They finished repairing the granary, and now the sun stood directly overhead. The fluttering dark leaves still painted the village in an obsidian hue, yet the warmth and welcoming nature of Rolbart’s villagers made it feel inviting nonetheless. Of course, not everyone was friendly toward Vierna—some of the youths cast her odd glances. But that was to be expected, when a stranger suddenly became a new resident after being punished by the very man they both hated and feared.

  By sheer luck, she had been paired with Fenric, who clearly knew something about the revolutionaries. If things went smoothly, she could gather the information she needed and complete her mission before being forced into choices that might burden Rolbart.

  She looked around. The faces in Rolbart, when Korrn wasn’t looming over them, were utterly different. Friendly greetings passed easily between neighbors, laughter echoed from children darting between houses, their games unbothered by the lines of race or kin. Beastkin ears twitched in rhythm with human chuckles, and an elf crouched easily to let toddlers braid wildflowers into her pale hair. The smell of stewing roots drifted from the communal hearth, carried with the sharp crack of bread pulled fresh from the stone oven.

  The granary was dwindling, and most of the villagers’ clothes were little more than patched rags, yet none of them seemed troubled by it. They moved with an ease that unsettled her, as though hunger and want were only passing clouds, not storms to fear. Vierna found strength in that. She remembered her mother’s furrowed brow, the way she had worried endlessly over money after her father’s death. Looking at Rolbart, though, she wondered if such fears mattered less when you lived in the right place—among people who carried the weight together.

  She smiled. Maybe one day she and Lina could live here, among these people. She could almost imagine Lina laughing freely with the children, her worries fading into the rhythm of this place. Yet the thought was shadowed by her old insecurity—would Rolbart still accept them if the villagers knew about their Faintborn condition? Still, for now, she allowed herself the small comfort of imagining a life of peace here, side by side with Lina.

  Vierna felt that the stakes of her mission were now higher. With the revolutionaries recruiting dissatisfied villagers, Rolbart would eventually be abandoned, and this fragile peace would vanish.

  And then there was the threat of the Imperium across the border. What if, someday, they found a way to bypass the dangers of the forest—just as the revolutionaries had somehow managed to survive there now?

  The thought pulled her deeper. The Imperium were fanatics; a suicide mission would mean nothing to them. If they threw men into Schattwald and, by chance, discovered how the revolutionaries group endured the forest’s horrors, what then?

  Wouldn’t that mean the Schattwald Forest, long a natural barrier, would cease to be one?

  Never thought this mission was going to be that important. Guess I really am trusted.

  Moony, are you there?

  ‘Uhhh… yes, but I’m still sleepy, Vierna… let me rest a while.’

  Okay, but we’re going on a hunt, so I’ll need some mana later. Are you fine with that?

  ‘I’ll manage, Vierna—if it’s only for runes and little spells.’

  Got it. Thanks, Moony.

  “So… ready for hunting?” Fenric asked. After finishing with the roof, he’d helped the granary staff repack a few things.

  “Sure. By the way, Fenric, what animals do you want to hunt?”

  “Well, deer, boar, and such.”

  “Fenric… what did your mother actually teach you about hunting?”

  “Ah, uhmm… that you should stay silent during the hunt?”

  “Haha…” Vierna laughed. “Fenric, with the sun already above us, we can’t hunt big game… You should know this, especially when I told you about it before.”

  “Ah, yeah, right… Guess I’m not really cut out to be a hunter, huh?”

  Something in the way he said it caught her ear. His grin was lopsided, the tone not quite matching the words.

  Was it really carelessness that made him forget what every hunter knew? Or was he dragging his feet on purpose—deliberately filling the morning with menial tasks to avoid the hunt? The thought made her curious.

  “Well, we could still do it after the sun sets. Right now we could prepare some snares and traps along with hunting small game instead. I also need to look at your gear first, if that’s okay, Fenric.”

  He shifted his weight slightly, fingers brushing the edge of his satchel as if stalling for a moment. “Of course. Let’s go.”

  The two of them went back. And just like when they went to the granary, the villager was warm towards the two of them. Waving, greeting, some kids even went to Fenric asking him to play which he decline since he now have a job to do.

  When Vierna finally stepped into Fenric’s house, she was struck by how neat it was. Everything had its place, the floor swept clean, the table clear of clutter. It was the kind of order she didn’t expect from a young man living alone.

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  But what drew her attention most were the hunting tools. Bows, spears, and knives lined neatly along the wall, each one oiled and free of rust. The traps were stacked with care, their cords tight, the wood polished smooth from use. It was strange. Fenric had claimed he was an incompetent hunter, yet the condition of his gear told another story—maintained, even cherished, as if he tended to them regularly.

  She glanced at him as he worked with the snares, setting the triggers for small game. His hands moved with precision, quick and steady, nothing like the fumbling image he put on for others.

  Vierna narrowed her eyes. Either Fenric was lying about his incompetence—or there was something he wasn’t saying.

  “Hey Vierna, bow or musket?”

  The question surprise her. “Musket. You have one?”

  “Ah like my mother. Wait a minute, I will take it from the storage.”

  When Fenric brought out the musket, it was in perfect condition. The barrel gleamed, the stock polished, not a speck of dust on it. Despite the deep curiosity prickling at her, Vierna decided against asking him directly. Whatever Fenric hiding must be personal, and she just met him.

  And so the two of them left the village behind.

  The forest welcomed them with shifting shadows and the cool scent of damp earth. Vierna’s eyes swept the undergrowth as they walked, trained by that hideous man to measure distance and cover. She noticed a spot not far from the trail—a narrow run where the brush funneled into a small clearing. A good place to lay a snare.

