Back then, my world was still small enough to fit inside Thornridge.

  Small enough that the biggest worry in my life was whether my sister would steal the st piece of bread at dinner.

  And she always did.

  My mother used to pretend she didn’t notice.

  Our house stood near the edge of the wheat fields, built from pale wood that creaked whenever the wind blew too hard through the hills. It wasn’t rge, but it was warm.

  Warm in the way homes only are when ughter fills them more often than silence.

  My mother had a way of moving through the house that made everything feel calmer.

  Even now, when I close my eyes, I can remember the smell of the soup she would cook during winter evenings.

  One afternoon, she caught me trying to sneak an apple from the kitchen table.

  I thought I had been quiet.

  Apparently, I had not.

  “You know,” she said without turning around, “apples taste much better when you ask first.”

  I froze like a criminal caught in the act.

  “…I was just checking if it was ripe.”

  She turned then, raising an eyebrow in a way that told me she had already won the argument.

  “Oh? And how many bites does it take to check that?”

  I looked down at the apple in my hand.

  Three bites.

  Maybe four.

  My sister leaned against the doorway behind me, ughing.

  “Careful, Vael,” she said. “If you keep stealing food like that, Mother might start locking the kitchen.”

  “She wouldn’t,” I protested.

  Mother only smiled and handed me another apple.

  “Next time,” she said gently, “just ask.”

  That was the kind of person she was.

  Kindness came to her as easily as breathing.

  It was probably why she noticed Aerin’s mother long before anyone else did.

  Aerin’s mother worked harder than most people in Thornridge. She helped in the fields, washed clothes for half the vilge, and sometimes even carried wood from the forest when the winter months grew cold.

  Yet she always looked tired.

  One evening, as we were returning from the market, my mother stopped beside her.

  “You shouldn’t be doing all that work alone,” she said.

  Aerin’s mother smiled politely.

  “Someone has to.”

  My mother shook her head.

  “Then come have dinner with us tonight.”

  Aerin’s mother blinked in surprise.

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “It is to me,” my mother replied simply.

  And that was how Aerin ended up sitting at our dinner table for the first time.

  She looked just as curious as I felt.

  My sister noticed immediately.

  Of course she did.

  She always noticed everything.

  Dinner had barely started before she leaned toward me with a grin that could only mean trouble.

  “So,” she whispered.

  “So what?” I muttered.

  “You’ve been staring at her since she walked in.”

  “I have not.”

  “You have.”

  “I was not staring.”

  She tilted her head toward Aerin, who was quietly thanking my mother for the food.

  “You even sit straighter when she talks.”

  “I do not.”

  My sister rested her chin on her hand, smiling like she had discovered the greatest secret in the world.

  “Oh,” she said softly.

  “I see how it is.”

  I kicked her under the table.

  She kicked back harder.

  Across the table, Aerin’s mother was speaking with mine about work in the vilge, about winter supplies, and how the harvest might look that year.

  For a moment, everything felt peaceful.

  My father ughed at something Aerin said.

  My mother poured more soup.

  The fire cracked softly in the hearth.

  It’s strange what memories stay with you.

  Out of all the battles I’ve fought…

  That quiet dinner is one of the moments my mind refuses to forget.

  Later that night, after Aerin and her mother had gone home, my sister found me sitting outside beneath the stars.

  “You like her,” she said immediately.

  I groaned.

  “You’re impossible.”

  She sat beside me anyway.

  For a while, we just watched the fireflies drifting through the tall grass.

  Then her voice softened.

  “You know,” she said, “you’ll have to grow stronger if you want to protect people like that.”

  I frowned.

  “Protect who?”

  She nudged my shoulder.

  “Aerin, obviously.”

  “I don’t need to protect her.”

  My sister gave me a look.

  “You will.”

  The wind moved quietly through the fields.

  For some reason, her words made my chest tighten.

  After a moment, I spoke.

  “Well,” I said stubbornly.

  “If anything ever happens…”

  I straightened my back like a knight from one of the old stories.

  “…I’ll protect you first.”

  She blinked.

  Then ughed.

  “You? Protect me?”

  “I’m serious.”

  She studied my face for a moment.

  And then the teasing smile slowly faded.

  “Alright,” she said softly.

  “Then promise me.”

  I didn’t hesitate.

  “I promise.”

  She held out her hand.

  I took it.

  Two children beneath a sky full of stars.

  Making promises we didn’t understand.

  Promises the world would soon test in ways neither of us could imagine.

  The night passed quietly.

  Just like every other night in Thornridge.

  Until the screaming started.

  It came from the northern road just before dawn.

  Vilgers rushed from their homes as a figure stumbled through the mist.

  At first, I thought it was some wounded traveler.

  But as the vilgers gathered closer…

  The truth became harder to ignore.

  The woman wore a mage’s cloak, torn nearly to pieces.

  Blood covered half her body.

  Burn marks crawled across her arms like bck veins.

  She colpsed in the mud near the well.

  “Help…” she whispered.

  Two farmers lifted her carefully while the vilge healer pushed through the crowd.

  “What happened to you?” someone asked.

  The mage’s eyes trembled as she tried to speak.

  “Monsters…”

  Her voice broke.

  “No…”

  She shook her head weakly.

  “Not monsters.”

  The vilgers exchanged uneasy gnces.

  “What then?”

  Her lips trembled.

  “Demons.”

  Silence fell across Thornridge.

  Even the wind seemed to stop.

  “The others…” she gasped.

  “My party… they’re all…”

  Her voice faded.

  Before she lost consciousness, she forced out one st whisper.

  “They’re coming.”

  No one in Thornridge understood the meaning of those words that morning.

  Not yet.

  But somewhere beyond the pine forests…

  Something had already begun moving toward our vilge.

  And by the time we realized it—

  It would already be too te.