The village appeared at dawn.
It was small—a cluster of weathered buildings huddled against the cliffs, their roofs dark with age, their walls stained by salt and wind. A pier jutted out into the sea, its wooden planks worn smooth by years of footsteps. Fishing boats bobbed in the water, their nets draped over their sides like forgotten promises.
Aurelion stood at the edge of the village, his pack on his back, his sword at his side. The wind carried the smell of fish and salt and something else—woodsmoke, perhaps, or cooking food.
He had walked all night. His legs ached. His body was tired.
But he had made it.
He walked into the village.
The streets were narrow, winding, lined with houses that leaned against each other like old friends. A few people were already awake—fishermen preparing their boats, women hanging laundry, children chasing each other through the alleys.
They looked up as he passed.
They saw his sword. His scars. His eyes.
They saw a stranger.
They saw a fighter.
They saw something they didn't understand.
One of the fishermen stepped forward, his face weathered, his hands calloused. He was old—maybe seventy, maybe more—but his eyes were sharp.
"Stranger," he said. "What brings you to our village?"
Aurelion stopped. "I need a boat. Passage to the Eurospan."
The fisherman studied him. "The Eurospan? That's a long journey. Dangerous. The demons control the waters now."
"I know."
"Why do you need to cross?"
Aurelion was silent for a moment. Then: "I'm looking for someone. My party. They were separated from me. I need to find them."
The fisherman's eyes narrowed. "You're a hunter?"
"Yes."
"From where?"
Aurelion met his eyes. "New New York."
The fisherman's expression flickered—surprise, recognition, fear. "New New York? That's across the continent. How did you—"
"Long story."
The fisherman was silent for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.
"I've heard rumors," he said. "About a fighter who killed a demon general. About a man who turned into something else." He paused. "That was you?"
Aurelion paused.
The fisherman's question hung in the air between them. That was you?
He thought about it. About the consequences of saying yes. The rumors. The fear. The way people looked at him now—like he was something to be celebrated or something to be feared, but never just a man.
If he said yes, Elias might refuse to help him. Might be afraid of him. Might turn him away like so many others had.
If he said no, he'd be lying. To someone who had just offered to help him. To someone who had lost a son to the war and was still willing to trust a stranger.
I'm tired of lying, he thought. I'm tired of hiding what I am.
But I'm also tired of being alone.
He met Elias's eyes.
"No," he said. "That wasn't me."
Elias studied him for a moment. His eyes were sharp, searching. Aurelion held his gaze, his face expressionless.
Then Elias nodded slowly.
"Good," he said. "I wouldn't want to be caught in a boat with a man like that."
He turned and walked toward the pier.
Aurelion followed him, his heart heavy.
Another lie, he thought. Another mask.
But if it gets me across the ocean, if it gets me to Valley's Watch—
It's worth it.
The fisherman turned and walked toward the pier. "My name is Elias. I've been fishing these waters for forty years. I know them better than anyone." He glanced back. "If anyone can get you across, it's me."
Aurelion followed him.
"Why are you helping me?"
Elias was silent for a moment. Then: "I had a son. He was a hunter. He died fighting the demons." He paused. "If someone had helped him when he needed it, maybe he'd still be alive."
"ah, I'm sorry."
"Don't be. He died fighting for something he believed in. That's more than most people get." He stopped at the pier and gestured at a small boat tied to the dock. "This is my boat. She's not much, but she's sturdy. She'll get us across."
Aurelion looked at the boat. It was small—barely big enough for two people. But it looked seaworthy, its hull reinforced, its mast intact.
"Thank you," he said.
Elias nodded. "We leave at dawn. Get some rest. You'll need it."
Aurelion found a spot on the beach and sat down.
The sun was rising, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. The waves lapped gently at the shore. The village was waking behind him, its sounds distant and muffled.
He thought about the journey ahead. The Eurospan. The demons. The uncertainty of what he would find on the other side.
He thought about Valley's Watch. About Ami. About Corrin. About Kael.
Are they safe? he thought. Are they still alive?
Are they still looking for me?
He touched his chest, feeling the shards inside him.
I'll find them, he thought. I always do.
He was woken by a hand on his shoulder.
Aurelion's eyes snapped open, his hand going to his sword. Elias stood over him, his face grim.
"We have a problem."
Aurelion rose. "What is it?"
Elias pointed at the horizon.
A ship was approaching—large, dark, its sails black. Demons stood on its deck, their eyes burning, their weapons ready.
"Demon patrol," Elias said. "They've been getting bolder. They must have seen the boat."
Aurelion drew his sword. "Then we fight."
"There's too many."
"Then we run."
Elias shook his head. "They'll catch us, none of us are fast enough."
Aurelion looked at the ship. At the demons. At the odds.
Then he looked at the sea.
"Get the boat ready," he said. "I'll hold them off."
Elias stared at him. "You're insane."
"Probably."
He walked toward the shore.