By midday, they reached the outskirts of a small village nestled in a shallow valley. They had left Rakz back at the camp, trusting in his uncanny ability to find his way back to Raelyn. He had proven this skill before when he tracked her all the way to Ardesco on his own. Honeygrove was quaint and unremarkable, with cobblestone streets winding between thatched-roof cottages, their chimneys puffing thin trails of smoke into the clear sky. The modest market square bustled with life, merchants calling out their wares, the hum of conversation weaving through the air. The sweet aroma of honey lingered faintly, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread, roasting meats, and bundles of herbs hanging from shop awnings.

Hovan dismounted first, his movements purposeful, as he surveyed the village with a watchful eye. He gestured for the others to follow. "We need supplies," he said, his voice low but firm. "And we need to blend in."

Corix nodded, his expression as serious as ever. "No magi robes. No armor. We'll stand out too much."

Raelyn frowned, glancing down at her white robes, which were now dirt-streaked and torn at the edges. "But what about... my hair?" she asked hesitantly, brushing a strand behind her ear.

Hovan turned to her, his usually stern face softening slightly. "We'll get you a hooded cloak. It'll help you stay hidden."

Her fingers instinctively touched the locket beneath her robes. The thought of hiding who she was—of erasing any sign of her identity—stung, but she nodded, knowing it was necessary.

The group moved carefully through the market, keeping close and avoiding lingering too long near any one stall. The villagers, blissfully unaware of the chaos that had unfolded at Ardesco, were cheerful, their conversations light and mundane. Raelyn felt a pang of guilt as she watched them go about their day, oblivious to the danger looming beyond their borders.

Hovan led her to a blacksmith's forge at the edge of the market square. The forge was an open structure with a roaring furnace at its center. The heat radiated outward, carrying with it the acrid scent of molten metal and charred wood. The rhythmic clang of hammer on steel rang through the air, and the blacksmith, a burly man with soot-covered hands and arms thick with muscle, glanced up as they approached.

The blacksmith wiped his hands on a rag, his piercing eyes flicking between Hovan and Raelyn before offering a curt nod. "What can I do for you?"

"I need a sword," Hovan said, his tone steady as he gestured toward Raelyn. "Something light, balanced. Fit for her size."

The blacksmith raised an eyebrow, his gaze settling on Raelyn's slight frame. "For her?"

Hovan didn't flinch under the man's scrutiny. "For her," he affirmed.

Without further comment, the blacksmith moved to a rack of weapons near the forge. He pulled down a few blades, their polished surfaces gleaming faintly in the midday sun. One was a slender short sword with a simple crossguard, another a curved blade with an intricate hilt, and the last a small but sturdy longsword designed for quick strikes.

Hovan inspected them with a practiced eye, his hand brushing over the edges and hilts before selecting the slender short sword. He turned to Raelyn and held it out. "Try this."

Raelyn hesitated, her fingers trembling as she reached for the weapon. The hilt was cool against her palm, but the weight of the blade felt foreign, heavy in her hands. She adjusted her grip, but it felt awkward, as if the sword was resisting her efforts to wield it.

"Why do I need this?" she asked, her voice wavering as she looked up at Hovan.

"Because you can't rely on magic alone," Hovan said, his tone firm but not unkind. "Until you can control it, you'll need something to defend yourself. The road ahead is dangerous, and you're vulnerable. I won't always be there to protect you."

The weight of his words settled over her, a reminder of the stark reality they faced.

Raelyn glanced up at him, her brows furrowed. "I don't know if I can do this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You can," Hovan said simply, his brown eyes meeting hers. "And you will. We'll train tonight."

The blacksmith watched the exchange in silence before nodding toward the blade. "Good choice," he said gruffly, wiping his hands on his apron. "That one's sturdy, sharp. Won't fail you if you take care of it."

Hovan handed over a pouch of coins without hesitation, securing the sword's purchase. He then turned back to Raelyn, handing her the blade carefully. "It's yours now," he said. "Take care of it, and it'll take care of you."

Raelyn nodded, her grip tightening around the hilt. It still felt strange in her hands, but there was a sense of finality in holding it. This wasn't just a weapon—it was a step toward survival, a step toward facing the danger that surrounded them.

