The return from the capital was quieter than expected.
There were no fireworks or cheers. No epic tales shouted from rooftops. Just warm food, warm smiles, and people who were glad their protectors were home. Ryuuji and his companions had expected rest. Peace. But as the days settled, so did a soft tension—like a bowstring not fully unstrung.
Life in the village blossomed with familiarity. Marla's belly had grown rounder, and her laughter was brighter. Jarred had begun carving furniture again, whistling as he worked on a rocking chair for the baby. Duncan lent a hand when he wasn't testing new sword forms with Raphtael. Sierra spent her mornings tending to the new herb gardens with Reina. Kiko played with the village children and practiced her "guard duty" with her Blessing Stick.
Everything felt right.
Which is why Ryuuji noticed it first—how off it actually was.
The Roots that Remember
It began with a tree.
Not just any tree, but the ancient cherry blossom near the well—the oldest tree in the village square, planted long before Ryuuji had arrived.
"Something's off," Sierra said one morning, fingers gently pressed against the bark.
Ryuuji approached, watching her trace the wood. "What do you mean?"
"It's pulsing," she murmured. "Like… breathing."
Elysia, summoned with a quiet word, placed her hand on the roots. Her golden eyes narrowed. "There's movement. Not from the wind. And not from the tree."
"That's dwarven stone beneath us," Duncan said, crossing his arms. "I recognize the feel. Something old. Something built."
Ryuuji's brow furrowed. "There was no mention of any ancient structure when we settled here."
"Maybe someone didn't want it mentioned," Sierra whispered.
Kiko's Dream
That same night, Kiko tossed in her sleep.
She dreamt of the well. The old, moss-covered stones. The quiet echo of wind. A voice that wasn't scary, but lonely.
"Kiko…" it whispered.
She sat up in bed, eyes wide, and tiptoed to Elysia and Ryuuji's room.
"Papa," she whispered, nudging him awake. "The well said my name."
Ryuuji blinked sleepily. "The what?"
"The well," she said again, holding her Blessing Stick tightly. "It wasn't mean. Just… talking."
Elysia stirred beside them. "We'll look at it tomorrow."
Kiko smiled sleepily. "Okay. I think it's sad."
The Whispering Stone
The next morning, the group gathered around the well.
Elysia, Duncan, Ryuuji, Sierra, and little Kiko stood in a quiet circle.
Ryuuji lowered a lantern into the shaft.
A faint breeze fluttered the flame. The well should've been sealed—but air was moving down there.
"There's a tunnel," Duncan said grimly. "Old one. I'd bet my sword it's dwarven masonry. That's not just a water well."
Sierra knelt, brushing moss from the stone lip. Ancient runes revealed themselves beneath her fingertips.
Elysia frowned. "Those are… sealing runes. Cracked."
"That explains the whispering," Ryuuji said. "Something's beneath us. Something no longer locked."
Kiko peeked in and held out her Blessing Stick. "Do I bonk it, Papa?"
Ryuuji smiled faintly. "Not yet, Kiko."
The Meeting Around the Hearth
That night, in the great hall that once served as the village's gathering place—now rebuilt and larger—the old team gathered: Ryuuji, Elysia, Duncan, Sierra, Reina, and Raphtael. Even Jarred and Marla joined, though the latter rested on cushions.
"The council's defeat may have shaken loose more than power," Ryuuji said quietly. "If what's beneath us was buried during the time of the council… we may have destroyed its only jailers."
"Or its protectors," Reina murmured. "Either way, something's waking."
"We prepare," Ryuuji declared. "We don't panic the villagers. But we dig. Quietly. Carefully."
"And together," Raphtael added, placing his hand over Reina's. "Like always."
The Blessing Tree
The next morning, Kiko brought Ryuuji a small wooden charm she had carved herself.
"It's for the well," she said. "So it doesn't feel lonely anymore."
He knelt beside her, took the charm gently, and kissed her forehead.
"Thank you," he said. "You're very brave."
"I learned from you," she said, hugging him.
He looked around the village square—at the new homes being built, the laughter of children, the warmth of fires and shared meals.
They had rebuilt their lives after the war. They had made a home.
And now, that home sat above a secret.
One they would face together.