I woke to the sound of rain pattering softly against the roof. From the steady rhythm and the smell of damp earth in the air, I guessed the winter thaw had finally begun. The space beside me in the bed was cold, which meant Illara had already been up for a while.

  I sat up and rubbed at my eyes, then pulled on some clothes quickly. The room still held the bite of night-cold, and I was grateful for the extra layers. When I stepped out into the main room, warmth and the smell of food greeted me.

  Illara was already at the hearth, stirring a pot.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Good morning,” I croaked back, my voice still half asleep.

  She smiled. “You were snoring, so I decided to get up and make breakfast.”

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” I said, wincing slightly.

  “It wasn’t a problem,” she replied easily. “I wanted to make you breakfast anyway.”

  She returned her attention to the pot, stirring thoughtfully. After a moment she spoke again.

  “You know, I can’t wait to be back in Ravencrest. I didn’t expect to miss it this much.”

  That caught me off guard.

  “I like how busy it is,” she continued. “There’s always something happening, always someone new to meet. This village feels so slow in comparison.”

  I leaned against the doorway, watching her. “But don’t you like being home with your family?”

  She didn’t hesitate.

  “I do,” she said. “I really do. But being here feels… stifling now. Especially now that I know how big the world is.”

  I smiled softly. “You sound a lot like your mother.”

  Illara stopped stirring.

  She turned to look at me, expression thoughtful rather than upset. “I forget sometimes that you knew her,” she said. “You don’t look much older than me, after all.”

  A moment later, Theo shuffled into the room, rubbing at his face as he stifled a yawn.

  “Why are you talking about your mum?” he asked sleepily.

  “I was telling Drisnil that she might have liked her,” Illara said easily. “From what I know, they probably would have gotten along.”

  Illara was very good at covering for me.

  Theo considered that as he wandered closer to the hearth. “Maybe,” he said. “Ilza did love adventure. She would’ve enjoyed the chance to see the world the way you have.”

  He peered into the pot. “So, what’s for breakfast?”

  “Leek and potato stew.”

  Theo nodded approvingly. “Good. Something filling to start the day.” He stretched. “I’ll go wash up. Be back in a moment.”

  He stepped outside toward the washtub, leaving the room quieter again.

  “Thanks for covering for me,” I murmured.

  Illara smiled. “No problem. I figured you didn’t want my dad learning too much about your darker history.”

  I hesitated. “I worry he might hate me for what I’ve done.”

  She shook her head without hesitation. “He won’t. My dad’s too kind for that.”

  Illara began ladling stew into bowls. I noticed she filled five.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Who’s the extra bowl for?”

  “Sera came over last night,” she said casually. “Her boots are by Ash’s door.”

  I chuckled softly. “I hope she doesn’t end up pregnant.”

  Illara snorted. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s trying. I think she wants Ash to marry her.”

  “I don’t think he’d mind,” I said. “He seems completely taken with her.”

  Illara finished serving and knocked on Ash’s door. “Ash, Sera. Breakfast is ready.”

  I sat at the table with my bowl as Illara joined me. A moment later, Ash and Sera emerged, their clothes hastily thrown on, hair still rumpled with sleep.

  “Good morning, Sera,” Illara said warmly.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Sera flushed and stammered, “G-good morning.”

  They took their bowls and sat down.

  “Good to see you both doing well,” I said lightly.

  Ash’s face turned a deeper shade of red.

  Theo returned then, drying his hands. “Morning, Sera,” he said with a smile. “Nice to have you join us for breakfast.”

  Sera smiled shyly.

  After breakfast, I began clearing the table when a knock sounded at the door.

  Theo went to answer it. Cain stood outside, posture straight despite the early hour.

  “Good morning, Theo,” Cain said. “I was hoping to speak with Drisnil and Illara.”

  “Of course,” Theo replied, stepping aside. “We’ve just finished breakfast.”

  Cain entered, nodding politely. “Good morning, Illara. Drisnil.” He paused, then continued more carefully. “I wanted to speak with you about Norman’s funeral.”

  I gestured toward the table, and Cain sat. Illara and I joined him, facing him across the wood worn smooth by years of use.

  “The funeral will be held today,” Cain said. “I’ve managed to secure permission for you to attend, Drisnil. However…” He hesitated. “The village will not be pleased to see you there.”

  I nodded slowly. “I understand. I still intend to attend. I’ll keep as low a profile as possible.” I managed a faint smile. “I can be almost invisible when I need to be.”

  Cain exhaled, relief flickering across his face. “That would be appreciated.”

  He rose then, clearly finished. “That’s all I needed to say.”

