The village looked different in daylight.
Not fixed. Not healed. But softer somehow—like the burden pressing down on it had finally eased its grip. Warm sunlight spilled over crooked rooftops, chasing the cold out of the shadows. The dirt road was still muddy from the night’s dew, but for the first time since we’d arrived, the silence wasn’t oppressive.
It was just… quiet.
Almost Peaceful.
Windows creaked open as we passed. Shutters twitched. Faces—small, pale, hesitant—peeked out from behind curtains. No one said anything. But I could feel the shift. That edge-of-panic tension that had hung over everything was loosening. Slowly. Carefully. Like the village was trying to remember what safety felt like.
And then I saw him.
The farmer.
He stood in front of his porch, still slouched like a man carrying too much grief, but upright now. Awake. Waiting. His eyes locked on us as we approached—bloodied, mud-streaked, exhausted—and he took a halting step forward.
“You’re back,” he said, voice hoarse. Like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You actually… made it back.”
I nodded once. “It’s dead.”
He stared at me. At all of us. His mouth opened, closed. Then again. “How?”
Thorne stepped forward, arms crossed, deadpan as ever. “Teamwork.”
Garrick grunted, shifting his hammer on his back. “And a big hammer.”
The farmer made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He rubbed a hand down his face, shoulders shaking, then stepped back and waved toward his porch.
“I—I don’t have much,” he said. “But if you’ll take a meal. Or a place to rest. Or anything.”
Calla gave a small smile. “We’re just glad your animals—and you—will live to see another sunrise.”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll never forget this.”
Behind him, a few more villagers emerged. A woman holding a child. An older man gripping a cane. No one spoke, but the gratitude in their eyes was unmistakable. Quiet. Raw. Real.
The farmer led us behind his house, past the crooked fence and the shed with the half-rotted door, to a small barn that looked like it had seen better decades. The doors creaked open under his weight, and for a second, I half-expected something to lurch out of the shadows.
Instead, he reached into the corner, rummaging through an old crate, and pulled out a satchel.
He turned to us, hands trembling slightly. “It’s not much,” he said. “Dried meat, some roots, a few coins. It’s all I’ve got. But it’s yours. For what you did.”
Garrick took a step forward, raising a hand. “You don’t need to pay us. We didn’t do it for—”
“Let him,” I said, quietly.
Garrick paused, looked at me. I nodded once.
“This matters to him,” I said.
The farmer gave me a small, grateful smile, and placed the satchel down on a hay bale between us like it was something sacred.
Thorne stepped up, taking it with a short nod. “We’ll put it to good use.”
Calla glanced back toward the house. “Your family—”
“They’re safe,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “My wife took the kids to her sister’s village. I’ll send word. Tell them they can come home.”
That warmed my heart more than I expected.
Because it wasn’t just a monster we’d killed. It was a reason for someone to come home again.
We turned to leave—but before we could make it far, a door creaked open further down the road. Then another. A woman stepped out with a small loaf of bread, wrapped in cloth. She held it out like it might break in the wind.
“For the road,” she said, voice shaking. “Thank you.”
Next was an old man with a bent back and trembling hands. He shuffled forward, holding out a hand-knitted scarf, thick with mismatched yarn. He didn’t say anything—just pressed it into Garrick’s hands and smiled.
Others followed.
A jar of dried herbs. A small canteen of springwater. A single flower tucked into a ribbon.
None of it was valuable.
But that wasn’t the point.
I felt it shift in the air—the fear melting into something hesitant, but warmer. Like the village had started breathing again. Like maybe, just maybe, they could trust that the world wasn’t always trying to crush them.
 
The sun was higher now, warm against the back of my neck as we packed up our things just outside the village. The fields looked almost normal in the daylight—green and swaying, touched by wind. Peaceful. Like last night hadn’t happened.
But I knew better.
So did Calla.
She kneeled beside her satchel, tying the last strap before glancing over at me. Her voice was low—meant just for me.
“That thing we killed,” she said, not looking up. “It wasn’t just sick, Felix.”
I paused mid-motion, adjusting the clasp on my gear.
She finally met my gaze. “It was warped. Twisted down to the bone. That doesn’t happen on its own. Something did that to it.”
She exhaled slowly, her brow tight. “There’s always been wild mana. Some creatures mutate. But that was different. It didn’t just mutate. It… broke.”
I nodded once. “Whatever did it? It’s not done.”
We stood in silence for a moment as the others packed up further down the road. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster called out like it didn’t realize how close it had come to never crowing again.
“We shouldn’t say anything to the locals,” she murmured.
“Agreed.”
She gave one more glance toward the treeline, then started walking.
I almost called her back. Almost told her about the eyes in the woods—the flicker of iridescent fur, the sense that we weren’t alone on that trail.
But the words caught in my throat.
Not yet.
Whatever it was… it hadn’t run. It hadn’t attacked. It had followed.
And part of me wasn’t sure if that should scare me more—or less.
So I kept walking.
And didn’t say a word.
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We left just after midday, packs a little heavier but shoulders a little lighter. The villagers stood scattered along the path, not exactly waving us off—but not hiding behind shutters this time, either.
Progress.
A couple of kids peeked out from behind a fence and waved. Thorne gave them a half-smile, which was probably the emotional equivalent of a full parade from her. Garrick nodded to the farmer as we passed his gate. Calla offered a quiet goodbye.
The old man just stood there, weathered hands resting on the fence rail. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
His eyes followed us as we walked out of his fields and back onto the road. And in them?
Thanks. Regret. Hope.
All tangled up into one tired gaze.
I walked at the back again. Not because I had to—but because I wanted to.
There was a feeling in the air. Like something unfinished. Like we hadn’t quite closed the chapter on this place.
And sure enough, as the road curved toward the forest edge, I saw it again.
A shimmer.
Just a flicker of light between the trees. Shimmering fur catching the sun.
It was back.
The creature—small, sleek, and watching. Those radiant eyes locked onto mine from a safe distance, unreadable and bright.
It didn’t run.
Didn’t vanish.
It just… followed.
Not too close. Not too far.
Pacing us from the shadows like it had somewhere to be—and that place was wherever we were going.
 
