One week had passed since the night of the attack.
Seven days since the Abyssals broke through the barriers. Seven days since the children got lost in the forest. Seven days since Konstant was enveloped in a black and mysterious cocoon.
For the village of Thornhaven, it had been the longest week many could remember.
Aldric walked through the village's narrow streets, his staff tapping rhythmically against the packed earth ground. Each step still cost an effort, his muscles protested, especially in the morning, and his hands still had pinkish spots where the worst burns had been, but it was infinitely better than a week ago.
Back then, he could barely get out of bed. His body had been a mass of constant pain, each breath an agony, each movement a test of will. Gareth needed to help him even to go to the bathroom, a humiliation the elder bore with forced dignity.
But after seven days of forced rest, remedies, and constant care, he was finally better. He was not fully recovered, which would take weeks or even months, but he was functional.
And, more importantly, his magic was returning.
Aldric stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and extending his internal senses. He could feel it now: the slow but steady flow of mana filling his veins. Like water returning to a riverbed after a severe drought. Still weak, still incomplete, but definitely there.
During the battle with the Borak, he had drained his reserves to the last drop. He had forced his body beyond all safe limits, channeling power that a man his age should no longer be able to handle. The price had been high.
But it was worth it, he thought, looking around the village. Houses intact. People alive. Children played in the streets, still quieter than normal, but alive, with a touch of nervousness in their movements.
He continued his walk, greeting the people who passed. Some just waved, others stopped to thank him, voices laden with genuine emotion. Aldric accepted the thanks with humility, deflecting praise when he could.
It was not false modesty. He genuinely did not see himself as a hero. He had simply done what needed to be done. What any leader would do for his community.
His first official stop was the Thorne house, a family of four living near the northern edge of the village. The father, Marcus, had been one of the watchers that night. Aldric wanted to check how they were recovering.
"Elder!" The wife, Hilda, greeted him at the door with a genuine smile. "Please, come in! I was just making tea."
"I don't want to intrude"
"Intrude nothing!" She practically pulled him inside. "Marcus! The elder is here!"
The house was modest but welcoming, with the smell of fresh bread still lingering in the air. Marcus appeared from the back room, limping slightly he had sprained his ankle during the night of the attack, but nothing serious.
"Aldric," the man greeted, shaking his hand firmly. "How are you feeling?"
"Better every day. And you? The ankle?"
"Ah, that." Marcus shrugged. "Mira said to rest a few more days, but it's almost fine. Nothing a little time won't cure."
They talked for a few minutes about the night of the attack, about how the children were coping, the Thorne's two children had nightmares, but were improving, and about the repairs needed in the village.
"We need to reinforce the north fence," Marcus said seriously. "Some sections are weak. If there's another attack..."
"There will be," Aldric said simply. "I don't know when, but there will be. The Borak did not die. It only fled wounded. Creatures like that always come back."
The silence that fell was heavy.
"Then what do we do?" Hilda asked, clear worry in her voice.
"We prepare. We reinforce the defenses. We train. And we hope that when he returns, we are ready." Aldric took a sip of the tea she had served. "But don't worry excessively. We have time. Months, probably. Perhaps more."
It wasn't much comfort, but it was honesty. And Aldric had always believed that people deserved the truth.
He visited three more houses after that, the Greenwoods, the Ashfords, the Chens. All families that had been affected by the night of the attack in one way or another. In each, he asked about needs, listened to concerns, offered what comfort and advice he could.
It was exhausting. More exhausting than it should be. But it was necessary. A leader couldn't simply hide when his people needed reassurance.
Finally, around noon, Aldric arrived at Joren and Maren's house.
It was a humble but well kept building, with pale wood walls and a small garden in front where Maren grew herbs and vegetables. Attached to the side of the house was Joren's workshop, an open structure with workbenches, tools hung neatly on the walls, and the familiar smell of fresh wood and sawdust.
Aldric heard the sound of a hammer hitting wood coming from the workshop. His heart tightened slightly. Joren was working. So soon after losing his leg, he was already back to work.
He walked toward the sound, passing through the open entrance to the workshop.
And there was Joren.
The carpenter was sitting on a high stool, specially made. Aldric recognized the design, which would allow him to work without needing to stand. Joren was hunched over the workbench, carefully carving a piece of wood with a sharp chisel. His right arm, the same one that had been seriously injured, moved with surprising precision, although Aldric noticed the scars still visible where the Grusk's claws had torn the skin.
But what caught Aldric's attention most was the leg.
Or rather, the lack of it.
Joren's right leg ended just below the knee, the stump wrapped in clean bandages. Leaning against the workbench, within easy reach, was a cane not a common one, but one clearly made to measure, with elaborate carvings running its entire length and a padded rest at the top.
Joren noticed Aldric's presence and stopped working. He turned on the stool, and a genuine smile lit up his face a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but was real nonetheless.
"Elder!" he said warmly. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
Aldric approached, leaning on his staff. "Came to see if you need anything. And to see how you are."
"Ah." Joren set the chisel aside, wiping his hands on a cloth. "That's... kind of you."
There was a brief silence, not exactly uncomfortable, but laden. Both knew what they were really talking about about the lost leg, about the battle, about how Joren's life had irrevocably changed in a single moment.
