After what felt like hours on the road, the group finally reached the outskirts of the village.
It wasn't large, but it breathed with a kind of quiet life. Low houses with tiled roofs, dirt roads winding between them, and wooden stalls where merchants shouted over one another, trying to sell everything from bundles of herbs to dried meats and worn-out trinkets. Smoke trailed lazily from chimneys, mixing with the golden hue of the afternoon sun.
People looked up as the five walked in.
More specifically—they stared at Ellian.
He noticed it immediately. Eyes lingered on him too long. Conversations dropped into hushed whispers. Children stopped playing to peer curiously from behind their mothers' legs.
"Why are they staring like that?" Ellian asked, keeping his voice low as they passed a particularly dense cluster of onlookers.
Keon grinned and nudged him with an elbow. "Have you seen what you're wearing?"
Ellian looked down instinctively. His coat was torn at the edges, dust and grass stains smeared across his pants, and his scarf—the strange fabric wrapped around his neck—looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years.
Astelle added, "They've never seen anything like that scarf of yours. Actually... none of us have."
Ellian raised a hand to the scarf, fingers brushing the fabric. It felt familiar, somehow. Not comforting—but present. Like it belonged to him, even if he didn't know why.
"I don't even know what it is," he said softly.
"Exactly," Keon said, still smiling. "Mystery man with mystery fashion."
They passed through a small market square and turned toward a broader street lined with trees. At the end of it stood a larger house, slightly raised above the rest of the village. Its roof curved upward at the ends, and a gentle wind stirred the bells hanging from its corners.
"That's the Elder's house," Astelle said, glancing at Ellian. "We live there too."
The others began unpacking their bags outside, stacking supplies and stretching their arms. Ellian stood quietly, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He felt the eyes of the villagers slowly fade as they went back to their routines, but an odd weight still clung to him—like the air had thickened since he arrived.
Astelle approached. "Come on," she said, motioning toward the door. "Let's go talk to the Elder."
Inside, the house was quiet. Cool. The scent of herbs and old wood drifted through the rooms. A few steps in, they reached a simple room with cushions on the floor and a low table in the center. Sitting behind it was a man with a beard as white as snow and eyes that seemed too sharp for his age.
He didn't speak immediately. Just studied Ellian with a steady, unreadable gaze.
Astel bowed respectfully. "Elder. This is the boy we found."
She explained everything—how they'd discovered him lying unconscious in the field, how he had no memory, only a name. How he understood them perfectly, yet remembered nothing about the world.
When she finished, the Elder leaned back slightly.
"Do you feel comfortable around these four?" he asked Ellian, his voice calm, measured.
Ellian paused, surprised by the simplicity of the question. He looked toward Astel, then thought of Keon's jokes, Linnea's quiet curiosity, and even Tamir's skepticism.
"...Yes," he said. "They feel... safe."
The Elder nodded. "Then you will live with them, for now. We'll see what the future brings."
Ellian blinked. "Thank you."
As they turned to leave the room, the Elder's voice followed them: "An unusual case, this one."
Back outside, Astel's face lit up. "You're staying with us!"
Keon grinned. "Well, that was easier than I expected."
Linnea offered a rare smile. "Glad to have you."
Tamir, who had stayed mostly quiet, stepped up and extended a hand. "Guess you're one of us now."
Ellian took it, shaking once. The grip was firm.
They helped him settle into a small spare room in the house. It wasn't much—a simple bedroll, a blanket, and a corner shelf—but it felt... more than enough. It was a place. His place, for now.
As night fell, the five of them gathered in the main room around a flickering lamp.
The conversation turned light—stories about past trips to neighboring villages, teasing remarks about who snored loudest, jokes about Keon's failed attempt at fishing the week before.
Ellian didn't speak much. He just listened, answering when asked, watching the play of light and shadow on their faces. It was strange, how easily he could be among them—how the silence inside his head, once oppressive, now felt... a little less heavy.
Linnea, unexpectedly, joined in more than before. She laughed at one of Keon's jabs and even argued with Tamir over who made better soup. There was warmth in the room, the kind that didn't demand anything from him. Just being there was enough.
Eventually, yawns began to pass from one to another. Astel stretched, arms overhead. "We should sleep. We're moving out early tomorrow."
They set up their sleeping mats near the fire, the quiet hum of night settling over the house. One by one, their voices faded into the stillness.
Ellian lay on his side, eyes open.
And then, he dreamed.
A silhouette.
That same figure.
Standing far, far away—beyond a mist, barely visible. No face. No shape he could define. Just presence. And a voice... muffled, distorted. He couldn't make out the words—only one.
"Star."
Ellian's eyes snapped open.
Darkness.
Everyone else was still asleep. The fire had died down, casting only faint glows across the wooden floor.
He sat up slowly, heart unsteady, breath caught halfway between calm and panic.
Without knowing why, he rose and stepped outside.
The night air was cool against his face. Crickets sang softly in the distance. Above him, the sky stretched wide and endless.
And there—among the constellations—was a single star. Brighter than the others.
He stared at it for a long time, unmoving.
He didn't know what it meant. Didn't know why it made his chest feel tight.
But it did.
And for now, that was all he had.
Chapter 4 — Through Morning Mist
Morning came quietly to the village, seeping in through the thatched roofs and wooden shutters like a gentle breath. Roosters called from nearby yards, dogs barked somewhere in the distance, and the steady rhythm of a new day slowly stirred to life.
Inside the Elder's house, the others were just beginning to rouse from sleep, blinking against the pale light that filtered through the windows. Blankets shifted. Someone yawned. Astel sat up first, brushing strands of hair from her face. Keon rolled over with a groan, muttering something about too many dreams and not enough sleep.
