David and Bert left the house before noon.

  The air was heavy with the faint metallic tang of dried blood that no amount of scrubbing could entirely erase. Around them, villagers were already working tirelessly, their faces worn but resolute – Despite how rough it was, this wasn’t their first eclipse.

  They spoke in murmurs, their voices subdued in quiet remembrance for the dead.

  A woman staggered past them, carrying a basket of herbs on her hip while a child his age tugged at her skirt. She was going towards the ritual totem; a wake was being prepared.

  He shifted his gaze to Bert, who already was making his way to the smithy. The blacksmith’s face was drawn, and his movements lacked their usual precision. Yet, he never faltered. Despite his exhaustion and the short sleep, Bert immediately jumped into work.

  David watched the way he grabbed weapon after weapon. Conserving, sharpening, repairing. He had an unshakable presence—a stability David envied but couldn’t imitate.

  Further out, near the palisade, David caught a glimpse of Aura. She left the house almost as soon as they exited the safehouse.

  Now, she was kneeling in the dirt, tending to a wounded guard. Her hands moved deftly, changing bandages around a gash across the man’s leg. Between her moves, she was applying droplets of a purple potion, while murmuring instructions to a cluster of young villagers who had taken up makeshift roles as medics.

  Her hair was unkempt, and smudges of ash streaked her cheeks, but she worked with a quiet determination. To atone?

  David’s chest tightened as he watched them both. Bert and Aura each carried a form of strength, depths of which he couldn’t fathom, rooted in a lifetime of hardships. Meanwhile, he stood on the sidelines, unsure where he fit in this fractured world.

  To occupy his mind, more than to actually help, he grabbed some empty buckets and started carrying water from the river. The activity was devastatingly tiring for his small body, but that worked for him. Less time to think.

  Once the most immediate problems were resolved, the world was already deep into the evening. The normally ever-present bustle of the village square went quiet, replaced by the soft murmur of prayers and the crackle of a communal fire. Lanterns cast long, flickering shadows, illuminating the makeshift altar surrounding the totem.

  It was adorned with tokens of the fallen: a broken arrow, a bent sword, a splintered shield, a favorite flower—remnants of the lives lost during the eclipse. A hush had settled over the gathering, heavy with the weight of shared grief.

  His gaze drifted to Bert, who stood near the altar, his broad shoulders straight despite his obvious tiredness.

  Bert said little, letting the silence speak for itself. His face was a mask of stoicism, but David could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. The blacksmith was one of many who, despite lack of formal training, took up arms in the tragic defense.

  Beside him stood Aura, her face pale and drawn. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, fingers twitching as if she wanted to do something—anything—but was powerless to act. Her usual confidence was absent, replaced by an unfamiliar vulnerability.

  Looking at her pained, frustrated expression, David felt a weird kinship. The day before, they were both helpless, hadn’t they? No, that’s not right.

  David shook his head. Remembering Aura’s ritual, he rectified his thoughts. He had been useless. She was just unlucky.

  He watched them both, his chest tightening. Bert’s quiet strength, Aura’s latent power—they were pillars, two of many, holding up the shattered hearts of this village.

  He envied them, though each for completely different reasons. And he felt the crushing weight of his own inadequacy returning in strength, if lessened after the night’s events.

  As the ceremony continued, David’s thoughts drifted.

  He replayed the events of the eclipse in his mind: the monstrous predator, the screams, the darkness that seemed endless. He remembered clutching the oversized dagger, his hands trembling as he tried to summon the courage to move, to act.

  He had only wanted to survive, and he did – but others paid the price for it.

  His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms. Why can’t I be stronger?

  The sound of Brenn’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

  The captain had stepped forward, addressing the villagers with slow, measured words. “We’ve lost much,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Too much.”

  David glanced at man’s severed arm and a scythe flashed through his mind.

  “But we’re still here! With sheer determination and heroism of those who died.” Brenn said.

  The somber crowd murmured in agreement, but it was rather lifeless.

  Darryl stepped up beside him, taking over for his rough commander, his voice softer but no less determined.

  “We owe it to them—to ourselves—to rebuild. To honor their sacrifice by surviving.” He paused a little. “If we just roll over and die, it would make those bastards too happy for my liking.”

  A few laughed forcedly, some nodded. But internally, most were happy to see even a bit of tension gone.

  With the atmosphere slightly relaxed, Darryl continued, his voice growing stronger. “The goblins were always there, but the proud Grainwick pulled through!” He paused “The boarmen came - and it took us by surprise. But we dealt with the worst of it!”

  People looked between themselves. The guards puffed out their chests in pride.

  “A new monster came - so what!? We will Persevere!” Darryl roared.

  A small cheer echoed him. Darryl smiled, evidently achieving his objective. His voice returned to normal.

