loomed over him, breath hot and foul.
Then— he saw a light.
And it was-
It was gone.
Vesperyn lay there, shaking violently.
Slowly, he lifted his head.
Someone was standing a few steps away.
An old man.
He had red hair streaked with gray, pulled back loosely, and eyes that looked sharp even in the darkness. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
Vesperyn stared at him, mouth open, tears streaming silently down his face.
The old man didn't offer a hand. He just looked at Vesperyn's bleeding arm, then at his red hair, and sighed. It was the sound of a man who had just found more work to do.
"You're making enough noise to wake every Echo in this Reach, boy," he said, his voice like grinding gravel.
"Keep screaming like that and you'll be a meal before the moon sets. Now get up. I don't give tours to corpses."
They walked in silence.
Vesperyn followed a few steps behind, stumbling over roots he couldn't see, one hand pressed against his wounded shoulder. The pain had settled into a deep, throbbing ache.
He kept his eyes on Harlen's back. If he looked away, even for a second, the darkness felt like it would swallow him whole.
The forest around them was wrong.
Too quiet. No insects. No wind. Just their footsteps and Vesperyn's ragged breathing.
Sometimes he thought he heard things moving parallel to them, keeping pace in the shadows. When he looked, there was nothing.
Or nothing he could see.
Harlen didn't seem concerned. He walked like a man strolling through his own garden.
"How far?" Vesperyn asked. His voice came out hoarse.
"Not far."
That was all he said.
After what felt like hours but might have been minutes, Harlen stopped.
A structure emerged from the darkness ahead. Low. Solid. A hut built from scavenged wood and reinforced metal, half-permanent, half-ready to run.
"This is where I live," Harlen said.
He pushed the door open.
The moment Vesperyn crossed the threshold, something shifted.
The forest sounds dulled. The air felt… firmer. Like stepping indoors during a storm.
Vesperyn slowed, glancing back.
Harlen noticed. "Barrier," he said. "Keeps things from wandering in."
Inside was simple. Firelight flickered from a small hearth. A worn map hung crookedly on one wall. Tools lay where they had last been used, not neatly arranged, but not careless either.
Harlen pointed at a sturdy wooden chair by the fire. "Sit."
Vesperyn dropped into it before his legs gave out.
Harlen dug through a pack, pulled out something wrapped in cloth, and tossed it to him.
"Eat."
It smelled like smoke and fat.
Vesperyn didn't move.
He sat, staring at the ground as if it might open up and swallow him again. His arm still throbbed where the creature's claws had dug in.
"I'm not poisoning you," the man said flatly. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have left you there."
Vesperyn said nothing.
The old man sighed and dropped down onto a chair.
Great, he thought. A traumatized child. In the middle of nowhere. At night. As if the forest wasn't already annoying enough.
He rubbed his face with one hand.
There were tracks everywhere—broken branches, torn leaves, blood. And then there was the part that didn't make sense.
No trail leading in.
No sign of arrival.
Either the boy fell from the sky, Harlen thought, or reality glitched.
Neither option made sense.
He glanced at the child again. Thin. Shaking. Trying very hard not to cry.
Wonderful.
The old man cleared his throat and stuck out his hand. "Harlen Rost."
Vesperyn hesitated. Then, slowly, he reached out and shook it.
"…Vesperyn."
Harlen raised an eyebrow.
What kind of fancy, noble nonsense is that? he thought.
"So," he said. "You going to tell me what a child is doing alone in the Pilgrim Borders at night?"
Vesperyn stared at the fire.
"I wasn't here before," he said quietly.
Harlen waited.
Vesperyn could feel his eyes on him.
"I was..." He swallowed hard. "Somewhere else. Then I was here."
"Uh-huh." Harlen's tone was flat. "You got lost."
"No."
"Ran away from home."
"No." Vesperyn's hands clenched. "I didn't run away. I didn't…."
His voice broke.
He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting down the surge of panic rising in his chest.
*Darian's face. Mom's blood.*
"Hey." Harlen's voice cut through. Sharper. "Breathe, kid."
Vesperyn forced air into his lungs.
In. Out. In.
"I came through a portal," he said finally. The words felt stupid. Impossible. "One second I was home, the next I was here. In the dirt."
Harlen's expression didn't change.
"A portal," he repeated.
"Yes."
"Someone opened one and dropped you here."
"My mother." Vesperyn's voice cracked on the word. "She... she gave me a ring. Told me to break it."
Harlen leaned forward slightly. "And you broke it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Vesperyn looked up. "Because she told me to."
The old man studied him for a long moment.
"Must've been a damn good reason," he said quietly.
Vesperyn said nothing.
Because what could he say?
*She was dying. She chose to die. And I left them both.*
Vesperyn hugged his knees tighter.
"I just want to go home."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Harlen's expression softened—just a little. Not enough to be comforting.
"Yeah," he said. "So do most people."
He stood up, brushing dirt from his trousers.
"Eat," he said again, more firmly this time. "You're shaking. And if you pass out, I'm not carrying you."
Vesperyn hesitated.
Then, slowly, he reached for the food.
Harlen glanced at him, eyes lingering on Vesperyn's hair.
"That red," he said. "I've seen it before."
Vesperyn stiffened. "You have?"
Harlen didn't answer right away. He turned away, voice quieter than before.
"…That girl," he murmured to himself. "Inara,"