"I'm okay," Joren said finally, breaking the silence. He gestured to his body. "Better than I expected, honestly. I'm still... getting used to it." He looked at the stump of his leg, and something painful passed over his face. "It's strange. Sometimes I forget. I wake up in the morning and try to put on both boots, and then..." he gave a dry, humorless laugh. "Then I remember."
"I'm sorry," Aldric said sincerely. "If there had been something I could have done"
"No." Joren cut him off, but gently. "Don't blame yourself. You saved my life. And the boys' lives. And the entire village." He looked directly at Aldric. "I lost a leg. I could have lost everything. My wife. My son yet to be born. My son who is already here. My own life."
He picked up the cane, examining the carvings with obvious pride. "And look. I can still work. It took a few days to figure out the best position, but I managed. I can do almost everything I did before. Just... differently now."
"You made this?" Aldric asked, pointing to the cane. "You carved it yourself?"
"Yes." A touch of real pride colored Joren's voice. "Took three days. Maren was angry with me for working so soon, but I needed... I needed to do something. To feel that I was still useful, you know?"
He extended the cane to Aldric, who examined it with interest. The work was exceptional the carvings formed a pattern of intertwined leaves and vines, flowing organically along the entire wood. The rest at the top was perfectly molded for the hand, padded with soft leather.
"It's masterful work," Aldric said honestly, returning it. "You have a rare gift."
"Thank you." Joren held it with familiarity, his fingers automatically finding the grooves in the carvings. "It's funny. I spent years making furniture, doors, beams. Practical things. But this cane..." he looked at it with a complex expression, "this is the most important piece I've ever made. Because it's mine. Part of me now."
Aldric nodded, understanding. Sometimes, the things we made for ourselves carried more weight than any commission.
"And your arm?" he asked, noticing the scars.
Joren flexed his fingers, rotating his wrist in slow circles. "Mira took good care of me. She said I was lucky, the claws didn't cut any important tendons. Hurts sometimes, especially when the weather is about to change, but it works." I can hold tools, do fine work." He smiled weakly. "It could have been much worse."
"It could have," Aldric agreed.
"And Konstant?" Joren asked suddenly, his expression turning serious. "I heard he still hasn't woken up. That he's in some kind of... cocoon?"
"Yes." Aldric sighed. "We still don't know when he'll awaken. But there are signs of progress. The cocoon is changing, turning green. Growing plants."
"Plants?" Joren blinked, confused. "On the cocoon?"
"It's... complicated. And honestly, I don't fully understand it." Aldric rubbed his tired face. "But he's alive. That's what's important."
"I heard he saved someone in the forest too," Joren said quietly. "They said that when the Grusk attacked, Konstant put himself in front to protect the others. Bought time for them to escape." His eyes grew moist. "That boy... he's not even from here. He could have run, left the children behind. But he didn't."
"No," Aldric agreed. "He has a good heart. All three of them do."
"When he wakes up," Joren said with determination, "I want to make something for him. A table, maybe. Or a chair. Something special. As a thank you."
"I'm sure he'd appreciate that," Aldric said with a small smile.
There was a comfortable pause. Then Aldric asked: "And Maren? How is she?"
Joren's face immediately brightened, the smile becoming genuine and complete. "She's great. Really great. After the scare last week, I was worried the stress might... I don't know, cause problems with the baby. But Mira examined her and said everything is perfect."
He gestured vaguely toward the house. "She's inside now, resting. Mira was very clear rest, no heavy work, no excessive worries. And Davos..." he laughed softly, "Davos has become a little guardian. Won't let his mother do anything. Brings water, fetches blankets, stays by her side all the time."
"He's been through a lot," Aldric observed. "It's natural that he'd want to protect what he still has."
"Yes." Joren's expression grew more serious. "He has nightmares. Wakes up screaming some nights. Dreams of that creature, of being trapped, of..." he swallowed dryly, "of losing me. Of losing Maren. Of the baby never being born."
"Has he talked to you about it?"
"A little. As much as he can." Joren ran a hand through his hair. "But I also see good changes. He's more responsible. More mature. Helps around the house without being asked. Takes care of his mother like a little man." Pride colored his voice. "I was afraid that night would break him. But I think... I think it made him stronger in a way."
"Trauma can do both," Aldric said somberly. "Break or strengthen. It depends on the person and the support they receive. Davos has you two. That makes all the difference."
Joren nodded, then looked at Aldric with curiosity. "And you? How are you, really? I know you say you're fine, but..."
"I'm recovering," Aldric admitted. "Slower than I'd like, faster than I feared. My magic is returning. In a few weeks, I'll be close to normal."
"Close?"
"Never fully normal," Aldric said with a sad smile. "When you force your body beyond its limits, there's always a price. Scars we don't see. But I've lived a long and generally good life. I can't complain."
They talked a few more minutes about minor matters, about the repairs the village needed, about the approaching harvest, about the spring festival they had postponed because of the attack.
Finally, Aldric said goodbye. "If you need anything anything at all come find me. Or send Davos to get me."
"Thank you, Elder," Joren said sincerely. "For everything."
Aldric waved dismissively and turned to leave. However, he stopped at the entrance to the workshop and looked back one last time.
"Joren," he said. "You're stronger than you think. You'll find your way in this new life. I'm sure."
Joren didn't respond with words. He just nodded, his eyes shining slightly.
Aldric continued his walk through the village, but his next stop would be different. There were two more children he needed to check on.