Chapter 12 - 11

Chapter 53

Kelan pressed his back against the rough timber of Northhaven's palisade, chest heaving as the din of battle roared around him. Arrows whistled overhead in dark swarms, clattering off stone and wood. The midday sun burned away the morning mist, revealing wave after wave of steppe warriors encircling the Nordic town. Through gaps in the battlement, he glimpsed enemy banners—black hawks and silver wolves on cured hide—fluttering above a sea of mounted archers and spearmen. The air reeked of smoke, sweat, and blood.

A shrill cry drew his attention along the rampart. Astrid was there, standing tall among the defenders, her braided golden hair catching the light. She loosed an arrow from her yew longbow; the shaft flew true, felling a rider who had ventured too close. Even as she notched another arrow, Kelan saw steppe archers below raising their own bows in response, fingers already releasing.

"Astrid, down!" he shouted, voice barely cutting through the clamor.

It was too late. A volley of arrows arced upward from the field with a sound like a swarm of angry hornets. Kelan flung out his hand instinctively. A half-dozen shafts veered off course near him, deflected by the invisible force of his mind-magic shield. But he couldn't cover the entire battlement. With horror, he saw a barbed arrow find a gap in Astrid's mail and bury itself deep into her left side. Astrid gasped, dropping her bow. Her hand flew to the shaft protruding just below her ribs as she crumpled behind the wooden parapet.

Kelan's heart lurched. Without thought, he sprinted across the planks toward her. Around him, other defenders ducked behind shields as arrows thudded into wood and flesh. A clansman fell with a scream nearby, an arrow in his thigh. Kelan heard none of it—only Astrid's sharp intake of breath and the thunder of his own heartbeat.

He skidded to his knees beside her. "Astrid!" he breathed, voice tight with fear. Her face was pale, lips pressed in a thin line of pain. Blood darkened her tunic around the arrow. Her breaths came quick and shallow.

"I'm fine," she managed through gritted teeth, but her eyes were wide with agony and fear.

She was far from fine. The arrow's fletching quivered with each ragged breath. It was lodged deep in her flank—possibly a lung hit or worse. It could be fatal if not tended quickly.

Kelan forced himself to focus, pushing aside the icy dread threatening to paralyze him. Battle raged around them, but he shut it out. Gently, he placed one hand over the blood-soaked wool of Astrid's tunic and the other against her clammy forehead. He closed his eyes and reached inward to the well of power that had grown inside him these past weeks.

In his mind's eye, Astrid's wound became clear: the iron arrowhead wedged between two ribs amid torn muscle and leaking blood. Steeling himself, Kelan guided his will into her body, wrapping it around the foreign iron.

"Hold on," he whispered. "I'm here."

With a precise pulse of telekinesis, he braced the flesh around the arrow and began to draw it out. Astrid stiffened, a strangled cry escaping as the barbs dragged against her insides. Her hand clamped onto his arm. Kelan felt her pain like a distant echo through his gift, but he continued slowly, steadily. At last, the arrow slid free, slick with her blood.

He flung the crimson shaft aside and pressed his palm to the open wound. Summoning healing energy, he visualized torn tissues knitting together and blood vessels sealing shut. Warmth pulsed beneath his hand. Astrid's ragged breathing slowed and evened out, each inhale a little deeper than the last.

After a few moments, Kelan lifted his hand. Only a raw pink scar remained where the arrow had been. Astrid blinked up at him, her blue eyes dazed but clear.

"By the ancestors…" she whispered, awe and relief in her voice. Her trembling fingers briefly grasped his.

Kelan managed a faint, reassuring smile. "You'll be all right now. Just rest." Astrid exhaled and nodded weakly, a ghost of a grateful smile on her lips as she sagged back against the parapet.

A horn blast from outside the walls cut through the din. The steppe war horns were summoning for another assault. Kelan gently squeezed Astrid's shoulder and rose to his feet. Peering over the wall, he saw the steppe warriors massing again just beyond arrow range—hundreds of them still, far more than Northhaven's weary fighters could repel a second time.

A fierce resolve ignited in his chest. He would not let these raiders destroy everything, not after coming this far. If his powers could save them, he would use them fully, regardless of the risk.

Kelan closed his eyes and extended his senses out over the field. The life-force of each enemy winked into his awareness as a pulsing glow; each heartbeat thudded in his mind like a distant drum. So many… But he set aside any doubt and struck.

He poured his will across the battlefield. One by one, those distant drums faltered as he squeezed the consciousness from man after man. A knot of ladder-men staggered and collapsed like puppets with their strings cut; a line of cavalry lurched and tumbled from their saddles, horses bolting riderless across the plain. Wherever Kelan directed his mind, foes crumpled in heaps, felled by an invisible hand.

For the invaders, it was as if a vengeful spirit stalked their ranks. Shouts of alarm and panic rose as comrades dropped without any visible cause. The horde that had seemed unstoppable only moments before now wavered, fear eating away at their resolve. On the rampart behind Kelan, Northhaven's defenders stared in astonishment. Even Dennor—the grizzled guard captain—lowered his spear in awe, watching the enemy lines convulse in chaos.

Still, more warriors remained farther back, and some began to push forward, herded by their officers' whips and shouts. Kelan's head throbbed and his limbs felt leaden from the effort of felling so many. He had to end this quickly, before his strength gave out.

His eyes fell on a long siege ladder still hooked over the wall a few paces away. Without hesitation, Kelan sprinted to it and swung himself over the top.

"Kelan! No!" Astrid's voice rang out behind him as he climbed down. He paid her cry no heed. Rung by rung he descended, jumping the last few feet to land on the churned earth outside the wall.

Shouts went up as the enemy spotted him standing alone beyond the palisade. To them, the lone figure looked almost unearthly—one man daring an army. A half-dozen bows twanged, and a flurry of arrows hissed toward Kelan. He threw out his left hand, pouring energy into the barrier around him. The arrows slammed against his invisible shield and splintered, falling harmlessly into the mud.

A few of the steppe warriors charged at him with furious cries, curved sabers and axes gleaming. Kelan swept his right arm in a wide arc. A wave of force blasted out from him, catching the charging men and hurling them back like leaves in a gale. They hit the ground and did not rise again.

Across the field, a heavy catapult thumped. Kelan looked up to see a clay fire-pot arcing toward him, trailing smoke. Narrowing his focus, he caught the flaming missile mid-flight with his mind and flung it aside. It burst in a fireball twenty paces away, scorching only empty earth. A wash of heat and embers rolled past him, harmless behind his shield.

That was the breaking point. Terrified screams rang out among the enemy. Men began to back away, eyes wide with superstition and dread. The warlord in the wolfskin cloak galloped along the rear line, shouting for his soldiers to stand and fight, but even he could not quell their panic.

Gathering the last dregs of his power, Kelan thrust both hands forward and sent one final mental command surging toward the enemy. A rippling wave of force rolled through their front ranks, toppling warriors like stalks of wheat. "Sorcery!" someone shrieked, and the remnants of the horde broke completely. Fighters threw down their weapons and fled in all directions, scrambling over each other in their haste. The warlord himself cursed once and wheeled his horse around, spurring it into a gallop. In moments, the field was covered with fleeing figures and the battle was over.

Kelan stood alone in the churned mud and crushed grass, chest heaving, as the remnants of the steppe army scattered. His vision swam with exhaustion. He planted a trembling hand on the ladder behind him to steady himself, the wood solid and reassuring under his palm. It was over—truly over. The siege had been broken in a matter of minutes by the power coursing through one man.

Behind him, Northhaven's gate groaned open and a great cheer erupted from the walls. The sound grew, echoing across the plain as the defenders poured out in pursuit of the fleeing enemy and to gather the wounded. Kelan took a shaky step toward the town and nearly buckled. The world tilted around him; he hadn't realized how utterly spent he was.

Before he could fall, strong arms caught him under the shoulders. Astrid was at his side, easing him down gently. "Easy," she murmured, her face hovering close to his. She was still pale, but on her feet—stubborn as ever, he thought dimly.

"We… did it," Kelan rasped. A weary smile tugged at his lips. Every part of him ached, and a dull pounding filled his head, but triumph warmed his heart. Northhaven was safe.

Astrid let out a shaky laugh of pure relief. "Thanks to you," she said softly. Her eyes shone as she looked at him. Kelan felt his cheeks warm at her praise. Unused to such attention, he lowered his gaze with a faint, self-conscious chuckle.

A knot of Northhaven warriors approached through the smoke and trampled grass. Dennor walked at the front, his weathered face etched with disbelief and newfound respect. For a heartbeat Kelan wondered if the older man would chastise him for recklessness. But Dennor halted before Kelan and thumped a fist to his own chest in a solemn salute. One by one the others around him did the same. No words were needed—their reverent expressions said everything.

Kelan, still leaning on Astrid, mustered the strength to stand up straighter. He returned a humble nod, his throat tight. He hadn't sought glory—he had done only what he must—but seeing the gratitude and awe in their faces filled him with a mix of pride and trepidation.

