I woke to the sound of shifting furniture and low voices. Candlelight flickered across the walls in uncertain ripples, casting long shadows that moved like silent watchers. I rolled over, squinting toward the windows, seeing nothing but darkness outside. Who gets up when it’s still dark?

  “Oh, he’s up,” Elias said, obviously amused.

  “David, time to eat. We’ve got work to do,” Edmund called from across the room.

  “Who in their right mind wakes up this early?” I muttered, pulling myself out of the cocoon of blankets.

  “You got some mighty white legs there, David,” Seraphina said with a grin as she stepped out of her room.

  I looked down at my pale legs, bare, pasty, and partly tangled in a cocoon of linen, and I realized I was still in my underwear. Of course. I reached over to the chair where I had laid out my clothes and stumbled. Seraphina shook her head and turned back to the table, unfazed, setting out dishes for breakfast.

  “Are we sure he didn’t just trip and accidentally kill the goblin, Seraphina?” Elias laughed.

  She chuckled and finished setting out the plates.

  Breakfast was simple but satisfying, with crispy bacon still sizzling at the edges, eggs steamed just right, and thick slices of bread with last night’s wood smoke faintly clinging to the crust. It was a welcome change from the past few years of bland oatmeal and decaf that tasted like disappointment. I missed real coffee, the sharp, bitter kind that slaps you awake and reminds you that life still has some kick left. I would’ve traded half my breakfast for a cup.

  Edmund stood, brushing crumbs off his hands. “Time to get moving. The store doesn’t open itself.”

  “Store?” I repeated.

  “The village’s general store,” Seraphina said. “My father and brother run it. I help out when I can.”

  Elias was already halfway to the back door when Edmund finished speaking. He pushed it open, vanishing into a room filled with shelves and piled goods.

  Seraphina began clearing the plates with practiced ease, stacking them neatly. I stood up to help, gathering utensils and scraping the leftovers into a pail by the washbasin.

  “You get points for effort,” she said, raising an eyebrow as I fumbled with the greasy plates.

  “Just trying to earn my keep,” I muttered, wiping my hands on a towel that didn’t do much good.

  She rinsed the last dish and dried her hands. “Come on. Let’s not keep my father waiting.”

  We followed her through the door that Elias had disappeared into, stepping into the store just as the morning routine was beginning. The store was surprisingly spacious, with deep shelves sagging under the weight of bundled herbs, coiled thread, and sealed jars that shimmered in the lamplight like relics. Shelves lined the walls, filled with bundles of dried herbs, spools of coarse thread, and jars of pickled vegetables sealed with wax. Wooden bins held potatoes, onions, and turnips. On the back wall, iron hooks supported the weight of hatchets, worn hammers, and hand-forged nails with the kind of balance only a blacksmith could appreciate. A faint mix of smoke, leather, and aged wood lingered in the air.

  Edmund stayed silent and just handed me a broom.

  I stared at it, then at him. “You want me to fight dust now?”

  He didn’t smile. “The floor always gets swept before we open. Start near the door.”

  I took the broom with the noble resignation of a man destined for greater things. Elias was already checking inventory behind the counter, flipping through a small ledger. Seraphina disappeared into the storeroom with a sack slung over her shoulder as if it were weightless.

  By the time I finished sweeping, the floor looked a little better, less like a battlefield, more like a messy, lived-in space. I leaned on the broom, catching my breath, when the door to the storeroom creaked open.

  Seraphina stepped inside, brushing flour from her hands and her fingers brushing over her apron as the dust caught the light. Her hair had come loose from its tie, a wild strand curling over one cheek. She moved with effortless grace, as if she belonged to the quiet rhythm of this place. And for a moment, I forgot I was standing there covered in dust and sweat.

  She glanced down at the floor. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she nodded in quiet approval.

  “Not bad,” she said. “You might survive the day after all. Anyway, it’s time to go.” We walked out of the market and headed toward the church.

