Autumn's final sigh lingered over the forest, its warm golden light dimming as winter's chill crept closer to a town called Harrowood.
The trees stood like tired sentinels, their leaves whispering in the cool, restless wind. Some still clung on in shades of amber, crimson, and scorched gold, while others twirled down to cover the moss and exposed roots below. The air was filled with the rich scent of damp earth and woodsmoke—a blend of endings and a quiet promise of what was to come.
Hidden in the shadows, Reed observed intently. Perched high on the sprawling arms of an ancient oak, he appeared as nothing more than a dark silhouette against the fading light of the afternoon. Concealed among the leaves, he watched the modest house's training ground below without being seen.
The makeshift practice area lay partly shrouded by fallen leaves, its compacted dirt bearing marks from countless hours of dedicated training. Carried by the wind were snippets of sound—a fragment of conversation between an experienced master and a young student, the rhythmic thud of a blade striking wood, and the occasional crisp command. Yet Reed remained perfectly still.
An older man, his face weathered and etched with the lines of hard-earned wisdom, led an 11-year-old boy through a series of sword drills. Both were Reed's age, and even though the boy's movements were clumsy and awkward, they were laced with determination, his face drawn tight in concentration as if every fiber of his being was devoted to mastering the art.
Reed's pencil raced across the crumpled parchment in his lap, his notes capturing every nuance. His dark blue hair fell over his eyes, but he didn't bother pushing it away—his focus was absolute.
The fighters below remained oblivious to his presence, just as Reed preferred. It was his secret method of understanding something he believed he shouldn't really concern himself with.
Above, Jade lounged against the oak's trunk, her long legs carelessly dangling off a branch. Her braid swayed gently in the breeze, and her keen eyes observed Reed with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Clad in a simple tunic softened by many washes, her relaxed posture radiated an effortless grace.
"What do you think of his technique, Reed?" she asked playfully.
Reed paused, his pencil halting mid-sentence as he glanced briefly at her before returning to his notes. "It's not very powerful," he murmured, "but it's efficient. His movements are precise, and his style suits his small frame."
Jade smirked, crossing her arms. "Since when did you care about swordsmanship?"
He shrugged and closed his notebook for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe it's a new interest."
Crouching on her branch and leaning in closer, Jade's teasing tone softened into genuine concern. "Reed, I'm your sister. I know you better than anyone. You've always dreamed of being a scholar, not a fighter. You're not cut out for swinging a sword around. Are you alright?"
Her words hovered in the air like a challenge. Reed didn't reply immediately—instead, he fixated on the sparring match below, his grip tightening on his notebook. Jade tilted her head, studying him for a long moment before sighing and adding, "Why don't you ask Dad to train you? He's a hunter, and if you're truly interested in fighting, he'd be happy to help."
Reed's hold slackened as he looked down at his feet. In a barely audible voice he said, "It's fine. I don't want to bother him. I'm not trying to fight—I just want to understand it."
Though frowned upon by Jade, she didn't press the matter further. Instead, she patted his shoulder lightly. "Don't be silly. You're never a bother, Reed. You should talk to him. Anyway, I need to get back and help Mom with dinner. You coming?"
"No," Reed replied softly. "Not yet."
Jade gave him one final searching glance before standing and stretching. "Suit yourself. Just don't stay out too long, okay?"
"Okay," he murmured, and then he was alone.
As the forest quieted, the sounds of the sparring match receded into the background. Reed eased his tension, leaning back against the tree as he watched the older man correct the boy's stance with a firm yet kind voice. The boy nodded, a flushed effort painting his face, and resumed his practice.
Then something shifted.
The boy's movements faltered as his sword slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the ground. He doubled over, clutching his chest, his face contorting in pain as a soft groan escaped him. At that very moment, a sharp, pulsing pain burst in Reed's own chest. Clutching his tunic so tightly his knuckles turned white, he fought silently to endure the familiar yet intensifying pain.
Below, the older man hurried to the boy's side, his stern look giving way to concern. "Easy, easy," he soothed, placing a supportive hand on the boy's shoulder. "Breathe through it. It'll pass."
The boy nodded, his ragged breaths gradually steadying under the man's guidance. After a moment, the pain seemed to diminish, and the boy straightened up, wiping sweat from his brow as the older man murmured something Reed couldn't catch. A weak laugh from the boy, followed by another nod, marked the lull in the episode.
Reed continued watching, his chest still ablaze with pain and his fingers trembling. Alone with his suffering, he glanced down to see a faint yellow glow pulsing just beneath his tunic—a subtle but undeniable sign that something was very wrong.
***
The warmth from the makeshift fireplace embraced the cramped room, its flickering flames casting playful, shifting silhouettes on the timeworn, cracked walls.
A family of four sat huddled on the cold, uneven wooden floor, their modest meal artfully arranged on a rough-hewn crate that doubled as a table. The air was thick with the savory aroma of mutton stew, its rich steam curling upwards from chipped ceramic bowls, mingling with the inviting scent of crusty, rustic bread.
Reed's mother, her hands bearing the callouses of many years of hard work, passed a bowl to Jade with a gentle, reassuring smile. "I heard they finally found an artifact for Cassie Grace!" she exclaimed, her voice sparkling with relief as it cut through the quiet space.
Reed's father, his broad shoulders and weathered, calloused hands speaking volumes of a life spent braving the forest, reached for his bread and inquired, "What grade did she get?" His tone mingled curiosity with the weariness of a hard-lived life.
"A D-grade," his mother replied, shaking her head slowly as if mourning the value of what was offered. "And it cost them 10 whole silver."
A low whistle escaped Reed's father, laden with disbelief and a touch of ironic humor. "10 silver? For a D-grade artifact?" he murmured, his voice heavy with incredulity.
"Being poor really is a sin." In their harsh reality, a single silver coin would suffice to feed Reed's entire family for two months, yet even that was a scarce luxury as they struggled to meet the ever-mounting rent.
Softening his tone, he turned to the children with a tender note, "Thank the lord neither of you is marked." In an instant, he scooped both Jade and Reed into a giant, enveloping bear hug, his sturdy arms wrapping around their small shoulders.
"Dad! Ew!" Jade burst out, wriggling free with a giggle. "You're so sweaty!" she teased, stepping back and playfully glaring at him as she adjusted the worn fabric of her tunic.
Reed's laughter bubbled up quietly, unable to subdue a smile as he watched his sister's exaggerated reaction. His father's hearty laughter rumbled deeply through the room like a cherished melody, and soon their mother joined in, shaking her head with affectionate amusement as she stirred the simmering stew.
The room filled with laughter, a rare and fleeting joy that seemed to lift the burden of their daily struggles, making the biting chill outside feel like a distant, forgotten memory.
Yet, as Reed surveyed the faces illuminated by the soft, dying glow of the fire, his smile faltered. He clutched his bowl tightly, resolute in savoring the fleeting warmth of the moment, while a persistent inner dread quietly tightened its grip on his chest.
Later, when the fire had dwindled to faint embers and the sounds of sleep had settled over the house, Reed lay awake. Gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling above, he watched the faint yellow light pulsing beneath his worn tunic—a silent reminder of a truth he could never escape.
He wasn't unmarked.
And soon, that truth would unfurl, reaching every corner of their fragile existence.