The group passed through the gate, the wooden walls creaking slightly as they closed behind them. The village inside wasn't large. No stone keeps or sweeping towers, but it was alive. Smoke curled from chimneys. Lanterns swung gently from hooks. Clotheslines fluttered in the fading light.
Guards posted near the entrance watched them quietly. A few narrowed their eyes at Aiden but said nothing. He expected more—suspicion, judgment. Yet the silence from the elves was worse. They looked, then looked away.
At least give me a clear signal.
Wooden buildings lined the paths, simple and worn. Further down, a larger structure stood out. A tavern, marked by the creaking sign above its door. Rough letters and faded paint read: "The Split Branch." Even at a distance, the sound of clinking glass and muted laughter filtered out.
Aiden didn't get the chance to examine it further.
People began to fill the walkways. Not soldiers, but civilians. Elves, yes, but also humans. Some wore plain tunics, others old traveling cloaks. There were no uniforms or banners. Just tired faces and half-healed scars.
Elves and humans, side by side? Didn't expect that.
Voices trickled through the murmuring crowd as it split to let them pass.
"What happened?" "Why so few?" "Is that—?" "Where's Torla?" "Who's that man?"
Aiden caught a few wide eyes. A girl whispered to her mother while pointing at him. One boy stood still, clutching a stuffed animal with missing buttons. Somewhere nearby, a baby cried. From a high window, laughter rang out—jarring in its normalcy. The village breathed, but unevenly. Life here hadn't stopped. It had just learned to flinch.
Then the crowd shifted again, parting with urgency.
A group approached from the center path, moving too precisely to be casual. At the front walked a tall elven man with short black hair cut like a soldier's. A heavy red cloak draped from his shoulders, catching the light with every step. He looked like command given form. Not a warrior, but something noble.
Lyanna's expression softened when she saw him. Her exhaustion didn't vanish, but it bent under something closer to relief.
The man's gaze locked on hers, and his pace broke. He ran the last few steps, ignoring the disapproving stares of the older elves behind him. Advisors, maybe. Veterans. Their expressions tightened at the display.
He wrapped Lyanna in a brief, fierce embrace, then pulled back to issue sharp orders. "Take the wounded, now."
Guards moved instantly, stepping past Aiden to gather the injured. Stretcher-like frames appeared from behind carts. Even the medic was offered support, though he refused it with a shake of his head.
Aiden turned toward Selina, his voice low. "That's the leader?"
"Yeah," she replied. "And Lya's brother."
Brother?
Before he could say more, a guard stepped up, gaze sharp.
"Lady Selina," he said with a small bow. "Are you injured?"
Aiden blinked. Lady?
"No," Selina answered quietly. "But he is. Make sure it's treated properly."
The guard turned to Aiden without the same deference. "You. Come on." He grabbed Aiden's arm with more force than necessary.
"Be careful!" Selina called out behind him as Aiden was dragged away.
The guard led Aiden through a narrow, uneven path that branched away from the main square. His grip never loosened. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't polite either. The kind of hold reserved for strangers who hadn't earned trust.
Aiden didn't resist. He was too tired.
They passed more buildings—homes, maybe, though none looked luxurious. Stone chimneys leaned sideways. Doors sagged. A group of children sat playing with carved sticks, falling silent as Aiden limped by.
Eventually, the guard stopped in front of a squat building built partly into the side of a hill. Moss covered the roof thickly. A carved symbol, something like a tree split in two, was painted above the door in faded ochre.
The infirmary?
The guard pushed the door open and motioned. "In."
Aiden stepped inside.
It was cooler here, darker too. The only light came from a lantern hanging from a central beam. The room smelled faintly of herbs and old blood. Sharp. Metallic. Earthy.
"Sit," the guard ordered, pointing at a bench made of uneven planks.
Aiden obeyed, his breath hitching as he lowered himself. His ribs ached sharply with every movement.
Moments later, a different elf stepped into view. Older, with short gray hair and sleeves rolled up. His hands were stained green. He didn't even glance at Aiden before rummaging through a basket.
