The village carried on in its quiet rhythm, steady and untouched by the burdens of war. Arkanis had lived among its people long enough to recognize the ease with which they rose each day—not driven by urgency or survival, but by simple necessity. The morning called them to work, the evening brought them rest, and in between, they laughed, bargained, and watched their children grow without fear.
Yet, in the silence of his own mind, Arkanis wondered if he had ever truly left the past behind—or if it had simply waited for him to return.
The stranger's words still lingered—"It doesn't mean it won't find you again."
Would war always follow him? Or was it the part of himself he had never truly let go?
The Call of the Unknown
Days passed, and the encounter with the traveler faded into the background of village life, settling like a whisper in the corners of Arkanis's thoughts. He had no reason to dwell on it, yet it remained. As he worked alongside the farmers, lifting bundles of wheat, his mind drifted. As he ate his meals in quiet companionship with the villagers, his thoughts tangled themselves in possibilities he hadn't meant to entertain.
One evening, he found himself back at the river's edge, staring into the rippling surface as the sky melted into deep indigo. He wondered if Elara had received his letter—if she had read his words and understood why he had walked away. He had not expected her to reply. Some things did not need answers. But still, a part of him wished he knew what she would say.
"You look like a man waiting for something," a voice broke the silence.
Arkanis turned.
The traveler stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his cloak draped loosely over his shoulders.
"I'm not waiting," Arkanis said.
The man tilted his head slightly. "Then why do you linger here, staring at the water like it has answers?"
Arkanis exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. "Because I don't know what comes next."
The traveler approached, settling onto the ground beside him. "Then you're not alone."
The Map and the Choice
The next morning, as Arkanis prepared to help mend part of the village's broken fence, he found the traveler standing at the outskirts of the marketplace, studying a worn piece of parchment—a map.
Curiosity tugged at him. He stepped forward, glancing at the markings sprawled across the page. "Where are you headed?"
The traveler smirked slightly. "A place far from here. If you're looking to keep moving, it might suit you."
Arkanis frowned. "I didn't say I was looking to leave."
The man folded the map and tucked it into his pack. "You didn't have to."
A silence settled between them, the unspoken truth hanging in the air.
Arkanis didn't know if he belonged here.
Not fully.
And perhaps, that meant it was time to decide.
The Farewell
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills, Arkanis stood at the edge of the village, his pack strapped across his back. He had said nothing to the others yet, had not told them he might be leaving.
But Elara's words echoed once more—"You carried this for all of us. Now, let it go."
Maybe letting go meant walking forward, rather than standing still.
The traveler waited beside him. "So?" he asked.
Arkanis inhaled deeply, looking back at the place that had offered him shelter from his past.
Then, without another word, he stepped forward.
And the road stretched before him.