The forest looked the same in every direction. Trees, undergrowth, more fucking trees. Avian had stopped trying to track landmarks an hour ago. Now he just put one foot in front of the other and hoped his sense of direction wasn't completely shot.

  His ribs ached with every breath. The shoulder wound had sealed thanks to Fargrim's drain, but the flesh was still tender, the muscle protesting any significant movement. Blood loss, mana depletion, and two weeks of running had worn him down to something that barely qualified as functional.

  God's Sight flickered on and off like a dying candle. When it worked, he could see the energy flows through the forest—mana currents, aura signatures of animals, the natural rhythm of power. When it didn't, he was just a half-blind teenager stumbling through the woods.

  Two more days to the mountains, he thought, catching himself against a tree. Can't make it like this. Need to rest. Actually rest.

  The sun was climbing, painting the forest in shades of gold that would've been beautiful if Avian had the energy to care. Somewhere behind him, Tobias was recovering, probably already mobile again despite the leg wound. An 8th Tier could heal faster than normal, and the man had medical supplies.

  And the other two hunters were closing in.

  Should keep moving. Every hour counts.

  But his body disagreed. His legs were shaking, his vision swimming slightly at the edges. Push much further and he'd collapse. And collapsing in the open meant dying when whoever found him first decided to collect their bounty.

  Need shelter. Just a few hours. Somewhere defensible.

  He forced himself to keep moving, scanning for anything—a cave, an overhang, anywhere that offered concealment and protection. The forest offered nothing but more trees and the distant sound of running water.

  Then God's Sight flickered on, and he saw it.

  A barrier. Massive, invisible to normal perception, but to his enhanced vision it blazed like a second sun. The ward wrapped around a section of forest maybe fifty yards ahead, forming a perfect sphere of concentrated power.

  Avian stopped, swaying slightly.

  That's... that's powerful magic. Could even be on the same level as the Dean.

  The barrier wasn't just strong—it was sophisticated. Layered enchantments woven together with a skill that made the Academy's defenses look like children's scribbles. Whoever had created this had spent years, maybe decades, perfecting it.

  Should run. Should definitely run.

  But through the trees, barely visible, he could see a structure. A shack, small and weathered, sitting in the center of that defensive masterwork like a hermit's final retreat.

  Abandoned? Maybe the owner died and the barrier persists?

  It was possible. Some wards could outlast their creators, especially ones this powerful. And if the place was abandoned, it meant shelter. Safety. Rest.

  His body made the decision for him. He started walking toward the barrier.

  As he got closer, the power became more apparent. The air itself felt heavier, charged with potential violence. This wasn't a gentle ward designed to redirect intruders. This was a killing field held in perfect stasis, waiting for someone to cross the threshold with hostile intent.

  If someone's home, I'm dead. If it's abandoned, I might live.

  Fuck it. He was dying anyway if he didn't rest.

  Avian stepped forward, crossing the invisible line where the barrier should activate.

  Nothing happened.

  He stopped, confused. God's Sight showed the ward clearly—he was standing inside it now, the power flowing around him like water around stone. But it wasn't reacting. Wasn't attacking. Wasn't even acknowledging his presence.

  Why didn't it—

  Questions for later. Right now, shelter.

  He stumbled forward, legs barely supporting his weight. The shack was simple—maybe twenty feet on each side, wooden construction that had weathered decades of elements but remained solid. A single window, shuttered. A door, closed but not locked.

  The door opened with a soft creak.

  Inside was cleaner than any abandoned structure had a right to be. A bed in one corner, blankets folded neatly. A small kitchen area with a wood stove. A table and two chairs. Shelves lined with books, supplies, what looked like preserved food. Everything organized, maintained, cared for.

  Someone lives here.

  The thought registered distantly, filtered through exhaustion and blood loss. Someone powerful enough to create that barrier lived in this isolated shack, and Avian had just walked into their home.

  Fuck.

  His legs gave out. He stumbled toward the bed, barely catching himself on the frame. Fargrim fell from numb fingers, hitting the wooden floor with a dull thud that seemed too loud in the quiet space.

  Should leave. Should run. Should—

  Darkness took him before he could finish the thought.

  The first thing Avian registered was softness.

  Not the ground. Not a bedroll laid over roots and rocks. Actual softness—a mattress, blankets, something that qualified as comfort.

  The second thing was light. Afternoon sun streaming through the window, warm against his face.

  The third was the smell of food cooking.

  His eyes snapped open.

  He was in the bed, under blankets he didn't remember pulling over himself. His cloak was folded on a nearby chair. His boots sat beside the bed, cleaned of mud. And his wounds...

  Avian's hand went to his shoulder, feeling through his shirt. Clean bandages. Proper wrapping. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.

  Fargrim was across the room, leaning against the wall within sight but not within immediate reach. Someone had moved it. Deliberately placed it where Avian could see it but couldn't grab it while half-asleep.