We found a clearing just before sunset.
A patch of soft earth tucked beside a narrow stream where the water was running slow and steady over smoothed stones. The trees arched in a loose circle overhead, filtering the fading light through branches thick with late-season leaves. Peaceful. Almost too peaceful after everything we’d recently been through.
Garrick got to work without a word—dragging a couple of thick, moss-covered logs over toward the fire pit and cracking off the worst of the rot. Calla raised a hand, murmured something under her breath, and cast a soft, flickering orb of light that hovered just above the firewood like a tiny moon.
Thorne unsheathed her sword with a long, familiar scrape and sat cross-legged on the nearest log, already pulling a whetstone from her belt pouch. Her face was calm, unreadable—but her hands moved like she needed them to.
I dropped my pack beside the others, letting my arms rest, the ache from the fight still humming through my shoulders.
Then I paused.
Just at the edge of the treeline, barely visible in the growing dark, it sat.
Still nameless, still skittish—but there, watching.
Its fur shimmered faintly in the firelight, shifting colors like moonlit oil. Large ears perked and twitching. Head tilted. Not quite hiding. But not quite joining us, either.
It didn’t blink.
It didn’t move.
It just watched.
I said nothing.
Not yet.
I just sat on the log, elbows on my knees, and let the silence settle. The fire crackled, low and steady. The forest sighed. And at the edge of it all, those bright, curious eyes stayed locked on the flames like they meant something.
 
“Uh… guys?” Calla’s voice was soft, unsure. She’d spotted it too.
The creature crept forward a step, cautious but not skittish. No growl. No threat. Just curiosity in every careful movement.
It kept its head low, sniffing the air.
Calla raised her hand slowly and conjured a small spark of golden light. It flickered like a firefly, bobbing through the air between them. The creature tilted its head, eyes tracking the movement. Intrigued. But not quite trusting.
Garrick let out a soft grunt. “Alright, alright.” He reached into his bag, broke off a bit of jerky, and tossed it toward the fire. “Don’t get used to this.”
The creature hesitated—then padded forward, snatched the jerky, and darted back a few steps before chewing.
Thorne, after a long beat, rolled her eyes. “Seriously?” Still, she flicked a piece of dried fruit across the grass. “Fine. But that’s it.”
No one argued.
I didn’t move. Just watched.
The creature inched forward again. Slower this time. It didn’t go for the food. Didn’t sniff the air. Just… watched me back.
Then, without a sound, it padded up beside my pack, sat down just outside arm’s reach, and curled its tail around its paws.
It didn’t curl up on me. Didn’t nuzzle or purr. Just sat there.
Close.
Quiet.
Like it had decided—for now—that we weren’t a threat.
Calla nudged me with her elbow. “You’ve got a way with animals, huh?”
I gave a small shrug, still watching it from the corner of my eye. “My artifact has a passive. Makes creatures less likely to bolt.”
Calla raised an eyebrow. “So that’s what we are now? ‘Creatures’?”
I gave her a sideways look. “If the boot fits.”
She smirked and leaned back on her palms. Thorne muttered something under her breath, probably about how this was ridiculous, but she didn’t move the fruit.
The creature stayed at the edge of the firelight, quiet and still.
 