He pushed himself up and stretched with a yawn that nearly cracked his jaw, then stepped outside to greet the day.
And paused.
There, just beyond the front steps, Ellian was sitting in a wooden chair beneath the overhang. His back was straight, arms resting on his knees, eyes closed. The golden light of dawn lit his face, soft and calm.
Keon frowned. "...Ellian?"
No response.
He stepped closer. "Ellian?"
Still nothing.
Keon squinted, then leaned down and nudged his shoulder. Ellian stirred faintly, a small inhale slipping past his lips.
"He's asleep?" Keon said aloud, half laughing. "You serious?"
With both hands on his shoulders, he shook him gently. "Hey. Morning, starboy. Wake up."
Ellian blinked, groggy and slow. He looked around, momentarily lost between dream and waking. "...What time is it?"
"Morning. You fell asleep outside like a grandpa," Keon grinned. "Come on. We're eating."
Inside, the table was already set with simple fare—sliced bread, dried fruit, porridge still steaming in a clay pot. The others had gathered, but the atmosphere was quiet. Heavy-lidded eyes, drooping heads. None of them had slept particularly well.
Even Linnea looked half-asleep, stirring her porridge absentmindedly.
They ate in silence for a while. Then Keon leaned forward, breaking the stillness.
"So, Ellian," he said through a mouthful of bread, "we're heading to the neighboring village today. Delivering some goods they asked for. You in?"
Ellian glanced up. "Yes."
Keon blinked. "That quick?"
"Yeah," Ellian said simply. "I'll go."
After breakfast, they packed what they needed—three sacks filled with items requested by the other village, and a few small bundles of dried meat and travel bread for themselves. Tamir tied everything securely while Linnea checked their water flasks.
By midmorning, they were ready.
The path wound beyond the trees that bordered the village, following a gentle slope that stretched toward the east. The fields gave way to sparse forest, and soon they were surrounded by green, the soft sounds of the morning turning to birdsong and the crunch of footsteps on dry leaves.
They hadn't gone far when Tamir, walking near the back, glanced toward Ellian.
"Why were you outside last night?" he asked, voice low but direct.
Everyone slowed a little.
Even the birds seemed to quiet.
Ellian hesitated, then glanced at Keon.
"He was still there when I came out this morning," Keon added. "Sleeping in the chair."
All eyes turned to Ellian.
He let out a slow breath. "I... had a dream. There was a silhouette. I couldn't see who or what it was, but it was saying something—something I didn't understand."
He paused.
"There was one word I did catch: star."
Linnea blinked. "...That's creepy."
Astel raised an eyebrow. "A dream?"
Keon scratched the back of his head. "Weird. But maybe not that important."
Tamir shrugged. "Dreams are just dreams."
The tension faded. Conversation drifted into safer territory—how awful Tamir's last attempt at cooking had been, Keon's impossible goal to climb the western cliffs, Linnea's muttered retort that she could do it with her eyes closed.
By midday, the sun had risen high and warm, and they found a small river along the path. There, they made a short stop.
They washed their hands and faces in the cool water, stretched their legs, and unpacked small portions of food. Laughter began to echo across the riverbank as they relaxed, skipping stones and tossing jokes at one another.
Ellian sat slightly apart from the others, his back against a smooth boulder. He watched them with quiet interest.
Something about it all—the bright sun, the water's sparkle, their laughter—it stirred something inside him. Not a memory. Not exactly. More like a feeling. A strange sense of familiarity. Déjà vu.
He didn't know these people long. But in that moment, they felt like something close to... home.
Once they'd eaten, they packed up again and continued.
By the time they reached the neighboring village, the sky had shifted to the orange-pink hues of sunset. Houses here were taller, built closer together. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the streets buzzed with a slower, steadier rhythm.
A man met them at the edge of the market and took the sacks with a nod, then handed over a tied bundle—one that jingled softly with its own weight.
Astel took it carefully.
"We're not supposed to open it," she reminded the group, glancing at the cloth-wrapped parcel. "Elder said no one else should carry it either."
Keon raised an eyebrow. "Seems important."
"It is," Astelle said. "So don't drop it."
With the transaction finished, she turned back to the others. "We can rest here tonight. Head back in the morning."
Everyone agreed immediately. Their feet ached, and no one wanted to walk back in the dark.
But the village wasn't exactly welcoming.
House after house turned them away. A few gave polite excuses; others just shook their heads and closed their doors. Eventually, with nowhere left to go, they stood near a stable at the edge of town, defeated.
Keon pointed up toward the roof, where a thick layer of hay had been stored beneath a sloped overhang.
"I say we sleep up there."
Linnea frowned. "You're not serious."
"It's soft. It's dry. No one's using it. What else do we have?"
Tamir snorted. "If I get bitten by a rat, I'm blaming you."
Still, no one objected seriously.
One by one, they clambered up, finding cozy spots among the hay. Hidden from sight, the scent of horses and straw surrounding them, they chuckled softly—more from exhaustion than amusement.
"This is the dumbest thing we've done," Astelle murmured, half-laughing as she lay back.
"No," Keon replied. "That fishing trip was."
Even Linnea smiled at that.
Eventually, the laughter faded, and they began to drift off one by one.
All except Astelle.
She lay on her side, propped on one elbow, eyes fixed on the open slice of sky between the beams. Stars glittered like shattered glass on black velvet, distant and beautiful.
She didn't know why, but something in the way they shone tonight felt... different.
She watched them, silent, thoughtful.
And somewhere far below, the village slept.