The group walked at a leisurely pace, the warmth of the morning sun breaking through the gentle canopy above. 

Aina walked beside Micah and Killian, her expression bouncing between quiet relief and barely-contained excitement. 

"La la la la la!"

Lyra trailed close behind, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings as if still on guard. 

Haerak, with his reassuring presence, walked near Andhur, who, as always, seemed ready to break into a tale or a laugh at any moment.

Micah tilted her head back slightly, taking in the morning breeze. 

It felt different somehow—

Heavier. 

She glanced at Killian, who walked silently beside her, his face thoughtful but unreadable. 

"Hmm."

Her brother had always been like that—steady, quiet, letting his actions speak louder than words. 

But even she could see the subtle tension in his brow, the guilt shadowing his usual calm demeanor.

As they approached the village square, the hum of activity reached their ears. 

The villagers moved about slowly, the weight of the previous days' horrors apparent in their sluggish movements and downcast eyes. 

Many of them bore signs of their ordeal—clothes torn, faces pale, their bodies stiff and fragile. 

These were the ones Selene had captured, forced to endure her madness.

Micah's steps slowed, her gaze softening as she looked at the weary faces of her people. 

She could see the trauma in their eyes—the way they avoided looking too long at anyone, the way some flinched even when nothing moved around them. 

It was heartbreaking. 

She placed a hand on Killian's arm, and he stopped too, following her gaze.

Micah said softly, her voice barely audible.

"They look... shattered."

Killian nodded, his jaw tightening. 

"They've been through more than anyone should have to bear," he said quietly. 

"And we weren't here for them."

Micah swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her like a stone. 

"I know," she murmured. 

"But... we're here now. We'll help them heal."

Andhur, for once, remained quiet, his usually animated face subdued as he looked around the square. 

Even he seemed to grasp the gravity of what these people had endured. 

Haerak placed a comforting hand on Andhur's shoulder, as if sensing the unspoken emotion brewing in his younger companion.

One of the villagers, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a thin frame, looked up from where he was helping a neighbor stack firewood. 

His eyes widened as they landed on Micah and Killian. 

He froze, the log slipping from his hands and hitting the ground with a dull thud.

"It's them," he whispered, his voice trembling. 

"Micah... Killian..."

The murmur spread like wildfire. 

As the villagers caught sight of Micah and Killian, the initial reaction was not uniform joy. 

At first, there was hesitation—a collective intake of breath as if no one dared to believe their eyes. A few villagers froze in place, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief, while others whispered amongst themselves, their voices hushed and wary.

 Someone murmured, the words carrying a mixture of relief and resentment.

"They're back."

Another said, though the tone was neither celebratory nor accusatory—just stunned.

"Our hunters have returned."

Micah and Killian exchanged uncertain glances. 

Micah gave her brother a small, almost nervous smile, but he didn't return it. 

Instead, his eyes swept over the growing crowd, taking in the complex tapestry of emotions etched into their faces. 

For every villager whose eyes welled with relief, there was another who looked away, their expression tight with unresolved pain.

One older man stood rooted to the spot, his shoulders trembling. 

He gripped the arm of a younger woman beside him, his voice breaking. 

"Micah... Killian..." 

His lips moved as if searching for the right words, but all he could manage was. 

"You're alive." 

It was both a statement and a question, as though their presence needed confirmation.

Others began to approach more cautiously. Some reached out, hesitant to touch them, as if they feared the two might vanish into thin air. 

"Is it really them?" a woman whispered, her voice shaking. 

Tears streamed down her face, but they seemed born of relief and sorrow in equal measure.

"You're safe!" a man called out, his voice thick with emotion. 

Yet, even as he spoke, his expression flickered with something darker—a hint of anger, perhaps, or betrayal. 

He clenched his fists, looking away as if ashamed of his conflicted feelings.

Slowly, the crowd began to shift. 

A few villagers cheered, their voices cracking with genuine gratitude. 

"Micah! Killian!" they cried, their hands clapping together in celebration. 

But not everyone joined in. 

Some stood back, their faces somber, their eyes reflecting the pain of the days the hunters had been absent.

"I can't believe they're back," someone muttered, the words carrying a bitter undertone. 

"They weren't here when we needed them."

Another villager turned to the speaker, scowling. 

"They're here now," he said firmly. 

"That's what matters."

