The Morning After
Dawn arrived with a heavy stillness.
The forest outside was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves. Inside the small hut, the air was warmer, thick with the scent of old wood, herbs, and the faint traces of last night's fire.
Elara stirred first. Pain still radiated from her side, but it was duller now, no longer the searing agony of the night before. She breathed through it, shifting upright with slow, practiced movements.
"...You're awake."
Lira, who had been sitting nearby, glanced over. She was already dressed, her long hair tied back in a loose braid. In her hands, she idly worked on sharpening her dagger, the rhythmic scrape of the whetstone the only sound in the room.
Elara exhaled, accepting the waterskin Lira tossed her way. "Looks like I survived after all."
"You had us worried," Lira admitted.
Elara took a slow sip, then let her gaze wander across the small, worn-down hut. Their ragged cloaks were piled near the fire pit, their weapons stacked within easy reach. The blonde-haired leader of their group sat against the far wall, deep in thought.
And then there was him.
The boy.
He was still asleep, curled near the fire pit, one arm tucked under his head. His breathing was steady, his expression peaceful—almost unnervingly so.
"…I don't get it," Elara muttered, watching him.
"Get what?" Lira asked.
"How he's even alive," she replied. "Surviving out here for two years? Alone? I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it myself."
Seren finally spoke, her voice quiet. "No. It's impossible."
The others turned to her.
She kept her tone measured, but there was an edge of something unreadable in her gaze. "We were trained for survival. We had instructors, supplies, magic. But he had nothing. No support. No guidance. He had to figure it out alone."
Elara frowned. "Still, he's just a boy. He must've had someone."
"He did," Lira muttered. "And they never came back."
A heavy silence settled over the group.
Seren had been thinking about their conversation from the night before. How he had spoken about his parents being 'out hunting' as if it were normal. As if he hadn't already accepted the truth.
Elara shifted uncomfortably. "…He reminds me of my son."
Lira arched a brow. "Your son?"
Elara managed a small smirk. "Yeah, yeah. Hard to imagine, right?" She sighed. "He's about the same age. Spoiled rotten. Cries when he scrapes his knee, complains when the servants take too long bringing him sweets. He would never survive out here."
A few of them chuckled.
But the comparison left an uneasy feeling in the air.
In their world, boys weren't expected to be strong. They weren't trained for hardship or independence. They were kept safe, guarded. Their lives were shaped by the women around them—mothers, sisters, wives. Even in noble houses, where bloodlines mattered, daughters were the ones who carried the family name, who wielded power and made decisions.
Sons were raised gently, groomed for marriage or comfortable lives where they'd be protected.
That was the way things were supposed to be.
But this boy…
"He doesn't even realize how unnatural his situation is," Lira murmured.
Seren nodded. That was the strangest part. The way he spoke, so detached, so unaffected. Like he had long since accepted that this was simply how things were.
As if grief had settled into his bones so deeply that it no longer registered.
Then, just as she was about to look away, she noticed something.
A single tear.
It traced a slow path down the boy's cheek, catching the morning light.
Seren stiffened.
For a moment, she thought he was awake. But no—his breathing remained steady, his body still. He was dreaming.
And he was crying.
She exhaled, shifting her gaze toward the ceiling.
A child who only let himself grieve when no one was watching… There was something terribly lonely about that.
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A Dream of Distant Echoes
A warm, golden light bathed the trees, casting long shadows over the earth. Laughter rang through the air, high and carefree.
A young boy darted through the undergrowth, his small hands grasping at the air as he chased after something unseen. His steps were light, free, unburdened by fear or loss.
A man stood nearby, watching him with a fond smile. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in well-worn leather armor. A bow was slung across his back, and a hunting knife rested at his hip. His presence was steady, like a tree that had weathered many storms.
Beside him, a woman sat on a wooden stool, whittling a piece of wood. Her clothes were simple, her posture relaxed. Her hands—gentle, careful—worked the knife with practiced ease, shaving thin curls of wood onto the ground.
