Reid and Arttu left the house in the morning, stopping at the doorway to bow their heads in thanks.

  “Thank you for letting us stay,” Reid said with a genuine smile.

  Alu scratched the back of his head, then spoke after a moment of thought.

  “If you’d like, I can lend you a caravan for your journey,” he said. “I finished building one just yesterday. It’s a good one.”

  Reid glanced down at Arttu.

  Arttu’s grip on his hand tightened just a little, his expression quiet but clear.

  Reid smiled softly and shook his head.

  “No, thank you,” he replied gently. “We’d rather walk.”

  The old woman waved enthusiastically as they turned to leave.

  “Good luck on your journey, boys,” she called out.

  Reid raised his hand in farewell, and together they stepped back onto the road.

  Arttu walked beside him as always, holding his hand—but the grip was looser now. Not desperate. Not fearful.

  Calmer. Happier.

  Morning light spilled through the trees, leaves swaying as if dancing. Birds filled the air with bright, overlapping songs, while squirrels darted along branches like musicians keeping time.

  Reid reached over and patted Arttu’s head.

  “You did really well back there,” he said warmly. “You were very brave. I think I’d be scared if I were alone on the road with a stranger.”

  Arttu looked up.

  A smile bloomed across his face—small, pure, and unbearably precious. For a fleeting moment, Reid felt as though he were looking at something holy, as if an angel had descended simply to remind him that hope still existed.

  Arttu wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly.

  He didn’t cry.

  It was a happy hug.

  At least, that’s what Arttu would describe if he were to talk.

  As the days passed, the snow began to retreat.

  What had once been white and biting softened into slush and clear water, running gently along the sides of the road. The air lost its sharpness, and the sky felt wider somehow, bluer. The journey toward Priscilla unfolded more peacefully than Reid had ever known the road to be.

  They met all kinds of people along the way.

  Some needed directions. Some needed a kind word. Others needed help.

  Once, they came upon a broken windmill leaning dangerously to one side. Its wooden blades creaked helplessly in the wind while a small group of villagers stood around it, arguing and gesturing, unsure of what to do.

  Reid didn’t hesitate.

  He walked up, placed both hands against the beam, and lifted.

  The entire structure rose with a groan of wood and rope. The villagers froze, mouths falling open as if time itself had stopped.

  Arttu watched with wide, shining eyes.

  That night, as they walked away, Arttu glanced up at Reid with unmistakable pride, his chest puffed just a little. Reid noticed—and smiled all the way down to his bones.

  Another time, a woman asked for help towing her field after the thaw had turned the soil heavy and stubborn. Reid tied the ropes without complaint and pulled until the earth yielded.

  “Come on,” he said lightly, glancing back at Arttu. “Help me out.”

  Arttu stood still at first, small hands clenched, uncertainty flickering across his face.

  Then Reid added, teasing, “If you don’t come now, I’ll finish all of it myself.”

  That did it.

  Arttu’s expression sharpened with quiet determination—his smile still there, but serious now. He picked up a small hoe, far too big for his hands, and began working beside Reid. His movements were slow and careful, but steady.

  Reid watched him out of the corner of his eye.

  And felt his heart settle again.

  They worked the land for two days, planting and smoothing the soil beneath a gentle sun. At night, they slept in the woman’s small barn, wrapped in old blankets that smelled of hay and woodsmoke. The silence there was comforting, broken only by the soft breathing of animals and the distant call of owls.

  When the work was finished, the woman tried to press coins into Reid’s hand.

  He shook his head.

  “You gave us a place to stay,” he said kindly. “That’s worth more than what we did.”

  And with that, they continued on.

  Each night, when the world grew quiet, Reid knelt beside Arttu and cast purification magic—carefully, gently, little by little. The glow was faint and warm, like candlelight.

  It stung.

  Arttu winced sometimes. His fingers curled into the blanket. But he never cried. Never complained. He simply endured, trusting Reid completely.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Reid brushed his hair afterward, whispered reassurance, and stayed until Arttu fell asleep.

  Under the open sky, between helping hands and honest labor, something fragile began to return.

  Not happiness as it once was.

  But something quieter.

