“Please, take me with you!”

  A new morning sky graced the sky over Sharirun, sending elegant birds soaring from the trees, warming the cold, crisp air from the night before, and sweeping a breeze through the signature long blades of countryside grass.

  Sil stood atop a hill, dressed in what looked like a more casual version of her uniform—an abbreviated black overcoat that reached halfway down her thighs. She looked down at Yig with her fists clenched by her sides, waiting for an answer.

  Yig simply stared back, his expression blank. He wore simple clothes that barely shielded him from the cold, his face a mix of mild confusion and fatigue. He still had breakfast in his hands.

  “Sure.”

  Spartan waddled around the bench Yig sat on, angling for a snack, but quickly became distracted by passing workers and ran up to greet them with wholesome enthusiasm.

  “Really?” Sil asked. “Because it’ll be no good if I pack everything just to hear you’ve changed your mind.”

  Yig looked at her, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “Okay. I’ll think it over a little more, just to be certain.”

  He turned toward the distant hills with stone-faced contemplation, then looked back.

  “Yep. Shouldn’t be a problem. But there’s one rule you have to follow.”

  Sil slid down the hill. “What’s that?”

  “You must respect my authority.”

  Sil snickered. “Right... well, maybe when I feel like it.”

  “Good enough. Also, do you have any money with you?”

  From the bag at her side, Sil pulled out a pouch that clinked with the sound of coins. “I’ve got about three hundred in this. What about you?”

  “Nothing. That’s why I asked you.”

  She blinked twice, realizing the hesitations that had plagued her for days were actually all quite reasonable. But one fact about this simple-minded man brought her clarity.

  “You said you wanted to open the Gate to Paradise. You meant that, right?”

  “Yep.”

  No hesitation.

  When he answered, his eyes were more serious than she expected from someone so flippant—and he kept that look until Spartan propped herself against his face, begging for a snack.

  Yes. Now she was sure.

  Sil sat down beside him, patting Spartan as the lamb nibbled at a branch of berries.

  “When do we leave?”

  “Today.”

  “Day or night?”

  “Afternoon.”

  “Do you have a cart or carriage?”

  “No.”

  “Then how—?”

  “Walk.”

  “To Moonset, right?”

  “Right.”

  She sighed, already tired from her new ‘Captain.’

  “We really do need a carriage of some kind. I assume you plan to hire others for this journey of ours?”

  “Of course. A Hero needs his faithful companions. But for now, we walk.”

  “Companions? Let’s go with party for now, okay?”

  “Okay!” he chirped with over-the-top cheer.

  Sil might’ve assumed it was sarcasm coming from someone else, but she knew this man well enough to recognize genuine excitement when she saw it.

  Not far from the pair, a group of students from the hunting class wandered past. Among them was Slye, dressed in clothing wildly different from the standard black uniform. He wore a subtle yellow coat so baggy it altered his silhouette into something vaguely square.

  As he passed, he spotted Yig and Sil at the bench, waved goodbye to his classmates, and jogged over.

  “My greatest pupil!” he bellowed, clapping Yig on the back. “Glad to see you’re up already.”

  Yig was still bandaged on both arms, along with a few new areas injured during their raid on the bear nest. But, as was typical of this man’s body, he had healed with extraordinary speed.

  “Hey, master.”

  “You might want to ease up on calling me that—don’t think the actual masters would appreciate overhearing it.”

  “Alright. Boss.”

  “I think we can get away with that. By the way, I heard you’re leaving today. That true?”

  “Yeah. Want to come with us?”

  “Us?”

  “Sil’s coming too.”

  Slye’s head snapped toward Sil. “What!?”

  Sil’s posture shrank. The confidence she’d had when speaking to Yig seemed to vanish. “I… think it’s something worth doing.”

  “Does Pervoick know?”

  “I told him this morning.”

  Slye shook his head as he stood up. “Suppose I better go check on him. Can’t have him thinking everyone’s about to leave.” He walked back up the hill, rubbing his nose to warm it.

