I wake up before the sun. Out of habit, I guess.
My eyes snap open, and for a second I think I'm late. My muscles twitch with leftover soreness. The air in my lungs is crisp and cool.
I sit up fast, tossing the blanket off, already preparing to swing my feet to the floor, but—then I remember. I have the day off.
My hand hovers mid-air, frozen above the boot I almost reached for. Varric said so himself. "Even soldiers get rest days."
I sit back on the mattress slowly, feeling the sleep still pulling at the corners of my body, but something in me is already awake.
My breath settles. The house is quiet. Still dark. The faintest blue light starts peeking through the shutters, painting everything with soft edges. It's… peaceful.
I take a long breath and let it fill my chest. Then I place a hand over my heart. Let's try it again, I think.
I close my eyes. I breathe in slowly, slowly, like I'm drawing it from somewhere deep beneath the earth. And I listen. I feel it—dim and quiet, somewhere inside me.
That soft flickering flame. Not fire, not yet. Not full. But there. My soul.
It hums quietly, like a whisper underwater. Like it's listening back.
I try to hold the image. Focus. Let it bloom brighter. But then—someone shifts outside my room. A quiet thud. The clink of a ladle against a pot.
I open my eyes, blinking, and the vision fades. Not yet. But I'll keep trying.
By the time the sky is bright, I'm dressed and heading out to the kitchen. Rennan is slicing bread at the counter. Lina's ladling hot stew into bowls, humming something soft. The scent of garlic and carrots fills the air. "Morning," I say, rubbing my eyes as I walk in.
They both turn to me like it's a surprise. "Good morning!" Lina says brightly. "Happy day off."
"Still up before us?" Rennan grins, handing me a plate. "I swear you're part rooster."
"Habit," I mutter, settling down at the table.
We eat in comfortable silence at first. The bread's warm and slightly burnt at the edges—just the way I like it. The stew's thick with potatoes. Then Lina breaks the quiet.
"Last night… was it alright?" I blink at her. "You mean the party?" She nods, stirring her bowl slowly.
"I've never had anything like that before," I admit. "It was… weird. But good." Rennan chuckles. "Weird's a good sign around here. Means you're alive."
"I didn't expect so many people to care." Lina reaches over and gently places her hand on mine. "You matter to them, Albus. To all of us." I look down at my food, trying not to smile too obviously. "Thanks."
After breakfast, I rinse my bowl and grab my boots. "I'm heading out," I say.
Rennan glances over. "Need us to walk with you?" I shake my head. "I'll be okay."
"Alright," he says, nodding. "Just don't go climbing cliffs or fighting monsters on your day off." I smirk a little and wave them off.
As the door shuts behind me, they stay in the kitchen for a while longer. Lina sits back in her chair and wipes her eyes. Rennan notices immediately. "Hey… what's wrong?"
She smiles through it. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just… proud. A year ago, he wouldn't even step out of this house without holding one of our hands. And now look at him."
Rennan glances toward the window, watching Albus's small form disappear past the bakery. "Yeah," he says softly. "He's come a long way."
"He's starting to laugh more," Lina murmurs. "He has friends now. He eats with us, he talks to us, he even teases us sometimes." Rennan places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently. "He's growing up."
She nods, eyes still glassy. "And I just hope… we gave him a place where he can grow into something good." Rennan smiles at her, then turns back to the window. "We did. And we still are."
. . .
The sun's risen high by the time I make it to the village square. There's a gentle breeze today, carrying the smells of flour from the bakery and the faint tang of the herb cart.
Everything feels soft—sunlight, footsteps, the lazy voices of people calling greetings to each other. The cobblestones under my feet are warm.
I pass by old Maren, who's sweeping her porch. She smiles and waves her broom at me. "Morning, Albus!"
"Morning!" I call back. A few kids are chasing each other with sticks around the well. A pair of chickens squawk and flap as one of the smaller boys trips and goes down face-first in the dust. I laugh a little.
