Eldermont had always been my home—a quiet town nestled between rolling hills and towering pines. It was safe, dull, and peaceful. Perhaps that’s why it was comforting, why it was easy to love, and I did love it, with all my heart.

  At its center stood the church—a solemn sanctuary of weathered stone, crowned by a vast stained-glass window. When the sun hit just right, the goddess within shone as if watching over us all. It was one of the few places that truly felt safe.

  The other was beneath an old willow tree, where I could look out over the village—small, warm, like something from a dream. A dream I never wanted to wake from.

  But today, that dream was slipping away.

  I loved this place.

  I loved my home.

  But the church had given me everything—food, shelter, a place to belong. I never went hungry. I always had enough. And yet… despite their care, I stayed small—fragile, like glass. People often said I looked like a noble’s child, skinny and delicate like a doll. I never understood why they laughed when they said it.

  Still, I smiled when they laughed. Even if I didn’t understand, even if it felt hollow, at least for that moment, I belonged.

  My fingers curled into the hem of my faded blue skirt—another gift from the church, handpicked by Sister Milia. She always fussed over me, making sure my sleeves were straight, my shoes clean, my hair neatly braided. Even if everything I owned was secondhand, she made it feel new.

  Everything I had came from them.

  I owed them everything.

  And I should have done whatever they wanted without question.

  But this... I didn’t want this.

  Tears traced warm, salty lines down my cheeks, mixing with the dust on my skin. I sat beneath the old oak tree on the hill—our secret place. Not because it was hidden, but because no adults bothered coming here. It was just far enough away to be a nuisance for anyone without a reason to go.

  And for me, with nowhere else to be and nothing else to do, this view was everything.

  Usually, it helped me breathe. Yet today, no matter how tightly I hugged my knees, no matter how many deep breaths I took—It wasn’t enough.

  Tears blurred my vision as I looked down at the village. Wooden houses huddled together, their thatched roofs sagging with age. The dirt roads stretched empty and dry, doors and windows shut tight, the usual warmth of the village hidden beneath layers of worry.

  The blacksmith still worked, but his hammer struck iron in slow, measured beats—not the strong, rhythmic clangs I’d grown up hearing. The baker’s wife stood outside her stall, not arranging fresh loaves, but counting what little remained.

  The only home I had ever known.

  The sun bathed the village in gold, but I felt none of its warmth.

  The air pressed against my skin like a silent farewell. The voices below felt distant, echoes of a life I was already being erased from. A soft breeze stirred my hair, whispering things I didn’t want to hear—secrets of loneliness, of being forgotten, of never belonging anywhere again.

  I buried my face in my knees, trying to block it all out.

  My chest ached in a way I didn’t understand. A sharp, hollow pain, like something inside me was being taken away.

  I didn’t want to go.

  "Alivia!"

  My name rang out across the hill, loud and desperate.

  I stiffened, my hands rushing to my face. Not now. Not when I was crying. I wiped at my face quickly, but the tears fell faster than I could stop them.

  The pounding of footsteps grew closer. Jorge was running up the hill, kicking up dust with every step. His dark hair bounced with the movement, clinging to his sweaty forehead. The setting sun caught the dampness on his skin, turning him golden—like the heroes in Old Man Peterson’s stories.

  The sight of him made my chest ache. This was the last time I’d ever see him. Despite my best efforts the thought made fresh tears spill. Jorge skidded to a stop, panting hard, hands on his knees. Sweat streaked through the dirt on his face, his wooden sword knocking against his belt with every sharp breath.

  "Ma told me what they’re plannin’!" he blurted, his voice cracking. I flinched. Even he sounded scared. He dragged a hand through his messy hair, gripping it tight like he could hold onto his thoughts. "Ma said there ain’t nothin’ we can do," he muttered, scuffing his boot against the dirt.

  Jorge had always been like this—full of feelings, full of fire, letting them lead him like an untamed horse. I had always admired that about him.

  His spirit, so bright and fearless, felt like the opposite of me in every way. I was quiet and weak. I had never been brave enough to be anything else.

  "I dunno why they’d let ‘em take ya like that!" Jorge’s voice rang out sharp, cutting through the wind. His words held no hesitation, just confusion. Like he couldn’t begin to understand why they’d send me away.

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  I flinched.

  It wasn’t the anger in his voice. It was the way he said it—like the answer wasn’t obvious. The only problem was I knew what the answer was. Why I had to leave.

  I shook my head. "She’s right."

  Jorge whipped toward me, eyes narrowing. "What?"

  "She’s right," I repeated, softer now.

