The morning sun had barely cleared the eastern hills when Vael crested the last rise and saw the familiar slant of the farmhouse roof below him. His shoulders ached in a pleasant, honest way from the weight of the bulging sack slung across his back — fish, crabs, lobsters, prawns, all still twitching faintly against the coarse weave — and the freshly killed wild boar draped over his other shoulder like an oversized scarf. The boar had been an afterthought, really. Halfway home, it had blundered out of the underbrush, tusks gleaming, eyes wild with territorial fury. Vael hadn't even drawn his knife.
He'd simply reached out with the same quiet, curious pull he'd discovered at the riverbank.
Water again, he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in the smallest, most private smile he'd allowed himself since the funeral. Who knew the same trick that dries firewood could drag a full-grown boar straight out of the brush like it was on a leash?
He felt ridiculous. Like some half-mad alchemist who'd just discovered fire could also boil tea. But the ridiculousness felt… good. A tiny crack of light in the dark that had settled over him since the river. A reminder that power didn't always have to mean destruction. Sometimes it could mean breakfast.
He adjusted the boar's weight and started down the slope, boots crunching on the dry path.
"Mom! I'm home!"
The words came out louder than he intended, almost cheerful. He winced a little at the sound of his own voice — too bright for a house that had lost its heartbeat only two days ago.
The front door opened before he reached the porch.
His mother stepped out, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. For a heartbeat she just stared — at the boy who left with a bow and a small pack of bread and came back looking like a one-man fish market carrying half a forest on his shoulders.
Then her face broke into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, but was real all the same.
"Vael…" She hurried down the steps, hands already reaching for the boar's bristly ear as if to make sure it was actually dead and not some fever dream. "What in the world…?"
He set the sack down gently (the fish inside gave an indignant collective flop) and lowered the boar beside it with a soft thud.
"Successful hunt," he said simply. "More than I expected."
She circled the pile slowly, eyes wide, hands hovering like she wasn't sure where to begin.
"Crabs… lobsters… those silver-scaled ones I've only seen in stories… and prawns the size of my fist…" She crouched, lifted a massive lobster by the tail, watched it wave a claw at her in slow indignation. "Vael, this is impossible."
He shrugged, fighting the urge to grin. "The river was generous today."
She looked up at him, half-laughing, half-bewildered. "Generous? This isn't generous, this is… this is a blessing."Your father would have laughed until he cried seeing this… he always said the river owed us one good day". She set the lobster down carefully and reached out to touch his cheek — quick, soft, the way she used to when he came home scraped from climbing trees. "You're soaked. And you smell like fish and wet earth and… something burnt?"
"I'll wash up after I get this to market." He straightened. "I'm off to the countryside market. Should be back before dark."
Her smile faltered for just a second.
"You sure? The pass—"
"I'll manage."
She nodded, trusting him the way she always had. "Be safe. And… thank you, Vael. For this." She gestured at the haul. "It's… it's more than we need. More than we've had in years."
He swallowed. "We'll make it work."
She pulled him into a quick, fierce hug — flour on his shirt, the faint smell of yeast and home — then stepped back, brushing at his sleeve like she could brush away the grief along with the dust.
"Go," she said softly. "Before the fish start complaining."
The countryside market sprawled under the old stone walls of the nearest town, banners flapping lazily in the breeze. Vael approached the gate with the sack over one shoulder and the boar over the other, drawing stares before he even reached the checkpoint.
The castle guard — a grizzled man named Torren who'd known his father for twenty years — raised an eyebrow as Vael handed over the ID pass.
Torren glanced at the date, then at Vael's face.
"Expired two days ago, lad."
Vael's stomach tightened. "I… didn't realize. With everything—"
Torren's gaze softened. He'd heard about the river. Everyone had.
"Anyway," the guard said gruffly, "I'm letting it slide. Your father was a good man. Never shorted a debt, never raised his voice to anyone who didn't deserve it." He tapped the pass against his palm. "But renew it today. No excuses next time."
Vael exhaled. "Thank you, Torren."
Torren waved him through.
Inside the market, the crowd noticed him almost immediately.
Fishmongers paused mid-shout. Housewives whispered behind baskets. Children pointed openly.
"Look at that — lobsters! Real ones!"
"Crabs that size? He must've raided the deep pools."
"How'd a farm boy get a haul like that? Weights a ton!"
Vael kept his head down, but he could feel the eyes. He found an empty spot near the butcher's row, set the sack and boar down, and waited.
It took less than five minutes for the crowd to form.
Then a familiar voice cut through the murmur.
"Vael?"
A broad-shouldered man in a merchant's fine coat pushed through the onlookers. Master Eldric — owner of the Wandering Ox Inn three streets over, one of his father's oldest regular customers.
Eldric stopped short when he saw the pile.
"By the gods…" He crouched, lifted a massive lobster by the tail, watched it wave a claw at him in slow indignation. "This… this is impossible."
He looked up at Vael — really looked — and something softened in his expression.
"Time flies," he said quietly. "Last time I saw you, you were knee-high. Now look at you. Carrying half the river on your back like it's nothing."
Vael ducked his head. "I… got lucky."
Eldric snorted. "Lucky doesn't fill a sack like this."
He gestured at the crowd. "You'll spend all day haggling with every housewife who wants three prawns. Let me take the lot — fish, crabs, lobster, the boar. Name your price. I run the inn; I can move this in a night and still have people begging for seconds."