It didn’t take long before the fire, the food, and the low hum of conversation began to draw the creature in just a little closer. Not fast—inch by inch, like it was testing each step for traps. But it wasn’t afraid. Just… cautious. Observant.
Calla conjured another spark, this one dancing across her fingers like a drifting ember. The creature’s eyes followed it, wide and unblinking.
“You like that, huh?” she said softly, letting the spark hover in front of it.
The creature reached out with one paw—slow, deliberate—and batted at the light. Its paw passed through the illusion, and it blinked like it had just been tricked. Then it pawed again, more aggressively this time, and let out a tiny huff when it still didn’t catch anything.
Garrick chuckled. “It’s gonna start setting traps for us at this rate.”
Calla grinned. “Don’t give it ideas.”
It wandered a little closer to the fire after that, tail flicking. At one point, it crept up beside Thorne’s log. She glanced down at it, chewing slowly on a strip of fruit.
The creature stared.
She stared back.
“What?” Thorne muttered. “You want my rations too?”
The creature gave the faintest chuff and flicked its tail once.
Thorne sighed, tore off a corner of the fruit, and dropped it at her feet. “This is how it starts, you know. You feed a stray, next thing you know, it’s following you home.”
The creature nibbled it delicately. Then, as if satisfied, turned in a slow circle and plopped down next to her boots.
I raised an eyebrow. “You going soft on us?”
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t kick it away either.
It was strange—no one had said it could stay. No one had made a call or drawn a line. It had just… happened. One moment it was watching us from the trees, and the next, it was one of us. And everyone was fine with it.
The fire popped quietly.
Then Calla spoke, tilting her head toward the creature. “Look at its eyes.”
We all turned.
Even in the low light, they caught the glow of the flames—iridescent, shifting slightly as they reflected the fire. Not gold. Not silver. Just… a glint. Bright and sharp. Like the shimmer of moonlight on steel.
“Pretty eyes,” Garrick said, surprising no one more than himself.
Thorne side-eyed him. “You want to say that a little louder, big guy?”
“I said what I said.”
I tilted my head. “That little shimmer—it almost looks like it’s hiding stars in there.”
Calla nodded slowly, smiling. “Glint.”
Thorne frowned. “What?”
“The name,” Calla said. “Glint.”
The creature flicked its ears. Like it had heard. Like it was considering it.
Garrick rubbed his jaw. “Yeah… that works.”
I looked down at the creature, watching the firelight flicker across its fur, catching that same spark in its gaze again.
“Glint,” I said softly.
It blinked up at me once.
Thorne rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile.
And just like that, without a vote or a ceremony, it had a name.
Glint.
And I had the weirdest feeling that we’d just picked up something important—something that was going to matter way more than we realized.
Not that I’d say that out loud.
Not yet.
The moment was too good to ruin.
 
The fire crackled low, sending occasional sparks spiraling into the dark. Overhead, the stars had finally come out—faint pinpricks scattered across the indigo sky. Most of the group had gone quiet, content to let the moment settle. Garrick leaned against a log, half-asleep with his arms folded. Calla was still humming softly to herself, her fingers weaving lazy sigils through the air, letting the magic fizzle out like harmless smoke.
Thorne was digging through her pack, methodical as ever—checking supplies, re-lacing one of her boots. But something caught my eye. Just for a second.
She shifted her cloak aside, and a corner of something poked out—a binder. Old, leather-bound. The edges worn smooth by time.
I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
Thorne froze.
Too late. I’d already seen it.
“Nothing,” she muttered, trying to shove it deeper into her bag.
Calla glanced over. “Ooh. Secrets.”
“It’s not a secret,” Thorne grumbled. “It’s just… old.”
Garrick cracked an eye open. “Which means now you have to show us.”
“I really don’t.”
“C’mon,” I said, nudging her gently. “You can’t be moody and mysterious all the time. Just this once. For morale.”
Thorne hesitated. Then sighed like we were torturing her.
Wordlessly, she pulled the binder out and held it in her lap. For a moment, she didn’t open it. Just ran a thumb along the spine.
Then—with a small, resigned huff—she flipped it open.
Inside were rows of trading cards. Neatly sleeved, perfectly aligned. Some were faded at the edges, like they’d been handled a hundred times. Others were pristine—shiny, rare, carefully preserved.
Chosen cards.
A lot of them.
I blinked. “Wait. You actually collect these?”
“I did,” she said, voice lower now. “Back when I was a kid.”
Calla leaned in, curiosity piqued. “That’s adorable.”
Thorne gave her a look, but it lacked heat.
“I used to trade them at the market,” she said, flipping a few pages. “Back before I was Chosen. I had this dumb dream that one day I’d be in the set. Right next to all the legends.”
She stopped on a particular page. A handful of high-tier cards sat there—named Champions, all bearing shimmering borders. One slot was empty.
“I’m still missing a few from this set,” she muttered. “The Forgotten Champions. Limited print. Most people don’t even know they exist.”
She went quiet after that, flipping another page almost absentmindedly.
And then—
A soft rustle.
We all looked down.
Glint—still curled near the fire—had crept a paw forward and was gently patting one of the cards, nose twitching.
Thorne blinked.
Calla burst out laughing.
Garrick let out a snort. “Guess you’ve got a fan.”
Thorne stared for a second. Then, surprisingly, she smiled. “Figures.”
I leaned back, watching the scene unfold—warm firelight, laughter, a binder of old dreams, and a strange little creature nosing through a page of legends like it belonged there.
I leaned back, watching the scene unfold—warm firelight, laughter, a binder of old dreams, and a strange little creature nosing through a page of legends like it belonged there.
It should’ve felt simple. Easy. But deep down, I knew better.
Moments like these didn’t last. Not in a world like ours.
The corruption hadn’t stopped. The system hadn’t answered. And Glint—whatever he was—hadn’t followed us by accident.
Something was coming.
But for tonight… we pretended we didn’t know.
We let the fire burn a little longer. Let the stars watch over us. Let ourselves believe, just for a while, that this was enough.