The cold wind whipped through the trees as Calder ran, his bare feet pounding against the frozen earth. Each step came faster, smoother, than he could ever remember. His breaths were steady, his heart pumping with an exhilarating rhythm that made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t since he had first begun hunting. The forest blurred around him, branches whipping past but never touching him. He leaped over fallen logs with ease, his strength carrying him farther than he thought possible.

  The cold should have bitten at his skin, but he felt none of it. Even with snow crunching beneath his feet and icy gusts swirling around him, his body was unaffected, a stark contrast to the boy who once shivered through the harsh winters. The spectral arm beneath his cloak pulsed faintly, a blue glow that shimmered in the light.

  Calder slowed as he approached a familiar break in the trees, the sound of running water reaching his ears. The stream cut through the woods like a glimmering ribbon, its surface reflecting the pale light of the waning sun. He stopped at the edge, his breaths slowing as he took in the sight.

  This stream was the border of the village. It marked the end of his village’s territory and the beginning of the wider territories beyond. He had been here before, hunting with his father or wandering alone, but he had never crossed it. The thought of it felt heavier now, laden with the weight of his new reality.

  Calder crouched by the water’s edge, his gaze falling to his reflection. It was still him—his face, his features—but not the same. The boy who had hunted game and helped his friend in the forge was gone, replaced by someone—or something—scarred and broken. The gashes on his face and neck had healed, but they left jagged lines across his skin.

  He reached out with his spectral hand, watching as the faint blue glow reflected in the water. When his fingertips touched the surface, the ripples distorted his reflection, shattering it into pieces. He pulled his hand back, his throat tightening.

  For a long moment, Calder stared at the stream, then turned to glance behind him, toward the village hidden within the trees. His chest ached, not from exertion but from the weight of leaving it behind. The faces of the villagers, Otto’s cries, and Luther’s prayers swirled in his mind.

  Finally, he took a deep breath. “Goodbye,” he said, the words carried away by the wind.

  Without hesitation, Calder stepped into the stream, the icy water swirling around his ankles. He crossed quickly, stepping onto the far bank with a resoluteness that surprised even him. For the first time in his life, he was beyond the village’s borders, crossing a threshold he would turn back from.

  The woods on the other side were darker, the trees thicker, their skeletal branches reaching toward the sky like clawed fingers. Calder ran again, the exhilaration returning as he pushed through the unknown. His muscles didn’t ache, and he felt no fatigue, no hunger, no thirst. It was as though his body was untethered from its former limitations.

  By the time the moon hung high in the sky, casting silver light across the snow-dappled forest, Calder finally slowed. He looked up, spotting a sturdy tree with thick branches that stretched toward the heavens. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of the lowest branch and pulled himself up.

  It required no effort—his body moved with a strength and ease that felt foreign yet natural. He climbed higher, finding a branch wide enough to hold him. Settling himself against the trunk, he glanced up at the sky. The stars blinked back at him, their light cold but constant, and the moon seemed larger than he had ever noticed before.

  For the first time since leaving the village, Calder allowed himself to relax. His back rested against the rough bark of the tree, and his spectral arm dimmed, its glow fading to a faint shimmer. His eyelids grew heavy, the quiet rustle of the forest lulling him.

  As he drifted into sleep, the last thing he thought of was Otto, his friend’s voice echoing in his mind: “You deserve to live.”

  ***

  The rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone filled the forge, mingling with the low roar of the fire that burned steadily in the hearth. Otto sat on a stool near the grinding wheel, his hands moving mechanically as he sharpened a set of tools. Sparks danced in the dim light as the edge of the blade he worked on grew sharper, but his mind was elsewhere.

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  It had been days since the chapel burned, and though his body was healing—thanks to the herbal paste Luther had made for him—his heart felt heavier with each passing hour. He knew he should focus, especially with his father nearby, but no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts drifted to Calder.

  Otto paused, his hands resting on the tool in his lap as he stared into the fire. He couldn’t shake the image of his friend standing amidst the flames, that spectral arm glowing faintly as the chapel collapsed behind him. Calder had told him to leave, had apologized, and yet… in his heart, Otto couldn’t believe it was the end. Calder wasn’t the type to just accept death blindly. Somewhere, somehow, Otto knew he was alive.

  He sighed and leaned back against the workbench, letting his eyes wander to the forge’s open doorway. Snow lay thick on the ground outside, untouched except for the occasional trail of footprints leading to and from the village center. The sight blurred as his mind drifted again, imagining Calder running through the woods, far beyond the village’s borders.