  Something that could grow.

  In the distance, they spotted another caravan.

  At first, it looked ordinary—until shouting reached them.

  Reid slowed, his eyes narrowing.

  A group of boys surrounded the caravan, weapons already drawn. One of them shouted in frustration:

  “Boss! There ain’t no gold here!”

  Reid’s breath caught.

  Then he saw him.

  A boy with spiky red hair and a small scar across his face stepped forward, irritation clear in his posture.

  “Well, boys,” he said with a crooked grin, “you know what that means. If the treasure ain’t gold—”

  He raised his hand.

  “—then the caravan gets broke.”

  The boys laughed as they pulled out their machetes, steel glinting in the daylight.

  Before they could move, a calm voice cut through the air.

  “Hey.”

  Everyone froze.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  The red-haired boy turned, eyes widening slightly before breaking into laughter. The others followed suit.

  “And what are you gonna do?” he mocked.

  He stepped forward.

  “There’s eight of us and one of you. We outnumber you real bad.”

  Reid smiled.

  Then he vanished.

  In the blink of an eye, he was in front of the red-haired boy. One clean strike landed square in his stomach.

  The boy folded instantly, collapsing to the ground with a choked gasp.

  The rest of the gang screamed.

  “RUN!”

  They scattered down the road, weapons forgotten, fear overtaking bravado.

  Reid didn’t chase them.

  He knelt beside the fallen boy instead.

  Arttu ran over, eyes wide with awe—but stopped short, hiding behind Reid’s back, peeking out cautiously at the boy curled on the ground.

  A soft green light bloomed from Reid’s hands.

  Healing magic.

  “You shouldn’t try to hurt people,” Reid said quietly.

  The boy scowled, his accent rough and unmistakably southern, his words clipped and uneven.

  “I ain’t tryin’ to hurt no one.”

  Reid tilted his head.

  “Really? Because it looked like you and your friends were about to destroy that caravan.”

  The boy went silent.

  Then his voice dropped.

  “What do you know about me, huh?” he snapped. “You look like someone who lived easy.”

  The words struck Reid harder than any blade.

  For a heartbeat, he didn’t know what to say.

  Then—small footsteps.

  Before Reid could turn, Arttu ran past him and wrapped his arms around the boy.

  Both Reid and the boy froze.

  The anger drained from Reid instantly, like a storm breaking apart.

  The boy’s eyes widened, shock giving way to something fragile. His breathing hitched. His face crumpled.

  And then he cried.

  He hugged Arttu back, shaking, tears spilling freely.

  For the first time, there was no fear in Arttu’s eyes.

  Only warmth.

  After a while, the boy’s crying slowed. His breathing steadied, though his arms still trembled around Arttu. Eventually, he pulled back and wiped his face with his sleeve.

  “My name’s Pauper,” he said quietly.

  Reid nodded, giving him space.

  “My family was poor,” Pauper continued. “But we were together. I thought… if I worked hard enough, I could help them someday.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “That’s when it happened. Capturers stopped our caravan. There were three of us—me and my parents. They were sick. Too sick to work like I could.”

  His voice cracked, but he pushed on.

  “When the capturers realized they weren’t useful… they killed them. Said they were a burden.”

  Silence fell heavy between them.

  “I was alone after that,” Pauper whispered. “The other boys—none of them have families either. We escaped together and ran north. But being free don’t mean much when you’re starving.”

  Reid looked at him with steady, sorrowful eyes.

  “So you needed money,” Reid said softly.

  Pauper nodded.

  Reid exhaled slowly.

  “But what you’re doing now,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “isn’t that the same thing they did to you?”

  Pauper looked up, confused.

  “These people,” Reid continued, gesturing toward the caravan, “they work every day just to survive. They farm. They haul logs. They carry their whole lives in these wagons.”

  He met Pauper’s eyes.

  “When you destroy a caravan, you don’t just take goods. You take their future.”

  Pauper looked away.

  “I… didn’t think about it like that.”

  Reid crouched lower, so they were eye to eye.

  “You survived something terrible,” Reid said. “That doesn’t make you a monster. But surviving doesn’t mean becoming what hurt you.”

