Anderwyn, Outside Brystwy Forest,

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the uneven terrain as Raelyn and Hovan rode in silence. Days of relentless travel had left them both weary, their horses plodding forward with sluggish determination. Raelyn adjusted her cloak against the cool breeze, her pale hair tucked under her hood, though strands of it slipped loose to glint in the fading light. The weight of the locket beneath her cloak pressed against her chest, a constant reminder of the burden she carried.

The landscape had begun to shift—rolling fields replaced the dense forests they had passed through earlier in their journey. The occasional stone fence lined the path, marking the boundaries of farmland. The land felt open and exposed after the cover of the trees, and Raelyn couldn't shake the tension clinging to her shoulders. Even Rakz, perched alertly on the saddle horn before her, seemed uneasy, his golden eyes flicking toward the horizon.

"Not much farther," Hovan said, breaking the silence. His voice was gruff but steady, his own exhaustion masked by his unyielding demeanor. He sat tall in the saddle, his hand resting near the hilt of his sword as if expecting trouble at any moment. "There's a farm ahead. We'll stop there for the night."

Raelyn nodded but said nothing, her gaze fixed on the faint plume of smoke rising from a chimney in the distance. As they drew closer, the farm came into view—a modest homestead nestled against the backdrop of towering trees. The forest of Brystwy loomed like a living wall, its ancient trees stretching skyward, their thick trunks shrouded in an ethereal mist that glowed faintly in the twilight. The air near the forest felt different, tinged with a quiet hum that Raelyn couldn't quite place. It was as if the woods themselves were alive, watching them.

The farm was simple but well-kept. A sturdy wooden house stood near a small barn, its thatched roof weathered but intact. A few chickens pecked at the dirt near the vegetable garden, and a lone cow grazed lazily in a nearby paddock. The scent of freshly tilled earth mingled with the faint sweetness of hay, and the scene might have felt peaceful if not for the uneasy quiet that lingered in the air.

Hovan dismounted first, his boots crunching on the gravel path as he surveyed the area with a soldier's practiced eye. The farm was quiet, save for the occasional cluck of a chicken and the soft rustle of wind through the tall grass. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, ready for anything, though his expression remained calm. "Seems safe enough," he muttered, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. He glanced over his shoulder at Raelyn, nodding toward the house. "Let's see if anyone's home."

Raelyn slid from her saddle with a wince, her legs stiff from the long ride. She steadied herself against her horse, her fingers brushing its damp mane as she exhaled slowly. The weariness of the past days clung to her like a second skin, but the sight of the farm—a pocket of life and warmth on the edge of the ancient forest—offered a sliver of relief. She patted the horse's neck absently, her gaze shifting to the towering trees that bordered the property. Their trunks were massive, their roots gnarled and deep, and a faint mist curled around their bases, glowing faintly in the fading light. The forest exuded a quiet power that was both beautiful and unnerving.

Rakz leapt gracefully to the ground, his sapphire scales catching the last rays of sunlight. He sniffed the air, his golden eyes narrowing as he padded ahead, his posture alert but unthreatening.

As they approached the house, a rhythmic thud broke the stillness. Around the corner of the barn, a young man swung an axe, the sharp crack of splitting wood punctuating the quiet. He moved with steady precision, his wiry frame bending slightly with each swing. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his rolled-up sleeves revealed strong forearms that flexed with the effort. A pile of neatly chopped logs rested nearby, evidence of his diligence.

The sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention, and he paused mid-swing, gripping the axe tightly as he turned. His sharp brown eyes flicked between Raelyn and Hovan, wary but not hostile. He set the axe down carefully, brushing his hands on his trousers before taking a cautious step forward.

"Evening," he said, his voice steady but edged with hesitation. "Can I help you?"

Raelyn offered a tentative smile, pulling her cloak tighter against the cool breeze. "We're travelers on our way to Eryndoriel," she said. "We were hoping to rest here for the night."

The young man hesitated, glancing back toward the house as though seeking confirmation from someone unseen. "I'm Benjamin," he said after a moment, his tone softening. He gave a sheepish smile, then added, "But everyone calls me Benji."

From the doorway of the house, a high-pitched voice rang out, playful and teasing. "Who calls you that?"

