The forest was quieter now. musky leaves clung to their boots, and a gust of wind rose from the underbrush like breath from the earth itself. Birds had begun to return as they left the forest after Isgram's attack.
They were chirping faintly in the distance, but even nature seemed cautious.
Alona walked beside him, not offering support, but always within reach. She understood the pride of wounded men. She'd seen enough of them in Davra's infirmary—soldiers, scouts, stubborn idiots. Fang was no different.
Gaia and Isgram scouted ahead, silent and synchronized. Their bond had grown stronger in Fang's absence, and it showed. They didn't need to speak to communicate. One look, one nod, one raised brow, and they adjusted formation, curved around hazards, signaled for stillness. They moved like hunters now.
Alona glanced at them, then at Fang. "They've changed."
Fang grunted. "So have I."
She nodded but didn't smile. "Not sure if that's a good thing."
He didn't answer.
By the third hour, his legs were trembling. He could feel the scar on his chest pulsing, not in pain, but as if it were testing him. He had no magic left to spare—not for comfort, not for reinforcement. He was walking on will alone.
The trail narrowed. Roots clawed from the soil like fingers, and the trees thickened. A memory sparked in Isgram, and he raised a fist. They stopped.
"This next stretch is wildland," he muttered. "Not part of Davra's hunting range. No paths, no markers. Last time I crossed it, I was running."
Gaia tilted her head. "From what?"
Isgram didn't answer right away. His eyes searched the woods like they were lying to him. "People. Teraliks. Once, a michosa." He shook his head. "Don't ask."
They pushed on.
Fang said nothing, but every branch, every rock, every slip of his footing was a reminder. He was slower now. Weaker. And that weakness burned hotter than the scar ever had.
The last leg of the walk took them past a bend where the trees opened, revealing a shallow valley below.
And in that valley, Davra.
It wasn't large, maybe 80 structures made of stone and smoothed wood, clustered tightly. Mist curled along the rooftops. A watchtower stood to the west, guarded by two archers in woven cloaks. They didn't raise an alarm, only watched. Fang's eyes narrowed at the lack of fear.
"This place," he muttered, "is too calm."
"It's well-defended," Alona replied. "And we don't scream threat. Yet."
Fujin was waiting for them on the edge of the village, standing on a rise near a broken tree stump. He didn't smile. He only nodded once and gestured toward the path.
"Five hours," he said. "I expected six."
Fang stepped forward, his boots dragging slightly in the mud. "Didn't feel like making you wait longer."
Fujin met his eyes. "Then let's talk."
Isgram gave Fang a sidelong look. "You sure?"
Fang nodded once. "We came for answers. Let's get them."
The group followed Fujin down the slope and into Davra, unaware that even now, in the shade of those quiet trees, eyes were already watching them from behind shutters and gaps in the stone.
The village quieted down as the rumors of the dreaded chosen ones reached the ears of the villagers.
As Fang and his crew walked deeper into the village, Fujin asked them the one thing Fang hoped to hear:
"Are you hungry?"
---------------------------------
The scent of roasted meat drifted through the wooden hall.
Fang sat at a low table, the warmth of the fire on his back and a carved plate of stewed chicken, roots, and herbs before him. The Davran longhouse was sturdy, its walls thick with timber and old magic. Candlelight danced across the room, casting long shadows as the four of them ate.
Fujin sat across from him, relaxed in posture but sharp-eyed. He carved another piece of chicken with ceremonial care, then spoke without looking up.
"Eat well," Fujin said. "You've earned it. Dying's no easy thing."
Fang gave him a faint smirk. "Neither is waking up after."
"I wanted to discuss the terms of the deal that brought Alona to your cave."
Fang glanced at Isgram and Gaia. Neither spoke.
Fujin continued. "They gave me ore. Enough to feed our forge through the worst wars. In exchange, I gave you our best healer. My daughter. I want to know—do you regret the price?"
Fang leaned back. He didn't look at Isgram or Gaia. He took a breath, held it, and let it out slow.
