The food was a heavenly delicacy, nothing like what he had eaten in the past few days while surviving in the wilderness. Each bite replenished his energy, restoring the strength he had lost. He was close to home now, and he knew that the final stretch of the journey was the most dangerous. Many failed when they dropped their guard, believing the danger had passed. He would not make that mistake.
Shawn put down his plate and wiped his mouth, glancing at the old man who had been generous enough to offer him a meal. He bowed his head slightly in appreciation.
"Thank you for the meal, sir. It was truly the best I've had in days."
The old man chuckled. "A starving man will call anything the best. But you needed it. You look like you've been to hell and back." He then gestured toward the tents. "Before you leave, you should shower. I can't have you arriving home looking like a swamp creature. Your mother would tan your hide for appearing before her in that state. Jena, give him some soap and show him the way to the bathhouse. It's just behind the camp."
Shawn nodded gratefully as Jena led him toward the bathhouse. When he stepped inside and felt the cool water against his skin, a deep sigh of relief escaped his lips. He scrubbed thoroughly, watching scabs of dirt and grime fall from his body. The water felt almost magical, washing away the exhaustion from his journey. Once satisfied that he was clean, he changed into the clothes he was given: a white tunic, slightly worn but still presentable, paired with black cotton trousers. A pair of simple sandals completed the look.
When he returned to the camp, Jena stared at him, nearly tripping over her own feet. "You look... different," she muttered before dashing off, embarrassed.
The old man roared with laughter. "Now you look like a human again! You scared my granddaughter. Imagine how your mother would have reacted if she saw you before!"
Shawn chuckled. "Thank you for everything. I should head home before nightfall. I don't want to worry my mother any more than she already has."
"Go on, then. Safe travels, boy. Jena! Do you want to say goodbye properly?"
From inside her tent, Jena's voice came out, quiet and flustered. "Goodbye, Shawn."
The old man laughed again and patted Shawn on the shoulder. "Take care, lad. Hope to see you again one day."
With a final bow of gratitude, Shawn turned toward the forest, his home lying just beyond it. He walked with renewed purpose, his strength returning with every step.
"Ela, we're almost there. I hope they still remember me. I hope I haven't been buried already. You know how they assume the worst when someone disappears. Some bury their loved ones belongings as a form of respect. Which of my things do you think they buried.. What am I saying, I will still be remembered." Shawn said.
Ela's voice echoed softly in his mind. "They will remember you. Just wait until we cross the bridge."
The forest was eerily silent. Not even the usual chirping of birds could be heard. The unsettling atmosphere made Shawn wary, but he shrugged it off. The powerful creatures of the deeper woods rarely ventured this far out, preferring to avoid human settlements.
Up ahead, something caught his eye—a carriage, abandoned in the middle of the road. It was in perfect condition, with no signs of damage, yet there was no one in sight.
"Weird, Ela. I don't sense anyone around. And this carriage... it's too well-maintained to be discarded. Who would leave something this valuable out here?"
"I feel as if it were those times I used to watch a horror movie, a character usually moved towards the voices they heard at their basement. Hope I do not die. What am I saying, I can not sense anything close for now. So lets check it out." Shawn said teasingly.
Ela sounded just as uneasy. "I don't know, but I have a bad feeling about this. We should keep moving."
Just as Shawn was about to take a step forward, something whizzed past his ear.
An arrow sliced through the air, nearly grazing Shawn's cheek before embedding itself into the carriage with a dull thud. He instinctively leaped backward, muscles tensed, as he sensed movement from the shadows.
"Damn it! Almost got him," a gruff voice cursed from the dense foliage.
Shawn clenched his fists. "Ela, we were right. It was a trap."
Five figures emerged, their ragged clothes and mismatched armor betraying their affiliation—rebels, bandits, or worse. They carried an assortment of weapons—swords, daggers, and crude spears—each one looking eager for a fight.
One of them, a burly man with a jagged scar running down his left cheek, stepped forward with a wicked grin. "Well, well, what do we have here? A lost traveler? You look well-fed, kid. Why don't you make things easy for us and hand over some coin?"
Shawn's fingers twitched, but he forced himself to appear calm. "I don't have money. I've been surviving in the forest for a year. Do I look like a noble?"
The scarred man chuckled. "Ah, a tough one, huh? Doesn't matter. You've got a fancy ring on your finger and a nice little pouch. Whatever's in there will do just fine."
The others laughed, one of them stepping closer with a smirk. "Maybe we should check him ourselves. Who knows? He might be hiding some gems in his boots."
Shawn exhaled sharply. He didn't want trouble, but they weren't going to let him walk away.
"Listen," he said, raising his hands. "I don't want to fight. Let me go, and we can all walk away without any bloodshed."
Scar-face sneered. "Oh, we'll let you go—right after we take what's ours."
With a snap of his fingers, two rebels lunged. Shawn sidestepped the first, twisting his body and slamming an elbow into the attacker's ribs. The man gasped, stumbling back. The second swung a short sword at Shawn's neck, but Shawn ducked, pivoting on his heel and kicking the man's legs out from under him.
The fight had begun.
Scar-face barked an order. "Get him!"
The remaining three rushed in. Shawn backflipped, barely dodging a dagger aimed for his heart. His senses sharpened as Sound Tide expanded around him, allowing him to read their movements. One came from his left, swinging a heavy mace. He leaned back just in time for the weapon to pass inches from his nose.
Planting his foot, Shawn countered with a precise strike to the man's wrist, disarming him. The rebel yelped in pain, but Shawn didn't stop—he spun and delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to his temple, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
Another rebel roared, slashing wildly with twin daggers. Shawn weaved through the attacks, dodging the flashing steel with inhuman precision. Then, in a sudden burst of speed, he closed the distance and rammed his knee into the man's gut. The rebel crumpled, gasping for air before Shawn sent him crashing into the ground with an overhead punch.
Two down.
The three remaining rebels circled him, their expressions shifting from smug confidence to wary aggression. Scar-face tightened his grip on his sword, his eyes narrowing. "You're fast, kid. But let's see how long you last when we get serious."
The remaining trio attacked in unison.
Shawn realised that the battle had only started.