  Theo tilted his head. “Won’t you stay for some tea?”

  Cain shook his head. “I’d better not. Jenna isn’t thrilled about me visiting Drisnil as it is. I shouldn’t give her more reason to be upset.”

  He headed for the door, pausing briefly. “I’ll see you all this afternoon.”

  “Good to see you, Cain,” Theo called after him. “I’ll come by later.”

  The door closed softly behind him.

  The room felt heavier in the quiet that followed.

  Illara turned to me. “I want you beside me at the funeral.”

  I considered it carefully. “That will be difficult,” I admitted. “But if you’re alright with not being able to see me… I can stay close. I can hold your hand.”

  Her expression softened.

  “I think that will work,” she said.

  And for the first time since Cain arrived, the tension in her shoulders eased just a little.

  That afternoon, we walked together to the graveyard.

  I drew my cloak around myself and let its enchantment blur my presence, softening edges, dulling notice. I stayed close to Illara, my fingers wrapped gently around her hand so she would always know where I was, even if she couldn’t see me.

  Most of the village had gathered despite the drizzle, coats drawn tight against the cold. They stood in a wide circle around an open grave, heads bowed, faces solemn. I recognised nearly everyone there—twenty years of living among them had etched their faces into me.

  All except one.

  A short woman stood near the back, her hair cut short in a pixie style I hadn’t seen before. She kept her gaze fixed on the ground, hands clasped tightly in front of her. I wondered, briefly, who she was, and how she had known Norman.

  The service began with Jenna stepping forward.

  She raised her hands and spoke a prayer to Solvarn and Lioren, her voice steady despite the grief beneath it. She asked that Norman’s soul find peace, that his long journey come to a gentle rest, and that the light guide him onward.

  Then she began the eulogy.

  “I first met Norman when I was a na?ve cleric, fresh from the temple,” Jenna said. “He showed me what it meant to be part of the wider world.” A small, strained smile touched her lips. “Despite the crude jokes and the constant, lecherous comments… I grew to appreciate his company.”

  Her voice faltered. She paused, swallowing hard, then wiped at her eyes.

  “One thing Norman never lost,” she continued, “was his thirst for knowledge. If he encountered a new creature, the first thing he’d ask wasn’t how dangerous it was.” A faint laugh rippled through the crowd. “It was, ‘I wonder what its eating habits are.’”

  A few people chuckled softly.

  “I’ll miss you, Norman,” Jenna said, her voice breaking at last. “But I’m grateful you lived such a full life. That you saw so much. Thank you… for all the years you gave me.”

  She stepped back then, shoulders shaking.

  Cain moved to her side at once, wrapping an arm around her as she sobbed quietly into his shoulder.

  After that, others spoke.

  Villagers shared their memories—funny stories, moments of kindness, frustrations turned fond with time. They spoke of Norman’s strange habits, his curiosity, his ability to be both infuriating and indispensable all at once.

  As I listened, standing unseen among them, I realised something quietly devastating.

  Norman had belonged here far more deeply than I ever had.

  And now, the village was saying goodbye to one of its own.

  Illara stepped forward next.

  She stood very straight at first, hands clasped tightly together, as if that alone might keep her voice steady.

  “I’ve known Norman my whole life,” she began. “He was like a distant grandfather to me.” A faint, fragile smile crossed her face. “When Tabatha was still alive, he acted like a young man around her. Always making inappropriate remarks.” A soft, embarrassed laugh escaped her. “I used to hate it.”

  Her voice wavered, and she took a breath.

  “But now that they’re both gone… I realise how much love there was between them. How alive he seemed when he was with her.”

  She swallowed and continued.

  “When I finally got the chance to adventure with Norman, I saw another side of him. His skill. His calm.” Her hands tightened together. “He always looked out for us. Made sure we were safe. But he never tried to hold me back.”

  Her voice broke then.

  “I’ll miss you, Grandpa Norman,” she said softly. “I hope you’re with Tabatha now… still passing inappropriate remarks.”

  A few quiet, tearful laughs moved through the crowd.

  Illara stepped back, tears slipping freely down her cheeks. I squeezed her hand gently, unseen but present, letting her know she wasn’t alone.

  After that, we began to fill in the grave.

  One by one, we took turns with the soil. Even the woman I didn’t recognise stepped forward, adding her share in silence. The sound of earth hitting wood was dull and final.

  Faces were wet with tears as Norman was slowly covered, each handful of soil another goodbye.

  And when it was done, the grave stood quiet and whole again.

  As people began to drift away, I noticed the short woman again. She hadn’t spoken once, but she lingered longer than most, eyes fixed on the grave as if she were memorising it.