The morning arrived quietly.
A dull gray light seeped through the cracks in the walls, settling over the room like a thin veil. Damien stirred first, his body heavy, his stomach tightening the moment he woke. Hunger gnawed at him—sharp, hollow, familiar.
They hadn't eaten the night before.
Neither of them had said it out loud, but the thought had been the same, don't waste it. Every piece of food, every coin—it all mattered now.
Luke shifted on the other bed, a faint groan escaping him as he sat up, one hand pressing lightly against his stomach. The silence between them returned, but it felt different this time—less heavy, more… resolved.
Damien exhaled slowly and pushed himself to his feet.
"Alright," he said, his voice low but steady. "Let's get moving."
He adjusted the strap of the bag over his shoulder, glancing briefly at Luke.
"We barely have enough to last a couple of days," he continued, "but it's enough to reach Crisl." He paused for a moment, thinking ahead. "Once we get there… We'll figure something out. Pick up work, trick a few travellers, whatever it takes. Just enough to keep going."
There was no real plan.
Just aspiration and determination.
"We can sleep outside if we have to," Damien added quietly. "We've dealt with worse."
Luke listened, his stomach growling softly in protest. He gave a tired nod.
"Yeah… anything's better than staying here."
They dressed in the same clothes from the day before—now dry, but stiff and uncomfortable. The fabric carried the lingering smell of sweat and rain, sharp and unpleasant, clinging to them no matter how they adjusted it. It was the kind of smell people noticed—the kind that made others keep their distance.
But neither of them cared.
Not anymore.
Damien picked up the bag, making sure everything was secured—the bread, the water, the map tucked safely inside. Luke gave the room one last glance, not out of attachment, but out of habit.
Then, without another word, they stepped outside.
The air was cool, the ground still damp from the night's rain. Patches of mud clung to the road, and the village looked quieter than usual.
Creedle.
The place they had grown up in.
An old rural village, worn down by time and neglect, with little to offer beyond survival. It wasn't known for much—except for stories. Stories of a legendary knight who had once been born here, long ago. A hero from a place that had long since forgotten how to create them.
Damien didn't look back.
Luke didn't either.
Together, they made their way toward the village gates.
The guards stood watch as always, though their expressions barely changed as the boys approached. One of them pushed the heavy wooden gate open just enough to allow passage, the hinges creaking loudly in the quiet morning.
No questions.
Just an open path forward.
The brothers stepped through.
And then they stopped.
Beyond the gates stretched something neither of them had truly faced before—not alleys, not fences, not familiar roads.
Just open land.
Endless trees, uneven dirt paths, and a horizon that seemed to go on forever.
For a brief moment, neither of them moved.
Excitement flickered in their chests—sharp, unfamiliar.
So did fear.
The kind that sat deep, quiet, and patient.
Damien adjusted the bag on his shoulder.
Luke let out a slow breath.
Then, without saying anything, they took their first steps forward.
Into the unknown.
Their journey had finally begun.
End of arc 1, (The Start)