The murmurs of the tavern and its patrons still lingered behind him as Soren stepped out into the night, the air cool in comparison to the heat of the tavern’s fires. The wooden door creaked shut behind him, muffling the sounds of laughter and clinking mugs.

  He leaned against the wall of the tavern, exhaling deeply, his lungs feeling a bit cooler now. The night air was calm, only having a slight breeze which tugged at his hair softly. The sky was slightly cloudy, but filled with stars burning white, some appearing to have a colour tint, such as red or blue. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to ground himself despite everything that had happened.

  Footsteps approached not long after, and he turned his head as Remi stepped beside him, arms folded, her pink hair catching the dim yellow light from the tavern’s window.

  She leaned against the wall next to him, silent for a moment, before looking at him and asking softly, “So… what’s back home that you’re really after?”

  Soren remained quiet for a moment. He looked at the dark trail that led out of the village, his throat tight at the tragic memory she had unknowingly reminded him of. Though, it wasn’t really a reminder. It was all he could think about.

  He sighed, his voice soft, cracking slightly.

  “My mother.”

  Remi glanced at him, but didn’t speak. He had her full attention now, but she knew better than to pry.

  He kept going. “Before I woke up here… a man, someone close to my family, no, he was like family… he… killed my father. Right in front of me.”

  His voice trembled, tears threatening to spill, but he clenched his fists and pushed through.

  “He dragged my mother away… like she meant nothing. Then, someone knocked me out. The next thing I knew… I was in the woods, alone. Now I’m here, and I… I don’t know where they are. I don’t even know where I am.”

  He turned his face slightly away, biting his lip to push down the rising emotion.

  “I tried, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t protect them.”

  Remi’s voice came after a pause, soft and gentle. “That’s… a lot to carry, Soren. Especially for someone your age. I’m sorry, I really am.”

  Soren looked above at the stars, not wanting to meet her gaze, because the pain in his own eyes could barely be held back. The world felt so wide, yet he had never felt smaller in it.

  “I really hope I’ll see her again,” he said. His voice was barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder might break the already fragile hope he clung to.

  Remi looked at him, her usual grin softened into something sad, more sincere. “I hope so too.”

  Soren glanced at her, and noticed the way she didn’t seem to be judging him, or pitying him. He gave her a small nod. He was grateful, even if he didn’t say it.

  The tavern door opened again, and the rest of the group stepped out, their laughter simmering down. Jorge gave a small yawn, cracked his neck, and clapped his hands once.

  “Alright, people. We should get some rest. We have to head out early.”

  Remi turned to Soren, her soft smile returning. “Our group’s called the Hollow Stag Company. We’re funded by this place, therefore the name."

  Soren raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” she said with a half-shrug. “We bring in treasure, jobs, and the place gets a cut. In return, we get beds, food, and whatever gear we need when it matters. Kind of a mutual agreement.”

  Soren listened and nodded slowly, now following behind as the group moved around to the back of the tavern. Remi walked beside him, her tone casual again, a contrast to the empathy in her voice during their earlier conversation.

  “Back here’s where we live, basically. It's a barracks setup. Beds, training area, bathroom, lounge. It’s not much, but you'll get used to it.”

  They entered a candle-lit hallway behind the tavern, wooden walls lined with a row of doors. As they walked past, he caught glimpses into each room. Elise’s was dimly lit, with black drapes and silver daggers carefully placed on the walls. Soren would never admit it, but something about her kind of scared him. Jorge’s room had weapon mounts and a few old war banners, along with a few pairs of what seemed like the exact same boots..

  Remi’s room was cluttered in a comfortable way. Spell books were stacked, old scrolls hung, while crystals and what seemed like a mana-imbued staff leaned against her desk. Faris’s was neat, with carefully arranged plants, polished arrows, and wood-carved figures that seemed to be handmade.

  Remi stopped at the last room, motioning to it while smiling. “This one’s yours.”

  Soren stepped in. It was bare. No decoration, no warmth. Just a simple bed, a table, and a single candle that flickered quietly on the wooden nightstand.

  He sighed lightly with a tired smile. “It’s… cozy, for sure.”

  Remi glared at him playfully, then chuckled. “Trust me, all of our rooms looked like this at one point. It’ll grow on you. Who knows, maybe soon enough you’ll have a few of your own memories to display.”

  Jorge’s head leaned in from his room across the hall. “If you need anything, just ask. We look after our own.”