All around, Northhaven's people were securing the battlefield. A few fires still smoldered. Dozens of steppe warriors knelt in the dirt under guard, dazed survivors to be dealt with. The town's wooden walls, though scarred and singed, had held.

Kelan closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed. In a single morning he had unleashed devastation unlike anything this quiet town had seen. He had used the power meant for healing to lay low a host of foes. Yet he took solace in knowing he had shown mercy where he could—these enemies were defeated but mostly alive, spared from needless slaughter. It was a hard-won victory, but one he could accept.

Astrid slipped her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He squeezed back, drawing strength from the simple gesture. They shared a glance, both battered and exhausted, both grateful beyond words that the other was still alive.

As the sun climbed toward its zenith over the battlefield, Kelan finally allowed himself to feel the full relief of victory. Northhaven was safe, and Astrid was by his side. Whatever consequences might follow this day—whatever new challenges his display of power would bring—he would face them when they came. For now, at least, this battle was won, and that was enough.

Chapter 54

By mid-afternoon, an uneasy calm settled over Northhaven. In the hours after the battle, Kelan spent his remaining strength tending to the wounded. He moved through the improvised triage area set up in the great timber longhall, exhaustion weighing on him like a lead cloak. Yet he continued working, kneeling beside each injured townsfolk in turn, doing what he could.

Sunbeams slanted through the high windows of the hall, illuminating motes of dust as Kelan laid his hands on a young shieldman's mangled forearm. The man—little more than a boy, really—bit back a cry as Kelan probed the shattered bone with his mind. Gently, Kelan sent forth healing energy, coaxing the bone to align and the torn flesh to mend. Beads of sweat stood on Kelan's brow; healing so many taxed him almost as much as the battle had. Still, one by one, he closed arrow wounds and stanched bleeding gashes, preventing what casualties he could from slipping away.

Astrid hovered at his side despite his protests that she rest. Her face was drawn and pale, but she insisted on helping—fetching water, washing blood from wounds, and offering quiet comfort to the injured. Every so often, Kelan caught her wince and press a hand to her side where the scar of her own wound lay hidden beneath fresh bandages. He knew she was still in pain despite his mending, but she waved off his concern each time he asked.

"You need your strength for those worse off than me," she murmured, and continued aiding the town's healer in grinding herbs for a poultice.

Kelan could only shake his head softly and let her be. Astrid's stubborn compassion was something he both admired and felt responsible for—after all, she mirrored his own drive to push past limits for the sake of others.

Outside the hall, Northhaven's survivors labored to clear the wreckage of the siege. The bodies of the fallen—clansmen and invaders alike—were being gathered respectfully, the former to be prepared for pyres at sunset, the latter laid out beyond the town ditch to be claimed or buried as needed. Teams of villagers doused the last smoldering fires on the walls and dragged broken siege ladders into piles.

Word had spread quickly of how the battle ended. As Kelan walked from the hall into the bright afternoon light, conversations fell hushed. Townsfolk glanced at him with expressions ranging from awe to a nervous sort of respect. A few braver children ran up behind him at a distance, only to retreat giggling when he turned and offered a tired smile. He heard snippets of whispers: "That's him…", "...knocked them flat, he did…", and even, from an elderly woman crossing herself, "Thank the gods he's on our side."

Kelan tried not to let the attention unsettle him. He was grateful for the heartfelt thank-yous murmured by the wounded as he passed, but the wary looks from others weighed on his mind. Only hours ago, these people had known him as a quiet outsider with a knack for healing. Now they saw him as something more—and perhaps, something to be feared as much as revered.

Near the main gate, Dennor and a knot of warriors stood watch over a cluster of kneeling steppe soldiers. About thirty of the invaders had been captured alive—some knocked unconscious by Kelan's powers and since awakened under guard, others wounded and unable to flee. They had been bound at the wrists with rope, and a few Northhaven spearmen kept their weapons leveled, ready for any sign of trouble. But the prisoners only knelt quietly, heads bowed or eyes darting nervously around the town that had so swiftly become their prison.

As Kelan approached, Dennor stepped aside respectfully. The older man's armor was dented, and a blood-stained bandage wrapped his left arm, but he carried himself with unbowed pride. "We've secured the remaining ones," he reported. "Most of the bastards ran for the hills after... well, after what you did. These here had the misfortune of waking up still inside the walls." He allowed himself a grim chuckle.

Kelan's eyes swept over the captive warriors. They looked so different now from the fierce horde that had assailed the town this morning. Without their weapons, many were revealed as hardly older than Kelan—young, scared men far from home. Some bore injuries; one had a crude sling on his leg, another a bloodied cloth pressed to a scalp wound. Northhaven's people had not mistreated them beyond tying their hands.

One man among them stood out: a tall steppe officer with streaks of gray in his braided hair and a richly decorated leather cuirass. He knelt with a rigid, defiant posture despite a cut across his cheek. When Kelan's gaze met his, the man did not look away. There was fear in his eyes, yes, but also a burning curiosity.

"You are the sorcerer," the man said in halting trade-tongue, voice rough. It was a statement, filled with equal parts dread and grudging respect.

Kelan inclined his head slightly. "I am Kelan," he replied quietly. He did not care for the word sorcerer—it carried connotations of malice—but correcting the man seemed pointless now.

The prisoner officer bowed his head. "I am Orhan, son of Batu, Tarkhan of the Sky Reavers." He hesitated, then continued, "I speak for our warriors now." His eyes flicked toward the fields beyond the gate, where the remnants of the horde had vanished. "Our... our khan has fled."

By his bitter tone, it was clear Orhan felt the shame of that admission. In steppe culture, a khan who abandoned his men was scarcely worthy of the title. Kelan studied Orhan. Despite his bound hands and the bruise darkening his jaw, the man held himself with a soldier's dignity.

"I would hear what you have to say, Tarkhan Orhan," Kelan said, pitching his voice loud enough for those around to hear. Though bone-tired, he forced authority into his tone. In the aftermath of slaughter, mercy and order had to prevail over chaos—and that required a show of confident leadership, whether he felt up to it or not.

Orhan drew a breath. "We yield," he said bluntly. "The Sky Reavers," he gestured with bound hands to his kneeling comrades, "those of us who remain here, lay down arms. We ask for mercy for our wounded and safe passage home."

A low growl of disapproval came from one of the Northhaven warriors at that, and Kelan heard a mutter—"After what they did, they dare ask mercy?" Kelan raised a hand subtly, and the murmur quieted.

Kelan's jaw tightened as he regarded Orhan. Mercy. He recalled the flame-tipped arrows that had rained on the roofs of Northhaven, the bodies of villagers who now lay in the great hall awaiting funeral rites. These invaders had brought death and destruction. Many in the town would see it as justice if every last one of them were executed or enslaved. The old blood-debts between Northhaven's clan and the steppe tribes ran deep.

And yet, Kelan also remembered the faces of those he had struck down with his power, the stark terror in their eyes as they fled. Enough blood had been shed today on both sides. If extending mercy now could break the cycle of vengeance, perhaps it was the wiser path.

"You and yours will have mercy," Kelan said at length, voice calm but firm. "On two conditions." He stepped closer, until he loomed over Orhan. The steppe officer swallowed, sweat beading on his brow.

"Name them," Orhan said quietly.

"First, you will swear a binding oath never to raise arms against Northhaven or its people again," Kelan said. Around them, the gathered Northhaven warriors nodded grimly. "Not tomorrow, not next season, not ever. This land is off-limits to you and all of your clan or horde."

Orhan bowed his head. "I swear it," he began, but Kelan held up a hand.

"Not yet. Not just you—all of you," Kelan said, eyes sweeping over the other prisoners. Some of the kneeling warriors glanced at each other, one or two nodding faintly. "And not in generalities. You will swear by whatever you hold sacred, and you will mean it. Understand?"

"Yes," rasped a younger captive, perhaps anxious to agree before Kelan turned his strange powers on them again. Orhan shot the lad a quelling look for speaking out of turn, but then nodded to Kelan.

"We will swear by the Eternal Sky and on the blood of our ancestors," Orhan said solemnly. "No man of the Sky Reavers will ever again come against Northhaven or its kin. If any do, may the Sky Father cast them down."

There was a surprising fervor to his words, and the men around him murmured assent. Kelan, however, was not satisfied with mere words. He closed his eyes and extended a gentle tendril of his awareness towards Orhan's mind and heart. The man's pulse was steady; Kelan sensed no spike of deceit. Whatever else, Orhan believed in the oath he took. Kelan's power was not dominion over truth, but he trusted the insight it gave him into the prisoner's sincerity.

He opened his eyes and gave a sharp nod. "See that you keep to it. Because my second condition is this: if that oath is broken—by you or any of yours—I will know." His tone dropped to a soft intensity that made Orhan flinch. "And I will come for whoever violates it."