"If he's anything like you," she mused, not looking up, "we'll be chasing him all over the forest soon enough."
The man chuckled, his voice deep and rich. "He's strong. He'll grow up just fine."
The boy ran to them, breathless, grinning from ear to ear.
His father reached down and ruffled his hair, while his mother gave him a small smile before setting aside her carving. The warmth between them was unmistakable—simple, quiet happiness.
It should have been a comforting sight.
But something felt off.
Ryle watched, unseen, as the boy basked in the warmth of his family. The scene was familiar, yet foreign—like a memory that wasn't his own.
And then—
The air shifted.
The sky darkened.
The warmth drained away.
His father's expression turned sharp. His muscles tensed, his hand drifting instinctively to his knife.
A rustle in the distance. Heavy. Purposeful.
He recognized it immediately.
So did his mother.
The woman rose to her feet, setting her carving aside with careful precision. Not hurried, but deliberate. Like she already knew what was coming.
The boy didn't understand.
Ryle didn't either.
But he could feel it. That creeping sense of inevitability.
"Stay inside," the man ordered. "No matter what happens, do not leave the hut."
The boy hesitated. "But—"
His mother knelt, gripping his shoulders. "Listen to your father." Her voice was steady, but there was something beneath it. A quiet finality.
She ruffled the boy's hair, smiling one last time before rising to follow her husband into the trees.
The boy watched them go.
And he waited.
Waited.
The food by the fire grew cold.
The sky turned black.
And the door never opened again.
The dream shifted.
The boy now sat alone in the dark, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees.
The fire had long since died.
His stomach growled, but he barely noticed.
His throat was hoarse from calling out into the forest.
Still, silence was his only answer.
The boy's face was hidden, but Ryle didn't need to see it.
He knew what the boy felt.
Knew the thoughts running through his young, fragile mind.
They had said they'd come back.
They had to come back.
Because the alternative was unthinkable.
And now, Ryle understood—this boy had truly believed it. He had waited, convinced that if he just stayed put, they would return.
He had never doubted.
Never even considered another possibility.
Ryle had lost his parents too. They had gone out and never returned. But he had never believed they would come back. Not after the crash. Not after everything.
He had his grandfather. A home. A normal world.
This boy had nothing.
No family. No safety. No world that would shelter him.
He had lived on hope alone.
And in the end, that hope had starved him just as surely as the hunger.
A sudden noise cracked through the silence.
The dream shattered.
Ryle's eyes snapped open.
His breath hitched as reality crashed over him like a cold wave.
The wooden ceiling of his hut came into focus, bathed in the dim glow of morning light.
For a moment, he simply lay there, staring at nothing, the weight of the dream pressing on his chest like a stone.
It wasn't his memory.
A voice broke through the quiet.
"You're awake."
He blinked, turning his head.
Seren sat across the room, her sharp blue eyes watching him.
She didn't say anything else.
Just… stared.
He exhaled. "Morning." His voice came out rough.
She hesitated. Then, after a moment—"You were crying in your sleep."
He tensed.
Only for a second.
Then, he forced a chuckle. "Huh. Guess I was having a nightmare."
No one laughed.
Lira and Elara exchanged glances.
Pity.
He hated that.
So, he stretched, shaking off the last remnants of the dream. "Well, I'm alive, so I guess it wasn't that bad."
Still, no one laughed.
Not surprising.
No one ever did.
With a sigh, he sat up, rubbing his face. Doesn't matter, he told himself.
Dreams were just dreams.
And he had more important things to worry about.
Like figuring out what to do with these women in his hut.
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The Women in the Hut
Morning light filtered through the cracks in the hut's walls, painting the worn wooden floor with streaks of pale gold. The air smelled of damp earth and faint traces of herbs.