  We walked through the arched gates of the church grounds, the gravel path beneath us worn smooth by countless footsteps, winding up toward the tall stone building ahead. The structure was older than the rest of the village, with thick walls and ivy climbing its sides, a place built to last. Large buttresses stretched along the sides like fingers reaching from the ground to support the building upright.

  The heavy wooden doors were slightly open. Inside, it was cooler and quieter, the kind of silence that made your thoughts seem louder. I ran my fingers along one of the doors, appreciating the fine grain of the wood.

  Wooden pews lined the nave in uneven rows. Dust floated in beams of light streaming through the tall windows. A man in a dark robe moved toward the front, carefully adjusting the candles. Seraphina lowered her head as we entered. I did the same, unsure of the reason.

  “Brother Alric,” she called softly.

  The man turned. He was older but not fragile, more stone than flesh. His skin was weathered, creased by years of wind and candlelight. A fringe of white hair clung tightly to his scalp, and a long, narrow nose gave his face the look of a carved figurehead. His robes hung loosely on his tall frame, the cuffs worn thin at the edges, stained with wax and ash. Yet, his posture remained straight, and his eyes, pale gray and clear, brightened when they found her.

  “Seraphina,” he said, setting the candleholder down. His gaze then shifted to me, polite and appraising. He said nothing and turned back to her. “What brings you here today?”

  “We’re here to see the priestess, if that is possible,” she said.

  “Please wait here. I’ll see if she’s available,” Brother Alric said. He glided down the aisle like a shadow, purposeful and silent, disappearing into the dim light beyond the altar.

  I examined the interior of the church. Stone arches rose above, their weight supported by craftsmanship I could only imagine. Every surface showed signs of age, not decay, but endurance. Time had worn the edges smooth, dulled the colors of ancient tapestries, and softened the carvings on the columns; yet nothing seemed broken. It was a space built not for comfort but for endurance.

  I moved toward one of the side walls where a faded mural stretched from floor to ceiling, depicting a woman dressed in silver and gold, arms outstretched, eyes closed. Time had dulled some of the shine, but her outline still lingered underneath. I wasn’t sure what she was meant to symbolize, but something about her expression, or what remained of it, made me stop and think.

  Behind me, Seraphina sat in a pew, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes half-closed. She looked like she belonged there, not devout exactly, just still in a way I wasn’t. I turned back to the mural and traced a line in the air along the edge of the figure’s robe, wondering who painted it, how long it took, and why I felt as if she were watching me.

  Footsteps softly echoed from the far hall. I turned as Brother Alric reappeared, his expression unreadable. Behind him, a woman dressed in deep gray robes that shimmered subtly with her movements followed. Her dark hair was pulled back into tight braids streaked with silver. She carried herself with a calm demeanor that implied she never needed to hurry.

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  The priestess. She examined the room like a builder inspects a structure, not coldly but with purpose. Her gaze first locked on Seraphina, then on me.

  “You’re the one not from here,” she said. Not a question.

  I nodded.

  She offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Come. We have a lot to talk about.”

  She turned and led us through a side door into a short stone corridor lit by narrow windows. We entered a small room, sparse but tidy. A single table sat in the center, surrounded by a few chairs. The air carried a faint scent of wax and old wood.

  Brother Alric appeared a moment later, carrying a tray with a ceramic teapot and three small cups. He set it down carefully, bowed slightly to the priestess, and then left, closing the door behind him.

  She reached up and unfastened the clasps of her outer robe, sliding it off her shoulders. Beneath, she wore a deep-cut dress made of dark, silky fabric that caught the light like water. Around her neck, she had a gold chain that draped down her chest, disappearing into the deep line of her cleavage. She moved easily, undisturbed by our presence, and sat herself at the head of the table.

  “I’m Anne,” she said. “But most people around here just call me the priestess.” Her tone was calm, almost amused.

  I found myself staring, not just at the plunge of her dress or the gold chain disappearing into it, but at the contradiction she carried like armor. Authority and allure stood side by side, neither diminishing the other. My thoughts stuttered, unsure whether to stand at attention or fall headfirst into distraction.

  Then Seraphina sharply cleared her throat.