  Soren offered a small smile, and gave a nod. “Thank you, really.”

  He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, removing his shoes and stretching slightly. He sat on the edge of the bed, then lowered himself back slowly, staring up at the wooden ceiling. All of this had happened so fast. New people, a new land, all while now doing a job he had always dreamed of, but had not expected to ever be in, at least not this soon.

  “None of this is real.” The realization struck him hard. “What the hell am I doing? Hestus is alive, he has my mother… he killed… he killed my father…”

  Soren’s fists clenched, whatever sense of comfort that had been creeping into his mind was swiftly shut down. This wasn’t real. This was a deal. These people were not his allies, rather this was a transaction. A necessary piece in order to get back to Eirland.

  But… this was a start. This would get him closer. The single candle next to him flickered as his eyes closed, the hum of the barracks and patrons in the tavern soothing him into sleep.

  —

  Soren groaned as his eyes slowly fluttered open to the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway, and Jorge’s deep voice echoing through it.

  “Up, up! Let’s move, people! Got a job!”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He groaned again, rubbing his face. The candle had burned out at some point during the night, leaving the room dim as grey morning light filtered through a small window across from the door.

  Soren slowly sat up on the edge of this bed, reaching down and putting his boots on. His head was still heavy from sleep, but his heart began to beat a little faster as he woke up. Today was his first mission with this group.

  He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway just as Elise passed by silently, already geared up, her black hair running down her back, and her twin daggers sheathed at her sides. She glanced at him for a second but said nothing, disappearing into the main lounge.

  Faris was already sitting near the fireplace, quietly wiping down his bow with care. Jorge was standing in the center of the lounge area, arms crossed, and a scroll opened in his hand.

  Remi waved from where she sat at the long table, munching on an apple, staff on her back, seemingly ready for whatever it was they would encounter.

  “You sleep like a corpse,” she said, blue eyes shining as she shot him a grin. “Come on, ghost. Time to earn your keep.”

  Soren shuffled over and sat next to her, still blinking off the sleep. “What’s the job?”

  Jorge raised the scroll and pointed at its seal. “Village called Dunn Caster, off the forest path near the Lowridge Hills. People going missing, weird things happening in the woods, the usual superstition crap. But the coin’s decent, and the residents want this cleaned up. It's a textbook beginner mission, so you’re in luck.”

  Faris looked up, a look of slight confusion across his face. “If it’s just superstition, why is the tavern sending us?”

  “Because people are scared,” Jorge said plainly. “And scared people pay well.”

  Soren crossed his arms and frowned, still unsure of what this mission would entail, or what his role would be. “So… what exactly do I do?”

  “You listen,” Elise said as she walked by him, dark, sharp eyes landing on him as she adjusted the strap on her armor. “And don’t get in the way.”

  Remi stood and brushed off her cloak around her waist. “Ignore her, she’s always a ray of sunshine. You’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

  She walked over to a side chest and opened it, pulling out a simple but clean steel sword. “Here. It’s not enchanted, but it’ll hold up in basic combat.”

  Soren took it, surprised at the gesture. The weight was comfortable, and he could tell it was balanced well. It was not his sword from home, but it would do. “Thanks.”

  Remi grinned. “Don’t thank me yet, recruit. First job nerves are a real thing.”

  A knock rang at the Tavern’s back door. Jorge opened it to reveal a man standing by a horse-drawn carriage, and smirked back at the group. The Hollow Stag tavern had made good on their promise. Transport, paid for and ready.

  “Mount up, people,” Jorge said, heading out.

  The group walked out and climbed into the wooden carriage. It had a covered top and benches on either side. Soren sat between Remi and Faris, the rhythm of hooves from the carriage horses thudding beneath them.

  They passed along the village’s main path and through the outskirts of Backstrom, morning mist still clinging to the grass. The trees leaned in close to the carriage on either side of the trail, while the sky overhead was cloudy and pale. Soren didn’t mind though, he had always preferred this type of weather over the hot summer days back in Eirland.

  “So,” Remi said, nudging him gently. “First mission, huh?”

  Soren nodded, looking down at the sword sheathed by his side. “Yeah… still trying to wrap my head around it.”

  “You nervous?”

  He hesitated. “Honestly… yeah. I’ve trained a lot before, and I used to have a teacher for swordsmanship. That man… the one I told you about. But… this feels different.”

  “It is,” Faris said without looking at him. “Training doesn’t prepare you for fear. Or loss.”