Vael blinked. "All of it?"
"All of it," Eldric said firmly.
Vael looked at the sack, then at the man who'd bought his father's vegetables for years without ever shorting him a copper.
He felt the small, tired smile return.
"Deal," he said. "Thank you."
Eldric clapped him on the shoulder — firm, warm, fatherly.
As Eldric called over his porters and started counting coin, Vael slipped away toward the guard post to renew the pass.
Behind him, the crowd was already gossiping louder.
"Did you see that haul?"
"That boy's got the river's blessing, mark my words."
Vael didn't look back.
He just kept walking — sack lighter, purse heavier, and for the first time since the riverbank, something small and warm flickering in his chest.
Not this time, he thought again.
Not this life.
He glanced at the sky — still early. Plenty of time to get home before dark.
And maybe — just maybe — time to figure out what else he could do with the quiet, ridiculous power humming under his skin.
The guard post was a squat stone building just inside the market gate, its wooden counter scarred from years of stamped passes and impatient travelers. Torren was still there, leaning on his spear and chatting with another guard.
Vael stepped up and slid the expired pass across the counter.
Torren glanced at it, then at Vael.
"Renewal, right?" Torren said, already reaching for the ledger. "Just need the magistrate's seal today. New rule since last month — every renewal after expiry has to go through the officer in charge."
Vael's stomach gave a small, cold twist.
"The magistrate's office… that's—"
"Across the square," Torren finished for him, nodding toward the far end of the market. "Right next to the Heroes Guild hall. You can't miss it — big stone building with the golden crest over the door."
Vael felt the warmth in his chest flicker, then dim.
The Heroes Guild.
Where Raymond and his party would be right now — laughing, drinking, planning their next quest. Where Elara — the echo of the woman he had once loved and lost to time — would be healing someone else's wounds with that same gentle light she had once used on him.
He could picture it clearly: the wide stone steps, the banners of the kingdom fluttering above the entrance, the faint scent of healing herbs drifting out the open windows.
And somewhere inside, perhaps, the very people who had — without meaning to — taken his father from him.
Torren noticed the sudden stillness in Vael's face.
"Problem, lad?"
Vael shook his head quickly. Too quickly.
"No. None at all."
Torren studied him for a moment longer, then sighed and slid the pass back across the counter.
"Listen," he said quietly. "You don't have to go right now. The pass will still be valid for another day or two. Go home to your mother. Come back tomorrow when you're ready."
Vael looked down at the worn piece of parchment in his hand — his father's careful signature still visible in faded ink on the bottom corner.
He folded it slowly and tucked it into his pocket.
"Thank you, Torren," he said. "I'll… handle it."
Torren gave him a long look, then nodded once.
"Take care of yourself, boy. And tell your mother the guard post sends its regards."
Vael turned away.
He could go home now. He could walk the long path back to the farm, tell his mother he'd return tomorrow, let the day end quietly.
But the pass was in his pocket. The coin from the sale was in his purse. And he needed to get this done — today.
He took a slow breath.
I'll try my best to avoid them, he told himself. I'm nobody. Just another farm boy with a pass to renew. In and out. No trouble. No eyes.
He squared his shoulders and started across the square.
The market thinned as he approached the far end. The noise of stalls and haggling faded behind him. Ahead stood the magistrate's office — tall, gray stone, the golden kingdom crest gleaming above the double doors. And directly beside it, connected by a wide stone archway, rose the Heroes Guild hall: white marble steps, banners of gold and blue snapping in the breeze, the faint sound of laughter and clinking armor drifting out from the open courtyard.
Vael kept his head down, hood up, steps measured. He stayed close to the edge of the square, where shadows from the buildings stretched long in the morning light.
He almost made it.
Then a soft voice — gentle, familiar, achingly familiar — drifted across the open space.
"Excuse me… do you need help?"
Vael froze.
He didn't turn. Didn't breathe.
Elara stood at the bottom of the Guild steps, white healer's robes catching the sunlight, a small basket of herbs in her arms. She had been speaking to a limping adventurer, but her gaze had drifted — just for a second — across the square.
And landed on him.
For one heartbeat their eyes met.
Vael felt it like a physical blow — the same quiet compassion that had once stitched his wounds under starlight, the same gentle light that had once been home. Now it was directed at a stranger in a worn cloak.
He dropped his gaze instantly.
Turned.
Walked faster — not running, never running, just purposeful strides that carried him around the corner of a nearby stall and out of sight.
Elara blinked.
She stared at the empty space where the hooded figure had been.
Something tugged at the back of her mind — faint, like the echo of a song she used to know by heart. A presence that felt… familiar. Safe. Lost.
But when she looked again, there was no one.
Just the usual bustle of the market square.
She pressed a hand to her chest, frowning.
Was I imagining it?
The adventurer beside her coughed politely.
"Miss Elara…?"
She shook her head, forcing a small smile.
"Sorry. It's nothing. Let's get that ankle looked at."
She turned back toward the Guild steps.
But she glanced over her shoulder one more time — just once.
The hooded figure was gone.
Vael didn't stop until he reached the edge of the market.
He leaned against a wall, breathing hard, fingers clenched around the folded pass in his pocket.
Close, he thought. Too close.
He closed his eyes for a second, steadying himself.
Then he opened them again.
The magistrate's office was still there. The seal was still needed.
He pulled his hood lower.
And walked back toward the stone building.
To be continued.