  “What are you doing now?” Otto murmured under his breath.

  “Sir?” a voice called, breaking his reverie.

  He didn’t respond, still lost in thought. It wasn’t until he felt a firm tap on his shoulder that he jolted upright, his head snapping around.

  Standing behind him was a figure cloaked in a dazzling array of orange fabric, intricate patterns woven into the material in shades of gold, white, and crimson. The cloak shimmered faintly in the firelight, and its sheer vibrancy was so out of place in the humble forge that Otto blinked, wondering if he was imagining it.

  “Apologies,” the figure said, their voice smooth and calm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  The figure reached up and pulled back its hood, revealing a woman’s face framed by long, neatly braided purple hair. Otto’s mouth fell open slightly, but it wasn’t her hair that caught his attention—it was her ears.

  They were long and pointed, curving elegantly upward, immediately marking her as something rare.

  An elf.

  Otto had only ever heard of elves in stories, tales passed down by his father from his time in the city of Dulozhsk. Elves were said to live in secluded conclaves inside and outside many cities. They ventured out only to trade for the most essential of items, and even then, sightings of them were so rare one would never see one in their lifetime.

  For a moment, Otto could only stare. The elf’s piercing eyes met his, and there was a quiet intensity in them, a calm patience that unnerved him as much as it fascinated him. Finally, he found his voice, though it came out more a croak than a question.

  “Y-You’re an elf?”

  The woman smiled faintly, her expression unreadable. “Indeed, I am.”

  An awkward silence filled the air as the two stared at each other, the crackle of the forge’s fire the only sound between them. Otto shifted uncomfortably, his hands gripping the edge of the workbench as his mind raced.

  “Can I... help you with something?” Otto finally managed, his voice hesitant and tinged with confusion.

  The elf tilted her head slightly, her gaze unwavering. “Perhaps,” she said. Her voice was calm with a melodic undertone that made her words linger in the air. “I came here seeking answers. Answers I suspect you might hold.”

  Otto blinked, his brow furrowing. “Answers? About what?”

  “I have come seeking the one named Calder, is he here?”

  Otto stiffened, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He didn’t answer immediately, his mind racing. How did she know Calder’s name? Why was she looking for him? The questions piled up faster than he could process them, and the fact that she wasn't blinking as she stared at him wasn’t helping.

  After a moment, he shook his head, swallowing hard. “No,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “He’s not here.”

  The elf’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, her curiosity seemed to deepen. “Not here,” she repeated softly, as though testing the words. Her eyes flicked around the forge briefly before settling on Otto again. “But he was, wasn’t he?”

  Otto took a step back, his unease mounting. “He's dead. He…died in the fire that took down our chapel last week.”

  The elf’s expression shifted, her sharp features softening with a fleeting sadness. She lowered her gaze, her hands disappearing into the folds of her ornate cloak. “I see,” she murmured. “I had hoped... but perhaps I was too late.”

  Otto watched her carefully, his unease tempered by the unexpected sorrow in her tone. For a moment, she stood still, as if weighing something in her mind, before she gave a small nod to herself and turned toward the forge’s entrance.

  “Wait,” Otto called after her, his curiosity outweighing his discomfort. “What did you need him for?”

  The elf stopped mid-step, her back still to him. When she turned, Otto swore her eyes seemed brighter, almost glowing faintly in the dim light of the forge. The sadness in her expression was gone, replaced by something unreadable—a mix of regret and something else, something he couldn't quite place his finger on.

  “I was to pass on something to him,” she said, her voice firm yet tinged with melancholy. “Something very important. But now...” She paused, her gaze flickering briefly toward the distant horizon. “If he is truly gone, then it cannot be given.”

  “What was it?” Otto asked, stepping closer despite himself. “What did you need to give him?”

  The elf’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though it lacked warmth and really, any emotion. “That is a question for Calder,” she said. “And only for him.”

  With that, she turned away once more, her cloak swaying as she walked toward the open door. Otto didn’t try to stop her this time, though his chest tightened with frustration and unanswered questions. The elf paused at the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder.

  “Should you ever learn otherwise,” she said cryptically, “seek me out. The threads of fate may yet weave differently than you so think.”

  And then she was gone, stepping into the snow-covered world outside. Her figure faded quickly into the white expanse, leaving Otto alone with the crackling fire and his swirling thoughts.