  “Why would he think everyone’s leaving him?” Yig asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

  “Slye’s exaggerating,” Sil replied, glancing toward town, thoughtful. “But when Shone left… it shook him.”

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Pervoick stood before the Master Assembly—or at least, four of them. One of the five seats remained empty. It belonged to Pervonarik, who was consistently absent from meetings. A man named Tandin usually filled in, but since Pervonarik had been present in the village for the past few days, no one had summoned Tandin until that morning—when they realized Pervonarik had slipped away again. The Stearna sent to retrieve Tandin found him passed out, deeply hungover and snoring like it was still midnight.

  Still, the four gathered members of the Master Assembly were a formidable presence for Pervoick to face.

  The Chief sat at the center, preoccupied with trimming a small potted tree. As usual, he’d draped his beard over his shoulder to keep it clear of his delicate work. The carving was still in its early stages, but from certain angles, it seemed to resemble a person—perhaps with wings.

  To the Chief’s right was Master Agefor, the youngest of the Assembly, in his late thirties. He might have seemed the most relaxed, if not for the Chief seated beside him. While not incapable of sternness, Agefor was someone you could always talk to—someone who’d give you an honest answer, even if it was brutal. His hair was a deep, dark red, always cut short. He refused to let anyone else cut it, despite lacking any real talent for it. Years of frustration had led him to keep it as short as possible, though within days it always stuck up wildly, like it did now.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  To the Chief’s left sat Master Sickle, an older woman around the same age as the Chief. Her hair, though grey like his, retained a youthful structure. It was long, but always tied in a tight bun atop her head. A diagonal scar carved down the side of her neck. She always wore an expression of disappointment and would snap at anyone for perceived disrespect—toward her, toward others, toward trees, or the ancestors. It was easy to provoke her. The generation before Pervoick’s often claimed she had a kind heart, but he’d never seen it. As she glared disapprovingly at the Chief’s tree, she let out a sharp cough and wiped her nose with her signature pink handkerchief. Pervoick thought he saw a drop of blood slip from her lip.

  And lastly, on the other side of Master Sickle sat Master Norion. Despite his long history as a Master of the Stealth Arts, most of the Sharirun youth knew him simply as the village blacksmith. Pervoick himself hadn’t learned of the Master’s accomplishments until his teenage years. His frown was something to behold—seemingly permanent. The wrinkles on his forehead drooped downward like an arrow, and his posture had hunched from countless hours spent at his desk, tending to weapons and tools.

  “Honestly,” Master Sickle said, shaking her head at the Chief. “Can you not wait until these proceedings are over?”

  “I’m in the mood, Sickle,” the Chief replied, trimming a leaf.

  A trail of smoke curled upward around Master Agefor. He took a deep breath, inhaling through his nose, then blew out a small puff from his mouth. “Come on, Master Sickle, let him have his fun.”

  “This is no place for fun!” she snapped. “This room represents a serious institution. I expect our Chief to show more self-restraint.”

  Master Norion sighed but remained silent.

  “May I ask the Assembly if we can move on to the topic we gathered for?” Pervoick asked in a tone both gentle and clearly frustrated.

  “Hold your tongue, boy!” Sickle barked. “You will speak when spoken to.”

  The Chief clicked his tongue and frowned at his tree. “Look what you did, Sickle. You made me damage this branch.”

  Sickle waved her hands in exasperation. “Heavens, man, leave the tree alone.”

  The Chief shot her a sideways glare, then reluctantly pushed his potted tree aside, its ceramic base scraping loudly across the floor.

  “Well then,” Sickle huffed. “We shall begin. Speak, young Stearna.”

  Pervoick crossed his arms. “We did as instructed. The nest has been eradicated.”

  “Yet I’m told you let some bears escape,” Sickle replied.

  “They were no longer a threat.”

  “And what made you think you were in a position to make that decision?”

