The town beneath the hill came alive at night.
Lanterns hung from every post, their light reflected on the puddles that dotted the cobblestone streets. The air smelled faintly of roasted chestnuts and rain-soaked dirt, and the sound of laughter spilled from every doorway.
Nhilly had always loved it here.
The noise, the people, the stories it all felt larger than life. He'd sneak into town whenever John had errands, insisting he was "assisting," though he mostly ended up chasing cats and sampling street food he couldn't afford.
That night, though, John didn't stop him.
"Come on," he'd said after training. "You've earned it. A night out won't kill you."
Nhilly's eyes lit up. "You mean it?"
John smirked. "Just don't drink anything stronger than juice. Your mother would end me."
Nhilly grinned ear to ear. "Deal!"
They stopped by a small bar at the edge of the square; one John visited often after long days of teaching. It wasn't rowdy, not yet just the usual hum of tired workers, low laughter, and the creak of old wood under too many boots.
John took his usual corner seat. Nhilly, of course, wandered immediately toward the centre.
By the time John returned from the counter with two drinks one beer, one apple juice Nhilly was standing on a table, glass cup raised high, surrounded by drunk men laughing and clapping.
"And one day!" Nhilly declared proudly, balancing precariously on the wobbling wood, "I'll go to the Yarion world myself, but I won't disappear! I'll save everyone who did!"
The tavern roared with laughter and applause. A few men cheered, a few booed, but most were just amused by the boy's conviction.
John groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You've known him for five minutes and you're already encouraging him?!"
A voice called from the bar, slurred but good-natured: "Leave him be, he's got fire! Don't kill a dream before it starts!"
Nhilly puffed his chest, grin stretching wide. "Exactly! Fire! Like a real hero!"
"Sit down before you break something," John muttered, handing him the cup of juice.
Nhilly hopped down, nearly slipping, and took a loud sip. "Heroes don't trip."
"Heroes do when they're idiots," John said, but there was a fondness in his tone.
The bar laughed again, and for a while, the warmth of it all the flickering lanterns, the chatter, the smell of roasted meat and ale felt like the safest place in the world.
Then, a man in the corner spoke.
He was older, mid-thirties perhaps, though it was hard to tell. His hair was grey at the edges, his face weathered. He wore just a worn coat and gloves that looked too heavy for the season.
"You shouldn't say things like that, boy."
Nhilly blinked. "Like what?"
The man's eyes met his. There was no anger in them not yet just something hollow. "That you'll save them. That you'll save anyone."
The room quieted slightly.
Nhilly tilted his head, still cheerful. "Why not? Someone has to."
The man's jaw tightened. "You talk like you've seen that place. Like you know what it does to people."
"I don't," Nhilly admitted, "but I'll find out. I'll make it better."
Something in the man's face changed like a string pulled too tight. He stood, the chair scraping harshly against the floor.
"Don't," John said softly, setting down his drink. "He's just a kid."
"Kids shouldn't dream about hell," the man snapped. "You've no idea what that world takes from you. What it turns you into."
Nhilly flinched, but not from fear from confusion. "You've been there?"
The man didn't answer. His silence was answer enough.
Nhilly stepped forward, voice small but steady. "Then… you made it back. That means you're strong. You could teach me!"
The man's hand slammed down on the table. The wood cracked under his palm. "You don't learn from that world. You survive it."
The bar had gone silent now the laughter, the music, gone. Only the sound of rain against the roof remained.
John rose slowly, stepping between them. "That's enough."
The man glared. "You think this is a joke? You think letting him talk like that helps anyone? He's a child, not a saviour!"
John didn't raise his voice. "He's a child who believes in something. That's more than most of us can say."
For a moment, neither moved. Then the man's shoulders sagged. He turned away, muttering through clenched teeth.
"You'll understand one day, kid. When you've seen what I've seen."
He left a few coins on the table and walked out into the rain.
Nhilly stood still, wide-eyed. "Did I say something wrong?"
John sighed, sitting back down. "No, kid. You said something too right."
Nhilly frowned. "I don't get it."
"You will," John said quietly, staring at the door. "Just promise me when you do don't stop smiling like that."
Nhilly blinked, confused. "Why?"
John smiled faintly. "Because that smile's the only thing that scares the dark back."
They stayed until the bar emptied. The rain outside had turned to mist, painting the streets silver. Nhilly walked beside John, humming softly, his wooden sword tapping against his shoulder.
"John?" he asked after a while.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think I'll ever meet a Returnee who isn't sad?"
John looked up at the stars unmoving, pale, distant.
"I hope you don't," he said.
Nhilly didn't understand. Not yet.
But he smiled anyway, and that was enough.