  “Fenric… over there.”

  She turned to point it out, but Fenric wasn’t beside her. A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she spotted him crouched a few paces away. He was already setting a trap at the base of a fallen log, where a faint line of hoofprints pressed into the soft earth. The log narrowed the trail, forcing any animal to step right where he’d placed the snare. A smart choice—just as good as her own.

  Vierna blinked. His hands moved with precision, the knots clean and quick, nothing like the clumsy image he showed to others.

  She kept quiet and set her own trap. A little later, Fenric nudged her.

  “Vierna, over there.”

  Up in the branches, two squirrels sat nibbling nuts, their tails flicking lazily. They looked so harmless—bright-eyed, soft, and oblivious—that once, she might have hesitated. But Sieg had burned that hesitation out of her. Now, all she saw was meat.

  “Kill one,” Fenric whispered.

  She glanced at him, but he only nodded toward the musket. No wavering, no move to act himself. Just the order.

  Vierna raised the weapon, aimed, and fired. Smoke curled from the barrel like a gray ribbon unraveling into the air. The rune etched along the stock swallowed the sound, leaving only silence. One squirrel dropped instantly; the other bolted, claws scrabbling down the bark.

  Fenric lifted his hand. Roots burst from the ground, weaving into a cage that snapped shut around the fleeing animal.

  “You can do that?” Vierna asked, surprised. “Then why not just capture them both?”

  “It doesn’t work unless they panic,” Fenric muttered. “If I move first, they sense it and scatter. A bullet’s faster—that’s why I need you.”

  The hunt continued for a while. Besides the squirrel, they managed to bring down a wild dove and a rabbit. It was too little to fill the granary’s needs, but for a hunt made in the heat of day, it was still acceptable.

  Yet through it all, Fenric never once pulled the trigger or loosed a snare himself. Every time, he left the killing to Vierna. She didn’t complain—it was the sort of thing she had come to expect. Still, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder why.

  After a time, they stopped near a clearing by the river. The forest seemed to exhale around them. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in broken gold, catching on drifting motes of dust and the spray of the river’s current. The water gurgled softly over the stones, birds wheeled overhead, and even the hum of insects felt like part of the peace. For a moment, the woods held no menace, only stillness and quiet beauty.

  “Do you want some?” Fenric asked, offering her a piece of bread.

  She took it and sat beside him, chewing in silence. Fenric pulled a waterskin from his storage rune, then opened the same rune again to reveal the day’s catch tucked neatly inside.

  “Your storage rune is really big,” Vierna remarked.

  “Ah, haha, you’re right. My mother made me train with it so I could help him carry game.”

  “How big is it?”

  “I could fit around two whole deer and a boar.” Fenric’s tone carried a strange edge. He said it lightly enough, even with a small smile, but there was no pride in the words. The way his gaze dipped to the river instead of meeting hers made it feel less like a boast and more like a confession he wished he didn’t have to make.

  Vierna raised her brows. Even after all her training, her own storage rune wasn’t close to that capacity. “ Do you study other magic?”

  “Just the basics to help me around.”

  They ate quietly for a while longer, the river murmuring at their side, before they rose to continue.

  “Hey, Fenric… do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Haha… not at all, Vierna. What’s on your mind?”

  “Why didn’t you kill the animals?”

  As the words left her, Fenric’s gaze dimmed. The easy brightness that usually lived there vanished, replaced by something hollow—like a void that grew darker the longer you looked into it.

  “I’m a bad shot, Vierna. That’s all.” He spoke too smoothly, too evenly. The line sounded practiced, worn into shape by repetition. Too perfect to be the truth. Too fitting to be a lie.

  Vierna only nodded.

  Hours bled away, and by the time they reached the edge of another thicket, the sun was already slanting low, its light turning heavy and amber. The long shadows of the trees stretched across the forest floor, and the heat of noon had broken into a cooler, restless breeze. It was the kind of hour when the woods began to stir again, when prey crept out from cover to feed.

  They hadn’t caught anything since their break. Hunting in the middle of the day had always been poor sport, and now, at last, the golden hour presented itself—the perfect time to find bigger game.

  But Fenric only stretched and said, “Vierna, let’s go home. It’s almost sunset now.”

  “What? But this is when the big game comes out to graze. We could get a deer, maybe even a boar at this hour.”

  “Haha… it’s good that you’re spirited, but I’m a bit tired.”

  His voice carried an easy lilt, but it didn’t quite ring true. It wasn’t a lie she could name—just a softness at the edges, as if he was slipping past the moment rather than facing it.

  “Fenric, you could go home by yourself. I’ll continue hunting.”

  “But—”

  “You do realize how little meat the granary has right now, right? The village needs us to push on. I don’t want to force you, but if you’re tired, let me carry on.”

  Fenric hesitated, then said, “But it’s dangerous. It’s rutting season for deer—males are aggressive this time of year.”

  “It’s okay, Fenric. You must realize by now that I know a thing or two about hunting.”

  Fenric looked at her then, caught between unease and something else. His eyes flicked away quickly, as though dodging the weight of the hunt, yet there was no mistaking the worry that lingered.

  “Ah, well. I can’t leave you alone, so I’ll tag along.”

  His smile lingered a moment too long, not quite matching the worry in his eyes. For an instant, it was as if the unease cracked open to reveal something else—an almost eager light, quickly shuttered, like he’d been given permission to peer at something he shouldn’t.