The tension in the air was palpable, a strange blend of joy, relief, and lingering resentment. 

Micah felt it like a physical weight pressing down on her chest. 

These were her people—the ones she had sworn to protect. 

And yet, she could see the unspoken question in their eyes.

Where were you?

Killian's face remained stoic, but she could see the tightness in his jaw, the flicker of guilt in his otherwise calm demeanor.

A boy no older than ten broke free from the crowd and ran up to Micah, clutching a small bundle of wildflowers in his dirt-streaked hands. 

He exclaimed, his voice bright and pure, untainted by the heaviness of adult regret. 

"You're home!" 

He thrust the flowers toward her, his wide eyes shimmering with adoration.

Micah knelt down, her heart twisting as she accepted the offering. 

She said softly, brushing a hand over the boy's hair. 

"Thank you."

His innocence was a balm to her frayed emotions, but it also deepened her guilt. 

She hadn't been here to protect children like him.

As the crowd grew denser, Andhur shifted uncomfortably, his usual cheer subdued. 

Even he seemed to recognize the undercurrent of mixed emotions swirling around them. 

"Micah," a trembling voice called out. 

A woman stepped forward, her face lined with exhaustion and grief. 

"Where were you?"

 The question was soft—

Almost whispered—

But it cut through the murmurs like a blade.

Micah froze, her breath hitching. 

Before she could respond, Killian raised his hand, his deep voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. 

He said firmly, though his tone was not unkind. 

"Enough."

The villagers quieted, their gazes locking onto him.

"Please," he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. 

"We don't deserve this... celebration."

The crowd stirred uneasily, confused murmurs rippling through their ranks.

"We weren't here when you needed us most," Killian continued, his gaze sweeping over the villagers. 

"When the village was under attack, when you were suffering... we were gone. We failed you."

Micah stepped forward, her hand brushing Killian's arm as she addressed the crowd. 

"He's right," she said softly. 

"We weren't here, and for that, we are so sorry."

She paused, her voice thick with emotion. 

"But we're here now," she continued, her voice growing stronger. 

"And we promise to do everything we can to make up for it. To help rebuild, to protect you—like we should have been doing all along."

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the weight of their words. 

Then, slowly, an older woman stepped forward. Her back was bent with age, but her eyes were sharp and kind. 

"You may have been gone," she said, her voice trembling. 

"But you came back. And that's what matters."

A ripple of agreement moved through the crowd. Some nodded, their expressions softening, while others looked away, their emotions still too raw. 

But the mood shifted, if only slightly. 

The villagers began to see Micah and Killian not as deserters, but as two of their own who had come home.

"Thank you," Killian said quietly, his voice thick with gratitude. 

"We won't let you down again."

The tension broke like a dam, and while the crowd didn't erupt into cheers this time, there was a sense of quiet acceptance. 

One by one, the villagers began to disperse, leaving behind a sense of tentative hope. Andhur let out a long breath, his usual grin returning.

"Well," he said, scratching the back of his head.

"That was heavy. But you know what they say—every storm passes, right?"

A few chuckles rippled through the group, and even Micah couldn't help but smile faintly. 

The world wasn't fully healed—

But in that moment—

It felt like the first stitch had been made.

The group continued their leisurely stroll, the village square gradually falling away behind them. 

The air was calm, carrying with it the faint sounds of life returning to normal—the chatter of villagers, the occasional bark of a dog, and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Killian glanced at Haerak, his expression thoughtful. 

"So... where are the Renaissance Band staying?"

Haerak tilted his head slightly, his tone light but with a hint of pride. 

"Killian, I gave them their own cabin. It's at the edge of the village, right by the dark forest. Well, the normal forest now, thanks to Selene's end. You want to see them?"

Killian didn't hesitate. 

"Yeah. I owe them a lot... a lot more than words can cover."

Haerak gave him a knowing look, his lips curving into a small, teasing smile. 

"Hmm. Alright then. I'll take you to them. But—" 

He wagged a finger at Killian, mock stern. 

"Make sure you don't get too emotional, alright?"

Killian furrowed his brow, crossing his arms defensively. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like," Haerak replied smoothly, his tone almost sing-song.

"You. You're emotional when it comes to owing people thanks. Always have been."

Micah couldn't hold back her chuckle. 

"He's not wrong, you know. You do get a little... intense."