A silence fell. Kelan hadn't planned to speak those words—they emerged unbidden from the mix of fatigue and determination in him. He realized he meant them. He would not wish to kill any man, but neither would he allow these people to regroup and strike another unsuspecting town.

Orhan bowed until his forehead nearly touched the earth. "It will not be broken," he said hoarsely. The other captives also bowed their heads low, voices trembling as they repeated oaths of their own in their tongue. One man even began to weep in relief.

Dennor placed a hand on Kelan's shoulder. "They'll be watched until they're well beyond our borders," he assured quietly. The older warrior's earlier animosity toward the invaders was tempered now by a kind of amazed respect—for Kelan, if not for the steppe men. "We'll escort them to the steppe edge in the morning and release them, with nothing but the clothes on their backs. If they value their lives, they won't trouble these parts again."

Kelan nodded. The tension in his chest loosened slightly. It was done—the enemy formally surrendered and bound by oath. Northhaven would have peace, at least from this quarter. The captured would be set free far from here, to limp home in defeat.

"Treat their wounded, if they'll allow it," Kelan added after a moment. He glanced at a prisoner whose bandaged leg was seeping blood through the cloth. "We are not butchers. Let them carry word that Northhaven can show mercy."

Dennor grunted, but not in disagreement. "I'll see our healer takes a look at them," he said. A faint smile touched his lips. "You've done enough for one day, lad."

Kelan suddenly realized he was swaying on his feet. The edges of his vision fuzzed for an instant. He had pushed himself to the brink between the battle and the healing afterward, running on willpower and concern alone.

Astrid appeared at his side as if conjured by thought, steadying him with a firm arm around his back. "Kelan, you need rest," she whispered, eyebrows drawn in worry.

He wanted to protest, to insist he was fine, but the admonishments died on his tongue. In truth, he felt like a husk squeezed dry. "Perhaps just a short respite," he conceded softly.

Astrid gave him a nod, relief in her eyes that he wasn't arguing for once. Together, they left the gate as Dennor and the others moved to see the prisoners secured and tended as promised.

Kelan allowed Astrid to lead him back toward the longhall. Along the way, villagers paused in their tasks to clap him on the shoulder or voice a word of thanks. One elderly man with a limp pressed a steaming cup of herb broth into Kelan's hands insistently. "Drink, son. You've earned far more," the man said, eyes shining with gratitude. Kelan thanked him and sipped the broth, warmth spreading through him.

Despite his exhaustion, Kelan's mind spun. What had transpired at the gate felt momentous in a quiet way—an ending, and perhaps a beginning. The oath of the Sky Reavers might hold for years, maybe even a generation, sparing countless lives. But it had also been a display of his power in cold terms: the threat that he would know and exact vengeance if they returned. He had played the vengeful spirit, as they feared, to ensure peace. Would that come back to haunt him? He couldn't say.

By early evening, as the sun dipped low and bathed the western sky in hues of amber, the town elders called a gathering in Northhaven's central square. Word had spread that the enemy had surrendered under binding oath, and a cautious celebration was in the offing. There was sorrow too—for a half dozen Northhaven lives lost in the siege—but the clan wished to honor the victory and its savior.

Kelan emerged from the longhall after a brief rest to find a crowd already assembled around a roaring bonfire. The autumn chill was coming on, and people huddled in cloaks and furs. When Kelan appeared, a cheer went up, spreading from those nearest until it rippled across the entire gathering. Torches flared and mead horns were raised high.

Flushing at the sudden attention, Kelan made his way toward the center, where a makeshift dais had been erected from a couple of ale barrels and a stout wooden plank. Astrid walked beside him, her presence a steadying comfort. She had cleaned herself of the grime of battle and changed into a fresh blue wool tunic, though she still wore her sword at her side. The firelight danced in her blonde hair, and when she glanced at him and smiled, Kelan felt his heart steady.

Atop the dais waited Ulfric, the silver-haired chief of Northhaven's council. Dressed in ceremonial hide robes trimmed with fox fur, Ulfric leaned heavily on a gnarled staff; he had seen more than sixty winters and bore the scars of past battles. Kelan only knew him in passing, as the elder seldom left his hall except on important clan matters. To Ulfric's right stood Greta, a broad-shouldered woman with streaks of white in her red braids—Astrid's mother and one of the town's leaders. Others of the council were arrayed around them.

Ulfric raised a hand for silence and the clamor of the crowd gradually subsided, leaving only the crackle of the bonfire and the distant cries of night birds.

"Northhaven stands today," Ulfric began in a wavering but clear voice, "when it might have fallen. We stand bruised, but unbroken. Victorious." A murmur of agreement and pride swept through the listeners. "Much of that is due to the courage of every man and woman who took up arms at the wall and gate." He nodded to the bloodied town guard and farmers-turned-fighters scattered through the crowd. "But tonight, we must also give thanks to the one whose extraordinary gifts turned the tide when hope was nearly lost."

All eyes shifted to Kelan. He felt a flush creeping up his neck.

Ulfric managed a smile and gestured for Kelan to step up onto the dais. Astrid gave him an encouraging nudge. With some reluctance, Kelan ascended the plank and faced the assembly.

"Kelan of… well, whatever hall or hearth you claim as home, know that Northhaven claims you now as one of our own," Ulfric declared. "You arrived a stranger, but through deed and valor you have become our champion." He turned to a younger man behind him and received a large wooden chest, which two council members hefted and set at Kelan's feet with a thump. The lid had been removed to display its contents, and a collective ooh went through the crowd.

Kelan's eyes widened. The chest was filled to the brim with valuables: silver jewelry and arm-rings, fine fur cloaks, polished amber and jade figurines, intricately carved drinking horns inlaid with bronze, and neatly stacked ingots of copper and tin. It was likely a significant portion of Northhaven's communal wealth, normally reserved for trade or famine times.

"My lord Kelan, please accept this token of our gratitude," Ulfric proclaimed. Kelan almost started at the honorific—no one had ever called him "lord" before. "Treasure from our stores and the spoils of the battle, freely given. You risked your life and much more for us. No reward could truly equal that, but we hope you will accept this and remember you always have a home and honor among the Northhavener clan."

A cheer erupted again, many raising horns of mead or ale in salute. Ulfric motioned Kelan to speak, but for a moment Kelan found himself at a loss. He looked over the expectant faces: men and women whose lives he had saved, whose homes still stood because of what he'd done. Some beamed at him as at a beloved hero; others watched with more reserved, cautious expressions, as if unsure what exactly they were cheering for.

He cleared his throat, feeling Astrid's steady gaze lending him strength from just below the dais. "Chief Ulfric, council members, people of Northhaven," Kelan began, voice carrying in the hush. "I… I am deeply honored. You took me in as a stranger, and now you offer me your highest thanks." He placed a hand on the edge of the chest, fingers brushing over a heavy silver torc engraved with knotwork. "This is far more than I could ever have expected."

He paused, searching for the right words as the bonfire crackled. "I did not fight for reward. I fought because I could not stand by and see harm come to those who sheltered me and showed me kindness. Any of you would have done the same in my place." At that, a few of the townsfolk exchanged skeptical smiles—the humility seemed to endear him more.

Kelan managed a quiet chuckle. "I will accept your generous gifts, with gratitude. But know that having Northhaven safe and whole would have been reward enough."

A stout warrior raised his cup and shouted, "Three cheers for Kelan!" The night air filled with loud huzzahs and whoops. Kelan stepped down from the platform, overwhelmed and somewhat embarrassed by the praise. Astrid caught his eye and grinned proudly as he returned to her side.

As the celebrations commenced, with casks of ale rolled out and platters of roasted meat passed around, Kelan noticed a few of the elders gathering off to one side, conversing in low tones. Greta—Astrid's mother—cast a thoughtful look in Kelan's direction. Not all was merriment; there was serious talk to be had too, it seemed.

Before long, Greta approached Kelan, Astrid in tow. Greta's face was lined with fatigue and relief. "Walk with me, both of you," she said, not unkindly. Kelan exchanged a glance with Astrid and followed the older woman a few paces away from the crowd, to the dark edge of the square where the firelight barely reached.

Greta studied Kelan in silence for a moment. Astrid shifted, looking a touch apprehensive. Finally, Greta spoke. "I will not waste breath with more thanks, as you've heard plenty tonight," she said. Her voice was low and steady. "Instead, I will speak plainly. What you did today was... beyond extraordinary. Every soul here owes you their life, my family included." She touched Astrid's shoulder briefly.

"But such power," the older woman continued, eyes intent on Kelan. "It is a gift that comes rarely in any age. The gods favor you, or fate has marked you—call it what you will. And people…" She sighed. "People both marvel at and fear what they do not understand."

Kelan felt a faint chill as her words sank in, despite the warm night. "You think they fear me?" he asked quietly.

Greta glanced back toward the fire where laughter rang out as two men began a boisterous boasting match. "Tonight, they rejoice. Your magic saved their lives. But give it days or weeks… some will start to wonder, to whisper." She looked him in the eye. "I have lived long enough to know how quickly gratitude can sour to suspicion. Not all, perhaps not even most, but some. It is the way of human hearts, I'm afraid."

