The morning fog hadn't yet lifted from Daigen Hollow when Ren opened his eyes. For a moment, he just lay there—listening. No wind. No market chatter. Even the crows had gone silent.
Zarno was still asleep beside him, curled like a question mark under a pile of borrowed blankets. Her mouth twitched, dreaming. Ren rose quietly, stepping past the creaky floorboards, and peered out the window.
Smoke curled from the blacksmith's forge again. The villagers were pretending normal had returned.
But something had changed.
He could feel it in his teeth.
Two of the Haldrith knights hadn't left.
They stood posted at the village entrance, armor catching the sunrise in dull, bruised hues. Another patrolled the square, interrogating the baker now, asking about grain shipments. A fourth crouched near the old well with some kind of device—crystal-based, ticking, humming faintly. No one in Daigen Hollow had ever seen anything like it.
Ren stood in the alley between the boarding house and the cobbler's shop, gripping his pen tightly.
It didn't move.
But he did.
He approached the woman who ran the honey stall—Mera, who'd once called him "quiet for a young foreigner." She was packing jars quickly, her face pale.
"They stayed?" Ren asked.
She jumped slightly, then nodded. "Four of them. One asked about your handwriting. Another wanted to see your coat's seams." She looked up. "Ren… they're looking for you. For people like you."
"Insects," he muttered.
Mera flinched at the word.
"They think we're parasites," he said. "People who don't belong. Just because we're not from this world."
Her eyes didn't leave his. "Are they wrong?"
He didn't answer.
Back at the boarding house, Ren began charting the guards' patrol routes—when they paused, how often they doubled back, which way they turned their heads when wind hit their cloaks. He noted patterns. Weaknesses.
He didn't plan to run yet.
But if they stayed longer, if someone recognized him, if the pen moved again when they were close...
He folded the map and slipped it under his vest. Then went upstairs.
Zarno was sitting cross-legged on the bed, braiding string into strange patterns.
"You smell like stress," she said.
Ren sat beside her. "We're being watched."
"Duh."
He blinked.
She tied one last knot. "They're not good at hiding. One of them followed me when I went to pee."
Ren pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I hit him with a bucket and ran."
He stared. "You what?"
She smiled. "He's still wet. I saw."
The Interrogation
By dusk, a fifth knight had arrived—a woman with raven-black hair and a half-mask of iron. She rode no horse, and wore no standard crest, but the others deferred to her.
She asked to speak with the villagers in private.
Ren watched from a rooftop.
One by one, Mera, the blacksmith, the old widow, even the children, were pulled aside and questioned.
Sometimes they emerged pale. Sometimes not at all.
Zarno, crouched beside Ren, whispered, "She's looking for echoes."
"What?"
"Magic signature. Soulprint. Earthpeople smell different here."
He looked at her. "How do you know that?"
She tilted her head, like the answer was obvious. "I listen."
The Trap
That night, Ren walked alone to the well again.
The pen vibrated—barely. As if it wanted to speak but was afraid to.
"Say it," he murmured.
It didn't write. But when he held it to the page, faint words began to etch.
"She knows."
Ren froze.
"She's not a knight. She's a Hunter. One of Haldrith's whisper-born. Sent to burn out the strange."
He flipped to a new page.
"They've been here before. Killed six in Vel Moris. Two were children."
Ren felt the chill settle into his spine.
The Choice
Back in the room, Zarno was drawing stars on the wall with charcoal. Ren grabbed her gently by the shoulder.
"We might have to leave tonight."
She didn't ask why.
Instead, she nodded. "Okay. Where?"
"East. Out of Khorvayne, across the Salt Flats. There's an old city marked as 'abandoned'. That usually means hidden."
Zarno grinned. "Adventure."
Ren tried to match her expression, but failed.
He packed light. Water. Dried bread. His notes. The pen.
Then he hesitated.
"What if we stayed?" he asked aloud.
Zarno looked at him.
"They'll catch us," she said. "And then… they'll make us not ourselves anymore."
Ren's hands tightened.
"You're not ready to stop being you."
He stared down at her. "And you?"
She smirked. "I'm never stopping being me."
Midnight Departure
They left when the village's only lantern went out.
The sky above Daigen Hollow was choked with clouds, no stars. Ren led Zarno through the alleys like a shadow, retracing his memorized escape path. Past the tannery. Around the carpenter's cart. Over the low stone wall where the dogs didn't bark.
But as they reached the southern gate, a voice rang out.
"Stop."
The masked Hunter stood in their path.
Her sword was not drawn.
Not yet.
Ren moved in front of Zarno.
The pen in his hand throbbed with clarity.
"You don't belong here," the woman said softly.
"I never did," Ren replied.
She stepped forward.
Ren's pen burst across the page in his palm.
"I will not vanish for your peace."
The wind picked up. The Hunter paused.
And that was enough.
Ren threw down a pouch—ashroot and sparkpowder. A smoke bloom swallowed the space between them.
They ran.
Into the trees.
Into the dark.
Into the next chapter of survival.