Killian shot her a sideways glance but didn't argue. Instead, he gave a faint huff of amusement. 

"Hmm. Fine. Let's just get there."

△▼△▼△▼△

The group fell into a comfortable rhythm, the path winding gently toward the forest's edge.

 As they neared the cabins, the faint hum of activity began to reach their ears. 

The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread wafted through the air, mingling with the crisp scent of pine from the nearby trees.

"Looks like they're busy," Haerak said with a smile, gesturing ahead. 

"You'll see what I mean."

When they rounded the final bend, the sight that greeted them was enough to make Micah and Killian pause. 

The Renaissance Band wasn't just resting—they were living, blending seamlessly into the village life in a way that was both humbling and heartwarming.

Jiighual stood near a makeshift table, which was piled high with trays of steaming food. 

His voice boomed with energy, drawing a small crowd of villagers who had lined up eagerly. 

"Come get your delicious chickens here!" he called, his face alight with enthusiasm. 

"I cooked them myself—don't be shy! Come on now!"

Micah couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his presence larger than life. 

Yzavynne and Leeani flanked him, efficiently handing out portions to the waiting villagers.

Leeani called, her tone firm but friendly, as she gestured for the crowd to organize themselves better.

"Two lines, please!" 

Yzavynne, meanwhile, handed a plate to an older woman with a soft smile. 

She glanced at Jiighual, shaking her head lightly. 

"You're quite energetic this morning, aren't you?"

Jiighual laughed, a deep, hearty sound that seemed to lift the spirits of everyone around him. 

"Well, someone's gotta keep the energy up! Can't have a gloomy breakfast, now, can we?"

Further down the clearing, Qarek was shadowboxing, his movements sharp and focused. 

"Can't let myself get rusty now!"

Sweat glistened on his skin as he threw punch after punch, his muscles taut with effort. 

Nearby, his master, Gargeal, stood with his arms crossed, watching him with a critical eye. 

He said nothing, but the slight nod of approval when Qarek landed a particularly clean combination spoke volumes.

"Hmm."

Kazaks sat a little apart from the others, his lone arm resting on the edge of a wooden bench. 

He seemed content to simply observe, his gaze steady and thoughtful as he watched the bustling activity around him. 

Though his expression was calm, there was a quiet strength in his posture, a reminder of everything he had endured and yet remained standing—or, in this case, sitting.

Micah's eyes softened as they landed on Zach and Ruby, who stood just outside the door of one of the cabins. 

The two were deep in conversation, their voices too soft to carry, but the way they looked at each other spoke volumes. 

Ruby's hand rested lightly on Zach's arm, her expression a mix of gratitude and something deeper, while Zach nodded, his face uncharacteristically tender.

The scene was almost overwhelming in its simplicity. 

There was no grand fanfare, no flashy display of heroics—

Just a group of people who had fought and bled for a cause—

Now doing what they could to rebuild and heal.

Killian exhaled slowly, his voice quiet. 

"They're not what I expected."

"They rarely are," Haerak replied, his tone warm. 

"Come on. Let's go meet them."

Micah and Killian exchanged a glance before nodding, their steps carrying them toward the Renaissance Band. 

Jiighual spotted them first, his booming voice cutting through the air. 

"Well, well! Look who it is!" 

He waved them over with a wide grin. 

"Hungry? I've got enough food here to feed half the village!"

Micah chuckled, her steps quickening. 

"It smells amazing," she admitted. 

"Did you really cook all this yourself?"

"Of course!" Jiighual puffed out his chest proudly. 

"A warrior's gotta know how to survive, and that includes making food that doesn't taste like dirt!"

Leeani rolled her eyes playfully. 

"What he means is, he's been experimenting, and we're lucky it turned out edible."

Jiighual protested, but his grin didn't falter.

"Hey!" 

As the group made their way through the clearing, Andhur clapped Killian on the shoulder, his voice teasing. 

"So, you're finally meeting the people who saved your skin, huh? Try not to cry too much."

Killian smirked faintly, though there was a glint of emotion in his eyes. 

"I'll manage."

Haerak chuckled, leading them closer to where Zach and Ruby stood. 

The two turned to face the newcomers, their expressions shifting as they recognized Haerak and his group. 

Zach stepped forward, offering a small nod. 

"Haerak," he greeted, his voice steady and respectful. 