  A shadow of disbelief passed over his face. He stared at me like I had lost my mind.

  But I hadn’t.

  I knew exactly what I was saying.

  I dropped my gaze, staring at the dust clinging to my shoes. "They can’t afford to look after me," I whispered.

  I had grown up in this village. I knew the smell of every home’s hearth, the sound of the blacksmith’s hammer against steel, the way the early morning air carried the scent of damp hay.

  But I was rarely a part of it.

  I wasn’t the baker’s daughter, carrying fresh loaves to the market.

  I wasn’t the blacksmith’s son, learning the weight of a hammer.

  I wasn’t even the merchant’s apprentice, working for the future.

  I was the orphan girl. Never hated, never wanted. Just there. Another mouth to feed in a village that was losing more and more of its harvest every year.

  Jorge’s fists clenched. "That don’t mean they gotta send ya away!" His voice cracked, louder than he meant it to be. He stepped forward, like he could argue this into changing.

  "We could find a way."

  For just a second, I wanted to believe him.

  But only for a second. I knew better. Spun the thought in my head over and over again. There was no other way.

  "There’s nothing we can do." The words cut through the air, through the warmth of the summer evening, through him. Jorge staggered—just a little—like I had hit him. Yet I was the one crying.

  Silence passed between us.

  Then, suddenly Jorge stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me.

  I froze.

  His grip was tight, but it wasn’t crushing, in fact it was quite warm. Steady. Like he was holding me together even as I was falling apart.

  And that was the moment I broke

  .

  I clenched his tunic between my fingers, squeezing my eyes shut as tears spilled onto his shoulder.

  I had tried so hard to be strong.

  I had tried so hard not to cry in front of him.

  But he was so warm. And I had been cold for so long.

  And for the first time since this nightmare began—I didn’t feel alone.

  I cried until my whole body ached, until the grief clawing at my chest dulled into shaky, uneven breaths.

  Only then did he pull back.

  His hands rested on my shoulders, firm but gentle. He was still just a boy, but in that moment—There was something noble about him. His brown eyes locked onto mine, fierce and unwavering.

  "Fine," he said, steady as stone. "Then I’ll just find you."

  I sucked in a sharp breath. I hadn’t expected those words. Jorge pushed away from me, pulling out his wanted weapon and holding that wooden sword before us with new determination.

  "I'll become an adventurer," he declared, fierce and unshakable. "That's all I ever wanted anyway."

  Of course. Of course he would say that. A small, choked laugh slipped from me, and for the first time in a while, something in my chest felt lighter.

  Jorge had always talked about being an adventurer—grand quests, slaying monsters, saving villages. Who could blame him? Old Man Peterson’s stories were legendary. Even I had dreamed of going on an adventure, just once to see a story turned into reality.

  Jorge would be the one to take me on such a thing. Just him, and me.

  "To do that," Jorge continued, his determination burning brighter than the setting sun, "I have to be the best."

  He grinned, reckless and full of impossible confidence.

  "And if I’m gonna be the best, I’ll need the best team."

  He held out his pinky.

  "And that means..."

  My breath hitched. I saw where this was going, but I wasn’t ready for it.

  "I need you."

  Three simple words. But they hit harder than anything I’d ever heard.

  Something inside me unraveled, a warmth curling in my chest, sharp and undeniable.

  I loved him.

  Not in the way of fairy tales or whispered confessions. But in the way that meant I wanted to be there. Beside him. Always.

  Tears pricked my eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just sad. There was something more—something steady and bright. I smiled, unguarded, as I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

  "You promise?" I asked softly, hesitating. “I might slow you down, make things difficult for you. We both know I was never meant for adventure.”

  Jorge’s expression softened, just for a moment. Then he grinned again, wiggling his pinky.

  "Swear on my sword."

  A giggle bubbled up before I could stop it. A sword made of wood. Would that even count?

  But before I could tease him, Jorge’s voice dropped, steady and sure.

  "And you could never slow me down." His gaze held mine, unwavering. "I’d always be there for you. You only need to be there for me."

  My heart thundered in my chest, my ears burning. Slowly, with a little disbelief still lingering in the edges of my thoughts, I lifted my hand and linked my pinky with his.

  "Swear on your sword," I whispered, my voice trembling with something new. "Even if it’s just wood."

  Jorge’s cheeks puffed, and he looked away, scowling. "It’s still a sword."

  His embarrassment only made me laugh harder.

  And for the first time since they told me I was leaving—

  I wasn’t afraid anymore.

  I wasn’t alone.

  I leaned forward and kissed my knight’s cheek.