Chapter Text
Prologue
(...)
The sun barely managed to filter through the endless canopy of the Sea of Trees as the hero’s group advanced with slow but steady steps along the almost invisible path that wound between massive roots and twisted trunks. The war against the Demon King Schlacht had ended only a few hours earlier, and although the five of them were exhausted, each bearing visible wounds and others that hurt only when they breathed, they all shared a subtle sense of relief spreading through their bodies. After so many years fighting the Demon King and his followers, after countless battles won and lost, they finally walked without the immediate weight of a looming threat on their shoulders. The forest air was still dense, humid, and laced with danger, but for the first time in a long while, they allowed themselves a long, almost disbelieving sigh.
Gwain Cavendish walked at the front, his armor damaged and his cloak torn, still carrying the presence of a man who had not yet fully grasped that the story consuming him since adolescence had finally reached its end. At his side marched Harald, the young half-human and leader of the Northern Wolf Tribe, his stride wide and firm, alert to any sound from the underbrush. Behind them moved Thorin, grand master blacksmith and future king of the Iron Hills, carrying his enormous axe on his shoulder and grumbling with every couple of steps, as if his body demanded the rest it had been denied for hours.
A few meters behind them, Emma Winchester, the most powerful witch on the continent of Falmart, walked beside Memmeln, the most renowned monster hunter among the elves. They exchanged memories of past journeys, letting the tension of the war slowly dissolve into the quiet conversation that contrasted with the gravity of all they had endured.
“I don’t remember the last time I walked without mentally preparing myself to die,” Harald said with a half-smile, running a hand through his hair still streaked with dirt and dried blood.
Gwain let out a faint, tired, but genuine laugh.
“Neither do I. And if I’m being honest, Harald, I think I’ve had enough. All of it. The war, the titles, the responsibilities. I won’t pretend otherwise—deep down I want to leave the military behind. I want something quieter. Emma and I…” He looked away for a moment, unable to hide the small trace of pride that came with mentioning his wife. “We deserve better than being dragged into whatever pointless war the Union of Kingdoms decides to start next.”
Harald grunted in agreement.
“And you’ll get it. If anyone has earned that right, it’s you. And don’t forget you’re the crown prince’s friend from your days at Holfort Academy. As a national hero, you could ask for almost anything. Even a ducal title, if you felt like it.”
Thorin heard that and let out a rough laugh, giving Gwain a playful smack on the back with his gauntlet.
“Ja! Now that would be a sight. Gwain Cavendish, duke of some refined territory, trying to socialize with nobles he can’t stand. Ever since they named you a hero, you grumble every time an aristocrat tries to shake your hand.”
Gwain rolled his eyes.
“I don’t hate them, not exactly. They just… never stop talking.”
Harald brushed a hand along his chin, clearly entertained.
“I’m not sure what’s worse, facing a high demon or sitting through a room full of courtiers.”
“A meeting. Without a doubt,” Gwain answered without hesitation.
Their laughter mingled with the crunch of branches beneath their boots, while behind them Emma and Memmeln discussed the possibility of finally sleeping without jolting awake. Emma held her magical staff with a relaxation unusual for her, tapping it on the ground every so often as if the simple contact with the wood reminded her she was still standing after everything. Memmeln carried her bow slung over her back, and though her gaze remained as alert as ever, for the first time in days her jaw was not tense.
“When we reach the capital, I’m sure they’ll want to celebrate,” Emma said with a soft laugh. “All I want is a bath and a bed.”
“You deserve both and more after this war,” Memmeln replied. “But don’t be surprised if the nobles swarm you the moment we enter the gates.”
Emma sighed, though without frustration.
“I’ll deal with that when the moment comes.”
Their conversation cut off when Memmeln stopped abruptly, her body tensing as if something unseen had brushed past her. She raised a hand, and the simple gesture brought complete silence. Harald angled his ears, listening for the slightest movement in the underbrush. Thorin tightened his grip on his axe, prepared for anything. Gwain stepped back a couple of paces, drawing his sword as he placed himself between Emma and whatever might emerge. Emma lifted her staff at once, and the crystal at its tip glowed a pale blue as the runes activated, forming a faint barrier around her.
The forest fell into a silence that was different from its usual stillness. It wasn’t the natural quiet of the Sea of Trees, but one shaped by held breaths and the tension resting on their skin. Memmeln nocked an arrow, pulled the bowstring taut, and aimed toward a shadowed gap between two massive trunks.
“Something’s moving…” she whispered.
Nobody responded. They couldn’t afford to relax, not even with the Demon King gone. Nameless creatures still lurked deep within the Sea of Trees—many so old they didn’t know the war was over.
Then, from the brush, a small figure stumbled into view.
