Ori pushed the door open, the wood groaning under his hesitant touch. Inside, the room lay in a deep silence, broken only by the crackling of the fireplace. Lara sat in the corner, her eyes wide, haunted by the words left by the stranger. She did not move when he entered, nor did she acknowledge his presence. The air between them was thick with unspoken words.
"Lara," he said softly, his voice edged with a weariness that spoke of long nights and lost hope. He stepped further inside, the floorboards once more creaking beneath his boots. Still, she did not turn to him.
"A king?" she finally whispered, her tone cutting through the room like the first shiver of winter. "What is a king doing working on a farm?"
Ori's jaw tightened. The words he carried for a year, heavy and jagged, fought their way to the surface. "I am king of nothing now. Its gone…my kingdom—my home. All in one night…and I was powerless to stop it."
Lara sat with the stillness of a statue, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames before her. "So you ran…is that it?"
Ori's fists clenched tight. He lowered his head, struggling to control his emotions. They all came bubbling up like a maelstrom Inside his throat. "I tried to protect them…" he said, voice giving way to feeling. "I was prepared to die for them…but the chance to do so was stolen from me. Now I'm forced to live with their deaths. All of my people…killed, while I was whisked out of the city on my father's command."
Lara's expression shifted, the accusation in her eyes softening, but only slightly. "So you chose to hide here, burying yourself under soil and sweat, pretending none of it ever happened."
Ori's breath caught, the pain in his chest a familiar, cruel companion. "I…I shouldn't be alive, Lara. I don't deserve it." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Every time I close my eyes, I see the fires. Hear their voices. I wish I could have died with them—fighting for them. At least then I wouldn't have to bear the shame of surviving."
Silence fell between them. The embers crackled, their glow casting wavering shadows across Lara's face. She stood, the wooden chair creaking beneath her, and stepped toward him. Ori was unable to meet her gaze, but he could feel it nonetheless, piercing and unyielding.
Lara raised an arm, and immediately Ori felt lightning rip across his jaw. He stood unflinching, willing to take more if it meant forgiveness. Lara stepped back—never taking her eyes off of him. "Theric was sick when he pulled you out of that ocean, Ori—dying! The strain on his body was too much." Her voice cracked as she raised her hand to her mouth.
Lara's eyes softened, her expression shifting from anger to something bittersweet and reminiscent. She took a step closer, her voice low and tender. "You know, he talked to you—every day while you recovered. He'd sit by your bed, pull out a knife and one of those wood carvings of his, and just… talk. For hours seemed like. I thought it was pointless at first. After all, you were just an unconscious stranger he found. Who knew what was actually wrong with you?"
Ori's brows furrowed, vague memories breaking through the storm of guilt. He could almost picture it now—Theric, his rough hands steady as he carved, voice ebbing like the tide as he spun tales and memories into the silence.
Lara's lips quirked in a sad smile. "That is, until I saw the color return to your face. Bit by bit, you came back to life. Not too long after, you were right as rain." Her gaze flickered to the floor, the memory etched in the lines of her face. "It's funny… it seemed like the minute you got out of that bed, he laid down in it. Never to get up again."
Ori's memory of Theric was a blur—only ever seeing him on his sick bed briefly before his passing. He didn't know why Theric risked his life for him, and until now he wished he hadn't. The man was ill. Nobdody knew this until it was too late—until he was too weak to move or work the farm. He had a heart attack shortly after rescuing Ori which left him bedridden, his body unable to recover. Soon after, he was gone. Ori, feeling responsible for his passing, took over the farm work as gratitude to the family for watching after him.
Lara turned back toward the fireplace. Her eyes focused on the flames as if they were playing out fond memories. Ori had no words to give. He stood silently, staring at Lara's back, and bracing for the next words to leave her lips. Then, with a sigh of frustration, she spoke.
"My husband did not pull you out of an angry sea just for you to ball up and wish for death."
Her words hung in the air like a looming spirit—frightening and true. Ori grit his teeth. He often pondered what Theric's motives were—what he hoped to achieve by saving him. In his eyes, there wasn't a single good reason to save a failed king, especially if his kingdom has fallen.
