The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves as Arkanis rode through the dense forest, the sounds of birds stirring in the underbrush around him. The village had disappeared behind the rolling hills, its fires dimmed by distance, its people left to carve their futures without him.
He had fought for them.
He had given everything he had.
And yet, he had never imagined what it would feel like to walk away.
The road ahead was endless, stretching toward the unknown, toward places untouched by his past. He had no destination in mind. He had no mission to complete.
For the first time, he was free.
But freedom carried its own weight.
Elara's words echoed in his mind—"You carried this for all of us. Now, let it go."
Had he truly let it go? Or was the war still buried deep within him, waiting for another battle to call him back?
The Stranger at the Crossroads
Days passed in quiet solitude. Arkanis traveled through wooded valleys, crossed rivers stained with golden sunlight, slept beneath stars untouched by the fires of war. He had become a wanderer, a nameless rider on forgotten roads.
Then, one evening, as he reached a crossroads where the forest met open plains, he saw a figure standing by the worn wooden marker.
A traveler, wrapped in a dark cloak, their posture relaxed, yet keen-eyed.
"You look like a man searching for something," the stranger said without introduction, his voice rough but measured.
Arkanis pulled his reins, letting his horse settle. "I'm not searching for anything."
The stranger smirked, adjusting the strap of the pack slung across his shoulder. "No one wanders without reason. Either you're running from something or chasing something."
Arkanis studied him. The stranger carried no visible weapons, but there was an air about him—an awareness, a readiness.
"Maybe I'm just seeing where the road takes me," Arkanis said finally.
The stranger chuckled. "Then you're braver than most."
They stood in silence for a moment, the wind shifting between them.
Then, the stranger gestured toward the northern path. "If you're looking for a place untouched by war, there's a town three days ride from here. Small, quiet. No banners, no kings, no rebellions. Just people."
Arkanis considered it.
No kings. No rebellions.
Just people.
He nodded. "Thank you."
The stranger inclined his head but said nothing more before turning onto his own path.
Arkanis watched him leave, then guided his horse forward.
North.
To a place without war.
The Village Beyond the War
Three days later, Arkanis arrived.
The village was modest—wooden homes nestled between rolling fields, a river carving through its center like a lifeline. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the hum of quiet life carried on without urgency.
It was nothing like the world he had known.
People glanced at him as he passed, their eyes wary but uninterested. He was a traveler, nothing more.
No one knew his name.
No one knew his battles.
He was simply a man who had come from the road.
And for the first time, that was enough.