Gwain narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
It was a child.
He couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old. His body was covered in dirt, dried blood, and open wounds that marked both his skin and his torn clothes. His green hair hung in uneven clumps. He held a rusty knife that shook in his small hand, as if standing upright was already more than he could manage. His breathing was shallow and irregular, and his eyes, caught somewhere between fear and exhaustion, searched for something none of them could see.
“How…?” Memmeln muttered, unable to process the sight.
The boy took an unsteady step. Then another. He mumbled words in a language none of them recognized, but there was something in his tone, in the way he reached out with his free hand, that made his intention unmistakable.
Help.
Before anyone could move, his legs gave out. He fell forward, but Gwain reacted quickly, dropping to his knees to catch him before he hit the ground. The rusty knife slipped from the boy’s hand and landed beside them with a faint clatter.
Emma moved immediately. She knelt next to her husband and checked the boy’s breathing, his weak pulse, the feverish heat radiating from his skin.
“Gwain, he’s very weak,” she whispered, unable to hide the worry in her voice.
Harald and Thorin approached cautiously, staring at the kid as if it were impossible for someone so small to have survived even a single day in the Sea of Trees.
“This can’t be real,” Memmeln murmured, still gripping her bow. “Even the best warriors don’t survive alone in this place. A kid… here… it makes no sense. Not with a rusty knife. Not with these wounds.”
Harald frowned and leaned closer, studying the boy more carefully.
“Where did he come from? There are no villages or camps nearby. And those clothes…” he tilted his head, confused. “They aren’t peasant clothes. They’re too unusual. The colors, the stitching… I’ve never seen anything like this on this continent.”
Emma leaned in, brushing her fingers lightly over the fabric, careful not to touch the injured areas. She studied every detail with almost clinical precision.
“The fabric is good quality, and the design as well,” she murmured. “But it doesn’t match any kingdom I know. And the shoes… their style doesn’t match any craftsman from the central continent.”
Gwain looked down at the boy’s battered, dirty face, feeling an involuntary tug in his chest.
“When I was his age, I lost my family during a Demon King attack. I was alone too, wounded, not understanding what was happening,” he whispered, his voice heavy with memories he preferred not to revisit.
Emma didn’t answer, knowing her husband was processing this in his own way. She knew how deeply it affected him to see a life so young marked by war and families destroyed by the Demon King’s army. Even so, she simply placed a gentle hand on the boy’s forehead. That gesture, soft, rare for her, said more than words could. Something about the kid stirred an instinct she hadn’t felt so clearly before, an immediate concern that even she didn’t fully understand.
The boy whimpered and moved his lips slightly.
A murmur escaped his throat—words in that strange language none of them knew. Even so, Emma recognized a sound, one that matched a word that existed in their own tongue. The discovery sent a jolt through her chest she hadn’t expected.
“It sounds like…” she tried to hide the flush rising to her cheeks. “I think he’s saying ‘mama.’”
Harald raised an eyebrow, surprised. Thorin let out a snort somewhere between amused and bewildered. Memmeln covered her mouth, eyes wide, unable to hide the mix of shock and tenderness at seeing the kid cling to that word even in his state.
Gwain took a deep breath and stood, securing the kid in his arms with as much care as he could.
“The celebration at the capital can wait,” he said firmly. “This little one needs rest, food, and proper care. We’ll move a bit farther and camp at the edge of the Sea of Trees.”
No one objected. The war was over, but the choices they made now were just as important, and everyone knew it.
Thorin picked up the rusty knife that had fallen. Harald stepped ahead to clear the path. Memmeln took her place at the rear, alert to every sound. Emma walked beside Gwain, keeping one hand close to the kid, as if needing constant reassurance that he was still breathing.
When they set up camp and the first torches lit the darkness, Emma sat with the boy resting on her lap. She tended to his wounds with soft, whisper-like magic that brushed gently against his skin. He murmured again, speaking words that none of them understood, but the broken tone made it clear he was calling for his mother.
Emma looked away, cheeks warming once more.
“I don’t know why… but…” she swallowed and gently brushed his hair aside. “I feel like I can’t leave him alone even for a moment.”
Gwain watched her with a mix of tenderness and concern, knowing something was changing in them both even before they knew the boy’s name. Just like Emma, he was beginning to grow attached to the kid, and his knight’s code made it impossible to abandon an innocent when he needed help the most.
That night, they made a decision anyone would have called madness, even the most rational rational of people. They didn’t know the kid’s past or what he carried with him, but they were willing to make it work. At some point in their lives they had talked about starting a family, and now it seemed fate had offered them an unexpected opportunity. Earning the boy’s trust would take time, but they were ready to face whatever challenges came. The rest, time would decide.
To Be Continued....