  “We’re pausing the ongoing projects - Await your assignments tomorrow.” He turned to some frightened faces in the back “As for those who just moved here recently: Welcome to the frontier.”

  David felt the weight of their words, but instead of bringing comfort, they only deepened the hollow ache in his chest.

  He glanced down at his hands, clean and unblemished, unlike the scarred and calloused digits of those around him. They stared down death with defiance. Even if only briefly.

  Judging by the speech, this wasn’t the first nor the last time such a massacre happened. When is the next attack?

  The night before had shown him the price of survival. David desperately wanted to afford it by the time it came again.

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  As the wake concluded, the villagers started cleaning up and clearing out. The lanterns’ flickering light illuminated the slow, somber journey of David’s circumstantial family back toward well-earned rest.

  The thumps of boots against the dirt path was the only sound between them. Bert and Aura walked ahead, their frames outlined against the light, while David trailed behind, his mind racing.

  He gripped the wooden bucket in his hands, crude handle biting into his small fingers, but the ache was a welcome distraction. His eyes drifted to Bert’s hands—steady, as they carried a bundle of tools for the next day’s repairs. Strong hands. Hands that could protect.

  David glanced down at his own, his jaw tightened, and he quickened his pace to walk beside him.

  He wasn’t sure how to refer to him, so he hesitantly tugged at his tunic. The blacksmith grunted in acknowledgment. “Marco?”

  “I was wondering…” David swallowed, his nerves rising. “Could you… teach me? You know, how to fight?”

  Bert looked at him without stopping. His face was tired, creased in worry. “Why?”

  David blinked. Isn't that obvious? “Because I… I want to help.”

  Bert let out a short, humorless laugh and resumed walking. “Help? With what? Swinging a sword’s not a game, Marco. It’s not something you just go and do.”

  “I know that!” David said, hurrying to keep up. “I can learn. I want to—”

  “You don’t know anything,” Bert cut him off, his voice firmer but still not unkind. “You’re a kid. You think you can swing a blade a few times and suddenly you’re a hero?”

  David’s cheeks flushed. “N-n-no… But I’m not useless! I—”

  Bert stopped, this time turning fully toward him. “You’re not useless, where did you even hear that, Marco? You’re alive. That’s what matters. That’s your job right now—stay alive and grow. Let me and the others handle the rest.”

  David’s hands tightened on the bucket, the wood creaking under his grip. “But I can’t just do nothing!” he snapped, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I don’t want to be scared anymore!”

  “A sword doesn’t make you less scared. Even if you could swing it, it won’t.” Bert said. The man's face had shown warmth... but his words felt dissmisive.

  David’s mouth opened, but he could find no retort to the cold logic.

  If David were an actual 8-year-old, Bert would have been right.

  His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of frustration and shame boiling inside him.

  He looked past Bert, his eyes searching for Aura, but she was inconveniently silent, her gaze fixed on the ground.

  She hadn’t said a word the entire time, but when their gaze met, David caught the flicker of compassion in her eyes.

  He tried a different angle. “Alchemy, then?” He said, looking at Aura.

  Bert sighed, responding before she could get a word in “I know you mean well. I do. But this isn’t the time. Alchemy is just as bad, if not worse.”

  David looked at Aura intently, his jaw clenching to keep the words from spilling out again. Seeing the pleading eyes of her child, Aura buckled.

  “Maybe he needs just a little bit – anything – to give him a sense of control? Aura said softly, her voice hesitant. “I could teach him safe- “

  “no.” Bert replied flatly, interrupting her.

  “Why are you so against it?” She questioned, getting fed up with his attitude.

  Bert paused and looked deep into her eyes.

  “Can you seriously ask that after your last incident? You’re smarter than this, Aura.” He said, in a voice brimming with disappointment.

  Aura turned red and tears welled in her eyes, but Bert was unmoved. He turned forward and simply resumed walking. After a few deep breaths, Aura followed, and David watched them go.

  He didn’t argue further. He knew it wouldn’t change anything. The knot of frustration in his heart tightened into something sharper—a resolve.

  “Fine,” he muttered, his voice seemingly resigned. “I get it.”

  Bert nodded, satisfied and oblivious to the sudden shift. Aura’s eyes were boring into the ground as she walked in silence. Her embarrassment and shame were palpable. David understood her.

  He kept watching their backs as the distance between them grew. His fist, sore from clutching the bucket, loosened. If Bert won’t approve his learning, then he’d make do without the approval.

  His thoughts turned fully to Aura. She’d been shut down, but her eyes had said enough. We get one another. She’d help him—he just had to convince her, push a few buttons.

