Haugstad, Kingdom of Divinium, Eastern region of Rohana Federation, 2035 S.C. 289th day

  "Yuri, I’m heading out for another pass along the fence. While I’m gone, log the notes from the night shift."

  "Got it," Yuri replied, already settling down to his task.

  This was a brief exchange between two young warriors, Yuri and Malcolm, who served as guards for the small village of Haugstad, located on the far eastern edge of the Divinium Kingdom. As in every star-cycle, past days had been marked by snowstorms, leaving little room for monster activity. Because of this, most entries in the logbook ended with the simple note: No incidents.

  Just as Yuri finished filling out the logbook, as he did every morning, there was shouting coming from outside. When he stepped out to see what was happening, he spotted Malcolm, a few hundred meters away, calling out to him.

  The village, apart from its cleared pathways, was surrounded by snow that reached up to Yuri’s waist, slowing his progress as he fought his way toward his fellow guard. When he finally reached Malcolm, he saw a depression in the snow near him, shaped like a human figure.

  At its center lay a man, cocooned in tattered rags, his side turned to them. He appeared unconscious. His arms were clasped tightly around something wrapped in cloth, which he held to his chest.

  "I was finishing my round when I saw movement coming out of the forest," Malcolm said. "I couldn’t tell what it was at first, so I stayed back and watched. Halfway to the village, it just collapsed. When I made my way over, I realized it was a person."

  "Malcolm, help me lift him," Yuri said, crouching down beside the man. Then he saw a tightly bundled cloth clutched against the stranger’s chest.

  "We need to free his hands first."

  Yuri bent down and took the tightly wrapped bundle the unconscious man was clutching. As he unwrapped the cloth, he was met with a surprise. Nestled within the folds was a newborn baby. It had a pale, fragile form, which worried Yuri. He checked its pulse, and its heart was still beating. He let out a deep sigh of relief.

  "Change of plans," Yuri said with urgency. "Can you handle this man on your own? I need to get this child to Father immediately. It’s breathing, but I’ve no idea what it’s been through. Its situation is critical!"

  "You can rely on me," Malcolm replied. "If you see anyone from the morning shift, let them know to head this way. The man’s condition is also dire. He needs the attention just as urgently."

  "Understood. That’s settled, then," Yuri called over his shoulder, his legs driving through the snow as he pushed against the white drift, hoping he would not be too late.

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  "Uuumm..." The baritone voice was faint, but it echoed softly in a small room that seemed to be part of a wooden cabin. A bed stood next to a fireplace that crackled with warmth and radiated it into the cabin walls. And in that bed lay a middle-aged man; his hair black, his beard untidy, and his skin tone just regaining its darker tones. He was weary and was barely breathing.

  The man jolted awake, and he shouted hoarsely, "My son! Where..." But his words crumbled into a fit of violent coughing. His body was dehydrated, and he was teetering dangerously close to delirium.

  As he struggled to catch his breath, a wooden cup appeared near his face.

  "Drink this," a low and soothing voice spoke. "It’s valerian extract. It will help restore your fluids and give strength to your voice."

  The cup was held by a man who, from the look of him, was already in deep old age. His face was covered with wrinkles and yet somehow still felt warm. His left hand rested on a wooden cane topped with a spherical carving as he stood atop the man lying in the bed. He also wore a dark blue fedora that shaded his silver hair.

  The man grabbed the cup and drank its contents in one gulp, desperate to regain his voice.

  "Slowly, now, slowly," the old man chided gently. "Even something as restorative as valerian can cause harm if taken so recklessly..." But before he could finish, the man’s body rejected the remedy. He doubled over, retching violently, the liquid spilling to the floor before he fell back into unconsciousness.

  Hours passed. The fire had burned low when the man stirred again. His eyes fluttered open, and this time, the old man leaned forward, speaking first.

  "Yours is a stubborn heart," he said with a faint smile. "I feared that losing even that small bit of fluid might be the last tether holding you to life. But you’ve proven me wrong. Before I give you another drink, I need you to listen carefully: sip it, calmly. Your son is safe. He’s in good hands. Take your time, let the drink work its way through you, and then we’ll talk."

  This time, the man took the cup carefully, bowing his head in silent gratitude. Over the next hour, he sipped the mixture slowly.

  The old man returned with fresh water and silenced him gently each time he tried to speak.

  "Not yet," the old man said. "There’s no need for haste. Let your body recover. When your strength returns, we’ll talk. There is much to discuss."

  As the night deepened, the old man finally said, "Now, I’d advise you to lie down and rest. It’s already night. I’ll leave a canteen of water by your bed. Drink it slowly if you can’t sleep. I’ll check up on your condition in the morning."

  And with that, the old man rose and left the cabin.

  The clock on the wall marked the passage of noon when the man finally woke up. The layout of the cabin had changed since he was last awake. In the opposite corner of the room, there was a now cradle. And next to the fireplace, the old man, seated in a wooden chair by a small table, sipped slowly on a warm drink. Everything had been brought in while the man slept.

  "Are you well enough to speak?" the old man calmly asked.

  "I think... I’ll manage," the man replied. His voice was weak and unsteady. So he reached for the canteen and drank slowly, and the water was soothing his parched throat.

  "There’s no rush. You’ll likely need more time, Haran," the old man said.

  The man’s head snapped up, his expression shifting to surprise. He hadn’t introduced himself. So how could this stranger know his name? But as his lips parted to form the question, the old man raised a hand, anticipating his words.