  Pervoick clicked his tongue. “I may not be a Master, but I can read an animal’s aura just fine. They were safe.”

  “Yes…” Sickle mused. “Thanks to our special guest, I hear. It seems you’ve gotten over your reservations about him.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Do not speak to me vaguely, boy. If you have something to say, say it clearly.”

  “Fine, then I’ll be clear: I was frustrated that, after all our hard work, we students were forced to partner with an outsider.”

  For the first time that day, Sickle seemed to sympathize. “I would agree with you there. His addition was... curious.” She glanced at the Chief beside her.

  He had seemed to drift off, but quickly straightened when he noticed the eyes on him. “Fate delivered us a message. I wasn’t about to ignore it.”

  “Oh, please,” Sickle muttered, rolling her eyes. “Don’t drag Mechilpinna into this just to justify your erratic decisions.”

  The Chief looked at her with childish annoyance and reached for his tree. Sickle slapped his hand away.

  “Regardless,” Pervoick said, “Yig was an invaluable asset. I’m afraid to admit it… but we probably couldn’t have beaten them without him.”

  “Why be afraid to say that?” the Chief asked.

  “Heavens, boy, shout it!” Agefor added with enthusiasm. “Working with an ally is nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn’t diminish the work you did.”

  “I agree,” Sickle added. “We worked hard to stay connected to other Stearna villages, despite the distances.”

  “This man wasn’t a Stearna,” Pervoick argued.

  “He was from Chesnut,” the Chief said. “Like another ally of ours.”

  “And even if he weren’t,” Agefor added, “we would still treat him well. Yes, we protect this village from strangers and outsiders—but we mustn’t forget the vibrant and diverse people of the World Tree.”

  “At the end of the day,” Sickle said gently, “we serve the Mother of Light. That has always been the goal—of the Ancestor, and every Stearna who followed.”

  Pervoick heard a footstep behind him. He glanced back, straightening as he turned to face the doorway. Slye stood there, hesitant to step inside.

  “The Assembly is in discussion,” Sickle said, waving her hand to hold him back.

  “Wait a minute, Sickle,” the Chief interjected. “Let me at least hear what young Slye has to say.”

  “Sil,” Slye said slowly.

  Pervoick’s heart sank as he heard it.

  “…She’s leaving.”

  “Too right too,” the Chief said with a smile. “Good for her.”

  Norion chuckled. “It seems everyone in your household has a drive to escape, doesn’t it?” The blacksmith then seemed to notice the stares, realizing he’d broken his grumpy streak. He quickly returned to his usual frown, slouching back into his creaky chair.

  “Are you okay, boy?” the Chief asked.

  Pervoick was shaken by the fact the Assembly could tell how he felt. He thought he’d gotten better at hiding such things.

  “She’s denied her feelings for too long. I think she was… scared to disappoint us. Scared to let us down. I’d be an awful friend to keep her here.”

  Sickle smiled. “And yet you’ll want her to stay anyway.”

  “Excuse me…” Pervoick said with a choke, turning to leave the Assembly.

  “I suppose we will now move to the topic of the attack we suffered—” Pervoick heard Sickle say as he stepped out.

  Slye placed a hand on his shoulder. “This is right for her.”

  “I know…” Pervoick said reluctantly. “Everyone with a strong heart leaves me… leaves us… eventually.”

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Sil stood at the edge of Sharirun, her eyes lingering on the buildings, gardens, and art she’d spent so much time around. Yig stood beside her, blissfully unaware of her painful nostalgia. The students and several villagers had gathered to send off one of their own—and the strange new friend they’d come to accept. Emotions were mixed, but they all offered words of celebration.

  She shook hands with masters and friends as they made their way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries. Mair and Kacur couldn’t hold back their overwhelming emotions, each clinging to Sil as tears flowed uncontrollably.

  Pervoick stood behind the crowd, on a short hill, squeezing a lump of grey clay in his hand as he watched. Yig slung his bag over his shoulder, glancing down the hills they’d soon cross. Sil did the same, slinging her own bag over her shoulder as she stepped up beside him.