  I blinked and looked away, heat creeping up my neck. I grabbed the teacup in front of me and busied myself adjusting it unnecessarily, turning it a few degrees one way, then back again. Anne smiled, just a little.

  Seraphina finally spoke. “It’s been almost a week since we spoke last time about this prophecy,” she said, her voice steady. “Every morning, I’ve walked to the glen. I stayed until the sun passed the treetops. Then I came back.”

  Anne remained quiet.

  Seraphina looked down at her hands before continuing. “Nothing happened. No lights. No signs. Nothing.” She paused. “Except yesterday.” She looked at David. “I was halfway back when something came out of the woods. Small, fast. Teeth like needles. A goblin, I think, though I’ve only read about them. It tried to pull me down. I didn’t scream. I don’t know why. Maybe I was too surprised.” She took a breath. “But David was there. He handled it.” Her eyes stayed on him, her expression unreadable. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be there. Let alone him.”

  Anne nodded once, as if she already knew most of it. “And yet here he is.” Anne turned her gaze to me.

  I set the teacup down and met her gaze, trying not to shift under its weight. A bead of sweat slowly trickled down my back, unwelcome. The room wasn’t hot, not really, but suddenly the chair felt too firm, and the air too still. “I got lost,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep, went walking, and ended up deep in the forest without realizing it. The noise woke me up. I saw someone being chased, and I jumped in.” I shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “Right place, wrong time. Or maybe the other way around.”

  Anne studied me silently for a long moment. She wasn’t skeptical or confrontational; she was simply observing. Then she nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “For stepping in.” But the look she gave me made it clear: she didn’t buy the whole story. Not because it was unbelievable, but because she could sense what I had left out.

  Anne set her cup down gently, the ceramic making the faintest sound against the table. “Seraphina,” she said. “Do you want to share the prophecy with him?”

  Seraphina looked at me with no hesitation, just a quiet, steady nod. “I trust him,” she said. “For now, yes.”

  I blinked. “Wait, is this that prophecy you mentioned?"

  She initially avoided making eye contact. Her eyes dropped to the table as her fingers softly curled around the rim of her cup. Then, she began to speak.

  On the day when the glen lies breathless beneath the sky’s unbroken blue, and the moon waits full behind the veil, a traveler shall step where no path exists, bearing no past, no name, with a forgotten class.

  She paused. The silence grew heavier. “That’s all I know,” she said softly. “Two lines. That’s it. And I waited. Every day. I followed every sign, listened for every whisper. Nothing. Not even a flicker.” She looked at Anne now, her voice tightening. “It’s hopeless. Why did I get this? What am I supposed to do with it?”

  I didn’t know what to say. My mouth opened and then closed again. I felt as if I had stumbled into someone else’s story halfway through. The silence stretched for a few long seconds after Seraphina spoke, as if even the air didn’t know how to move. Anne looked at me again, not coldly, but with clarity.

  “No one outside this room has heard those lines, not even my family,” Seraphina said. “The village knows there was a prophecy. They do not know what it says. That knowledge is kept hidden. For now.”

  I hesitated, then tried to keep my tone careful. “I’m no expert on prophecies, but… isn’t two lines unusual? It feels incomplete.”

  Both women gave me stern looks, and I raised my hand. “I mean, could there be more?”

  “That is all that I was given,” Seraphina admitted quietly.

  “So there could be more,” I said, watching her closely. She was staring down at her hands, fingers curled tightly in her lap. “And… you didn’t even tell your family about this prophecy?” Before she could reply, the priestess spoke. “I asked her not to,” she said softly. “It wasn’t time.”

  I leaned back slightly, feeling her words weigh more heavily than I expected. “So why tell me?” I asked, my voice softer now.

  “Because she chose to,” Anne said simply, nodding toward Seraphina. “And because you were there when something finally happened.”

  I glanced at Seraphina, who still had her head down, now staring again at her tea, her expression unreadable. The room felt smaller. Not darker, just sharper, as if everything mattered more than a few minutes ago. I looked between them, the words hanging heavy in the air.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, sharper than I meant to. "I was in the woods. I saw someone get attacked. I helped. That’s it.”