  David’s lips curled into a small, determined smile. Normally, he’d scoff at exploiting vulnerability, but this was different. This was necessary – for the better. They just didn’t see it yet. They’d forced his hand.

  The next day, the roads of Grainwick were quieter. Hammers struck wood, voices murmured, but the critical post-ecliptic issues, like caring for the wounded, were mostly managed.

  Now, it was simply the slow grind of recovery before the next eclipse struck.

  Bert was busy repairing the caved in ceiling in their safehouse - a perfect moment to find Aura alone.

  David found her sitting alone on a small hill just beyond the village outskirts, her back leaning against a tree.

  The sun filtered through the branches above her, casting dappled light across her figure. Her shoulders were slouched, and her fingers fidgeted with a charm hanging from her neck—a simple silver pendant with intricate etchings that gleamed faintly in the sunlight.

  At her side lay a notebook, open but untouched, its pages fluttering slightly in the breeze. A pencil rested beside it, forgotten. The confident Aura who just days ago had tried to brave the eye of the storm, now seemed adrift, her usual spark dimmed. She looked so… unstable.

  He didn’t move immediately, observing her from a distance, pondering the best course of action. The vial. Inspiration struck. He quickly ran to grab the mystical creation, almost forgotten amongst the straw he slept on.

  David held the vial in his hands, its weight heavier than he remembered. He walked slowly toward Aura, his footsteps barely marking the grass.

  Once he was close, his movement shifted – his gait became subdued, uncertain – his expression a tiny bit scared. He walked up to her and delicately tugged at her dress.

  Aura startled, her hand instinctively moving to close the notebook, hiding the unfamiliar symbols within. “Marco, you scared me!” She turned her head toward him, quickly wiping at her face, though no tears were visible. Her lips curled into a faint, forced smile. “What is it? Shouldn’t you be helping papa?”

  David shuffled his feet, feigning awkwardness. “I, um… I found something. I thought you’d want it back.”

  He held out the vial, both hands outstretched, eyes boring into the ground - like a shy child giving a gift. The glass caught the light, the ice and fire continuing their eternal dance inside.

  Aura’s eyes widened, her breath catching as she reached out hesitantly to take it. “The frostfire…” she murmured, turning it over in her hands. “I thought it must have broken after my failure.” Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, her fingers trembled.

  David hesitated, then said with childlike earnestness, “I—I was keeping it safe… Papa didn’t protect it, so I did. You’re amazing, right? You’re the best alchemist ever!”

  The words struck their mark. Aura’s lips parted slightly, and a faint blush crept into her cheeks. Her grip on the vial tightened as she whispered, “Thank you, Marco. It’s very important. You’ve seen the ritual?”

  David prepared himself mentally for the act.

  “Yes, mommy!” He squealed happily. “It was so beautiful! I want to do that too!”

  Aura’s expression wavered, a mix of pride, shame, and uncertainty. She needs a push.

  “Mommy, could you… teach me? Just a little,” he said, his tone earnest and pleading. “I want to be like you. Strong. Smart.” The way he said his lines so far, was as fake as they come, but the words were true.

  Aura blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. She looked at him, searching for words, then glanced at the vial in her hand. “Marco, I don’t think that’s—”

  “Please?” David interrupted, his voice wavering. “I’ll be careful. I promise. I was s-so s-scared!” His voice was appropriately breaking up “Papa doesn’t understand like you do.” For the finishing touch, he started crying, and hugged into her, trying to trigger her maternal instincts.

  Aura hesitated, her hands instinctively returning the embrace. She rocked him gently, her gaze flicking from him to the vial. Her husband’s dismissive words clearly stung her, and now, here was her child looking up to her, believing in her.

  “Bert would hate it,” she muttered, almost to herself.

  David didn’t respond, only intensified his crying. It’s done.

  Aura spent a while caring for him, before she relented, her fingers tracing the vial absently. “Just… some basics,” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. “Nothing advanced. And only while father isn’t around.”

  David’s heart raced, but he carefully shifted his expression from crying to a look of pure joy as he tore away from her. He nodded eagerly, his tone deliberately grateful. “Thank you, Mommy! I’ll be really good, I promise!”

  Aura’s lips twitched, a faint smile breaking through the exhaustion on her face. “You’d better be!” she said, her tone regaining some of the life it was missing.

  She shifted, sitting up straighter, her confidence returning as she began to outline a simple lesson plan aloud. She had wanted this. He had only helped her realize that.

  As she spoke, David watched her, a flicker of triumph hidden beneath his wide-eyed, innocent expression.

  David’s heart raced. He’d succeeded. But more than that, for the first time since her collapse, Aura didn’t look so lost. A win, however earned.

  The first alchemy lesson was to come soon, and David just couldn’t wait to finally dip his toes. This would be the big break for him.