The skies over Whistlehollow darkened earlier now, winter creeping in from the mountains like a slow whisper. Smoke curled from chimneys, and frost kissed the edges of windows. Aleron remained asleep, his body still but his presence quietly woven into the fabric of those who waited.
Corvin had changed.
Not dramatically. Not in the way tales spoke of boys who discovered their power and suddenly became warriors. Corvin's change was subtle, like the wind shifting before a storm—gentle, but undeniable.
He spent more time alone now, especially near the grove just past the edge of the village. Not far into the forest—but far enough to breathe.
He wasn't sure what had happened in the clearing with the boar. Only that something inside him had woken up. And when he closed his eyes, he could sometimes feel things—fear in birdsong, worry in rustling grass, calm in the river's flow.
And sometimes... something from Aleron.
That afternoon, Eira found Corvin seated beneath a tree, a small pile of smooth stones arranged in a circle around him.
"You going weird on me?" she asked, flopping beside him.
Corvin smiled faintly. "Practicing."
"Your secret animal-whispering powers?"
He shrugged. "Something like that."
Eira crossed her arms. "You could tell me, you know."
"I'm not sure how."
They sat in silence. Somewhere in the trees, a fox barked.
"You're different now," Eira said quietly. "Since the forest."
"I'm scared too," Corvin admitted.
That surprised her. She glanced at him sidelong, then nodded. "Well... you're less dumb than I thought."
He chuckled. "Thanks, Eira."
She smirked. "Don't get used to compliments."
She leaned back in the grass beside him. "Do you think Aleron will wake up soon?"
Corvin didn't answer right away. "I hope so. I want him to see the winter snow."
That night, Corvin sat beside Aleron's cradle alone. Rina had left briefly to meet someone in secret—an old contact passing through the valley road. The fire crackled low. Shadows danced on the stone walls.
Corvin leaned forward, resting his forehead against the crib's wooden edge.
"I don't know if you can hear me," he whispered. "But... I miss you."
His god's blessing stirred. Not in fire or light—but in warmth. A quiet pulse radiated from his chest. His thoughts shaped into intention.
Come back. I'm here.
In the stasis realm, Aleron's stars flickered.
He felt it—a voice with no sound. A message wrapped in trust. Not a demand. Just presence.
The system responded:
[Voice of the Heart Detected — Emotional Link Accepted]
[Memory Stored: First Bonded Whisper]
And for a moment, Aleron dreamed of holding someone's hand under the stars.
He didn't know who.
But he smiled.
Rina walked along the northern path, her cloak pulled tight. The man she met wore a trader's coat, but his eyes held discipline.
"Is it true?" she asked. "Someone from the old guard?"
"In hiding. Near the Wyrmroot Hills," the man confirmed. "The Queen may not be gone. The trail's faint—but not cold."
Rina handed over a wrapped coin. "Then I'll go. But not yet."
She turned back toward the village. Toward the child she called son.
"I'll leave when the time's right."
The village tavern buzzed that night with warmth and song. A traveling bard, draped in patchwork cloaks, plucked at a worn lute.
His tale wove through the air like thread through cloth. He sang of Velmora—of a lost prince swallowed by fire, and of a silver fox that watched over him in the dark.
Most of the villagers took it as nothing more than a song.
But Rina stood near the doorway, frozen.
Her hand clenched the edge of the wooden frame. When the fox was mentioned, her eyes flicked toward the stars outside.
She didn't wait for the story's end. She stepped out into the cold and closed the door behind her.
In the Hale home, Eira slept curled in a blanket on the floor. Corvin sat up still, brushing a strand of hair from Aleron's brow.
"You're warm again," he whispered.
And Aleron's fingers twitched.
Corvin's eyes widened.
"I knew you were listening."
He smiled, leaned back, and let sleep take him too.