The evening air carried a lingering warmth, though the sun had begun its slow descent beneath the horizon. A soft breeze threaded through the streets, stirring loose leaves and carrying the scents of fresh bread, burning wood, and river salt.

  I walked at a steady pace, letting my surroundings seep in.

  A walk.

  That was all I had in mind when I stepped out of the tavern.

  The walls of my rented room had felt suffocating after a while—not from discomfort, but from sheer stillness. Too much silence had never suited me. It left room for thoughts I didn’t want to entertain, for memories I preferred to keep buried.

  So, I walked.

  The streets of White Creek bustled with the final hours of the day’s business. Merchants were packing up their stalls, their hands moving with practiced ease as they secured crates of unsold goods. Some bartered even as they closed, eager to get rid of perishables before the night settled in.

  The scent of roasting meat clung to the air, mingling with the sharper tang of freshly cut herbs from the apothecary’s shop. Somewhere down the road, a baker called out his final loaves at half-price, drawing a small gathering of townsfolk.

  It was familiar.

  Not in the way Astradel’s towering spires and polished marble halls had been, but in a way that reached deeper. The hum of conversation, the simple pleasures of an honest day’s work—it reminded me of the nights I used to sneak out of the castle, wandering among the people I was meant to rule over.

  Not as a prince. Just as Kaelan.

  I let myself get lost in it.

  At least, until the world jolted back into motion.

  “Hey, mister! You’re new here!”

  The voice came from my right—a shrill, excited declaration.

  Before I could react, a small mob of children swarmed me.

  I blinked.

  Seven, maybe eight of them. Barefoot, dust-covered from an entire day of play, and brimming with that endless energy only children seemed to have.

  One of them—a boy with an unfortunate mop of straw-colored hair—stepped forward, arms crossed. “Who are you?”

  “And why do you look so fancy?” another, a girl this time, demanded.

  I glanced down at my attire—dark leathers, a cloak that, while practical, was far better kept than what most travelers wore. It wasn’t royal, but compared to the simple tunics of the villagers, I supposed I did stand out.

  I crouched slightly, meeting them at eye level. “Who, me? I’m just an adventurer passing through.”

  The group exchanged glances, eyes lighting up.

  “An adventurer?” The smallest of them, a boy who looked barely five, tugged at my sleeve. “Do you fight monsters?”

  I placed a hand over my chest, feigning deep offense. “Of course I do! We hunt evil creatures, protect villages, and sometimes—” I leaned in conspiratorially, voice dropping to a whisper, “—we even slay dragons.”

  The reaction was immediate.

  Gasps.

  Shouts of excitement.

  One of the older boys smacked his friend’s shoulder. “I told you adventurers were real!”

  The girl from before squinted. “You’re making that up.”

  I grinned. “Am I?”

  She faltered. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, debating whether I was a liar or some kind of legendary hero.

  “Prove it,” she said at last, arms crossed. “If you’re really an adventurer, then play with us.”

  I arched a brow. “That’s how I prove it?”

  “Yep!”

  The rest of the children cheered in agreement.

  Before I could argue, a small hand latched onto mine, tugging insistently. “Come on! We were playing Hunter and Beast! You can be the Hunter!”

  I huffed a laugh, allowing myself to be pulled along. “Fine, fine. But I better get a proper introduction first.”

  The children quickly rattled off their names—though I doubted I’d remember them all—before explaining the rules.

  The rules were simple.

  One child played the Beast, running and hiding through the village, while the rest of us—the Hunters—had to track them down. Once found, the Beast could either be captured or challenge the Hunter in a test of strength.

  The game had already begun before I could fully process that I’d agreed to play.

  The straw-haired boy who called himself Ren took off in a flash, weaving through the busy evening streets with practiced ease.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  I let them go at first, watching as the pack of children shrieked and darted after him, their laughter echoing between buildings. I gave myself a head start, taking a slow breath.

  Then, I ran.

  The air rushed past me as I took off, boots skimming over packed dirt and stone. Ren was fast—his small frame let him slip through gaps between carts and crates where the other children had to slow down or stumble. He twisted down a narrow alleyway, his laughter ringing out like a challenge.

  I wasn’t the only one chasing. The other Hunters, determined to catch him first, surged ahead, dodging townsfolk who either stepped aside with amused grins or called out half-hearted scoldings.

  “Oi! Watch where you’re going, you little terrors!”

  “Let ‘em be,” a merchant chuckled, shaking his head as he secured his cart for the night. “Kids ought to run wild once in a while.”

  A woman leaning against her doorstep raised a brow at me as I followed after them. “Bit old for this game, aren’t you?”