Astrid made a sound of protest. "Mother, that's unfair. Kelan would never—"

Greta held up a hand gently. "I speak not of what Kelan would do, child. I speak of what others might imagine he could do." Her gaze returned to Kelan. "I know this might not be news to you. You're wise beyond your years, I suspect. But it must be said."

Kelan swallowed and inclined his head. "I do understand," he replied softly. He remembered the sidelong glances, the whispered word "sorcerer" uttered by the captive, even the reverent fear in Orhan's bow. And that was just in the immediate aftermath. What of neighboring villages, or the courts of kings and jarls, when news traveled that a single man defeated an army with a flick of his hand?

Greta seemed to read the shadows crossing his face. She touched his arm, surprisingly gentle. "I would not drive you away for the world, Kelan. Northhaven would happily have you settle here, become one of us. But I sense that may not be your path."

Kelan looked over at Astrid, who had fallen silent, her expression pensive and conflicted. He realized with a heavy certainty that Greta was right—whatever home he might have found here was already imperiled by the very act of saving it. He had stepped into legend today, and legends drew attention like carrion drew crows.

He straightened his shoulders. "If some fear me, I can't blame them. Even I fear, at times, what I'm capable of." It was the closest he'd come to admitting it openly. He took a breath. "I would never wish harm on Northhaven. If my presence here will cause unrest… or invite challenge from others seeking to test my strength… then perhaps—"

Astrid abruptly grabbed his hand. "Kelan, no one is saying you should leave," she said fiercely, eyes bright in the dimness. There was a tremor in her voice at the very idea.

Greta's expression softened as she regarded her daughter and Kelan's joined hands. "Hush, Astrid. Neither of you need decide anything this instant. It's been a long day. Emotions run high." She patted Astrid's arm. "I only wanted to prepare your mind, Kelan, for what might come. We will support you in whatever you choose, but forewarned is forearmed."

Kelan dipped his head respectfully. "Thank you, Greta. Your candor is appreciated."

The older woman managed a tired smile. "Go, enjoy a bit of the celebration. You both deserve it. Tomorrow will bring what it will." With that, she turned and made her way back toward the circle of elders, leaving Kelan and Astrid in the semi-darkness.

Astrid's grip on Kelan's hand remained, tight and almost possessive. He could feel the slight tremble in her fingers. "Are you really thinking of leaving?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kelan looked down at the fierce, caring woman beside him—the woman who had nearly died in his arms today and whom he had realized, with startling clarity, he could not bear to lose. He opened his mouth, but no easy answer came. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I hadn't thought that far ahead. But what your mother said… she's not wrong. Others will hear of this day. I doubt I'll be left in peace for long."

Astrid's throat bobbed as she swallowed. She released his hand only to loop her arm firmly through his, as if anchoring him here. "Just… promise me you won't go anywhere tonight," she murmured. "I nearly lost you once today already."

Kelan managed a quiet laugh and tilted his head so it rested against hers. "I'm not sneaking off," he assured softly. "Truly, I can barely keep my eyes open. I'll be sleeping like a stone in the healer's cottage, I expect."

Astrid lifted her head and gave him a searching look. Firelight from the celebration danced in her eyes. "Then I'll sleep outside the door if I must, to make sure you don't slip away," she said, attempting lightness but not entirely masking the seriousness beneath.

He could think of nothing to say to that except to wrap an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into a gentle embrace. Astrid came willingly, resting against his chest for a long, quiet moment.

Across the square, a fresh cheer erupted as someone struck up a plaintive tune on a flute and others joined in a traditional victory song. The people of Northhaven were celebrating life tonight, because death had passed them by.

Kelan closed his eyes, letting Astrid's warmth and the sounds of distant singing lull him. He allowed himself this one moment of contentment amid the whirlwind of the day. Tomorrow, decisions would need to be made. But for now, he stood under the clear night sky, among friends and loved ones, alive and victorious.

That was enough.

Chapter 55

Dawn broke cool and pale the next day. A thin veil of mist clung to the earth, carrying the lingering scent of ash from the night's bonfire. Kelan stood on a gentle rise just outside Northhaven's stockade walls where a row of fresh pyres had burned low. Tendrils of smoke still wisped upward from the charred logs, twisting toward the gray morning sky. It was here that, moments ago, the town had honored its fallen.

Now the clansfolk had drifted back inside the walls, leaving Kelan alone among the embers and the honored dead. He bowed his head, breathing a quiet prayer for each name he knew. Six Northhaven defenders had perished in the siege—men and women who had shared their food and stories with him during the weeks he'd spent among them. He murmured thanks for their sacrifice and wished their spirits peace with the ancestors.

The weight of guilt pressed on Kelan's shoulders. Despite all his power, six good people were gone. Even though he knew rationally that war always claimed lives, a part of him still wondered: Should I have acted sooner? Could I have prevented even those six from dying? The questions gnawed at him in the cold light of morning.

Kelan knelt and gently placed a small wooden talisman—a sun disk he had carved during idle hours before the siege—among the cooling ashes of the last pyre. The disk was charred around the edges but mostly intact. It felt right to leave a piece of himself here with them.

As he rose, he sensed a presence behind him. Without turning, he knew it was Astrid. She stepped to his side, her cloak pulled tight against the damp chill. For a long moment she said nothing, simply threading her arm through his.

"They had no regrets at the end," Astrid said softly as she surveyed the smoldering pyres. Her voice was still husky from earlier tears. "Those we lost... each of them was grateful for what you did. They believed in you, Kelan."

Kelan shut his eyes, fighting a sting of tears. "I wish believing had been enough to keep them alive," he whispered. "I keep wondering if I could have done more, somehow. Used my powers sooner... or differently..."

Astrid turned to face him and gripped his hands firmly. "Look at me," she urged. Kelan met her gaze. There was gentle compassion there, and unwavering resolve. "You did everything humanly—no, superhumanly—possible. Without you, dozens more would have died. I would have died." Her voice caught, but she pressed on. "You gave us a miracle, Kelan. Don't torture yourself because it wasn't a perfect one."

He managed a small, sad smile. "If only I truly had that kind of godly power..."

She shook her head. "I don't need you to be a god. I need you to be you. The man who saved my life and so many others, and who still cares enough to mourn those he couldn't save."

Kelan exhaled slowly, some of the self-reproach easing under her words. He squeezed Astrid's hands. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Your faith in me means more than any treasure or title."

Astrid gave him a faint smile in return, then took a deep breath as if steadying herself for something. "There's something I need to say—something I nearly left unsaid yesterday." Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose, but she held his gaze. "When I lay on that wall bleeding, my biggest regret wasn't dying. It was that I hadn't told you how I feel."

Kelan's heart thudded. The morning air felt suddenly still.

Astrid's fingers trembled slightly in his. "So I'm telling you now," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love you, Kelan."

The simple words hung between them, warm and liberating in the cool dawn. Kelan felt a surge of emotion swell in his chest—astonishment, joy, and an overwhelming sense of rightness.

He cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing away a tear that escaped down her cheek. "I love you too, Astrid," he replied, his own voice low and earnest. Saying it out loud felt both strange and completely natural. "I think I have for a while now."

A shaky laugh of relief escaped her, and before either could say another word, Astrid rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. Kelan let his eyes fall shut as he returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around her. It was a soft, tender joining—brief, but carrying a promise that had long been understood between them even before spoken aloud.

When they drew apart, Astrid rested her forehead against his, her breath mingling with his in the cold air. Both of them smiled, a little awed and a lot happier.

After a moment, she chuckled under her breath. "Father's going to be insufferably smug when he finds out," she said, a teasing light in her eyes. "He's been dropping hints about us for weeks."

Kelan huffed a quiet laugh. "Then we won't tell him just yet. Let him suffer a bit longer."

Astrid laughed softly—the sound like music after so much sorrow. She slipped her arm around Kelan's waist, and together they turned back toward the town gates.

The village was already stirring with the sounds of rebuilding. Neighbors called greetings to one another, hammers rang on nails, and the smell of hearth-fire and baking bread drifted through the crisp air. Life was moving onward.

As they walked, Kelan's heart was lighter than it had been in a long time. But a new determination was taking shape as well. He glanced at Astrid, at her steadfast profile as she surveyed her hometown. She sensed his gaze and looked up at him questioningly.

"We should talk about what comes next," Kelan said gently.

Astrid nodded. "You mean leaving."

Kelan noticed she didn't ask if they would leave, only when. In her eyes, he saw the same resolution that had formed in his own mind. "Yes. We can't stay indefinitely," he said. "People will come—out of curiosity or fear. And I won't risk Northhaven getting caught in the middle."

Astrid let out a slow breath. She loved this place, but she had already steeled herself for this choice. "I know," she murmured. "Mother warned us, and she's right. If we stay, sooner or later someone—lords, kings, maybe even that steppe khan—will show up at our gates wanting something. I won't put my family through another siege."