A girl, a little younger than Benji, stepped onto the porch, her unruly curls bouncing as she moved. Her grin was wide and mischievous as she added, "There's no one else out here to call you anything!"

Benji flushed, glaring over his shoulder. "Ruthie, go inside."

The girl ignored him, stepping further onto the porch. "Are they adventurers, Benjamin? They look like adventurers!" She eyed Raelyn and Hovan curiously, her doll clutched tightly in one hand.

Raelyn chuckled softly, the girl's boldness easing some of the tension in her chest. Even Hovan, though he didn't smile, let his hand fall away from his sword, his posture relaxing slightly.

The door creaked open further, and a middle-aged woman stepped out. Her features were lined with the marks of hard work, but her eyes were warm and intelligent. She wiped her hands on a flour-dusted apron as she approached, her gaze cautious but not unkind.

"Who are you, and what brings you to our farm?" she asked, her tone polite but firm, like someone used to handling unexpected visitors.

Raelyn stepped forward, pulling back her hood to reveal her pale hair. The woman's eyes lingered on it for a moment, curiosity flickering across her face. "I'm Raelyn," she said. "This is Hovan. We've been traveling for days and need a place to rest. We'd be happy to pay for your kindness."

The woman studied them for a long moment, her gaze flicking to Hovan. His broad shoulders and scarred face seemed to put her on edge, but something in Raelyn's expression—or perhaps the weariness in her voice—softened her stance. "Travelers aren't common out this way," she said, folding her arms. "Especially this close to the forest." She looked Raelyn over again before meeting her eyes. "You don't look like trouble."

"We're not," Raelyn assured her. "We just need a roof over our heads for the night."

The woman nodded slowly, her arms dropping to her sides. "I'm Lydia. And these are my children, Benjamin and Ruthie." She glanced at her son, who had been watching the exchange intently. "Benji, show them where to leave their horses. Ruthie, inside."

"But Mama—" Ruthie started, only to be cut off by Lydia's firm tone.

"Now."

The girl pouted but obeyed.

Raelyn murmured her thanks as Lydia turned back to her. "We don't have much to offer," Lydia said, her tone softening further. "But you're welcome to a warm meal and a dry place to sleep."

"That's more than enough," Hovan said, his tone respectful but gruff.

Lydia gestured toward the house. "Come inside when you're ready. Supper's almost done."

As Benji led the horses toward the barn, Raelyn glanced at the forest again. The ancient trees seemed darker now, their towering forms silhouetted against the dusky sky. The faint hum she had noticed earlier returned, a soft, almost imperceptible vibration in the air that set her nerves on edge. She clutched the locket beneath her cloak instinctively, its weight grounding her as she turned to follow Lydia inside.

The warmth of the hearth enveloped her the moment she stepped through the door. The scent of baking bread and herbs filled the cozy space, and despite its simplicity, the home felt inviting. For the first time in days, Raelyn allowed herself a moment of reprieve.

The dining table was a sturdy, timeworn piece, its surface marked with faint scratches and grooves that spoke of years of use. Mismatched plates and bowls were spread across it, filled with roasted vegetables, thick slices of bread, and a fragrant stew that steamed invitingly in the cool evening air.

Raelyn and Hovan sat across from each other, their cloaks draped over the backs of their chairs, as Lydia ladled generous portions into their bowls. Benjamin sat to one side, his posture slightly stiff but his expression eager, while Ruthie fidgeted beside him, her feet swinging under the table.

"It's not much," Lydia said with a modest smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "But it's filling, and that's what matters."

"It's wonderful," Raelyn said sincerely, her stomach rumbling in agreement as she took her first bite. The warmth of the stew seeped into her, easing the lingering tension from the day's journey.

Hovan muttered his thanks, already focused on his food. He wasn't one to wax poetic about meals, but the hearty fare was a welcome change from the trail rations they'd been subsisting on.

Lydia took her seat at the head of the table, her hands folded loosely in her lap as she watched her children and their guests. "Life here is quiet," she began, her tone thoughtful. "The forest is dangerous, but the elves are fair neighbors. We've traded with them a few times over the years—medicine, tools, even food during leaner seasons."