  Pauper’s hands curled into fists.

  “I don’t wanna be like them,” he admitted quietly. “I just didn’t know any other way.”

  Arttu tugged gently at Pauper’s sleeve.

  Pauper looked down.

  The boy smiled at him.

  Something in Pauper’s expression softened completely.

  “…You’re strong,” Pauper said suddenly, looking back at Reid. “Not just like this.”

  He tapped his chest awkwardly.

  “I wanna be like you.”

  Reid didn’t smile.

  Instead, he stood and extended a hand.

  “Then start here.”

  Together, they walked back to the caravan. Reid lifted a broken wheel as if it weighed nothing, setting it back into place. Pauper followed without being asked, grabbing tools, holding beams steady, working until his arms shook.

  When it was done, the caravan stood whole again.

  Pauper turned to the road and raised his voice.

  “Hey!” he shouted.

  From the trees, the other boys peeked out.

  “We ain’t doing this anymore,” Pauper said firmly. “No more breaking things. No more hurting people.”

  They hesitated.

  Then, one by one, they stepped forward.

  “There’s a better way,” Reid added quietly. “If you want money, earn it by helping people. Fixing things. Carrying loads. Protecting roads instead of preying on them.”

  He looked at Pauper.

  “That kind of strength lasts.”

  Pauper nodded.

  “We’ll try,” he said. “I swear.”

  Reid placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “That’s enough for today.”

  Arttu smiled.

  And for the first time, Pauper smiled back—not crooked, not forced, but real.

  Reid and Arttu waved their goodbyes and turned back to the road.

  Just as they took their first step away, a small voice called out behind them.

  “W–wait!”

  One of the boys had stepped forward—the smallest of them all, barely two or three years older than Arttu. His clothes were patched and worn, but his eyes were bright, burning with something new.

  “I want to be strong,” he said, swallowing hard. “Strong like you.”

  Reid stopped.

  He turned, then crouched so he was eye level with the boy. For a moment, he only studied him—his posture, his clenched fists, the way he stood despite the fear still lingering in his shoulders.

  Then Reid laughed softly.

  He reached out and gently patted the boy’s hair.

  “Then train hard,” Reid said. “See those boys back there?”

  He pointed toward Pauper and the others, who were pretending not to listen while clearly listening to every word.

  “They’re strong. Train until you can stand beside them… and then train until you surpass them.”

  The boy’s eyes widened.

  “You really think I can?”

  Reid smiled. Not proudly. Not loudly. Just honestly.

  “I know you can.”

  Before the boy could say anything else, a voice shouted from the back.

  “Hey! That won’t be easy!”

  Pauper stepped forward, arms crossed, a grin spreading across his face.

  “Because I’m gonna be stronger than all of you.”

  The others immediately erupted.

  “No way!”

  “That’s a lie!”

  “I’ll beat you first!”

  “You couldn’t even lift the wheel earlier!”

  Their arguing overlapped into laughter—messy, loud, alive. The fear from moments ago was gone, replaced by something brighter: competition, hope, noise.

  Reid stood there for a second longer, listening.

  Then he turned away, waving once more.

  As they walked down the road, Reid glanced at Arttu.

  Arttu was smiling.

  Not the small, careful smile he had worn these past days. Not something forced.

  This one was genuine.

  It wasn’t loud or exaggerated—but it was radiant. To Reid, it shone brighter than the sun spilling across the road.

  Reid slowed his steps.

  “Hey, Arttu.”

  Arttu looked up at him, eyes curious, warm.

  “Wasn’t it fun?” Reid asked softly. “Helping them.”

  Arttu nodded without hesitation.

  Reid’s smile deepened.

  “Want to make it even more fun?”

  Arttu tilted his head.

  Reid leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret.

  “The one who helps the most people… becomes the greatest wandering knight of Aquilonis.”

  Arttu’s eyes widened.

  Something fierce and determined flickered behind them. He nodded, hard.

  Reid laughed.

  They continued down the road together—hand in hand—two figures growing smaller beneath the open sky.

  And for the first time since everything had broken…

  The road ahead didn’t feel empty.

  It felt like a new life full of stories.