Kelan's chest tightened at the thought of Astrid having to fight again so soon. He drew her closer as they walked. "We'll leave in a couple of days," he said. "Once the last matters here are settled. The wounded are stable, the prisoners will be gone by today—"

"And we'll slip away quietly," Astrid finished, a bittersweet smile on her lips. "Where will we go?"

"South, I think," Kelan answered after a moment's thought. "Beyond the White River, perhaps to the city-states or even the capital. It will be easier to remain unnoticed where there are more people. And if we choose, we might find knowledge there—about my powers, about anything."

Astrid nodded. "South it is, then." She managed a brave smile. "I've never been beyond the clan lands. I hope you know the way."

Kelan chuckled softly. "I have a half-decent map in my head. And if we get lost, we'll figure it out together."

Together. The word felt reassuring on his tongue.

By the time they passed through the gate and into the village square, their plan was set in broad strokes. They would pack light—food, traveling cloaks, the precious chest of treasure Ulfric had gifted (which would fund their journey many times over), and a few personal items. Northhaven would certainly spare them two good horses from the captured steppe herd. They would leave at dawn two days hence, when most of the town was still asleep, to avoid long goodbyes or attempts to dissuade them.

A call from the gate drew their attention. A small company of Northhaven riders was assembling to escort the surrendered steppe prisoners away. The captives stood in a somber cluster, hands bound but faces relieved, as they prepared to be led beyond the clan's territory and set free.

Kelan and Astrid exchanged a look. "One last duty," Astrid said.

Kelan nodded. "Let's see it done."

Hand in hand, they made their way to the gate to send off the defeated warriors, marking the final page of this chapter of Northhaven's story.

As they moved off, Kelan cast one more glance over the village he had come to love. Smoke curled gently from chimneys, and familiar faces he'd healed or fought beside went about their day. He felt a pang of sadness knowing he would soon leave this place behind. But then Astrid's hand squeezed his, anchoring him in the present.

He looked at her—at the determination in her stride and the affection shining in her eyes when she caught him watching. In that moment, Kelan's sadness was tempered by hope. Whatever uncertainties the open road might bring, they would face them side by side.

Together, they stepped beyond Northhaven's gate into the crisp morning, ready to greet the future on their own terms.

Chapter 56

The day before their departure passed in a blur of quiet preparations. Kelan spent the afternoon helping where he could—double-checking that Northhaven's wounded were mending well and offering final healing touches for those who needed it. The villagers, busy repairing roofs and returning to their routines, exchanged knowing looks as he made his rounds. Rumors had already sprouted that Kelan and Astrid might soon be moving on. A few times Kelan noticed townsfolk falling silent when he approached, their expressions a mix of gratitude and preemptive sorrow. Wordlessly, they understood what was coming.

By sunset, Kelan had gathered his few belongings in a sturdy leather pack Astrid found for him. The carved chest of treasure from the council had been discreetly converted into more portable form: a pouch of coins for each of them and another small sack of valuables tied to Kelan's saddle. Astrid procured two horses—a sleek bay gelding for Kelan and her own chestnut mare—for the journey.

As dusk settled, Kelan walked one last time through the village that had become his home. Golden evening light bathed the timber longhouses and the central well. He passed the smithy where old Bram waved with a resigned smile, and the bakery where Marta pressed a warm loaf into his hands "for the road." Each gesture of kindness tightened the ache in his chest. He would miss this place—the hearty voices, the smell of woodsmoke and fresh bread, the simple, honest rhythm of life.

Outside Astrid's family home, he paused. Through the open doorway, he saw Astrid embracing her mother tightly. Greta's eyes were red, but she wore a small, proud smile. Astrid's father, Olav, stood by with arms crossed, attempting a stern expression that was belied by the shine of tears in his eyes. Kelan did not intrude on their farewell; he waited by the front gate until Astrid emerged.

Her eyes glistened in the twilight, but she looked at peace. "They gave their blessings," she said softly, slipping her hand into Kelan's. "Mother made me promise to send word whenever I can. Father… well, he didn't like it, but he won't stop me."

Kelan squeezed her hand. "They just want you safe."

Astrid nodded and glanced back at the doorway, where her parents now stood side by side. Olav raised a hand in farewell; Greta dabbed at her eyes with her apron. Astrid lifted her hand in return, offering them a reassuring smile before turning away to walk beside Kelan into the gathering dusk.

They spent their final evening in the small cottage that had been Kelan's quarters. Together they kindled a fire in the hearth one last time and sat close on a fur throw, speaking in hushed tones about the journey ahead. By the low firelight, they spread a worn map and traced a route southward. They discussed the roads and rivers they would follow, sharing what little they knew of the distant cities and towns. Uncertainty lay in every mile beyond the clan lands, but so did possibility.

As the flames died down to embers, conversation gave way to comfortable silence. Astrid leaned against Kelan's shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her. Both stared into the glow, each lost in thought.

Kelan knew in his heart that leaving was the wise course. Already, passing travelers carried wild tales of a "mage-knight of Northhaven" who could topple armies. It wouldn't be long before some curious lord—or King Halvor himself—sent envoys or soldiers to seek the truth. He refused to be drawn into any lord's schemes or to bring more trouble to this village. Better to slip away quietly and remain ahead of whatever search might come.

He sighed softly, and Astrid looked up at him, sensing his tension. Gently, she asked, "Second thoughts?"

He shook his head. "No. Just reaffirming to myself that this is right. To leave before anyone comes knocking."

Astrid nodded. "The sooner we're off, the harder it will be for anyone to catch up or meddle. We'll leave at first light."

They banked the fire and lay down together on the pallet of blankets, the warmth of the hearth's last coals keeping the chill at bay. Astrid's head rested on Kelan's chest, and he felt her steady breathing as she drifted to sleep. He remained awake a little longer, listening to the familiar night sounds of Northhaven: distant laughter from the mead hall, a dog barking, the creak of the stockade in the breeze. He committed it all to memory.

Before dawn, Kelan and Astrid rose and silently prepared to depart. In the cool blue pre-dawn light, they led their horses to a small rear gate by the stables, choosing that route to avoid waking the village. The world was hushed; even the roosters had yet to crow.

As Kelan secured the last strap on his gelding's saddle, a lone figure emerged from the shadows by the stable fence. Dennor stepped forward, wrapped in a wool cloak against the chill. A sad, knowing smile tugged at his lips.

"So it's true," Dennor said under his breath. "Off before first light, like a thief in the night."

Astrid went to the old guard captain and hugged him tightly. "We didn't want a big farewell, Dennor," she murmured. "Thank you—for everything."

Dennor patted her back gently. "Ah, girl, you take care of yourself out there." He then looked to Kelan and extended a hand. Kelan clasped it, and Dennor immediately pulled him into a rough embrace as well. "You've done this town proud, son," Dennor said, voice gruff. "I know why you have to go. Just know that you always have a place here, should you ever need it."

"Thank you," Kelan replied quietly. "I won't forget Northhaven—or you."

Dennor stepped back, eyes shining with emotion he tried to hide behind a squint. "I expect not. And mind you keep your wits about you on the road. The world beyond isn't as kind as we are." He managed a wink.

Kelan smiled. "I will. And I'll keep her safe," he added, nodding toward Astrid.

"You'd better," Astrid interjected with a playful scowl that made all three of them chuckle softly.

Dennor cleared his throat, pulling a small flask from inside his cloak. "I won't keep you. But have a nip of this for the road—a bit of honey spirit." He pressed the flask into Kelan's hand. "I'll tell the others you left at peace and send your regards."

Kelan accepted the parting gift gratefully. "Give our love to everyone," he said. There was so much more he wanted to say, but emotion constricted his throat.

Dennor simply nodded. "May the gods light your path, both of you."

With final, heartfelt looks, Kelan and Astrid mounted their horses. In the dim morning light, they took one last sweeping glance at Northhaven's familiar outline—its wooden palisades and clustered roofs faintly visible against the dawn.

"Farewell," Kelan whispered, not sure if he spoke to Dennor, the town, or both.

"Farewell, you two," Dennor replied, his voice carrying softly as he raised a hand in salute.

Kelan gently nudged his horse forward. Astrid's mare followed. Side by side, they rode out through the narrow gate and onto the southward road.

Kelan glanced back once over his shoulder. Dennor stood at the gate watching, his figure growing smaller as the distance widened. The captain lifted his hand once more, then turned and walked slowly back into the sleeping village, the gate closing behind him.

A new chapter of Kelan's life unfurled as he and Astrid left Northhaven behind. The morning air was crisp and smelled of dew and pine. The road ahead wound gently down through rolling green meadows toward a line of distant hills just becoming visible in the sunrise. Astrid urged her horse closer to Kelan's until their knees nearly touched.

He reached out and took her hand. For a moment they paused their horses atop a small rise, gazing south. The sun's rim peeked over the horizon at their backs, casting their long shadows before them on the empty road.

"No turning back now," Astrid said, squeezing his fingers.