  I smirked mid-stride. “Call it an undercover mission.”

  She laughed, shaking her head, and I pushed forward.

  Ren bolted past a fruit stand, nearly knocking over a basket of apples. The vendor barely caught it in time.

  “Ren, you little menace!”

  “Sorry, Miss Nali!” he called over his shoulder, not slowing in the slightest.

  I grinned. This was a chase.

  I could work with this.

  I adjusted my pace, cutting diagonally to intercept. The children ahead of me had speed but no strategy—they followed blindly, drawn toward their target like moths to a flame. But Ren? He was clever. He slipped past obstacles at the last second, forcing his pursuers to stumble, duck, or crash into barrels.

  One of the younger boys tripped and fell flat on his stomach. I grabbed his collar mid-stride, hauling him back onto his feet without stopping.

  “Stay close,” I advised. “We’ll flank him.”

  The boy nodded, eyes wide with excitement, and sprinted alongside me.

  Ren ducked behind a cart, thinking he’d bought himself time. Wrong move.

  I veered left—then cut through a stall’s empty space—emerging right in front of him.

  His eyes went huge.

  “Oh, shi—”

  I lunged.

  Ren shrieked as I grabbed him around the waist, lifting him clean off the ground and spinning him in the air. He flailed wildly, laughing between breathless protests. “I surrender! I surrender!”

  The other children skidded to a halt, panting and cheering. Some clapped, while others collapsed dramatically into the dirt, acting as if they’d just run the entire length of the village.

  I set Ren down, ruffling his hair. “Not bad, little Beast. You had a solid lead.”

  He grinned up at me, triumphant despite his capture. “You cheated!”

  I raised a brow. “Using my brain is cheating?”

  “Yes!”

  Laughter erupted from the group, their energy infectious.

  As the chaos swirled around me, my gaze flickered toward the edge of the square—just in time to catch a hooded figure slipping into an alleyway.

  A moment of pause. A flicker of instinct.

  But before the thought could settle, a voice broke through the noise.

  “Alright, your turn.”

  I turned back just as Kina, the first girl, stepped forward, hands on her hips, her expression daring.

  The children erupted in fresh excitement.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You’re the Beast now.”

  “Hold on—”

  “Nope!” Ren pointed. “Run!”

  The children exploded forward.

  I had half a second to react before they all lunged.

  I turned on my heel and bolted.

  Laughter erupted behind me as they gave chase, and for a fleeting moment, I felt weightless.

  I didn’t have the nimble advantage they had, but I had speed. I leapt over a short fence in a single bound, landed smoothly, and cut through an alley. The space was tight—I had to turn my shoulders to avoid knocking into hanging laundry—but I pushed forward.

  The sound of rapid footsteps and excited shrieks closed in behind me.

  I grinned. They were fast.

  I sprinted toward a wagon, using the wheel as a foothold to propel myself onto a low rooftop. From there, I vaulted to the next building, my boots barely making a sound on the tiles.

  I crouched, peering down as my pursuers poured into the street below.

  The smaller ones had no hope of spotting me from this angle, but Kina was sharp. She narrowed her eyes, scanning.

  I shifted, barely. A single sound.

  She whirled around, pointing up. “There! He’s cheating again!”

  “Tactical advantage!” I called down.

  They all groaned.

  One of the older boys crossed his arms. “We can’t get up there!”

  “Not my problem.”

  Ren pouted. “You have to play fair.”

  I sighed, dramatically resting my chin on my fist. “Fair, huh?”

  Then I jumped.

  I landed right in their midst.

  Chaos.

  Shrieks, laughter, a full dogpile attempt. Hands grabbed at my cloak, my arms, my belt—but I twisted, slipped free, and took off again.

  We ran through the streets, weaving through people, past lantern-lit stalls, over fences and crates. The town blurred into motion—light and laughter, the golden hues of sunset blending into deep indigo.

  I let them win, in the end.

  Ren caught my wrist in a daring move, and before I could shake free, the rest of the kids tackled me down.

  I hit the dirt, laughing.

  For a long moment, that was all there was. No war, no mission, no weight on my shoulders—just this.

  The sun had nearly set by the time the children relented, letting me breathe. They flopped onto the ground beside me, grinning and breathless.

  “Alright,” I exhaled, sitting up. “I admit it. You got me.”

  Kina smirked. “Of course we did.”

  Ren crossed his arms, nodding. “We’re the best.”

  I chuckled. “No argument there.”

  The evening bell tolled in the distance. Parents’ voices began calling their names, pulling them home.

  One by one, they left, waving as they went.

  Only Ren hesitated.

  He scuffed his foot against the dirt. “Are you leaving soon?”