  That showed either respect for his paranoia or tactical awareness. Maybe both.

  The smell of cooking grew stronger. Eggs, definitely. Ham. Fresh bread. Real food, not the dried garbage he'd been surviving on.

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  Avian sat up slowly, testing his body. Everything hurt, but it was manageable hurt. The kind that came from injuries healing rather than actively killing him. Whatever salves had been applied to his wounds were quality work—better than Academy medical supplies.

  He stood, legs steadier than they'd been in days. Someone had helped him. Treated his wounds. Let him sleep.

  Why?

  He moved to Fargrim, wrapping his fingers around the familiar hilt. The demon blade hummed contentedly, recognizing his touch. No sense of danger from the sword, which was something. Fargrim would've warned him if whoever lived here was actively hostile.

  The door to the main room was open. Through it, Avian could see the small kitchen area, the stove, and an old man standing at it with his back turned.

  Avian adjusted his grip on Fargrim and stepped into the doorway.

  The old man continued cooking, apparently unconcerned with the armed teenager watching him. Gray hair, maybe sixties, simple clothes that had seen years of use. He moved with the easy efficiency of someone who'd cooked a thousand meals and knew exactly what he was doing.

  And the aura...

  God's Sight activated reflexively, and Avian nearly staggered.

  The old man blazed. Not with the wild, destructive power of someone barely containing themselves. But with the controlled, refined intensity of someone who'd reached the absolute pinnacle of power and then kept going. Transcendent didn't begin to cover it. This felt like standing near Aedric, except deeper. Older. More refined.

  What the fuck is someone this powerful doing in the middle of nowhere?

  "Ah, you're awake." The old man's voice was warm, grandfatherly. "Good timing. Breakfast is almost ready."

  He didn't turn around. Didn't acknowledge the sword in Avian's hand. Just kept cooking like this was completely normal.

  Avian lowered Fargrim slightly. "You... treated my wounds."

  "You were bleeding on my floor." The old man plated eggs and ham with practiced ease. "Seemed rude not to."

  "I broke into your home."

  "You stumbled in, half-dead, and collapsed." Now the old man turned, carrying two plates to the small table. "Breaking in implies intent. You just needed help."

  The face matched the voice—weathered, kind, with smile lines around the eyes. He set the plates down and gestured to one of the chairs.

  "Sit. You look like you haven't eaten properly in weeks."

  Avian hesitated. Every instinct screamed that this was wrong. Powerful hermits didn't just help random fugitives. There had to be an angle. A price. Something.

  But Fargrim was calm against his side. And the food smelled incredible.

  He set the demon blade against the wall and sat.

  The old man took the opposite chair, already eating with the unselfconscious pleasure of someone who enjoyed good food. After a moment, Avian started eating too.

  It was perfect. The eggs were seasoned properly, cooked exactly right. The ham was thick and savory. Even the bread—still warm, probably baked this morning—was better than anything he'd had in weeks.

  Avian ate slowly at first, then faster, realizing how hungry he actually was. Real food. Not stolen rations. Not dried meat that tasted like leather. Actual, properly prepared breakfast.

  "I'm Lucan Locke," the old man said between bites. "This is my home."

  Simple introduction. No ceremony. Just stating facts.

  Lucan Locke.

  The name resonated somewhere in Avian's memory. Not recent memory. Deeper. Something from Dex's time, maybe? A name that should mean something but wouldn't quite surface.

  "Avian," he said after a moment. No point hiding his first name—the bounty notices had that already.

  "Pleasure to meet you, Avian." Lucan's smile was genuine. "Though I suspect you're wondering why I helped you."

  "The thought crossed my mind."

  "You stumbled into my home, injured and exhausted." Lucan shrugged like it was obvious. "Why wouldn't I help you?"

  Avian went still. The fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

  "Why wouldn't you...?" He set the fork down carefully. "I'm a stranger. You don't know me. You don't know what I've done or why I'm running."

  "Does it matter?" Lucan took another bite of eggs. "Someone needed help. I could provide it. Seems straightforward."

  When was the last time someone just... helped?

  Not family obligation—Aedric had only acknowledged him when his power became useful. Not political calculation—Kai's friendship had angles, even if they were mutually beneficial. Not hero worship—the Academy students who respected him wanted the reflected glory.

  Just... kindness. Pure, simple kindness from someone who expected nothing in return.

  A small smile crossed Avian's face. Genuine warmth, rare and unexpected.

  "Thank you," he said quietly.

  "You're welcome." Lucan slid the bread basket closer. "Eat. You need the energy."

  They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Avian worked through the food methodically, his body demanding calories to fuel healing. Lucan seemed content with the quiet, occasionally glancing out the window at the forest beyond.

  "That barrier outside," Avian said finally. "I could feel it. High-level ward. Higher than anything I've seen."