"Come on," Hovan said, his voice softer now. "We still have more to do."

As they left the forge, Raelyn glanced back at the blacksmith, who was already returning to his work, the clang of his hammer ringing out once more. She looked down at the sword in her hand, its edge catching the light, and felt a flicker of resolve stir within her.

She didn't know if she could learn to fight, to wield the blade with the skill and confidence Hovan seemed to believe she could. But for the sake of everyone who had fallen at Ardesco—and for those still counting on her—she knew she had to try.

By the time they left the market, Raelyn carried a modest satchel filled with supplies: dried fruits, bread, a water flask, and the short sword now secured at her side. The weight of the blade, though light for its size, was unfamiliar against her hip, a constant reminder of how much her life had changed in just a day.

Hovan walked ahead, his broad shoulders no longer clad in armor. He had traded it for a simple linen tunic and a sturdy leather vest, though his ever-present sword remained sheathed at his hip. Even without his knightly armor, he moved with the air of someone who was always ready for a fight. Corix, meanwhile, wore a plain, weathered cloak that seemed to erase any trace of his former magus status. His robes, once a symbol of authority and power, were carefully folded and tucked away in his satchel, hidden from view.

Raelyn found herself lagging slightly behind, her steps slow as her gaze caught her reflection in a shop window. The sight made her pause. The girl staring back at her was unrecognizable. The hood of her new cloak concealed her stark white hair, and her magus robes—once a source of pride—were obscured beneath the fabric. She reached up and touched the edge of the hood, her fingers brushing the coarse material.

At the edge of the village, the group stopped at a small aviary tucked between two cottages. The wooden structure was modest, its walls lined with cages housing sleek black ravens. Their beady eyes glittered in the dim light as they watched the group approach, their low caws filling the air.

Corix stepped forward, retrieving the letter he had written earlier from his satchel. He handed a few coins to the keeper, an elderly man with gnarled hands and a sharp gaze. The man took the payment with a curt nod and attached the letter to one of the ravens' legs, his movements practiced and efficient.

Raelyn watched in silence as the raven was released. It stretched its wings wide, flapping powerfully as it rose into the sky. The bird's black silhouette grew smaller and smaller against the pale blue horizon until it disappeared entirely.

She stared after it, her thoughts heavy with worry. Would the High Council receive the message in time? Would they be able to fight off the demons that had breached Ardesco's defenses?

Corix must have noticed her troubled expression, because he spoke, his tone steady but not unkind. "The High Council is not easily overwhelmed, Raelyn. If anyone can protect Kaiswen, it's them."

Raelyn nodded but couldn't shake the gnawing doubt in her chest. "What if it's not enough?" she asked softly, her voice almost lost in the breeze.

Corix hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the direction the raven had flown. "Then we'll make sure it is," he said, his voice carrying a quiet determination. "But for now, we must focus on the task ahead. One step at a time."

Hovan, standing nearby, placed a hand on her shoulder. His touch was firm but reassuring. "Come on," he said. "We've lingered long enough."

Raelyn took one last look at the aviary and the village beyond. For a fleeting moment, she envied them—their blissful ignorance, their simple lives untouched by the shadow of war. But as she turned away and followed Hovan and Corix out of the village, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. How long would their peace last? How long before the darkness reached even here?

Night had fully embraced the wilderness, the thick canopy of trees above swallowing all but the faintest starlight. Their camp was a small, dim haven in the darkness, the fire crackling softly and casting flickering shadows against the tall oaks surrounding them. The warmth of the flames was a small comfort against the cool night air, but the tension between them was palpable.

Hovan stood a few paces from the fire, his broad frame silhouetted by the dancing light as he worked with Raelyn. He held her hand steady, adjusting her grip on the short sword she had struggled to wield earlier.

"It's not about strength," he said, his voice calm but firm. He placed a guiding hand on her shoulder, correcting her posture. "It's about control. Let the blade move with you, not against you. You fight the blade, you lose."

Raelyn nodded, her jaw clenched as she tried to follow his instructions. Her arms already ached from the unfamiliar weight, and the constant adjustments to her stance felt awkward and unnatural. Frustration simmered beneath the surface, but she bit her tongue, determined not to show weakness.