"I honestly wish he hadn't. You and Mina…might have had him a bit longer. Was he not thinking about you? Why waste precious life…on a stranger?
"God-dammit Ori!" She yelled back—words cutting through his like sabers. "None of that matters now. Don't you get it? The truth is…he was sick. We were going to lose him either way. Only he knew that. But he saw you out there—clinging to life just like he was, and decided to give you a fighting chance…knowing he himself didn't have one. You really don't see the beauty in that?"
Ori stood in silence, Lara's words hanging heavy in the air. He felt their weight pressing down on him, unrelenting, and for a moment, he almost believed her. Almost. But the guilt and the grief were like chains, dragging him back into the depths he'd barely surfaced from.
"I don't know if I can," he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I've spent every day trying to find a reason. And I still don't see it."
Lara sighed, the frustration in her eyes tempered by something softer. "Maybe you won't see it. Not for a long time. But that doesn't mean it's not there." She stepped back, folding her arms as she regarded him. "You've got a choice, Ori. You can keep running, keep hiding, or you can start trying to live for the people who couldn't."
Ori looked down at his hands, calloused and worn from months of work that never felt like enough. He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Living for them?" His gaze flickered to Lara, hollow and raw. "How am I supposed to do that when I can't even live with myself?"
Lara didn't answer right away. When she finally spoke, her tone was low, as if she were speaking more to the flames than to him. "That's something you're gonna have to figure out. But until you do, you're not just wasting your life—you're wasting his too."
Her words cut deep, but Ori had nothing left to say. He turned toward the door, the sting of her gaze on his back like a judgment he couldn't escape.
As he stepped outside into the cold night air, the stars above offered no comfort. He stopped just beyond the porch, staring out at the dark expanse of the fields. His heart felt as heavy as ever, the spark of hope still smothered under the crushing weight of his failure.
For now, all he could do was stand there, trapped between what he'd lost and the fear of what might come next.
[A few days later…]
The sun hung low in the sky, bathing the farm in hues of deep orange and gold. Ori swung the axe one last time, the dull thunk of wood splitting echoing across the quiet field. He wiped his brow with the back of his arm, though the effort seemed half-hearted at best. A neat stack of firewood lay at his feet, but he stared at it like it might grow larger if he waited long enough.
Beyond the yard, Mina chased the chickens back into their coop, her laughter a distant melody against the rustle of autumn leaves. Lara stood near the house, her arms crossed as she leaned against the porch railing, watching Ori. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze sharp and heavy.
He picked up another log, setting it on the chopping block with slow, deliberate movements. The swing of his axe was practiced but lacked the strength it once held. Each blow felt mechanical, like clockwork ticking away a day that would never truly end.
"Ori!" Mina's voice rang out as she scampered toward him, carrying a small bundle of herbs she had gathered. "Look! I found some mint for tea tonight!"
Ori offered her a faint smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's good, Mina. Lara will like that."
Mina's smile faltered as she glanced between him and the axe in his hand. "Do you…need help with the wood?"
"I've got it," he said quickly, his tone gentle but firm.
Mina lingered for a moment before nodding and running back to the house, where Lara had retreated inside.
By the time Ori finished the firewood and hauled it to the porch, the sun had dipped below the horizon, the first stars twinkling faintly overhead. He stepped inside the house, greeted by the faint smell of cooking. Lara stood by the stove, stirring a pot with slow, purposeful motions. She didn't look up as Ori set the firewood down by the hearth.
"You've done enough for today," she said, her tone neutral but clipped.
"I can handle more," Ori replied quietly, brushing dirt from his hands.
"You've been handling it for a year," she said, finally turning to face him. Her gaze was pointed, her frustration barely concealed beneath her calm expression. "But it doesn't change anything, does it?"
Ori didn't answer. He couldn't. Instead, he walked to the table and sat, staring at the grain of the wood as if it held answers he'd never find.
Lara sighed, the sound carrying more weariness than anger. "Dinner will be ready soon," she said, turning back to the stove.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the clatter of utensils and Mina's cheerful humming as she set the table. Lara glanced at Ori once more, her hands still as she gripped the ladle.
He didn't meet her eyes. Didn't say anything. Just sat there, shoulders slumped, a shadow of his former self.