"Onward then," Kelan answered, returning the squeeze with a smile.

They set their heels to their horses and moved into a steady trot. The hoofbeats rang against the hard-packed earth—an eager, hopeful rhythm. As the first rays of sunlight broke over the trees, Kelan felt a surge of anticipation cut through the pang of leaving. Yes, there were dangers ahead and uncertainties without end. But there was also freedom, and the chance to shape their own fate.

With Astrid riding beside him and the wide world beckoning, Kelan allowed himself one last look northward, whispering a silent thanks to the town that had given him so much. Then he faced forward to the road ahead.

Together, they rode on toward the rising sun, toward whatever adventures and challenges awaited in the days to come—hopeful, determined, and unafraid.

Chapter 57

Sunlight filtered through birch and oak, dappling the forest road with golden patches as Kelan and Astrid rode southward. By late morning of their first full day on the road, Northhaven was already a distant memory beyond the green horizon. The quiet of the open road was both soothing and a little surreal after the chaos they'd left.

"It's strange," Astrid mused, guiding her mare around a fallen branch. "No watch duty at dawn, no walls to patrol. I keep expecting someone to ring the town bell."

Kelan nodded, smiling. "Strange, but welcome. Though I keep listening for shouts or horns myself." He drew a deep breath of the mild air; it smelled of blooming wildflowers and fresh leaves. "I suppose we'll adjust."

"We will," she agreed. "We've earned a bit of peace."

They traveled at an easy pace through sunlit glades and meadows. From time to time, Astrid pointed out plants along the roadside—blue star-thistle for fevers, wolfsbane to avoid. Kelan listened with appreciation, enjoying the passion in her voice for these small details of the wild. It felt good, almost healing, to talk of simple things.

Around midday, they paused by a clear brook to water the horses and share a meal of bread, cheese, and dried apples. Kelan reveled in the moment: boots off, toes dipping in cool water, and Astrid beside him gently teasing him about crumbs in his beard. It was a far cry from the battle-torn battlements of a week ago.

After lunch, the road led them out of the forest into gentle pastureland. They spotted a few distant farmsteads dotting the landscape. As they rounded a bend near one such farm, they heard the faint sound of shouting ahead.

Kelan and Astrid exchanged a quick look. Without a word, they urged their horses forward.

They came upon a harrowing scene: a wooden merchant's wagon lay overturned in a ditch, one wheel shattered. Bolts of cloth and goods littered the ground. Two oxen were still hitched to the wagon, snorting and stamping nervously. Four rough-looking men armed with swords and clubs had cornered a balding merchant and a young girl against the wreck.

"Please, take what you want, just spare us!" the merchant pleaded, trying to shield the girl with his body.

One bandit snarled and raised a club.

Astrid was already moving. "Enough!" she shouted, drawing her sword with a steely ring. She charged down the road, her mare's hooves thundering. Kelan followed close, heart pounding.

The bandits whirled in surprise. Astrid's arrival was like a hawk diving on a flock of crows. In a blur she swung from the saddle, slashing one thug's arm and sending him reeling. Kelan focused on another lunging for Astrid's flank—an invisible shove of his mind sent the man sprawling face-first in the dirt.

The remaining two attackers rushed at Kelan. He dismounted swiftly to avoid being pulled down and met them with his hunting knife. One bandit's sword arced toward him, but Kelan subtly deflected its course with a thought. The blade sliced past him, and in that opening Kelan delivered a sharp pommel strike to the man's jaw. The bandit crumpled to the grass.

The final thug—a one-eyed brute—hesitated, suddenly realizing these "travelers" were no easy prey. Seeing two of his fellows wounded and one unconscious, his courage faltered. Astrid leveled her sword at him, her mare snorting impatiently. "Run," she ordered coldly.

The one-eyed man cast a hateful glance at Kelan and Astrid, then spat on the ground. Cursing under his breath, he hauled his injured companions to their feet. In ragged retreat, the bandits limped off toward the trees where a pair of tethered nags waited. Within moments they were gone, leaving only a string of mumbled threats on the wind.

As the dust settled, Astrid quickly scanned the road for any further danger, then slid off her horse. Kelan approached the merchant and girl, who stared at their saviors as if they were heroes from a storybook.

"Are you hurt?" Kelan asked gently.

The merchant shook his head vigorously, tears of relief in his eyes. "No, good sir—thanks to you!" He bobbed in a half-bow. "I'm Fendrel, a cloth merchant, and this is my daughter Briel. We owe you our lives."

Astrid smiled kindly at the girl, who peeked out from behind her father's cloak. "I'm glad we came in time. Those men won't bother you now."

Briel managed a timid smile. "Thank you," she whispered.

Kelan looked over the toppled wagon. "Let's see about getting your wagon upright."

He and Astrid helped Fendrel right the wagon and calm the skittish oxen. The wheel was badly cracked and the axle bent. Kelan knelt, running a hand over the damage. With Fendrel and Briel distracted gathering spilled cloth bundles, he sent a subtle pulse of energy into the wood. Under his palms, the fractured timber creaked and knit together slightly—enough to hold for now.

A few minutes later, they had the oxen re-hitched and the wagon more or less functional, albeit wobbly on its splinted wheel. Fendrel marveled that it rolled at all. He looked at Kelan with a searching expression, as if suspecting some magic at work, but instead of questioning, he clasped Kelan's hand and pressed a length of fine linen into it.

"Please, take this as thanks," the merchant insisted. "It's not much for saving our lives, but I insist."

Kelan started to refuse, but Astrid gave him a slight nod. Accepting gifts graciously was also a way to ease others. He accepted the linen with a grateful smile. "Thank you. And safe travels—the next town isn't far. Get that wheel properly fixed as soon as you can."

"Oh, we will," Fendrel assured, climbing onto the driver's seat and helping Briel up beside him. "If either of you ever find yourselves in White Oak Crossing or Deepmarsh, seek out Fendrel's Green River caravan. You'll have friends there, I swear it."

"And bolts and bolts of beautiful cloth!" Briel added, clearly recovering her spirit as she sat clutching the reins.

Astrid chuckled. "We'll remember. Take care now."

With many waves and words of gratitude, the merchant snapped the reins. The oxen pulled the wagon forward, creaking precariously but holding together. They watched father and daughter trundle down the road until they disappeared over a gentle rise, Fendrel still waving back.

Kelan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His pulse was still elevated from the skirmish. Astrid was securing her sword at her belt, shaking her head at him, though amusement danced in her eyes.

"You know," she said lightly, "we'd gone nearly half a day without trouble. I was beginning to wonder if you'd get bored."

Kelan managed a rueful laugh. "I don't exactly plan these things."

"I know." She stepped closer and straightened the collar of his cloak, which had gone askew in the scuffle. Her hands lingered on his shoulders. "Truth be told, I would have jumped in even if you wanted to ride past. Those bandits got what they deserved."

Kelan covered one of her hands with his own. "I'm just glad we kept the damage to a minimum." He glanced in the direction the bandits had fled. They were long gone. "I tried to be… discreet."

Astrid raised an eyebrow. "Discreet? You tossed that big fellow around like a leaf on the wind."

"Maybe a little less discreet than ideal," Kelan admitted with a half-smile. He hadn't used any grand display of power, but he knew the bandits must have been bewildered by how easily they'd been bested. "Hopefully they'll chalk it up to bad luck."

"Perhaps." Astrid squeezed his shoulder, her voice turning gentle. "Kelan, I'm teasing you. We did what was right. I'm proud of it—and of you."

He let out the rest of his tension in a long exhale. "It's hard for me to hold back when I see people in danger. Even if it means taking a risk."

"I wouldn't want you to be any other way," she affirmed. Then her tone gained a pragmatic edge. "But we should be mindful. Word of what happened at Northhaven is likely spreading, and now tales of two do-gooders foiling bandits might travel too. It all adds up."

Kelan knew she was right. He looked at his hands, recalling how natural it felt to wield his power to protect. "I won't go looking for trouble, but if we see injustice, I can't promise I'll ignore it."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Astrid said firmly. "We just have to use discretion, like you did—well, mostly did—today." She shot him a wry grin. "Perhaps a bit less levitating swords in full view, though."

Kelan chuckled, a bit embarrassed. "Noted. I'll work on subtlety."

They traveled on through the afternoon, the incident gradually fading behind them. The road stretched ahead, and with it, the promise and uncertainty of the wider world.

As the sun dipped low behind them, casting their elongated shadows before them, they pressed southward—two wanderers learning how to be both cautious and true to themselves as they forged their path through an ever-expanding horizon. In saving Fendrel and Briel, Kelan had affirmed that he could not, would not, turn a blind eye to those in need. Astrid's steady presence and pragmatism ensured they would do so carefully, keeping one step ahead of the tales beginning to spin around them.

Whatever came next, they would face it together, balancing on that fine edge between secrecy and righteousness as they journeyed further into the unknown.