Raelyn's interest piqued at the mention of the elves. "What are they like?" she asked, setting her spoon down.

"Reclusive," Lydia said with a wry smile. "Private, but they keep their word. When they choose to help, it feels like a miracle."

Benjamin leaned forward, his chair creaking beneath him. "The forest is massive," he said, his voice animated. "People get lost in there all the time. They don't come out. But I've been to the elves before. Walked their paths. If you need, I could guide you."

Hovan raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of the young man's confidence, but he said nothing. Raelyn, however, offered Benjamin a kind smile. "That's very generous of you." she said, her tone gentle but noncommittal.

Benjamin straightened, visibly pleased by her response, and Hovan rolled his eyes subtly, taking another bite of stew.

As the meal continued, Raelyn glanced toward Lydia. "Your home is lovely," she said. "Do you manage the farm on your own?"

Lydia hesitated briefly, her expression softening with a quiet sadness that hadn't been there before. "It's just the three of us," she said. "We've been here since Benjamin and Ruthie were very young."

Raelyn tilted her head, her curiosity tempered with caution. "And your husband?" she asked gently. "Will he be joining us for supper?"

The room fell silent. Lydia's hands stilled on her lap, and Benjamin's gaze dropped to his bowl. Ruthie looked toward her mother, her usually mischievous expression replaced with solemnity.

"My husband," Lydia began softly, her voice steady despite the weight of her words, "was a knight. A good man. He died during the conquest of Bromaric. Fighting demons."

Raelyn's chest tightened at the quiet strength in the woman's voice. She saw the flicker of pride and sorrow in Lydia's eyes, mirrored in Benjamin's tense posture.

"He was a hero," Benjamin said, his voice firm as he straightened in his chair. "He gave his life to protect people. I don't remember much—he died when I was young—but I know he stood for something."

Hovan nodded slowly, his respect evident in the way his usually gruff expression softened. "That's no small thing," he said. "A man who stands for something like that leaves a mark."

Lydia offered a faint smile, though the sadness lingered. "We fled to Anderwyn afterward, to this farm. It's quiet here, safe. That's what matters."

Raelyn swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze lingering on Benjamin. His youthful eagerness now carried a heavier weight, a desire to live up to a legacy he barely remembered. "Thank you for sharing that with us," she said softly. "Your father sounds like he was an incredible man."

Benjamin nodded, his jaw set with determination. "He was."

As the conversation grew quieter, Ruthie's attention shifted to Rakz. The little creature was perched near the hearth, his tail flicking lazily as he watched the girl with cautious curiosity. Ruthie leaned forward, extending a hand, and Rakz sniffed at her fingers before letting out a low, rumbling chirp.

"He's not scary at all," Ruthie said with delight, her earlier shyness replaced with fascination. "Does he do tricks?"

"Not exactly," Raelyn said, suppressing a small laugh. "But he's clever. And he seems to like you."

Ruthie giggled, scratching gently under Rakz's chin. The little creature leaned into her touch, his tail swishing contentedly. Hovan, who had been watching the exchange in silence, smirked.

Ruthie's joy was infectious, and for the first time in days, she felt a glimmer of peace. As she watched Rakz tolerate Ruthie's playful attention, a thought lingered in the back of her mind: How much did Rakz truly understand? How much more was there to him than she realized?

As the evening wore on, the fire crackled softly, and the last of the stew was scraped from the bowls. Rakz settled near the hearth, curling up as Ruthie sat beside him, her wide eyes growing heavy with sleep.

Lydia began clearing the table, waving off Raelyn's offer to help with a warm but firm smile. "You're our guests," she said. "Rest while you can. Tomorrow will come soon enough."

Raelyn nodded, standing and stretching. As she followed Lydia's directions to the small guest room, she glanced back at the family. Lydia's quiet strength, Benjamin's unyielding pride, Ruthie's innocent joy—it all reminded her of what they were fighting to protect.

Clutching the locket beneath her cloak, Raelyn made her way to the modest guest bed, the hum of its faint magic a steady comfort. Tomorrow, the journey would continue, and with it, the weight of their mission. But for now, she allowed herself to rest.