  Anne didn’t flinch. “Is it?”

  I sat up straighter; the chair felt uncomfortable again. “I don’t know anything about prophecies or flames or whatever that was. Prophecies are just words from mad men that everyone wants to make real. I was just in the right place at the right time.”

  “You said that already,” Anne responded calmly. “Twice.” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, which made it worse. I looked at Seraphina, hoping she’d say something, but she watched me quietly.

  “I didn’t come here to get pulled into some cryptic whatever this is,” I muttered while making circular motions with my hand. “I didn’t ask for any of it.”

  Anne placed her hands neatly in front of her. “Neither did she.” That hit harder than I expected. I looked back at Seraphina, and she didn’t look away.

  Anne let the silence linger before she spoke again, her voice calm and steady. “Three months ago,” she began, “a young woman stood at her awakening ceremony, the same as every other girl before her. But when the choosing came, she received a very unusual class, a class with no future: Villager.” Her eyes flicked to Seraphina and then back to me. “And a prophecy.”

  I blinked, but said nothing. I glanced at Seraphina, and tears were welling up in her eyes.

  “After the ceremony, I brought all the results to the church. They thanked me and told me not to worry, saying that prophecies come and go and that hers was probably symbolic. I asked her not to reveal her class, say you’re a merchant.” Anne’s gaze now rested on Seraphina, soft but firm. “But I saw her. And I knew this wasn’t something to ignore.” She looked back at me. “We worked through those two lines. Picked them apart. The best we could figure was that something was coming. To that glen. Soon. We didn’t know what, or who, or why. Only that when it arrived, it would matter.” Anne’s fingers traced the rim of her teacup. “She waited. Every day. No one came. Until yesterday.” Her eyes held mine. “When danger arrived, someone appeared. And saved her.” She leaned back slightly, hands resting on the table. “And that brings us to you.”

  My throat was dry. I swallowed, unsure whether to speak, explain, or deny. Before I could choose, Seraphina spoke.

  “He can’t be what the prophecy’s about,” Seraphina said, sharp and sure. “He’s broken.” The words hit harder than a shout.

  “Broken?” Anne asked, her tone calm yet sharper, like flint striking stone.

  I swallowed. “Yes. That’s what Seraphina called it. I have no status. No class. No nothing. I’m just a blacksmith.”

  The title seemed smaller the moment I said it. Anne didn’t look away. “And that makes you broken?” she asked. “Or just different?”

  I didn’t answer. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know which one was true.

  Anne’s gaze shifted to the window and then back to us. “If the prophecy speaks of more than what’s already happened,” she said slowly, “then the next turning point is probably the full moon twelve weeks from now. That’s when awakenings, transitions, and disruptions tend to surface.”

  She turned her eyes to me, clear and unblinking. “You’re not telling me everything. That’s fine for now. Most people don’t.”

  Then she turned to Seraphina, her voice softer. “And you’ve carried this alone for long enough. No one is asking you to have all the answers.” Neither of us responded. “I feel that the world is changing, and this prophecy is key. Now with David, he may be able to assist when the time comes.” Anne stood, donning her robe as she did. “We’ll meet again in a few days. When everyone’s thinking a little clearer.”

  On our way back to the family store, we walked in silence, as the late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the path.

  “Are all what you call ‘awakenings’ done by the church?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Seraphina said. “Brother Alric usually holds them once a month when someone’s time comes. But three months ago, the priestess performed mine for the first time.”

  She fell silent for a moment, then added, “I’m sorry for what I said. About you being broken.” Her eyes stayed fixed straight ahead. “Most people here don’t care much about status; it’s just part of life. But yours is different. I see that now.” She paused again. “It wasn’t fair. And not in front of her.”

  I didn’t respond right away. I wasn’t sure what disturbed me more, whether they thought I mattered or that part of me wanted them to be right. Either way, something had shifted. And I couldn’t tell if it was progress or a warning.