The road leveled out by midday, leading to a quiet bend in the hills where smoke curled gently from the chimneys of a small village.
Kaelen slowed as the wooden gate came into view, one hand resting near his satchel. His cloak was dusty, his boots worn to the sole. Selene walked beside him, silent but alert, eyes scanning everything—the watchtower, the well, the guards who barely glanced up from their dice.
The sign read: Elandra.
Not on most maps. A place the Tower likely forgot.
Which made it exactly what they needed.
"We'll stay one night," Selene murmured. "Maybe two. You need real food, and I need ink and parchment."
Kaelen looked sideways. "And boots. Mine are a prayer and two stitches away from falling apart."
"Then let's not waste time."
The village was… peaceful.
Children chased dogs through cobbled paths. A musician played a worn flute near the well. Farmers passed with wheelbarrows of squash, chatting easily. Someone waved. A shopkeeper tossed breadcrumbs to birds from her doorstep.
Normal.
Too normal.
Kaelen's instincts itched.
"I feel like I don't belong here," he muttered.
"You don't," Selene said. "But neither do I."
They found the local inn near the village square. A two-story structure with flowering vines crawling up its side and lanterns hanging from the eaves. A carved wooden sign above the door read: The Lantern Hollow.
Inside, it smelled of stew and honeyed tea.
The innkeeper—a stout woman with weathered hands and a sharp eye—glanced up from behind the counter.
"Travelers?"
Selene nodded. "Siblings. Just passing through."
Kaelen blinked.
The woman narrowed her eyes. "You don't look related."
Selene smiled easily. "Different fathers."
Kaelen crossed his arms. "Seriously?"
"It works," she whispered to him.
The innkeeper shrugged and handed them a key. "Upstairs. Third on the left. Don't steal the soap."
The room was small but clean. A single bed, a small hearth, a window overlooking the square. Kaelen dropped his pack and flopped onto the mattress with a groan.
"Is this what luxury feels like?" he mumbled into the blanket.
Selene chuckled. "You'll survive."
He rolled over to look at her. "You're oddly calm for someone being hunted."
"I've had practice."
Kaelen sat up. "Why do you keep traveling alone?"
Selene pulled her boots off and sat near the hearth. "Because I learned early that the people you trust are the ones who hurt you most."
Kaelen was quiet.
Then he said, "Maybe you've just trusted the wrong people."
"Maybe."
They shared a meal in the tavern below—bread, stew, and watered wine. Kaelen didn't realize how hungry he was until the second bowl. Selene listened to the local gossip without commenting—farmers complaining about taxes, a merchant from the east boasting about glowdust powder, two old men arguing about whether birds could carry spells.
Kaelen leaned closer. "This place doesn't seem like it cares much about the Tower."
Selene sipped her wine. "It's too small. Too poor. The Tower doesn't waste its gaze on villages that can't pay for protection or tribute."
He frowned. "But they control everything, right?"
She nodded. "Most cities, ports, trade routes. But there are gaps. Places they forgot, or left behind."
"Places like this?"
"Places like us."
Later, they sat on the inn balcony watching the village settle into evening.
The square was lit with lanterns now. Music drifted from a nearby home. Smoke curled into the stars. Somewhere, a couple laughed in the alley below, drunk and stumbling.
Kaelen rested his arms on the railing. "I used to think I'd live in a place like this."
Selene looked at him.
He smiled faintly. "Simple life. Scribe's work. Maybe a little bookshop. A cat."
"You don't strike me as a cat person."
"I'm not. But I'd name it something ridiculous. Like Sir Meowsalot."
She laughed—an actual, real laugh—and the sound caught Kaelen off guard.
Warm. Real. Unpracticed.
He liked it.
After a pause, Selene asked, "Do you miss it?"
"What?"
"Your old life."
Kaelen's smile faded.
He stared down at the lanterns swaying in the breeze.
"Sometimes," he said. "But I don't think I ever had a real one. Not since the temple burned. I just… existed."
Selene was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, "You exist now too."
"Feels different."
"You're choosing to exist this time."
They sat in silence for a while, letting the night stretch around them like a blanket.
Then Selene said, "The mark… is it still changing?"
Kaelen nodded. "It added another line after the fight. It doesn't hurt, but it feels… heavier. Like it remembers things I don't."
Selene didn't look surprised.
"Veritas magic is tied to memory," she said. "Not just your own. The glyph might be carrying echoes of past wielders."
He looked at her sharply. "So I'm dreaming their memories?"
"Maybe. Or something's trying to awaken yours."
"My memories?"
She hesitated. "Or something deeper."
He turned back to the street below, heart heavy.
"Do you think I was always meant to have this mark?"
"I think destiny is just a word people use when they don't want to admit they made a choice."
"And me?"
"You chose to live," she said. "That was your first real decision. Everything after that is yours."
Inside, the fire was low.
Selene sat cross-legged on the floor, tracing diagrams into the parchment she'd bought earlier. Her brows furrowed as she worked—quiet, focused, brilliant.
Kaelen watched her from the bed.
"You're different when you're not pretending," he said.
She glanced up. "Pretending what?"
"That you don't care."
Selene's hand stilled.
Then she looked at him.
"I care more than I want to admit," she said quietly. "That's the problem."
Kaelen nodded.
"Same."
She finished her glyphs and curled up near the hearth. Kaelen stayed on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the hum of the village settling into sleep.
Before they drifted off, he asked one last question.
"Is Selene your real name?"
A long pause.
"No."
Kaelen smiled. "Didn't think so."
That night, he dreamed again.
Of the Tower.
But this time, the doors opened.
The silver-eyed woman stood at the threshold, her hand extended—not in warning, but in invitation.
Behind her, Kaelen glimpsed something vast and ancient.
Runes.
Voices.
Truths unspoken.
The dream ended with one word etched into his thoughts.
"Remember."
End of Chapter 5