Darkness. The sweet comfort of sleep—though Yig would’ve preferred it without the pain. He opened his eyes but saw nothing. His mind was alert, though his body lay comfortably still.

  “Hello?” he called.

  “Damn it. And damn you! You promised me more than this!”

  “More what?” The voice boomed around Yig, as if the space itself had taken shape just to complain.

  “Icarus?”

  “You can be sure of that! And don’t worry, I won’t stick around just to berate you. Not unless we don’t do something soon.”

  “You think I’m choosing this? My body’s given out on me.”

  “Then pull it back up. Lying here doing nothing isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  Yig felt a tingle ripple through his limbs. He raised his hands and saw they were glowing, a soft aura rising from his skin like steam. As he focused, the light grew, eventually enveloping him like a warm hug.

  Air rushed into his lungs as he drew a deep breath. He awoke to the sight of sheer white curtains fluttering over him, the breeze from the open window cool and fresh. He turned his head to see Icarus leaning against the bed frame. Just a sword—or at least that’s how it looked. Maybe he had been talking to himself. But that golden hilt... it felt like it contained a soul. When he grasped it, it was like holding someone’s hand: strange, but oddly intimate.

  He thought about sitting up—but guessed it wasn’t worth it. He’d tried that plenty of times, and always paid the price.

  Do I really care if it hurts? I didn’t before… Wait. Somebody told me to stay in bed. I need rest, or I can’t leave the village. Who was that? Was it while I was asleep?

  Yig smiled.

  It was probably Mother.

  Wait, what’s that?

  Despite the strain, Yig lifted his head and looked toward his feet—he could’ve sworn he felt something warm there. He chuckled when he saw the lamb curled at the end of the bed, unfolding from its cozy woolen pillow with an eager expression. Before he could fully register what was happening, the little lamb bolted from the room, bleating for someone—though Yig wasn’t sure who.

  The lamb bounded back in and up onto the bed, followed by Yig’s mother, then—somehow—Shack, and then Mary, Mark, Del, and finally Jordan. Yig laughed.

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  Mary scowled. “You question us, but not the sheep?”

  “Well, what I mean is… well… did you stay here overnight?”

  “It’s been two days since you passed out.”

  Yig’s jaw dropped. “And you stayed here the whole time?”

  “Pfft, no,” she said in a playful tone. “We don’t care about you that much.”

  Mark smirked.

  “Oh, thanks,” Yig replied sarcastically. “Why are you here then?”

  “Dumb luck,” Jordan answered. “We came to check on you and your mother, and you just so happened to wake up while we were here.”

  Yig’s mother smiled at them. “And you were all wonderful company.”

  Yig tried to sit up, resting his back against a pillow to ease the strain. Strangely, he could’ve sworn his wounds felt better than before.

  He appreciated his friends joking around with him, repeating their same familiar banter as if the attacks had never happened—without assuming he was too broken to talk. It was likely for their own sake, too: laughing and playing to escape their pain. For that reason, he was more than willing to push his own trauma deep down.

  The Lamb was nestled against him, making itself comfortable. Amused by its persistence, Yig laid a hand on it, gently stroking its wool as it snoozed.

  “One question,” Jordan said. “Why is a sheep following you around? Do you know it?”

  “Yeah. I found her on the mountain a few weeks ago and brought her home. It seemed like she decided to stick around.”

  “Huh. That could be considered odd.”

  Yig glanced at his mother. “Did you feed her while I was asleep?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “Though I think you owe me. That whole month you were up here hibernating, she wouldn’t stop coming to the front door—no matter how many times I tried to shoo her away. I hope you don’t think you’re leaving her with me while you’re off adventuring.”

  The Lamb perked up, locking eyes with Yig. He smiled and gave her another pat. “Sounds like I’ll be taking you with me.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “But not anytime soon,” his mother said. “You need to rest for a while. Let those wounds seal up.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I know. Probably a bit arrogant not to stay in bed after the attack.”

  Still… they don’t feel as bad as I expected.

  Mary scoffed.

  “Yeah, yeah, alright. It was a really bad idea! I guess I was still hung up over—”

  “Don’t explain,” Jordan cut in. “You don’t have to. There’s nothing to gain from forcing yourself to move on too fast.”

  Yig’s face tightened. “At least I’m not alone.”

  Not long after that, he began his daily running routine. As the days passed, he managed to run farther, always trailed by his sheep companion. While he trained, he left Icarus—and the design for its new scabbard—in Del’s care, along with the other blacksmiths. It was an exciting idea when it crossed his mind, but most of his focus remained on conditioning his body.

  After a few weeks, he was ready to return to the old training grounds—where he and Mona used to play warriors, far out in the depths of the woods. Everyone worried about him, even Yig himself, though he hid it well. As expected, his sword training didn’t last long at first. In those early days, his wounds would begin to ache within the hour, forcing him to collapse into bed from exhaustion. And on rare occasions, he’d collapse outside and spend the night on the cold ground, using his companion’s warm woolen body as a pillow.

  One, two. He punched.

  One, two. Knuckles smacked against the rock.

  One, two. Icarus was a powerful blade, meant for a strong warrior. Relying on it too much would only hold him back—that’s what he believed. He needed to build his body as much as his skill.

