The next morning, I went to Elias's workshop. My shield arm was still cracked from the fight. The metal was dented, the porcelain chipped. When I moved my fingers, the cracks spread slightly, leaking tiny wisps of mana into the air.
Elias looked at it and shook his head. "You really did a number on it," he said.
"I had to."
He pulled out a box of metal scraps and sat me down on a wooden stool. "Hold still. This will take a while."
He worked slowly, fitting small pieces of metal into the cracks, sealing them with mana. It wasn't painful, but it felt strange – like someone pulling threads from my arm. The workshop smelled of oil and rust. A candle flickered on the table, casting long shadows on the walls. Outside, I could hear Marta calling her chickens.
"You're lucky the teeth didn't go all the way through," Elias said. "If they had reached your core, you'd be dead."
"I know."
He grunted and kept working. The metal heated under his touch, then cooled. He filed down rough edges. He tested the joints by bending my elbow, then my wrist, then each finger.
While he worked, I told him about the gold. "There's maybe a hundred coins left in the cave. More crystals too."
Elias's hands paused. He looked up at me. "That's enough to help the village for months. Medicine, tools, food. But you need to be careful. Soldiers might have found the cave by now."
"I'll go back soon."
"Not today. Let your arm heal first."
He finished the repairs. The arm looked better – still scarred, but solid. A few dark lines remained where the cracks had been. I flexed my fingers. The metal held. I made a fist, then opened it. No leaks.
"Now," he said, wiping his hands on a rag, "what about that key?"
I pulled out the metal key and the iron box from my pocket. The box was cold, the size of my palm. The key fit perfectly. I inserted it and turned. It clicked.
The box opened.
Inside was a small leather pouch and a folded piece of parchment. The pouch held five small mana crystals. I touched one. The system whispered: 20 energy each. I left them in the pouch for later.
The parchment had a rough map – lines showing the cave tunnels, a mark near the vertical shaft. The ink was faded. Some parts were smeared, as if water had dripped on it. But I could see the path: from the troglodyte's lair, through a narrow tunnel, to a hidden room marked with an X.
"That's an old passage," Elias said, peering over my shoulder. "Maybe an escape route. Don't go there alone."
I folded the map and put it back in the box. "I won't."
---
That afternoon, I went to the river.
Lora was sitting on her rock, feet dangling in the water. A small pile of mushrooms sat beside her. She had been foraging again. Her basket was half full, and her hands were stained with dirt.
"You're not training today?" she asked.
"Arm needs to rest."
She nodded. I sat beside her. The water was cold. A fish jumped near the far bank, sending ripples across the surface. The sun was warm on my hood.
We sat in silence for a while. I watched the water flow. She watched it too.
"Lora," I said. "Would you walk with me? To the big oak tree at the edge of the forest. Just to sit."
She looked at me for a moment. Her grey eyes were calm, thoughtful. Then she smiled. "Yes."
She picked up her basket. We started walking.
---
The path was narrow, lined with ferns. The sun was warm but not hot. Birds called from the trees – sparrows, finches, a woodpecker somewhere in the distance. A squirrel ran across a branch and disappeared into the leaves. The air smelled of pine and damp earth.
We walked slowly. I told her about the cave. The gold. The key. The box. The map.
"There's maybe a hundred coins left," I said. "And crystals. Enough to help the village buy medicine, tools, food. Maybe even fix the mill wheel."
"You're going back?" she asked.
"Soon. Tomorrow maybe."
She was quiet for a moment. Her hand brushed against mine. Then she held it.
"Be careful," she said.
"I will."
We kept walking. The forest grew denser. The path became steeper. She didn't let go of my hand.
---
The oak tree was huge. Its branches spread wide, covered in green leaves. The trunk was thick, older than the village, older than anyone living. The grass underneath was soft, dotted with small white flowers.
We sat down, leaning against the trunk. The sun was low now, the sky turning orange. A cool breeze moved the leaves. They rustled like whispers.
I talked about my old life. Not the cell. Not the needles. Just the lab, the books, the hours of research. I told her about the bird that used to land on my windowsill. A sparrow. I watched it every morning before the guards came. It was the only living thing that came to see me.
She talked about her mother. How she used to sing while cooking. How her voice filled the whole house. How Lora still remembered the songs, even after all these years.
"She used to sing about the river," Lora said. "About the fish and the herons and the water. I still hear it sometimes in my head when I sit by the bank."
"What did the song say?" I asked.
She hummed a few notes. Soft. Low. Then she stopped. "I don't remember the words. Just the feeling."
We grew quiet.
The sky turned darker. Orange became purple. Purple became blue. A few stars appeared – faint at first, then brighter. A bat fluttered overhead.
A breeze moved the leaves again. I felt Lora shift beside me.
She leaned her head on my shoulder. I stayed still. Her hair smelled like river water and something sweet – maybe the mushrooms, maybe just her. I could feel her breathing, slow and steady.
After a while, I rested my head on top of hers.
We both fell asleep like that.
---
I woke to darkness. The stars were bright. The forest was quiet. No wind. No birds. Just the sound of my own breathing and the distant croak of a frog.
Lora stirred. She lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes were soft in the starlight.
"You're warm," she said.
"So are you."
She smiled. "We should go back."
I helped her up. She brushed grass off her dress. I picked up her basket of mushrooms. A few had fallen out. I put them back. The basket was heavy.
We walked through the dark forest. The moon was half full, casting pale light on the path. Our footsteps were quiet on the fallen leaves. An owl called somewhere in the distance. Another answered.
I walked her to her grandmother's cottage. A candle burned in the window. The old woman was probably asleep.
"Tomorrow I'll go back to the cave," I said. "To get the gold."
"Be careful."
"I will."
She touched my hand. Her fingers were warm again. Then she went inside. The door closed softly. I heard the latch click.
---
I walked to the barn. I lay on the straw. The stars were bright through the crack in the roof.
I thought about the gold. The map. The soldiers Elias warned about. The shaft that led up to Ironhold.
But I also thought about Lora's head on my shoulder. Her hair. Her voice. The way she said my name.
I closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, I would go back to the cave.
But tonight, I rested.