She turned back to the stove, but her jaw tightened, and her hands trembled slightly as she resumed stirring. Ori might have thought she hadn't noticed. But Lara saw it all—the slow unraveling of someone who didn't want to fight anymore. It frustrated her, deeply, but she just didn't know how to reach him.
As the night settled over the farm, the three of them gathered around the table, the meal simple but warm. Mina talked about the chickens and the mint she found, her small joys filling the quiet room. Lara remained mostly silent, save for a few nods and smiles. Ori barely touched his food, his thoughts drifting like leaves in a restless wind.
The sound of hooves broke through the stillness, faint at first but growing steadily louder. Lara froze, her head snapping toward the door. "Who'd be coming at this hour?" she asked, her voice low and tense.
Ori's stomach sank. Late-night visitors rarely brought good news. He rose from his seat, the scrape of his chair loud in the uneasy quiet.
Soon the galloping came to a halt right outside. Then a sharp knock at the door echoed through the house, firm but not frantic. Mina shrank back in her chair, clutching her spoon tightly. Lara's hand hovered near the knife she kept at her hip.
"I'll get it," Ori said, his voice heavy with resignation. He moved toward the door, each step deliberate, his breath steadying.
He opened it to find three figures standing just outside, their forms shadowed in the faint moonlight. A tall, imposing woman with a commanding air sat astride her horse at the forefront. Long fusia colored bangs fell over her tan face. Her appearance was subtle yet regal. Beside her was a slender and pale young man—long, curly white locks flowing down each shoulder, who looked barely older than Mina, his expression timid as he clutched the reins of his mount. The third figure, a woman with calm, observant brown eyes, hung back slightly, her posture suggesting quiet confidence. Jet black hair twisted into a long braid fell over her chest. It was the woman from a few nights back. They were all cloaked, and appeared to be moving in secrecy.
"Good evening," the tall woman said, her tone formal but clipped. "We've been looking for a man of your description. Are you the one known as Ori, king of Loc?"
Ori's chest tightened, but he kept his face blank. "Who's asking?"
The woman dismounted, her movements fluid and purposeful. "Queen Elira of Ceris," she said, her voice carrying the tune of authority. "And this is King Rylan of Avaris." She gestured to the young man, who hesitated before dismounting his horse.
The third woman stepped forward, inclining her head politely. "Lady Kirin, assistant to the queen," she said, her tone far softer than Elira's.
Lara appeared behind Ori, her hand gripping his arm tightly. "A queen and a king? Out here? And you…you're the one from a few nights ago. What business could you possibly have with us?"
Elira's sharp gaze shifted to Lara, assessing her briefly before returning to Ori. "Not with you," she said bluntly. "We've come for him."
Ori felt every eye in the room—or on the porch—turn to him. His mind raced, but his body refused to move. "Why?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
Elira crossed her arms, her tone hardening. "We've heard the stories, Ori of Loc. About the young king who fled his throne. About the kingdom that fell under his watch." Her words struck like electricity, each one stripping another layer of his fragile defenses.
"Enough, Your Majesty," Kirin interjected gently, placing a hand on Elira's arm. The queen glanced at her assistant, then back at Ori, and softened her tone—but only slightly. "We're here because we need you," Elira said. "Your abilities more specifically."
Ori's throat tightened, his instincts screaming at him to shut the door, to refuse them, to run. But he stood rooted in place, the weight of their gazes pressing down on him.
"We'll explain everything," Rylan said suddenly, his voice unsteady but sincere. "We've traveled a great distance to talk with you—a journey we made at the risk of our lives. Please…just hear us out."
Ori hesitated, the swirl of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He glanced back at Lara and Mina, then stepped aside reluctantly. "Come in."
The fire crackled in the hearth, its warm glow doing little to ease the cold weight in the air. Ori sat at the head of the table, his posture slouched and his eyes blank. Across from him, Queen Elira leaned forward, her piercing gaze locked on him like a hawk. Lady Kirin stood by her side, arms crossed and silent, while King Rylan sat a little farther back, shifting uneasily in his chair.
"You know why we're here," Elira began, her voice steady but edged with frustration. "The dark army is growing stronger. The corruption that destroyed your kingdom has already spread to the borders of mine. If we do nothing, it will swallow us all."