  Yig turned to address their gathered friends one last time, raising his hands in excitement. Slye lifted an encouraging fist, yelling, “Go, my great pupil! Make me proud of my teachings!” Yig nodded in agreement—just as Host struck Slye for taking too much credit.

  “Which ones are your family?” Yig asked.

  Sil paused, then smirked mischievously. “Everyone in Sharirun is my family,” she replied.

  Yig smiled. “Yeah…” He understood.

  “See you at the festival!” Host shouted.

  “Festival?” Yig asked.

  “Yeah! The Pink Holly Festival. It’ll start in Moonset, just a few days from now.”

  They turned to the scene of rolling hills, patches of trees, and fields of wheat and barley. Narrow paths wound across the hills like brushstrokes, passing wooden homes and fading into the grasslands at the edge of the woods that marked the village borders.

  Sil exhaled deeply. “Right then, shall we go—?”

  Yig leaped forward without a second thought, tumbling down the steep hill in what could only generously be called a run. Sil stared for a moment, then hastily chased after him, clinging to her bag as she barked for him to slow down.

  The crowd behind them remained quiet—typical for Sharirun—but in her heart, Sil thought she could hear them cheering her on. Yig turned and grinned, glancing up at the hill behind her, almost losing his footing. Sil turned as well—and spotted them.

  The crowd was waving, hands raised high, cheering for her. Cheering for her to enjoy herself.

  Sil felt her heart flutter. She raised her hands and cheered right back.

  Finally, after all these years of waiting, her adventure was about to begin.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  6 Years Ago

  Mona rose from her bed in the dead of night to the sound of marching and shouting outside her window. She turned her head slightly, pulling the bed sheets up to her ears, trying to block out the noise. But she couldn’t sleep—the sounds were too strange. Thoughts spiraled through her tired mind.

  She stretched, yawned, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Then she stood, slipped into her nightgown, and walked to the window. She parted the curtains, letting the faint light of night spill into her room, and finally saw what was happening outside.

  Men and women—farmers, blacksmiths, and hunters—marched and wandered the streets, some holding torches to light the way. They let out deep, bellowing calls. She knew that sound. It was the call of the pack. That meant someone was missing.

  She slipped out the front door into the cool night air, weaving carefully around the roads and the murmuring crowd. Neither her mother nor her stepfather had been in their room—or in the dining room. But it didn’t surprise her that they’d left her to sleep through such an odd hour. Nobody ever left Chestnut Town. No one ever disappeared without being noticed. That was just the kind of place it was.

  Finally, Mona spotted her mother talking with some of the other high-ranking women in the town square.

  “Mother?” she asked. Her voice came out weaker than she’d hoped—more like a whimper. But she blamed that on fatigue and stepped in quickly.

  “Mona,” her mother replied, looking down in shock. “What are you doing up?”

  “You expect me to sleep through all this racket?”

  “I suppose not. But even so, you should have stayed home.”

  “What is this, anyway?” Mona said, her voice tinged with rising frustration. “Who’s gone missing?”

  Her mother glanced at her companions, as if seeking their approval before answering. Perhaps they didn’t want to spark rumors.

  “Quinlou went missing from his bed,” her mother said. “He tore off his bandages… looks like he escaped out the bedroom window.”

  Quinlou? she thought. It had been a week since they’d fought off the bandits, and Quinlou’s injuries from his duel with Daven were nowhere near healed.

  “But… why?” Mona asked, her worry starting to build.

  Her mother bent down and embraced her, unable—or unwilling—to offer an answer.

  Nobody left Chestnut Town… except a few.

  End of Part 2

  It's been really exciting to see the views and followers go up these past 2 months and I appreciate the support.

  If there's anything you particularly liked or dislike, leave a comment. I'd love to know your feelings on the story and characters.

  Which part did you prefer? 1 or 2? I'd love to know.