The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting lazy golden beams across the cluttered room. Books stacked in precarious towers, half-finished projects, and a well-worn backpack rested by the desk — every corner whispered of a life lived in quiet diligence.
Kaylen Nightfell sat by the window, absently flipping a coin between his fingers. His mind wasn't really on anything — just floating, half-dreaming, half-waiting.
It had been two years since he graduated high school. Top of his class, scholarship offers, bright promises... none of which mattered when you had no family to support you, no money to fall back on.
So he stayed. Took a job at the local smithy — the old forge at the edge of town, where the metal rang like old songs and the work left his hands scarred but strong. Hard work. Honest work. The kind he respected.
His body remembered the skills survival had taught him — how to patch a shelter, hunt small game, build a fire in the rain — from all those weekends camping with the handful of friends he'd made. Nature had become his second home, even when he knew deep down... he didn't quite belong anywhere.
Today, though, was a workday. And a good one — salary day.
Kaylen allowed himself a small smile. Maybe he could afford a real meal tonight. Maybe even enough to set a little aside for his upcoming birthday — or, more likely, that Halloween party some friends were throwing.
Halloween had always been special to him — not just for the costumes or the candy, but because it was the day he was born. There was something about the eerie chill in the air, the way the world let itself be strange for one night, that made Kaylen feel... almost understood. Almost connected to something he couldn't explain.
Breakfast was simple — eggs, toast, and black coffee. Grandma's hands, gnarled but sure, slid the plate in front of him without a word, just a fond pat on the head.
"Big day, kiddo," she said with a wink.
Kaylen just grinned around a mouthful of toast, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
Work was steady and satisfying. The old smithy buzzed with the heat of the forge, the clanging rhythm of hammers on metal, the sharp hiss of quenching steel.
For the past week, Kaylen had been working on a special project — a hunting knife, hand-forged from scrap steel he had scavenged, painstakingly sharpened and tempered by his own hands. Today, he finished it. The blade gleamed under the fluorescent lights — clean, deadly, perfect.
He held it up, admiring his work, feeling a rare surge of pride.
Maybe, he thought, I'm not just surviving. Maybe I'm building something after all.
By evening, he had a heavy envelope of cash tucked into his jacket pocket and a greasy box of pizza in one hand. In the other, a six-pack of cheap beer, cold enough to sting his fingers.
He crossed the short stretch of lawn between his house and the old porch where Dagrum always sat — a living fixture of their quiet neighborhood.
Dagrum looked up from his whittling, a toothpick between his teeth and a lazy grin on his weathered face.
He didn't look his age — whatever that might have been. His hair was thick and silver, his body built like a bear but moving with the sharpness and grace of a man half his size. The deep laugh lines around his eyes spoke of a life hard-lived but never beaten.
"Oi, Brat!" Dagrum barked, slapping the arm of the chair. "Come to pay tribute to your favorite uncle?"
Kaylen chuckled, tossing him a can of beer." Bought you peace offering. You owe me now."
Dagrum cracked the can open with one hand, raising it in a lazy salute." You're damn right I do."
For a moment, everything was easy. The sunset bled gold and crimson across the sky, and the smell of baked earth and cooling metal filled the air.
The night settled in, crisp and cool. The pizza box lay open between them, steam curling into the autumn air. Kaylen leaned back in his chair, savoring the simple pleasure of a full belly and a cold drink.
Grandma shuffled onto the porch with a blanket draped around her shoulders. Her steps were slow but sure — the kind of slow that came not from weakness, but from savoring each movement.
She sank into the chair beside Kaylen, pulling the blanket tighter. Her sharp eyes softened as she watched the stars begin to blink awake overhead.
"For a day like this..." she mused, taking a bite of pizza, "...I guess even this greasy thing is bearable."
Kaylen snorted. "You've never liked pizza?, Grandma."
She chuckled, low and warm. "No, not really. But it reminds me... of a time when I was young. When I thought love could fill your stomach better than any meal."
Kaylen perked up, tilting his head.
"Was it... Odrin? Grandpa?" he asked carefully. He had heard the name before — scraps and whispers growing up — but had never seen a photo, never been told the whole story.
Grandma's gaze grew distant, as if she were seeing somewhere else. The light flickered across her lined face, painting her with the colors of memory.
"Yes... Odrin," she said softly."I met him when I was just about your age. Stupid and stubborn. I had run away from home — thought I could make it in the world on my own. "She gave a breathy laugh.
Kaylen leaned in, resting his chin on his palm.
"Is that how'd you meet?" he asked, voice hushed.
Grandma smiled — a real, full smile that seemed to pull her years away.
"He was half-naked, standing barefoot in a clearing, like he belonged to the trees. Wild hair, wild eyes... like some creature out of a story. I thought I was dreaming. "
She shook her head slowly, her voice dipping into the past. "But he spoke so gently. He wrapped me in his hands, steady and warm, and led me back to safety."
There was a weight to her words — something deeper than a simple memory. A destiny, maybe, spun out long before Kaylen ever existed.
"I ran away from home that day," she said, her gaze distant. "Tired of strict rules, tired of feeling caged. And there he was... like the forest itself sent someone to find me."
She chuckled, the sound rough with nostalgia.
"He would always bring me food. Strange dishes. Exotic spices. Meals that tasted... otherworldly. Not from any land I ever knew. I never questioned it. After all, he brought it only for me."
She stared at the slice of pizza in her hand, turning it thoughtfully.
"I'm not fond of this pizza thing... but still," she murmured, her voice softening, "it makes me feel young again. Like I'm in love again."
Kaylen swallowed, feeling the quiet magic of the moment settle over him. After a heartbeat, he found the courage to ask the question that had always quietly burned inside him.
"What kind of man was he? Really?"
Grandma closed her eyes briefly, as if sifting through decades of emotion.
"He was a great man," she said at last, her voice with affection. "Full of determination. Passion that could burn down mountains. A man who would fight for what he believed in, no matter the cost. "A wistful smile tugged at her lips. "But... he lacked common sense. Almost like he didn't know how humans lived. Always causing problems and making a mess. "She laughed under her breath. "He was like a wild boar charging through life — reckless, stubborn, but so very alive."
She opened her eyes again, and in them, Kaylen saw both pride and sorrow woven together like an old tapestry.
"You remind me of him sometimes, you know," she said softly.
Kaylen sat back, unsure whether to feel honored... or worried.
Later that night, Kaylen lay in bed, the quiet hum of the world outside muffled by his small, worn-down room. The light from the streetlamp pooled faintly across the ceiling, and he stared at it, wide awake.
His thoughts kept circling back to Grandma's words — the way her voice softened when she spoke about Odrin. A man half-wild, half-gentle. A man who didn't quite belong to the world he lived in. A man Kaylen had never met, but somehow, in the quiet corners of his heart, felt connected to.
He wondered what it would have been like to meet him. Would Odrin have been proud of him? Would he have seen some part of himself in the grandson he never knew?
Kaylen closed his eyes, letting the questions drift away with the rhythm of his breath. Sleep claimed him slowly, like the tide pulling him into dreams.
The days that followed passed in a quiet blur — work, small talks with Grandma, lazy weekends filled with old habits. The familiar rhythm of life, steady and safe.
Until finally, the day arrived.
The day of his twenty-first birthday.
A beat-up car rumbled outside, honking twice — sharp and eager. Kaylen grinned, slinging a worn jacket over his shoulder and stepping out the door.
Waiting for him, packed into the car like a can of sardines, were his four best friends — faces bright with excitement, teasing shouts spilling out before he even reached them.
Tonight wasn't just about Halloween.
Tonight, everything was about to change.