Then a voice cuts through the noise. "Albus! Over here!"
I turn and spot Nella waving excitedly, her hair bouncing as she runs over. She's with a group of four other kids—two girls and two boys, all around my age or just a little older. I've seen most of them in passing, but I've never really played with them.
"Come play!" she says. "We're going to the creek to skip rocks!" I hesitate. For a second, I remember who I used to be—quiet, watching from behind the window, afraid to step forward. But then I glance at Nella's grin. There's no hesitation in her face. No fear. I nod and start walking with them.
As we head toward the creek path, one of the boys—Tonn, I think his name is—walks beside me. He looks at me curiously. Then he tilts his head. "Hey," he says. "How come your hair's white?"
I blink. "And your eyes… they're red." The group quiets slightly.
I open my mouth, unsure how to answer. Then he adds, "You kinda look like the monsters in that picture book my mom reads me at night." Nella whips her head toward him. "Tonn! That's mean!"
"What? I didn't mean it like that!" he says quickly. "I just… wondered." I feel something twist in my stomach.
At first, I want to snap at him. The old instinct flares. Defend. Protect. Push away before they hurt you. But I stop.
He doesn't look cruel. Just curious. I look down at my hands, then back at him. "…I don't know why I look like this," I admit. "I was born like it, I guess."
Tonn nods slowly, thoughtful. "Well, you're not scary. Just weird." I raise an eyebrow. "Thanks… I think."
The others laugh, and the tension breaks. We keep walking. But not for long.
Just as we round the bend toward the creek, a few bigger kids step out from behind a stack of crates near the mill road. They're older. Maybe seven or eight, possibly nine. Faces I've seen before, but never talked to.
The leader—thin, sharp-eyed—steps forward with a sneer. "Well, well," he drawls. "Look who it is. The freak and his fan club."
The kids around me stiffen. My hand twitches. I don't say anything yet. The older boy looks me up and down like I'm something unpleasant stuck to his boot. "You know you don't belong here, right? Just because the old folks let you stay doesn't mean the rest of us want you around."
Another kid behind him snickers. My jaw tightens. "Let's go," I mutter to Nella and the others. "It's not worth it."
But the boy steps in front of me. "Why don't you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, freak?"
My hands clench into fists. The world narrows. I hear the words again—not from his mouth now, but older ones, harsher, from the past.
You shouldn't have been born. You're cursed. You're not worth feeding.
Something snaps. And I move. I don't remember thinking. My legs move on their own.
One moment the boy is laughing, calling me a freak—the next, my fist slams into his nose with a crack that silences everything.
He stumbles backward, yelling, blood already spilling from one nostril. The other two older boys hesitate. Then they charge.
But I'm faster. I duck the first one's swing and drive my elbow into his stomach. He wheezes and crumples to the ground, gasping.
The third one grabs my shoulder. I twist, grab his wrist, and drive my forehead into his cheekbone. He screams, staggering, then turns and bolts. They all do.
Blood running down their faces, tears in their eyes.
Gone. The woods are quiet again. And then I realize—I'm breathing hard. My fists are scraped. There's blood on my knuckles.
The other kids are still standing behind me. I don't turn around yet. I'm frozen in place, chest rising and falling. The weight of what I just did hits me all at once.
I fought back. But not like before—not like the goblin in the forest when I had no choice.
This time… I chose to hit them. Hard. I spin around, expecting to see fear. Horror. Disgust. Instead—
"That was amazing!!" one of the kids shouts. Another pumps a fist in the air. "Did you see that punch?! He didn't even flinch!"
"You beat them all by yourself!" Nella grins wide. "You were like a knight in a storybook!"
I blink. "…What?" The boy who'd asked about my hair earlier steps forward, face flushed.
"Hey… I take back what I said," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're not a monster. You're more like a… hero."
My stomach twists at the word. Hero?
I look at my fists. I remember their noses bleeding. Their cries. Their fear.
That wasn't heroic. That was rage.
. . .