Ryle sat cross-legged near the firepit, chewing absentmindedly on a handful of dried berries while watching the women move around.
Their group looked a little better after a night's rest. The injured one—who had been barely conscious yesterday—was now sitting up, her back propped against the wall. The others hovered near her, quietly discussing something among themselves.
Eventually, the blonde woman—the one who had been watching him when he woke up—turned her gaze back to him.
"You never told us your name," she said.
Ryle shrugged, tossing a berry into his mouth. "You never told me yours either."
The blonde woman hesitated for just a moment before saying, "I am Seren. And these are my f—fellow kni—friends."
Ryle caught the slight stutter.
'Fellow kni-friends?' That was an odd way to put it. The way she had almost said something else first…
His eyes flicked toward the others, then back to Seren. They weren't just some random adventurers, were they?
No, they were something more.
Maybe knights, perhaps.
He had seen that kind of discipline before. Not often, but in a few of his grandfather's friends—men who had spent their entire lives in the military. The way these women instinctively positioned themselves, the way they moved with quiet efficiency, the way the injured one—Elara, he would bet—had shielded Seren from some kind of explosion without hesitation.
And Seren… she was someone important.
If they were knights, then that made her their leader.
Interesting.
Seren gestured toward the injured woman. "This is Sir Elara," she said, her tone carrying a hint of respect.
Elara, despite her injuries, straightened slightly. Her voice was rough but steady. "I can introduce myself, you know."
Up close, she looked even more battle-worn, her muscular frame making it clear she was used to protecting others.
Ryle smirked slightly. Sir Elara? That confirmed it.
"Elara took the brunt of some kind of explosion during our mission," Seren added, her expression darkening slightly.
"Yeah, I noticed," Ryle said dryly. "She looked like she got into a fight with a fireball and lost."
A short laugh escaped the woman standing near the door. Dark-skinned, crossbow slung over her back, sharp-eyed. "That's an interesting way to put it," she mused. "I'm Riven, by the way."
"Noted," Ryle said. "So, Riven, Elara, Seren… what about the rest of you?"
The auburn-haired one—who had been the most concerned about Elara's condition—offered a small smile. "I'm Lira. I'm the healer."
That made him pause.
Healer?
Ryle raised an eyebrow. "You didn't try to heal her yesterday."
Lira sighed. "That's because I was exhausted from healing everyone else first."
She said it so casually. As if it wasn't just bandages and medicine, but something more.
And yesterday, when he had checked on Elara, her burns were far better than they should have been. A wound like that should have taken weeks to recover, yet she was already sitting up and talking.
He had his answer. Magic existed in this world. And it seemed as common to them as breathing.
Interesting.
Ryle didn't react outwardly. He simply nodded. "Fair."
The last one, shorter than the rest, wiry and quick-looking, crossed her arms. "Nia."
"And what do you do?" Ryle asked.
"Tracking. Scouting."
"Ah. So you're the one who saw me first."
Nia nodded.
Ryle leaned back, letting the names settle in his mind. Seren, Elara, Riven, Lira, Nia.
An entire squad of knights—disguised as adventurers.
That was interesting.
He still didn't know what they were doing out here, but one thing was clear: they weren't just some random group that got lost in the forest.
And he wasn't the only one who had noticed something strange.
Riven studied him, arms crossed. "You still haven't told us your name, kid."
"Ryle," he said easily. "Just Ryle."
Seren nodded. "Well then, Ryle… I suppose we owe you our thanks for offering shelter."
He tilted his head. "Is that what I did? Offer?". His voice carried a mix of sarcasm and deflection. He hadn't explicitly invited them in—he had just chosen not to turn them away.
Lira frowned, picking up on his tone, but Seren let it slide. "Either way, we're grateful," she said, deciding not to press the point.
Seren exhaled through her nose again, but this time, there was a ghost of amusement in her eyes.
"Smart-mouthed brat," Riven muttered.
Ryle just grinned.