  One, two. His fingers cracked. Blood streaked his knuckles.

  One, two. He pulled back, clutching his hand. The Lamb leapt up, circling him in concern.

  He examined the damage. Looked like he’d struck at the wrong angle—that was all.

  He drew a breath and readied himself to strike again.

  One… No. It hurt too much.

  His eyes welled. Every inch of his bleeding hand screamed for him to stop.

  His head jolted as he turned, trying to see what stood behind him—but there was nothing. Still, he could’ve sworn he heard it—those familiar footsteps. A shiver crawled down his spine. He turned back around and returned to his stance, fists raised beside his head in preparation.

  Don’t think of her. Don’t let yourself hurt.

  He wound up his arm.

  Feelings like that will only obscure the path I take… the path to paradise!

  He struck the rock again. One, two. One, two.

  Chestnut had also made great progress in its recovery. The buildings began to rise again, regaining their color, and the villagers seemed to be growing friendlier—though none had forgotten what had happened. Nearly every other building had to be reconstructed, and once everything returned to working order, the village’s very architecture had shifted.

  A couple of months after receiving Icarus, Yig finally set a departure date. His wounds had healed, supplies had been gathered—the only thing left was to leave. But the village wasn’t going to let him slip away quietly.

  On the morning of his departure, Yig was where he’d spent most of his recent days: the training grounds he once shared with Mona. After a long morning workout, he sat cross-legged with Icarus resting in its new scabbard. The blacksmiths had spared no effort. Fine leather stretched into a perfect fit, yellow stitching binding it cleanly. The Lamb perched atop his head like a fuzzy hat, its small limbs clinging tightly. He inhaled the crisp, cold air and opened his eyes to the pull of the breeze. He smiled.

  Jordan and Del approached from behind. Yig turned toward them with a broad grin.

  “Hey, haven’t seen you here in a while.”

  Del tried to answer but looked distracted. “Umm… you told us not to come here.”

  “Oh yeah, I did. Sorry. But you’re welcome now.”

  Jordan looked just as distracted, his eyes locked past Yig. “What… what did you do?”

  “Huh?” Yig turned to the training boulder, his cheerful expression vanishing.

  Yig and Mona’s training rock was now cleaved in two—split clean down the middle and torn into jagged shards. He walked up to it and brushed his hand along the surface, where the faint marks of Mona’s blades still lingered. Jordan picked up a broken piece, dusting it off.

  “I take it Icarus suits you?”

  “It was worth every bit of work.”

  Del’s eyes sparkled as he stared at the legendary weapon—the one that had shattered years of childish theory.

  “Yig… are you okay?” Jordan asked.

  Yig’s smile almost returned, like he was forcing it. Then he winced and turned away. “I never… spoke to you about Fynn. I wanted to say I was sorry. But I didn’t want to think about it.”

  Jordan shrugged. “Everyone’s coping in their own way. Don’t carry it all yourself.”

  “But—”

  “Honestly? All this moping doesn’t suit you. Me, I like to think of it this way: a blinding light came down from above and purged our fields of invaders. It was a miracle. And yet, here you are—still trying to find a reason to be angry at yourself.”

  Yig instinctively grasped his bandaged arm. When he realized it, he did his best to play it off.

  “You listening? Yig!?”

  “Pff… I’m listening!” Yig replied playfully. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that maybe you’re just boring, Jordan?”

  Jordan leaned back with frustrated amusement. “It’s all coming back to me now—every reason I got you kicked out.”

  Yig laughed and stuck out his tongue. “Let’s make a deal: I’ll stop worrying about you, and you stop worrying about me. Sound good?”

  Jordan smirked.

  With his red cloak billowing behind him, a puff of wool perched on his head, and a metal shoulder plate on his left, Yig wandered out of the woods, followed by Del and Jordan. A crowd of villagers had gathered to see him off. Until now, he hadn’t given much thought to what would happen after he announced his departure. Yet here they were. The crowd was quiet, offering gentle smiles and soft goodbyes.

  At the front stood the mayor, his broad stance paired with a stern face and a massive ginger beard.

  Yig stepped forward, looking small in comparison.

  Arms crossed, the mayor looked down at him.

  “That dream you two had was foolish. Impossible, even.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  “…You’d better see it through. Not just for yourself—do it for her now.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “I truly hope you do.”

  Yig hugged his mother goodbye—harsh, but necessary. They exchanged words that no one else could hear, and when they were finished, they smiled at each other just as they always had.

  The edge of Chestnut Village wasn’t particularly welcoming. The trees twisted and leaned in unnaturally, and a sharp fence of gray wooden stakes stood guard. The grass was long and dry, left to rot by neglectful hands. It crunched underfoot as they crossed the field to the gravel path that wound past the border and into the woods.

  As he stepped through, Yig turned back for one last look. The crowd remained still, watching his departure. He smiled and looked up at his and Mona’s mountaintop, imprinting it in memory. Then, with a determined turn, he faced forward again, cloak trailing behind him. And just like that, he disappeared into the woods.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  On the mountaintop, beside Mona’s grave, the wind stirred their tree, and a single bright yellow leaf lifted into the air. It spiraled upward, drifting over the village, and eventually passed beyond its border.

  End of Part 1