His gaze shifted to Killian and Micah, taking in their unfamiliar faces. 

"And you must be the hunters I've been hearing about."

Killian hesitated for a moment, his throat tightening as he met Zach's gaze. 

There was a weight to this meeting he hadn't anticipated. He glanced at Micah briefly before speaking, his voice quieter than usual. 

"You must be the captain of the band. I... I owe you more than I can ever put into words," he said, his hands balling into fists at his sides. 

"Thank you. For everything."

Ruby stepped closer, her smile soft but tinged with sadness. 

"We only did what needed to be done."

She studied Killian and Micah for a moment before adding. 

"But I can see this hasn't been easy for either of you."

Killian exhaled a shaky breath, nodding faintly. 

"It hasn't."

He admitted. 

"But it's harder to know we weren't here when it all happened. To know you... you and your band saved what we couldn't."

Micah, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. 

Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them in front of her. 

"We can see it in all of you," she said, her gaze flicking over to the others—the lively Jiighual, the commanding Yzavynne, the hardworking Leeani, and the rest scattered across the clearing. 

"You're all... putting on brave faces. But this village owes you everything, and we know it came at a cost."

At this, Zach's expression shifted. 

His jaw tightened ever so slightly, and for a moment, the mask of composure slipped, revealing the weight he carried. 

He glanced at Ruby, who met his gaze and gave a small, encouraging nod. 

Zach turned back to the two hunters, his voice quieter now, almost breaking under the strain of his words.

"We lost someone," he began, each word measured, as if he were choosing them carefully to keep his emotions in check. 

"Nert. He wasn't just a comrade. He was... family."

Ruby's hand found Zach's arm, a silent gesture of support as she continued where he left off. 

"We've all been through losses before. We've fought battles that seemed impossible. But this... this was different. Losing Nert—it wasn't just losing a friend. It was losing a part of who we are as a band."

Zach nodded, his voice thick as he added.

"Nert was... the kind of person who kept us steady. When things got too dark, he found a way to bring light. He believed in what we were doing, even when the rest of us didn't."

Killian lowered his head, his brows furrowing deeply. 

"I... I can't imagine what that must've been like," he said quietly. 

"To lose someone like that and still keep fighting."

Micah placed a hand on Killian's arm, her gaze returning to Zach and Ruby. 

"You did more than fight. You saved this village. You saved us. Nert would be proud of that. I know he would."

Ruby smiled faintly, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. 

"We tell ourselves that," she said softly. 

"Every day, we tell ourselves he'd be proud. But the truth is... it doesn't make it hurt any less. Some days, it feels like we're just... pretending to be okay. Like we're putting on a show for everyone else's sake."

Killian looked up, meeting Ruby's gaze, his voice stronger now. 

"Then don't. You don't have to pretend. Not with us. We may not have been here for the fight, but we're here now. If there's anything we can do to help carry that weight—"

Micah finished for him, her voice firm yet gentle.

"—we will."

There was a long silence, the kind that felt heavy but not uncomfortable. 

Zach's gaze softened as he studied the two hunters, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally spoke.

"You don't owe us that," he said quietly. 

"But... thank you. It means more than you know."

Micah's hand tightened slightly on Killian's arm. 

"It's the least we can do. And... I'm sorry for your loss. Truly."

Killian nodded in agreement, his voice low. 

"We'll make sure Nert's sacrifice wasn't in vain. Whatever happens next, we'll do our part."

Ruby's smile returned, small but genuine this time. 

"Thank you," she said simply, her voice carrying a warmth that cut through the sadness. 

"For now, though... let's just take this day for what it is. A chance to breathe. To heal."

Zach glanced at Ruby, his expression softening further. 

"She's right. It's a new day. And for all the pain, we still have each other. That's what Nert would've wanted us to hold onto."

There was no rush, no urgency—just a shared understanding, a quiet moment of connection between people who had seen too much and still found a way to carry on.

Finally, Haerak cleared his throat lightly, breaking the silence without shattering it. 

Haerak glanced between Zach and Ruby and then back to Killian and Micah. 

He seemed to consider something for a moment before offering a gentle suggestion. 

"Why don't you introduce yourselves properly?" he said, his tone warm but encouraging. 

"It might do good to get to know each other better."

═════ ◆ TO BE CONTINUED ◆ ═════