Ori's eyes flickered to her briefly before dropping to the table. "And you believe I can stop it?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
"We believe you must," Kirin said firmly, her calm tone cutting through the room. "You're the only one who's faced the dark army and survived. The Mantle chose you for a reason."
Ori's lips tightened, and he shook his head. "The Mantle made a mistake," he said bitterly. "I was supposed to protect my people, and I failed. I failed everyone."
Rylan opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated, glancing at Elira for guidance. She, however, didn't look at him. Her focus remained solely on Ori.
"You haven't failed yet," she said, her words sharp but measured. "Your kingdom may be lost, but your people still need you. You still have a chance to—"
"No," Ori interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. He looked up at them then, his eyes dark and hollow. "I'm not the man you're looking for. I can't commune with the Mantle anymore. Whatever bond I had with it is gone. You've wasted your time coming here."
For a moment, silence filled the room, broken only by the pop of the fire. Ori's words seemed to linger in the air, and the brokenness in his tone struck even Kirin's resolute expression.
Rylan's brow furrowed as he leaned forward hesitantly. "But you're still a king," he said, his voice tentative. "You still—"
"A king?" Ori let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "I'm no king. Not anymore. I'm just a farmer now, and even that's more than I deserve."
Elira slammed her fist on the table, the sudden sound making everyone flinch. Her chair scraped back as she stood, her jaw tight and her eyes blazing.
"You coward," she hissed, her voice low but seething with anger. "You sit here, wallowing in your own misery while the world burns. You talk about failure as if it's an excuse to stop trying. You lost your kingdom—fine. So did I once. But I didn't give up. I fought, and I kept fighting, because that's what it means to be worthy of a throne."
Ori didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the table.
Elira stepped closer, her finger pointing accusingly at him. "Do you think you're the only one who's suffered? The only one who's lost something—someone? If that's all it takes to break you, then maybe the Mantle did make a mistake."
"Lady Elira," Kirin said softly, a warning in her tone.
But Elira didn't stop. She leaned over the table, her voice rising. "You were given power—responsibility. And this is what you've done with it? Hid yourself away in a shack, pretending none of it happened?"
Her words struck like hammer blows. Ori flinched slightly, though he didn't lift his head.
"Maybe you were never worthy," Elira said coldly, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Maybe you were just a boy playing at being king, and now that the game's over, you don't want to come out and play anymore."
The room fell deathly quiet. Even Rylan, who had been fidgeting nervously, now sat frozen, his wide eyes darting between Elira and Ori.
Ori's hands clenched into fists on the table, but he didn't rise to her bait. Instead, he spoke softly, his voice devoid of emotion. "If you're so certain of my worthlessness, then why did you come here?"
Elira straightened, her expression still hardened but with a flicker of something else—doubt, perhaps, or regret. She turned away from him, pacing toward the fireplace.
"We came," Kirin said, stepping forward in Elira's stead, her tone calm but firm, "because we need you, Ori. Whatever you believe about yourself, the truth is that the Mantle chose you. That means something, even if you've lost faith in it—or yourself."
Ori didn't answer. He stared at the table, his shoulders hunched.
Lara wanted so badly to come to Ori's defense. She agreed with the strangers, but they didn't know Ori, or the true weight of his guilt. Still, she refrained from speaking despite seeing him torn down right in front of her. He needed this, she thought—no matter the harshness. If her words would not move him, perhaps another's would, but his stillness persisted. He sat there—completely defenseless against the woman's claims, almost as if he believed them to be true himself.
"So that's your answer then?" Rylan said, his eyes twinkling with a quickly fading hope. "Will you truly not aid us, Ser Ori?"
The room fell silent once more. Mina fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair next to Lara. She found it hard to watch Ori fall under the scrutiny of total strangers. She had always thought him a hero—immediately latching onto him after the passing of her father. She couldn't understand why anyone would speak to him in such a way. It drove her to quickly hop out of her chair, and make her way around the table to Ori's side, placing both hands on his bicep. She could feel the trembling run through his body as he sat there—head low as if anchored to the floor.
"Ori?" She said cautiously. "Why are they mad at you? Is it because you wont help them?"