  “Gee, thanks, Faris,” Remi said, rolling her eyes from annoyance. “You’re really calming him down.”

  Soren gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “No, he’s right. It’s just… when it starts, I hope I don’t... freeze.”

  “You might,” Jorge said gruffly from across the bench, grinning. “Happens to the best of us.”

  “…Really?” Soren blinked, eyes wide.

  “First time I saw real combat, I threw up in my helmet, kid.”

  Elise, leaning against the carriage wall, gave the faintest smirk, a rare occurrence. “I remember that. We had to bury the helmet afterwards.”

  Everyone laughed at that, even Soren. He started watching the group more carefully as they rode. Faris kept his bow on his lap, eyes drifting along the trees, as if he was constantly alert.

  Jorge sat still, arms folded, exuding a kind of stillness that only came from confidence and control. Elise was unreadable as always, her eyes closed but her fingers resting near the hilt of her daggers.

  Remi was always talking or smiling, but her eyes were sharp, watching the trail and the sky above like a hawk.

  "These people seem to be more than adventurers," Soren thought. "They’re survivors." Though of what, Soren wasn’t sure.

  —

  After nearly half a day’s ride, the carriage finally rolled to a stop.

  “Dunn Caster,” the driver called out.

  The group stepped down from the carriage one by one. The village was quiet, that was the first thing Soren noticed. He stood for a moment, looking down at his outfit. Black trousers, and a short sleeve fitted white tunic, gifted to him by tavern staff. Jorge had given him some basic black leather armour, protecting his forearms and torso.

  He looked up again at the village; a few wooden homes stood scattered around a well, and the entire place felt as if it was holding its breath. The inhabitants were afraid to come outside, and the way the trees didn't seem to move at all, despite the wind, didn’t help with Soren’s rising unease.

  He felt a chill run down his spine.

  The group stood together at the edge of the village as Jorge scanned the houses.

  “Well, there’s clearly no welcoming committee. Good sign that this wasn’t some type of false call for help.”

  “We should find the elder,” Faris said, already stepping forward.

  Soren stood for a moment longer behind the group, looking up at the sky. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his new sword. He wasn’t sure what they would face, but he promised himself that whatever it was, he would not run.

  He took a breath, steadying himself, then followed them into Dunn Caster. The town was old, weathered by wind and time. Wooden buildings groaned from the wind as if tired from years of use, and different faces peeked from behind curtains with wary, fearful eyes.

  Jorge led the way to the village longhouse, where a handful of the elders sat gathered around a large fireplace. The room was dim, and the fire casted long shadows on the walls.

  Soren followed quietly behind Remi, hands at his sides, still unsure of how to carry himself on an official mission.

  Jorge gave a respectful nod to the oldest member of the group, a thin man with deep wrinkles and pale blue eyes.

  “Good afternoon. We were sent by the Hollow Stag, heard you’ve had some trouble.”

  The oldest man nodded slowly, his voice low and strained. “It began two weeks ago. Some of our people went missing. First it was a hunter, then two children… and then we started hearing them.”

  Elise leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed, her voice like silk. “Hearing who?”

  Another elder, a woman with a long grey braid and distant eyes, spoke next. “Voices. From the woods. My late husband, Harreth… I… I heard him calling my name from beyond the trees. I know his voice, like I know my own. He sounded… afraid.”

  Soren's breath caught in his chest. He looked at the elder, really looked, and saw how shaken she was. The tremble in her hands, and the certainty in her eyes that told him that this was real.

  “But… how could someone hear a dead man?” He thought.

  Remi glanced at Jorge, genuine concern in her eyes. “That’s not something you hear every day.”

  “No,” Jorge agreed, jaw clenched. “But whatever it is, it’s preying on them.”

  Faris stepped forward towards the elders. “Has anyone followed these voices?”

  “Some tried,” the old man said grimly, sadness in his tone. “None returned.”

  The group exchanged weary glances. Soren could feel the tension in the room. It was a mix of fear, and something else. Maybe grief.

  Jorge turned and nodded to the elders. “We’ll head into the forest. If anything’s there, we’ll find it.”

  The woman reached out suddenly, grabbing Soren’s hand with surprising strength. He looked at her in surprise, but he didn’t pull away.

  “Be careful,” she whispered. “Don’t listen too closely.”

  Soren looked at her, eyes wide with fear at her warning, and after a moment, gave her a determined nod.