  I nodded. “Tonight.”

  A beat of silence.

  “You’re gonna fight bad guys, aren’t you?”

  I considered lying.

  But I placed a hand on his head instead, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, kid. I am.”

  He beamed. “Then come back, okay? A real hero always returns.”

  The words struck deeper than they should have.

  I forced a smile. “I’ll try.”

  Satisfied, he ran off, disappearing into the dusk.

  I sat there for a moment longer, watching the last of the sunset bleed into the horizon.

  The warmth of the moment still lingered.

  But deep down, I knew—

  Heroes don’t always come back.

  ***

  By the time the last child had disappeared into the embrace of their home, the village had begun to settle into the rhythm of dusk. The warm glow of lanterns flickered to life, dotting the streets like fallen stars, and the once-bustling market had quieted to a murmur as merchants packed away the remnants of their trade.

  Yet, I did not return to the inn.

  Instead, my feet carried me away from the streets, past the last rows of cottages, toward the whisper of running water.

  And there it was—the creek.

  The namesake of this village.

  The river moved like liquid gold, dragging the last light of the sun into its depths.

  It wasn’t a rapid, rushing thing. It was slow—measured. A lazy current that carved through the white sandbanks, its surface catching the fire of the dying sky, turning the water into a shimmering, fractured mirror.

  The White Creek

  I stepped closer, my boots pressing into the pale sand, the grains shifting underfoot. A gust of wind whispered through the reeds, stirring the long grass, sending ripples across the surface of the water. It was warm, carrying the scent of the earth, of distant smoke from cookfires, of the lingering spices of the market long since closed.

  The village behind me was winding down.

  Merchants had packed their stalls, their voices lower now, speaking in murmurs instead of the day’s lively calls. The clatter of wooden crates, the rustling of tarps being pulled over carts—it all felt distant, part of another world, another life. The kind that belonged to people who knew nothing of what lay beyond the safety of their borders.

  I sank down onto the sand, resting my arms on my knees, watching the river stretch out before me.

  It was a strange thing.

  Watching something move without effort. Without purpose. Without the need to control.

  A single petal floated by, pale pink against the gold and crimson of the water. It drifted in slow spirals, caught in the current, surrendering itself to wherever the river chose to take it.

  The villagers were like that.

  Drifting. Following a path already carved out for them. Never knowing the hands that shaped the banks of the river.

  Never knowing how easily the course could change.

  A breeze stirred the sand beside me, and I exhaled slowly, watching the ripples distort the reflection of the sky.

  There had been a time—years ago—when I had wondered. Wondered about what ifs.

  What it would have been like to be one of them.

  A boy with no more worries than whether the harvest would be good this season. Whether the girl at the bakery would smile at him. Whether he would learn his father’s trade, or take a different path.

  A boy without blood on his hands.

  But that boy had never existed.

  I had been born into something else entirely. Not just thrown into the current—but shaping it.

  If the world required cruelty, I could wield cruelty. If it demanded mercy, I could grant it. If it needed a monster, I could become one.

  And I had.

  Not because I enjoyed it. Not because I took pleasure in it.

  But because I understood it.

  The wind picked up, rushing through the trees at the far end of the river, shaking loose a flurry of leaves. They danced as they fell, catching in the breeze, twisting and turning before settling on the surface of the creek—joining the petal, spinning together before the current carried them away.

  I watched them go.

  They could be anything.

  A kingdom. A faction. An empire.

  Men and women who thought themselves unshakable, untouchable. Who had spent lifetimes carving their names into the world, only to be swept away the moment the tide shifted.

  The river would take them, just as it had taken all who came before.

  And I—

  I would decide where the current led next.

  The last of the sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky burned in its final descent—deep reds, soft violets, the faintest traces of indigo creeping in from the edges of the world.

  The stars would come soon.

  I leaned back, resting against my palms, letting the quiet settle over me.

  Tomorrow, the road would take me forward again.

  But for now—

  I sat, and I listened to the slow, unhurried song of the river for long time.

  The water whispered against the banks, carrying the last golden hues of the dying sun on its surface before swallowing them into darkness. Without a moon, the river had no silver sheen, no reflection—only an abyss stretching endlessly, shifting and restless under the breath of the wind. The white sands, which gave this village its name, seemed even paler in the absence of moonlight, ghostly under the dim glow of distant lanterns.

  But even this serenity could not hold me forever.

  A presence stirred behind me—familiar, yet sudden, as though it had always been there, waiting to be noticed.

  I did not turn. I simply stood, brushing off the sand, and cast one final glance at the darkened river. Then, with steady steps, I made my way back.