  "Higher than most," Lucan agreed with a slight smile.

  "Why didn't it stop me?"

  Lucan chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "The barrier only responds to negative intent. If you came here to hurt me, to steal from me, to harm my home..." He sipped from a cup of tea. "It would've killed you."

  "But I just wanted shelter."

  "Exactly. No malice. No ill intent. So it let you pass." Lucan set down his cup. "Simple, really."

  "That's..." Avian shook his head slowly. "That's incredible magic. Intent-based wards are theoretical. I've never heard of anyone actually implementing one successfully."

  "I've had a lot of time to refine my defenses." Lucan didn't elaborate, just took another bite of bread.

  Avian studied him. The casual way he dismissed creating what should be impossible magic. The complete lack of fear despite having a wanted fugitive in his home. The power that radiated from him even when he was trying to suppress it.

  Who is this man?

  "You're running from something," Lucan said. Not a question. Observation.

  Avian considered lying, then decided against it. The barrier had let him through—lying to the man now seemed both pointless and insulting.

  "Bounty hunters. Three of them." He met Lucan's eyes. "Fifty thousand gold."

  Lucan nodded thoughtfully. "That's quite a price. You must be important." A pause. "Or dangerous."

  "Little of both, probably."

  "Usually is." Lucan finished his eggs. "Where are you heading?"

  "North. The mountains." Avian didn't elaborate on why. Some secrets were his to keep.

  Lucan studied him for a moment, those old eyes seeing more than Avian was comfortable with. Then he nodded, accepting the partial answer.

  "Rest here today," Lucan said. "Your wounds need time. The hunters won't find this place—the barrier hides me from divination and any other tracking spells. Even leads people away if they get too close. You're safe while you're here."

  The offer was tempting. Desperately tempting. A full day of actual rest, actual safety, actual healing. His body screamed yes.

  But his tactical mind hesitated. Trust was dangerous. Trust got you killed.

  "One day," Avian said finally. "Then I need to move."

  "One day," Lucan agreed easily. No argument. No questions about his destination or his reasons. Just simple acceptance.

  They finished breakfast in comfortable silence. Avian ate everything on his plate, then accepted seconds when Lucan offered them. Real food. Real safety. Things he'd almost forgotten existed.

  When the plates were cleared, Avian stood, intending to help clean. Lucan waved him off.

  "Rest. The bed is yours for today. I have work to do outside anyway." The old man moved to the small sink, starting to wash dishes.

  Avian hesitated, then retrieved Fargrim from against the wall. The demon blade felt right in his hand, the weight familiar and comforting.

  He turned to head back to the bedroom, then paused.

  "Why does your name sound familiar?" he asked. "Lucan Locke. I feel like I should know it."

  Lucan's hands stilled for just a moment in the dishwater. "Perhaps you heard it somewhere. It's not an uncommon name."

  But something in his voice suggested otherwise. Something in the way he didn't turn around.

  He's lying. Or at least not telling the whole truth.

  Avian filed that away for later. Right now, he was too tired to push.

  "Thank you," he said again. "For the help. The food. Everything."

  "You're welcome, Avian." Lucan resumed washing dishes. "Sleep well. You're safe here."

  Avian returned to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. The bed was still warm from where he'd slept earlier. Clean sheets, soft blankets, actual comfort.

  He set Fargrim within reach and lay down, intending to just rest his eyes for a moment.

  Sleep took him in seconds.

  Outside, Lucan finished the dishes and dried his hands. He moved to the window, looking out at the forest with eyes that had seen centuries pass.

  "Avian Veritas," he murmured to himself. "That's the name you're going with this time... Potestas."

  The name hung in the air, weighted with history and implications.

  Lucan had recognized the boy the moment he'd stumbled through the barrier. Not his face—that was new, fifteen years of mortal life. But his soul. That blazing core of divine power wrapped in flesh, hidden beneath layers of mortal limitation.

  The God of Power, reduced to a boy on the run.

  "It's been a long time," Lucan said softly. "And you still draw trouble like a lodestone."

  He'd watched the Demon War from a distance. Watched Dex fight and die. Watched history get rewritten by those who couldn't stand the truth. Watched the gods play their games with mortal lives as pieces on a board.

  And now, after all this time, Potestas had stumbled into his home.

  "I think this time will be different," Lucan whispered to the empty room. "Maybe you'll gain your freedom again. Just like I did from them, so long ago."

  The gods could play their games. But Lucan Locke had retired from such things centuries ago. He'd earned his freedom, and he wouldn't give it up again.

  Still, he could give the boy one day. One day of safety, of rest, of kindness in a world that had shown him precious little.

  He turned from the window and headed outside. There was firewood to chop and animals to hunt.

  Behind him, in the small bedroom, Avian slept deeply—the first true rest he'd had in weeks.

  Tomorrow, the hunt would continue.

  But today, for just one day, he was safe.