Chapter 58

Two days later, by early evening, Kelan and Astrid reached the market village of White Oak Crossing. It was a modest roadside hamlet, a dozen timber buildings clustered near a stone bridge that spanned a swift-flowing river. The white oak from which the village took its name stood ancient and huge at the central crossroads, its branches sprawling protectively over the roof of the local inn.

They decided to stop for the night. After days of camping under the open sky, the prospect of a hot meal and a real bed was enticing. Astrid saw to stabling the horses while Kelan secured a small upstairs room at The Spotted Goose, the only inn in town. The innkeeper, a rosy-cheeked woman named Belda, bustled about setting a hearty stew on the hearth and pointing them toward a wash basin to freshen up.

In the tavern's common room, travelers and locals mingled over mugs of ale. A friendly buzz of conversation filled the air. Kelan and Astrid chose a corner table beneath a low-hanging beam (carved with generations of initials) and settled in to observe and rest.

For a time, they simply enjoyed ordinary pleasures—thick lamb stew with barley, a crusty loaf of bread, and dark ale foaming in clay cups. By unspoken agreement, they avoided heavy topics, instead chatting quietly about little things: how far the spring wildflowers extended along the road, a funny anecdote Astrid recalled from her childhood about chasing a goat that had eaten her apron.

Kelan found himself chuckling easily. In their plain travel clothes, with no urgent crisis looming, they might have been any young couple on a journey. The tension of being hunted or celebrated almost slipped from his mind.

Almost.

Across the room, a stout peddler was regaling the blacksmith with some tale, his voice carrying in excitement. "—I tell you, an entire clan's warband knocked out cold as if by magic!" he exclaimed. "They say a ghost-magicker did it, protecting the village. Poof, men dropping like flies."

Kelan's spine stiffened slightly. He shot Astrid a sidelong glance. She had heard it too; she raised an eyebrow.

The blacksmith guffawed. "Ghosts and magic? More likely the raiders drank themselves stupid before battle. You know how storytellers exaggerate."

The peddler huffed, taking a swig of ale. "Perhaps. But something odd happened up north. Even King Halvor's dispatching investigators, so I hear. Old Bart at the mill saw a royal courier ride through just yesterday, asking after unusual events in these parts."

Astrid casually reached across the table and placed her hand over Kelan's, a gentle reminder to stay calm. He realized he had stopped chewing his bread.

"Unusual events? We've had none," the blacksmith was saying. "Nothing more unusual than Jonna's cow birthing twin calves."

The peddler shrugged. "Likely nothing here, aye. But mark my words, the King's men are sniffing around every village from here to the Nordlands for whiffs of magic. Some rumor rattled them. Maybe those old witches in the bog finally stirred up trouble."

He lowered his voice conspiratorially (though Kelan and Astrid could still hear every word). "The wildest story claims an entire army of steppe riders was driven off by a single man wielding the power of the gods."

This earned laughter and scoffs from the small cluster of villagers listening in. "Next you'll be selling us flying horses and talking fish, Marlin," chuckled Belda the innkeeper as she refilled mugs.

The peddler raised his hands. "Laugh if you will. Tales grow in the telling, sure. But something truly happened out there. Even if it was a handful of mages or a hidden battalion, the King clearly thinks there's a kernel of truth."

At that, Astrid cleared her throat loudly and shifted in her seat, "accidentally" knocking her cup off the table. It hit the floor with a thud, drawing eyes for an instant.

"Oops," she said, ducking under the table to retrieve it. Kelan realized she was deliberately derailing the conversation and any scrutiny of them as strangers.

He quickly rose. "Let me get a cloth," he offered, moving toward the bar where Belda was already coming over with a rag.

In the brief distraction, the cluster of eavesdroppers lost the thread of the peddler's story. The blacksmith had begun ribbing the miller about something else, and the tavern's atmosphere returned to its easy chatter.

Belda wiped their table with a smile. "No harm, dearies. That old Marlin—don't heed half his gossip. He loves the sound of his own voice." She topped off their ale and lumbered away.

Astrid gave Kelan an apologetic half-smile. "Sorry. That got a bit... specific."

Kelan shook his head, amazed by how quickly rumors traveled. "Two days out and already bards and peddlers are spinning fanciful versions of what might be our story."

"Ghost-magicker?" Astrid snorted softly. "Power of the gods, no less."

Kelan grimaced. "It would be almost amusing if it weren't attracting royal agents."

She reached under the table and squeezed his knee reassuringly. "They're far behind us. And no one here seems to connect any of that to two ordinary travelers."

Kelan let his shoulders relax. She was right—no one in the inn was giving them a second glance. They appeared as normal as any other pair of wayfarers. He intended to keep it that way.

Later that night, in the privacy of their small room, they discussed their next steps in low voices. A single tallow candle on the washstand cast a soft glow over the simple space—bare wood walls, a narrow bed they'd gladly share for warmth, and their packs stacked neatly in the corner.

"They're looking north, where we came from," Astrid murmured, unlacing her boots. "That gives us an advantage. We stay ahead of news."

Kelan nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We should perhaps avoid larger towns for a while, at least any under heavy crown presence."

Astrid sat beside him and leaned into his shoulder. "Vaeldrun is a market city a few days south. Perhaps we skirt it and stick to smaller crossings like this for now."

Kelan took her hand, twining his fingers with hers. He was silent a moment, reflecting. In Northhaven he had accepted that leaving was necessary to protect the town. Now it sank in that he and Astrid were effectively on the run—not from any wrongdoing, but from fame and fear.

"How do you feel about all this?" he asked her softly. "Truly. Life on the road, rumors at our backs, hiding who we are."

Astrid looked up at him. Her golden hair was loose about her shoulders, and in the gentle candlelight, the determination in her face was tempered by affection. "I won't pretend I don't miss home," she admitted. "I miss my parents. I miss knowing every neighbor by name." She gave a small shrug. "But I knew what I was choosing. Being with you—" She squeezed his hand. "It's where I need to be. And this is the path we must walk for now."

Kelan's throat tightened. "You've given up so much—"

"So have you," she interjected firmly. "My home will always welcome me back when the time comes. But your situation is… complicated." She brushed a strand of hair back from his forehead. "I saw what it did to you, Kelan, being looked at with awe and fear in equal measure. You carry enough burdens. I don't want adulation or condemnation from strangers to be another."

He closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing her words. It was true: as painful as leaving was, he felt lighter out here in anonymity, responsible for no one except themselves. Yet the weight of his power and the responsibility it brought was still his constant companion.

"I worry," he confessed quietly. "If we keep running, keep hiding, am I shirking some greater purpose? The things I can do… maybe I'm meant to do more than roam freely."

Astrid was silent for a long moment, considering. "You're doing good wherever you go—that seems purpose enough to me," she said at last. "Like today with those travelers. And who knows what lies ahead? Perhaps we will find a cause or a place where you can do even greater good without it being misused by others."

Kelan nodded slowly. That hope had driven him as well—the idea that somewhere, there might be a role for him that didn't mean becoming a king's pawn or a feared threat. "Maybe we'll find answers about... people like me," he added. "If there are others."

"A mage guild or great scholars, perhaps," Astrid mused. "The world is wide. We've only seen a sliver."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the muffled laughter and clink of tankards from the tavern below. Eventually, Astrid's head began to droop with weariness. She'd barely slept the night before, insisting on taking first watch at their camp despite no obvious danger.

Kelan gently urged her to lie down. "Sleep. We'll need to start early."

She didn't protest, admittedly exhausted. Kelan stretched out beside her on the bed. They curled into each other under a single wool blanket. In the stillness, he pressed a light kiss to her temple. "Thank you," he whispered.

Astrid murmured drowsily, "For what?"

"For being with me through all this. For understanding."

She turned and touched his cheek. "Always," she breathed, then drifted into sleep, her arm draped across his waist.

Kelan remained awake a little longer, staring at the dim ceiling beams. Bits of the peddler's tale swirled in his mind—the grandiose exaggerations, the king's interest. A part of him felt guilty that Northhaven might soon play unwitting host to royal interrogators. At least they'll find nothing but confused villagers, he thought. He hoped Ulfric could handle that diplomacy.

As for himself, he resolved to travel even more carefully. He would continue to help those in need, but with as light a touch as possible. The last thing he wanted was for royal couriers to catch up to them.

With those thoughts, Kelan finally let himself relax into the simple joy of a soft bed and Astrid's warmth. Her even breathing was a lullaby of its own. He closed his eyes.

Outside their window, a moonless night had settled, wrapping White Oak Crossing in quiet darkness. Tomorrow they would venture further into lands unknown, moving steadily toward the promise of safer anonymity or new discovery. Whatever came, they would face it together. The road ahead was uncertain, but in uncertainty lay freedom—and perhaps the destiny Kelan would choose for himself.

In that hopeful thought, he found sleep, holding the woman he loved close as the world around them dreamed.

Chapter 59

At dawn, a light mist clung to the banks of the White River as Kelan and Astrid guided their horses across the old stone bridge out of White Oak Crossing. Hoofbeats echoed on the damp planks while the ancient white oak at the crossroads faded behind them in the morning haze.

