The next morning, Eiden woke to the rhythmic creak of a wagon.
The wooden boards groaned softly beneath him as the wheels navigated the ruts of an uneven dirt road. A warm, honeyed breeze brushed against his face, carrying the scent of sun-baked wheat and fresh soil. When he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the world sharpened into a masterpiece of gold and green.
Stalks of grain swayed in the morning wind, an endless sea of crops stretching toward the horizon. The sky was a pale, effortless blue, streaked with clouds that drifted like pulled wool.
"We're almost there, young man, don't ya worry."
Eiden turned toward the front. An old man sat on the driver's bench, wrapped in layers of humble brown cloth. A grey beard cascaded down to his chest, and his bald head was so polished it reflected the morning sun like a mirror.
"Could take another day still," the man continued, his posture relaxed as he held the reins loosely. "We'll be stoppin' at a village for a bit of rest before we push on, ya got that?"
Eiden nodded, his voice still thick with sleep. "Alright. Take your time."
As the wagon rocked, Eiden leaned back and let his memories drift. He remembered walking until the strength left his legs, the bone-deep ache of the previous night finally catching up to him. Then, the rattling of wheels, and this stranger waving him over with a toothless grin. I was spent... luckily, this man was passing by. He didn't even ask for coin. Seems I'll reach the unclaimed lands after all.
The daydream broke as the wagon approached a small town.
Stone and wood cottages rose from the landscape, smoke curling lazily from chimneys. Chickens scattered before the horses' hooves, and villagers paused their chores, their eyes tracking the wagon's progress with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
The old man pulled the reins, bringing the wagon to a halt beside a small, ivy-clad cottage. As he struggled to climb down, his joints popping, Eiden hopped out of the back and walked around. He reached up, gently lifting the old man from the seat and placing him on the ground as if he weighed nothing.
Only then did Eiden realize the man's stature. He was tiny—barely reaching Eiden's waist, no larger than a six-year-old child.
"Why, thank you, young man," the driver said cheerfully. "Perhaps you could stay a night in my cottage with me and my wife." He grasped Eiden's wrist with surprising strength and began to lead him toward the door.
But the town had recognized the passenger.
A woman gasped, her wicker basket hitting the dirt as she fled into her home. Another pointed with a trembling finger, her voice a shrill whistle of terror. "Is that him? That filthy Devil?"
The whispers spread like a wildfire in a dry field. By the time they reached the center of the path, three men in silver armor blocked the way, their helmets gleaming with an aggressive light.
"Old man Prinston," the lead guard growled. "What in the Gods' name are you doing bringing that creature into our town?"
Prinston blinked, looking up with cloudy eyes. "Oh, the young man? Well, he needed a ride to the unclaimed lands. I offered him a lift, but I'm an old man—I need my rest."
One guard leaned toward his comrade, his voice a stage whisper. "Does the old fool even know who he's invited to dinner?"
"No," the other replied. "Prinston's eyes are shot. He can see a mountain miles away, but he can't see the nose on his own face."
The lead guard stepped closer to the old man. "Prinston, you've brought Eiden—a member of the Six Devils—into our sanctuary. Do you understand now?"
Prinston went quiet, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Hmmm… I see." He turned back to Eiden, a warm, defiant smile touching his lips. "Well, I hear your concerns. But this young man... he's different from the stories."
He looked the guard in the eye. "He didn't try to command me. He didn't steal my wagon. He asked for help with kindness. I don't believe he's like the others at all. He has a different soul."
The tiny man faced the silver-clad soldiers again. "I believe in being kind to all. So, town guard—allow him to stay. I believe he is a good man, regardless of what the world says."
Eiden's eyes widened. It was a brand of kindness he hadn't encountered in centuries.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances. "He might murder us in our sleep," one muttered. "I heard he's a cold-blooded killer of children."
The lead guard sighed, defeated by the old man's stubbornness. "Very well, Prinston. He stays. But you—" he pointed a gauntleted finger at Eiden, "don't give us a reason to regret this."
The cottage was a sanctuary of warmth. A stone fireplace crackled softly, casting a golden glow over shelves filled with herbal jars, dried flowers, and ancient, leather-bound books. The air was a thick, comforting blend of pine, wool, and freshly baked bread.
An old woman sat in a chair draped in bear hide, her knitting needles clicking a frantic rhythm. She looked up as they entered, her face brightening. "Oh, Prinston, you're back!" She stood to embrace him, but her eyes quickly drifted to the tall shadow behind him.
Her face drained of color. She pulled Prinston behind her, shielding him with her own body. "Why are you here?" she snapped at Eiden. "You and your... monsters... killed the king! You slaughtered the knights who protected us! Leave!"
Prinston slipped out from behind her, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. "Dear, calm down. It's fine." His voice was a soothing balm. "Despite his past, I believe his heart is true. He isn't like the rest of them. Trust me—this man is kind."
Mayble stared at Eiden, her breath coming in jagged hitches. Finally, she slumped. "Fine. I believe you." She pointed a needle at Eiden. "But if you cause trouble, I'll pray to the Gods until my knees disintegrate that you die a screaming death."
Eiden nodded solemnly. "I understand. I seek no trouble here."
"Well then, Eiden," Prinston said, gesturing to a wooden table by the window where the sunlight spilled across the grain. "Take a seat. Mayble, some tea, please—the kind the doctor recommended."
"Yes, dear." Mayble moved to the stove, her anger replaced by a bustling efficiency. She fetched water from the well, lit the fire, and prepared a sachet of herbs. Soon, a kettle whistled, and she poured the steaming water into a cup, kissing Prinston's forehead before returning to her knitting.
Eiden watched them carefully. "Tea from a doctor? Why?"
Prinston blew on the steam and took a slow sip. "I'm sick, Eiden. A new disease—one the doctors can't name. This tea helps keep the pain at bay, but they say the only real cure is total rest. No activity at all."
"Mmhmm," Mayble added sharply. "And he should've listened. Instead, he's out helping the town when he should be in bed. He'll be the death of himself."
"Sickness..." Eiden murmured. "Did they try healing magic?"
"Plenty of it," Prinston said with a shrug. "Not a lick of it worked."
Eiden looked down at his lap for a moment, the silence of the room punctuated only by the crackle of the fire. Then, he reached out. He placed his hand gently atop Prinston's head.
His palm began to emit a soft, pulsing white light.
Prinston blinked, his eyes widening. When Eiden withdrew his hand, the milky, clouded film over the old man's pupils had vanished, replaced by a clear, vibrant brown.
Mayble dropped her knitting, the needles clattering to the floor. "What did you do!?" she cried, rushing to her husband and gripping his shoulders. "Prinston? Can you hear me?"
Prinston held her hands, his own trembling. "Dear... it's alright." He smiled, and for the first time, his eyes truly saw her. "I can see again. Clearly. And the weight... the aching in my chest... it's gone."
He turned to Eiden, his voice thick with emotion. "Eiden... you have my eternal thanks. You've given me my life back."
Mayble exhaled a sob of relief, tears spilling down her cheeks. She kissed Prinston's head, then turned and threw her arms around Eiden in a fierce embrace.
"Thank you," she whispered into his cloak. "I truly mean it."