From where he was curled up by the fire, Rakz watched Raelyn with his sharp, unblinking eyes. The soft light of the flames reflected off his scaled hide, his tail flicking occasionally as if mirroring Raelyn's frustration.

"Keep your feet planted," Hovan instructed, tapping her ankle with his boot. "Your stance is your foundation. Without it, you'll fall apart the moment someone comes at you."

She shifted her weight, trying to emulate the steadiness in his movements. Hovan stepped back, his sharp gaze scanning her form. "Better," he said, nodding. "Now, strike."

Raelyn lifted the blade, its tip wobbling slightly before she brought it down in an unsteady arc. Hovan caught it with his own sword, the sharp clang of steel ringing out into the night. The force of his block sent a jolt through her arms, and she nearly dropped the sword.

"Too stiff," he said, shaking his head. "Loosen your wrists. The blade isn't a club. Let it flow."

Her frustration boiled over. "It's not as easy as you make it look!" she snapped, glaring at him.

Hovan's expression softened slightly, though his voice remained steady. "No, it's not easy. Nothing about this is easy, Raelyn. But that's why we're doing it now, not when your life depends on it."

She swallowed hard, her shoulders slumping as the weight of his words sank in. Her fingers tightened around the hilt, and she forced herself to raise the sword again. "Alright," she muttered. "Again."

Nearby, Corix sat cross-legged on the ground, the soft glow of the fire illuminating the edges of his worn face. His spellbook lay open on his lap, its pages filled with intricate glyphs and diagrams. His eyes scanned the symbols, but his mind seemed elsewhere, his brow furrowed in thought.

Raelyn glanced at him between strikes, her breathing labored. The question had been gnawing at her since they left Honeygrove, and now the silence was unbearable.

"Do you think the barrier will hold?" she asked hesitantly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Corix looked up slowly, his eyes shadowed and weary. For a moment, he didn't answer, as though weighing his words carefully. "It doesn't matter if it does or not," he said finally, his tone low and grave. "The demons found a way through once. We have to assume they can do it again. Kaiswen isn't safe anymore."

Raelyn's chest tightened. The barrier had always been a symbol of protection, a line that no enemy could cross. Now, that illusion had been shattered, and the thought of it failing again filled her with dread.

"But... what if the High Council stops them?" she asked, clutching the locket beneath her robes. Its faint warmth was a small, fragile comfort against the storm of fear building inside her.

Corix's expression darkened, his gaze dropping to the spellbook in his lap. "The High Council can fight off an army of demons," he said quietly. "But that's not the problem. The barrier was our greatest defense, and it failed. Even if the Council wins this battle, the fact that the demons got through means the war has already begun. They could return, in greater numbers. Kaiswen's safety can no longer be taken for granted."

Raelyn stared into the fire, the flames reflecting in her wide, uncertain eyes. The road ahead seemed impossibly long, and the stakes impossibly high. How was she supposed to bear it? How could she possibly carry the weight of Unevia's fate on her shoulders?

Her grip on the sword tightened. She wasn't a warrior, not like Hovan. She wasn't a master of magic, not like Corix. She was just a girl who had barely begun to understand her own power.

Hovan's voice broke the silence. "One more time," he said, nodding toward her blade. "You're improving. Focus."

Raelyn took a deep breath, her muscles screaming in protest as she raised the sword again. Her strikes were still clumsy, her movements still unpolished, but she didn't stop.

By the time Hovan finally called for a break, her arms felt like lead, and her legs threatened to give out beneath her. She collapsed onto the ground near the fire, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

Rakz trotted over to her, his small claws clicking against the ground. Without hesitation, he curled up beside her, his scaled body radiating a surprising warmth. Raelyn smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against his back as he rested his head on her lap. His steady breathing was a comfort she hadn't realized she needed.

She reached for the locket again, her fingers tracing its smooth edges as she whispered a silent plea for guidance. The stars above were faint, their light barely visible through the canopy of trees, but she found herself staring at them anyway, searching for some kind of answer in their distant glow.