On the far side of the river, the road wound up a gentle slope. When they reached the hill's crest, they paused to look back. From that height, they could just make out a plume of smoke from the inn's chimney and the top of the venerable oak, golden in the morning light. Further beyond, though not visible, lay the hundreds of miles of northern lands that they once called home.

Astrid's eyes were fixed northward, her expression thoughtful. Kelan knew her well enough to guess her thoughts. "Thinking of your family?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "I wonder if Father's out checking the snares, or if Mother's started planting the spring cabbages." She offered a small smile. "I know they're all right—Northhaven's safe now. But I still miss them."

Kelan reached over and took her hand, squeezing gently. "We'll send word when we can. Perhaps an anonymous letter, just to say we're safe."

Astrid brightened a touch. "They'd like that." She turned to him. "What about you? Any second thoughts this morning?"

Kelan drew in a deep breath of the crisp air. There was a faint scent of dew-laden wildflowers and a distant hint of woodsmoke from the village. It smelled like a new beginning. "I won't pretend I don't feel a pull back to Northhaven," he admitted. "I worry about Dennor raising a cup alone or Ulfric dealing with those nosy courtiers. But no second thoughts. This is the road we're meant to walk now."

Astrid traced a thumb over the back of his gloved hand. "Dennor is likely already regaling the guards with embellished tales of our departure," she teased. "And Ulfric can handle a few confused king's men."

Kelan chuckled. "True. They'll all be fine."

They shared a quiet moment at the hilltop, watching the sun climb. The northern sky behind was blue and clear, peaceful. Kelan whispered a silent wish for the people they'd left behind – that peace would hold, and that perhaps one day he and Astrid would ride back over that old bridge to reunite with loved ones under happier circumstances.

But not yet.

Astrid let Kelan's hand go and nudged her mare around. "Look there," she said, pointing ahead. The road descended into a broad, rolling plain dotted with copses of trees and patches of purple heather. Far on the southern horizon, just visible in the morning haze, rose what looked like the faint silhouette of city walls or a distant tower. "Vaeldrun, perhaps," she guessed.

Kelan shaded his eyes. "Likely. The world beyond our little north." He felt a flutter of nerves mixed with excitement. Neither of them had traveled this far south before. Beyond that distant city lay even more unknowns—great capitals, other kingdoms, perhaps answers to questions he hadn't yet formulated.

"A bit daunting, isn't it?" he murmured.

Astrid tilted her head in agreement. "Daunting, yes. But also exciting." She flashed him a grin. "I always dreamed of seeing the world outside our clan's lands. Maybe not quite in this way—but still."

Kelan returned her smile. He admired her courage; she faced the unknown with such steadiness. Any other might have lamented what they'd lost or feared what was ahead, but Astrid had a knack for finding the silver lining.

They urged their horses onward down the southern slope. As they rode, birds flitted from hedgerows, and the sun burned away the last clinging bits of mist. It looked to be another fine spring day.

By midday, they had covered many leagues. The road here was wider, joining with a major trade route that led toward Vaeldrun. Traffic increased: they passed a caravan of tinkers heading north and a lumbering wagon carrying timber. Kelan and Astrid kept their hoods up and exchanged only polite nods, mindful to avoid drawn-out conversations.

At one point, they noticed a small column of riders off the road to the east, perhaps half a mile away, moving north at a fast clip. The sun glinted off steel helms. Kelan felt Astrid tense. Both recognized the look of royal livery on the distant figures.

"King's men?" Astrid wondered under her breath.

Kelan watched the riders disappear into a copse. "Likely. Couriers or scouts, heading where we came from."

They waited in a thicket until the riders were well past and out of sight, then resumed their journey in silence. The sight served as a final reminder of the wisdom of their departure. The net was indeed being cast, but thankfully far behind them.

Toward late afternoon, they veered off the busy main route and took a smaller road leading east toward the coastlands. The clamor of the highway gave way to quiet downs and lonely moors. It felt liberating to leave the crowded trade route, like stepping off a stage. Here, few travelers passed, and no banners flew.

After another hour or so, they reached a gentle rise crowned with wind-stunted pines. Beyond it lay the expanse of the eastern downs, shimmering green and gold in the sunlight. In the distance, perhaps a day's journey away, the silvery line of the ocean teased the horizon.

Kelan dismounted. "Let's rest a bit," he suggested. The hill offered a breathtaking view. Astrid agreed and slid off her mare. They let the horses graze on sweet clover by the wayside.

Side by side, Kelan and Astrid walked to a granite outcrop at the hill's brow. The rock was warm from the day's sun. They sat down together, not minding the hardness after hours in the saddle.

For a long while, neither spoke. The breeze was soft and the only sounds were distant gulls and the chirr of crickets in the grass. Astrid took off her hood, letting the wind lift strands of her hair, and closed her eyes, face turned to the lowering sun.

Kelan studied her profile—so familiar and so dear. He followed the line of her gaze out to the horizon. Bit by bit, they were leaving the world they knew and entering something new. He felt a pang of homesickness then: not for a place, exactly, but for a time—just weeks past—when their biggest concerns had been the planting of early spring vegetables or a coming village dance.

"Astrid," he said softly.

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Do you ever wish," he began, then paused. He wasn't sure what he wanted to ask. Perhaps if she wished none of this had happened, that they could have remained simple villagers in love without the weight of destiny on their shoulders.

She seemed to understand. She reached over and laced her fingers with his. "Sometimes I wish life were as simple as it was a year ago," she admitted. "But then I think of how much we've grown. What we've survived. What we've found in each other." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I wouldn't trade that for ignorant simplicity."

Kelan kissed the top of her head. Emotion swelled in him, a mixture of gratitude and a lingering sorrow for what they'd left behind. "I wouldn't either," he murmured. "Not for all the peaceful days in the world without you."

She smiled and snuggled closer.

The sun touched the horizon, setting the sky aflame with orange and pink. In the east, early stars began to glimmer in the deepening blue.

"We should set camp soon," Astrid said quietly, though she made no move to get up just yet.

"Soon," Kelan agreed.

They both understood they were lingering to mark this moment—the true beginning of their life in the wider world. The first phase of their journey, fleeing immediate danger, was done. What lay ahead was more open-ended. It felt both exhilarating and daunting.

"We don't know what tomorrow holds," Astrid said, voicing his very thought.

Kelan squeezed her hand gently. "No. But we know we'll meet it together."

Astrid tilted her face up to him. Her eyes reflected the last amber light of sunset and the steady resolve that he had fallen in love with. "Together," she echoed softly.

They kissed then—an affirming kiss, full of quiet promise as day gave way to night around them.

When they parted, the sun had vanished beyond the far hills, leaving a rosy afterglow. Astrid stood and offered Kelan her hand. "Come on. Let's set up camp by those pines."

Kelan took her hand and rose. He felt a tear at the corner of his eye—whether from the poignancy of farewells or the beauty of the moment, he wasn't sure. He brushed it away before Astrid could see. There was no sadness he wanted to burden her with; they shared enough already.

They gathered their horses and led them toward the shelter of the trees. As they went about the familiar tasks of laying out bedrolls and gathering firewood, Kelan found himself humming a fragment of an old northern tune—a song of travelers blessing the road behind and ahead.

Astrid glanced up from striking flint to tinder. "That song... my grandmother used to hum it whenever someone left on a journey."

Kelan nodded. "It felt appropriate."

"Go on then. Finish it properly," she urged, a tender smile on her lips.

So as darkness settled gently over the hills, Kelan sang in a low, melodious voice the ancient verses known to every northerner—a farewell blessing for those departing on a journey. His voice was soft but clear in the quiet night, carrying their hopes into the starry sky.

When he finished, Astrid's eyes were shining. She wrapped her arms around him and they held each other beneath the emerging stars.

"We'll see them again," Astrid whispered, her voice determined and loving.

Kelan hugged her close. "We will," he promised quietly.

They settled by the small campfire, wrapped in a single blanket against the chill. Astrid rested her head on Kelan's chest, and he draped an arm around her shoulders. Above them, unfamiliar stars sparkled in an endless expanse. The world beyond the north was strange and boundless, but under this open sky, they felt both the weight of their choices and the lightness of their newfound freedom.

As Astrid's breathing evened into sleep, Kelan gazed upward, reflecting on all that had transpired. The cost of his power had been great, and the responsibilities it carried vast. Yet here and now, as the embers glowed and the future beckoned, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

They had escaped the shadow of war and expectation, forging their own path on their own terms. Bittersweet though the parting from home had been, it opened the door to a new life.

Kelan closed his eyes and held Astrid a little tighter, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart. Come what may, they would meet it together. With that comforting truth in mind, he finally drifted to sleep beneath the strange stars, ready to greet whatever dawn the morning would bring.

And as their journey into the unknown continued, Kelan carried forward the quiet certainty that with love and courage by his side, even the widest, most uncharted world could become a place of hope.