"Remove your upper layer," the man said simply. "If it's stuck, cut it."
Aiden looked down at what remained of his shirt and armor. Mostly rips and dried blood. He peeled it off slowly, careful not to tug too hard.
The man approached. His eyes flicked to the injury—a deep, half-healed gouge across Aiden's ribs.
"You're lucky it didn't go deeper," he muttered, pressing a cloth soaked in pungent liquid against the wound.
Aiden hissed, biting back a groan.
"Try not to pass out. I'm not starting over."
"Comforting bedside manner," Aiden muttered.
The healer didn't respond. He cleaned the wound, applied a thick salve that stung even more, then wrapped his ribs tightly in clean cloth. When finished, he stood, wiped his hands, and finally met Aiden's gaze.
"I don't know who you are," he said. "But if you stay, earn your place. Don't expect a warm welcome. This village has buried too many strangers."
He turned and left.
Aiden sat in the dim light, hand resting above the bandages.
So... that's how it is.
Tolerated. Not trusted.
Kinda rude, Aiden thought bitterly. But desperate times make everyone a little colder.
His thoughts broke off as slow, deliberate footsteps approached.
A young elf stood in the doorway, maybe a little older than Selina. Short brown hair, sharp features, patched leather vest. He didn't look like a soldier, but he stood like one.
"You Aiden?" he asked.
Aiden nodded. "Yeah."
"I'm showing you to the barracks." The elf motioned. "You're with Second Division. Still room left."
Second Division?
Aiden stood with effort, grabbing what was left of his gear.
The elf didn't wait. He turned, expecting Aiden to follow.
They moved through the village quietly. The crowd had dispersed, but whispers still lingered. A few villagers eyed Aiden warily.
Outsider. Weapon.
The barracks were a long wooden hall near the village's edge. One wall cracked. Roof sagging. Barely enough beds.
The elf led him inside. No one looked up.
"Find a spot. Snore and they'll boot you. Don't touch the guy with crossbow scars. He's twitchy."
Aiden picked a spot in the corner.
"I'll take this."
The elf nodded and walked away.
"Hey," Aiden called.
The elf paused.
"Thanks."
No smile, but his shoulders loosened. "Get some rest, stranger."
Then he was gone.
At least I try to be polite.
Aiden sat on the rough mattress. Old hay and sweat. Still... it was a bed.
He laid back, staring at the cracked ceiling.
Still breathing. Still not dead.
Part of a rebellion he didn't understand. Surrounded by strangers.
No home. No purpose.
Just a strange window, a strange soul, and a borrowed body.
But for now...
Sleep.
Just for a few hours.
…
..
...
Darkness.
Then pale, flickering light.
Aiden stood in a corridor of mirrors. Endless reflections stared back—all bone-white, hollow-eyed skeletons shaped like him. Each moved slightly out of sync.
He reached out. The reflection copied him, slower. Their eyes weren't empty. Something flickered inside.
Then the mirrors changed.
Reflections blurred and became moments from earlier.
The man he executed. The boy he stabbed. Selina's hand reaching. Lyanna's voice: "You just joined the losing camp."
And his own face—real but fragmented. Pieces missing.
A voice echoed.
"You chose this long before you arrived."
He turned. No one.
One mirror remained. Cracked down the middle.
And in it, something moved.
Not a reflection.
A version of him. Colorless. Hollow.
It didn't mimic him. Just stared. Unblinking.
"Are you happy now?"
Aiden couldn't answer.
"Do you know now?"
The colorless version tilted its head unnaturally.
Behind it, mirrors warped. The camp. The blood. The fire.
"Did you learn?"
The reflection leaned closer, hand against the glass. Aiden hadn't moved.
"Did you understand?"
The last question lingered.
The glass cracked. A fracture split down the reflection's eyes. Blackness seeped like ink, devouring everything.
"Do you still envy?"
Aiden blinked—
—and woke up.