This was the breaking point for him. Her innocent question had just shattered what little remained of his withering ego. He would now have to tell her the truth, though to do so seemed unbearable. He looked at Mina, her face painted with both curiosity and concern. As tears began to swell in his eyes, he softly placed a hand over her's.
"Its not that sweetheart." He said, his voice a low and rigid whisper. "I…I wish there was something I could do. But the truth is…I'm not who they think I am—not anymore."
Elira stood abruptly, her voice sharp and cutting. "There you have it. He's not up to it. This trip was a waste of our time. It's clear this man was never worthy of the title 'king,' nor the mantle. We're done here."
With a sharp turn, she flung her cloak over her shoulder and strode toward the door, her steps brisk and final. Rylan opened his mouth, clearly wanting to object, but the words failed him, and Elira was gone before he could gather his thoughts.
Ori remained seated, head bowed, his fists clenched tightly against his knees. Her words stung more than he could admit—even to himself. Kirin followed her queen, her heavy boots pounding the floor with purpose. The sound reverberated through the room like thunder.
Rylan started after them but hesitated. He turned back to the broken man slumped at the table, unwilling to accept that this was all there was to him.
"I'm truly sorry for what you've endured," Rylan said, his voice soft but strained. "Fear of the same fate is what brought us here, seeking you out. I can't say how much time we have left… but if you change your mind, we'll be heading for the northeastern beach."
He glanced toward the door where Kirin was already preparing their horses for departure. With a heavy sigh, Rylan gave Ori one last, lingering look, as though searching for any sign of the man he'd heard about.
"Farewell… Ser Ori."
And with that, the three strangers rode off into the night.
Silence hung heavy in the room, broken only by the faint, fading echo of hooves against the forest floor. Lara's glare seared into Ori, though he didn't dare meet her eyes. He was rooted to his chair, shackled by the chains of Elira's words.
"Mina, go to bed," Lara said at last, her voice firm and unyielding.
Mina's eyes darted between her mother and Ori, protest rising in her expression. But Lara wasn't in the mood to argue. "Now, little one," she said, sharper this time.
Mina hesitated, her gaze lingering on Ori. She didn't understand the gravity of what had just transpired, but she could sense its weight. She wanted to stay, to offer something—anything—but Lara's tone brooked no defiance. Reluctantly, she obeyed, her small footsteps retreating into the quiet of the house.
Ori never lifted his eyes from the table. He listened as Lara's and Mina's steps faded into the distance, leaving him alone. Finally, he rose, his body feeling as heavy as his heart. After a long moment, he forced himself to start walking, each step leaden as he made his way to the barn. There, among the shadows and the silence, he sought solace, and to lick his wounds.
[Later that night…]
The barn was quiet, save for the faint rustling of hay and the distant chirp of crickets outside. Ori sat slumped on a wooden stool near the far wall, his head bowed and shoulders hunched. The axe he used for splitting wood lay beside him, its blade dull from years of overuse. He hadn't moved since dinner, retreating here to escape the strangers' words that echoed endlessly in his mind.
"Not a king. Not a hero. Not worthy of the Mantle…"
He clenched his fists, his breath uneven. He didn't blame them for what they'd said. They were right. How could he claim to help anyone like this?
Suddenly and without warning, the barn doors slammed open, the sound jolting him upright. Lara stormed in, her steps heavy with purpose. In her arms, she carried a bundle of clothes, neatly folded but unmistakably patched together with remnants of his old garb—the tattered remains of what he'd worn the day they found him.
She stopped in front of him, her face a storm of anger and pain, and tossed the bundle onto the ground at his feet.
"Get up," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a whip.
Ori blinked at her, confused. "What are you—"
"You're not staying here anymore," she interrupted, her tone sharp.
His heart sank, and for a moment, he couldn't find his voice. "Lara… what are you saying?"
She crossed her arms, her jaw set. "I'm saying I can't do this anymore, Ori. I can't sit here and watch you waste away. You think you're the only one hurting? You think you're the only one that feels like they failed?"
He looked down at the bundle, noticing now the careful stitching that had gone into each piece. The scraps of his old armor had been worked into the fabric—a subtle but deliberate reminder of who he used to be.
"I'm not who I was," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I'm not a king anymore. I'm not anything."
She took a step closer, her hands trembling at her sides. "You're right. You're not a king anymore—not here. But you're still alive. Do you think that means nothing? To me? To Mina? To the people you left behind?"
Her words pierced him like jagged nails, but he stayed seated, his body heavy with shame. "I don't have a weapon. The Mantle—"
Before he could finish, Lara whirled around, grabbed the axe leaning against the wall, and threw it down next to the clothes. The blade clattered loudly against the barn floor.
"Then take this," she snapped. "It's not the Mantle, but it's all you need right now. Or are you so far gone that you can't even lift it anymore?"
Ori stared at the axe, his chest tightening. "You don't mean this," he said quietly.
Her expression faltered for a moment, the raw emotion beneath her anger breaking through. "I mean every word," she said, her voice cracking. "If you won't stand back up for yourself, then at least do it for the people who still believe in you. Because I can't sit here and watch you like this anymore, Ori. It's killing me."
Silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating. He could see through her anger now, past the harshness of her words to the desperation beneath. She wasn't throwing him out because she wanted him gone—she was doing it because she couldn't bear to see him stay.
Slowly, he stood, his legs unsteady beneath him. He reached down and picked up the clothes, then the axe, his grip tightening around the worn handle.
"All right," he said, his voice soft but steady. "I'll go. But…who's going to work the farm?"
Lara stepped back, her arms still crossed but her expression softened. As Ori lingered there, she let out a small huff. "Scepter's kiss—you haven't looked up from that chopping block one time, have you? Look around, Ori… you've chopped enough wood for nearly the whole town. We'll be fine. Mina and I can handle a few animals and some gardening."
Her words unexpectedly lit a flame in his chest. He quickly flung open the barn doors, eyes widening as he gazed upon the fruit of his mindless laboring. Several enormous piles of lumber littered the farmyard. He hadn't noticed while doing so, but he'd nearly cleared the entire forest over the time he spent there. That's when something stirred deep within his mind, pulling him back to another place, another time.
He caught a glimpse of that day. Thousands of people standing around him. His arm winding back with his mantle-forged saber in hand. The symphony of oaks crashing to the ground, followed by an uproar of cheers. He remembered it now—what was really important about that day.
It wasn't about being king, or even about the mantle. It was bigger than that. He remembered what it really meant to make oneself of service.
See what I mean?" Lara called from behind him, stepping into the barn doorway. "You've already done more than enough here. Now it's time to do what you were really meant for."
Ori didn't reply right away. His fingers tightened around the clothes in his hands as he gazed at the wood. Finally, he nodded, letting the weight of her words settle over him.
Lara dropped the tough act, realizing the message had finally gotten through. She stepped closer. "Well, don't just stand there staring at 'em. See if they fit."
Ori glanced back at her, catching a faint smile on her lips. That was the reassurance he needed. Without a word, he turned and began changing into the clothes she'd made. They were sturdy and practical but carried an unmistakable elegance—a dashing mix of rugged adventurer and regal flair. She had even repurposed some of the tattered remnants of his old armor, weaving pieces of his past into this new beginning.
When he finally stepped out of the barn, fully dressed, Lara was speechless at first. She almost could not recognize him. The man before her now seemed somewhat whole—no longer a moving sack of broken fragments. She smiled while clasping her hands under her chin. "Now you look the part."
Ori managed a small smile. "Let's hope I can play it."
With a deep breath, Ori adjusted the cloak and glanced at Lara, his gratitude subtle but evident. "It's… good work," he said, his voice low and genuine.
She smiled faintly, brushing her hands against her apron. "It'll hold. At least until you find something better."
He reached for the axe, sliding it into a makeshift loop on his belt, and looked toward the open barn doors. The night stretched before him, endless and uncertain. He was nervous—terrified, even—but something in Lara's expression reminded him of the hope he'd once carried.
"I'll be back," he said softly, meeting her gaze.
"You'd better be," she replied, her voice firm but affectionate.
With that, Ori stepped into the night, his heart still heavy but carrying, for the first time in years, the faintest ember of purpose.
Chapter End—