"No," he said. "I don't."
Fujin tilted his head slightly. "You answer quick."
"Because the answer's simple." Fang set down his plate. "Healing me meant saving another chosen one. Maybe the world doesn't care, but I do. And so do they."
He gestured toward Gaia and Isgram without turning.
"Regret doesn't belong in that equation."
Fujin watched him carefully, but said nothing for a while. Then, with a small nod, he reached to his belt and tossed a pouch onto the table. It landed with a soft clink and spilled open round and flat coins.
Fang looked down. "Silver?"
"Yes, continental currency," Fujin said. "In most of Edenia, anyway. One of the few things all the races agreed on before everything went to ash."
He picked up a coin and turned it in his fingers. A mountain and sun had been stamped into the surface.
"Silver's rare enough to hold value, but common enough to spread," he said. "You want to trade, you'll need to understand it."
Fang ran a thumb over the metal. "We haven't exactly been shopping."
"No, but you're growing food," Fujin said, sharper now. "And out west, that's more valuable than most blades. Our soil is cold. Short summers. Long winters. Not enough to feed our own, let alone more mouths. But if that garden you're planting bears real fruit... I'd like to talk terms."
Fang set the coin down and looked at Isgram, who didn't need prompting.
"How much is a sack of potatoes worth these days?" Fang asked.
Before Fujin could respond, Isgram's eyes flicked up. "Doesn't matter."
Fujin blinked, slightly taken aback. "It doesn't?"
"We're not farmers," Isgram said flatly.
Fujin leaned back in his seat, nodding slowly, reassessing the tone. "Then what are you?"
Gaia finally spoke, voice calm but firm. "We are open to trade—if the task is worth our time."
Fujin's gaze lingered on her, then shifted back to Fang. "Then tell me what is for sale."
Fang glanced at Gaia, then Isgram.
"Roots," he said. "Carrots. Beets. Potatoes. That's what's growing. No promises on volume yet. It's still new."
Fujin steepled his fingers. "How new?"
"We planted just before the rains," Fang said. "The earth took it well. If the weather holds, we'll have a harvest worth naming before the next freeze. For now we forage for our own food."
Fujin nodded. "And how much of that could you part with... say, monthly?"
There was a beat of silence.
Isgram crossed his arms. "Depends what you're offering. Tools, ores, protection, maybe. We don't need silver."
Fujin smiled slightly. "You will. Sooner or later, everyone does."
Gaia narrowed her eyes. "Then offer silver but state your needs first."
Fujin's fingers drummed against the table. "Let's say I need five crates of potatoes. Two of carrots. One beet, one radish. Monthly. You deliver to the trade post outside the eastern ridge.
In return, I will pay you at market prices. I am sure Isgram will be able to negotiate fairly, right? So the matter of payment is concluded for now."
"Plus intel," Isgram added.
Fujin raised a brow. "About what?"
"Who's moving. Who's watching, Who's hunting chosen ones," Isgram said. And especially Intel concerning Chosen ones locations."
Fujin chewed a piece of chicken thoughtfully. "You want rumors?"
"I want names."
Fujin wiped his hands with a cloth. "That's a lot of potatoes."
Fang leaned forward. "Then let us have some working hands from your village, and I will reduce the compensation and at the same time raise your credibility as a leader. A leader who can show that food is grown and available is a leader with a quiet life.
Just trading will eventually consume the coffers of this small village. I'd rather have more working hands."
Fujin's chewing slowed.
"You want Davran hands in your soil," he said, tone unreadable.
Fang didn't blink. "I want to build something that lasts. That doesn't happen by coin alone."
Fujin leaned back, fingers steepled again. "And if those hands see your mana beasts? Your soulcraft?"
"They won't," Fang said. "The fields are safe. The forest is not. Keep them out of the woods and they'll live longer than most."
Gaia cut in before Fujin could reply. "And what if they think it's shadow magic. Let them think we're cursed. Just don't let them run their mouths in town."
Fujin studied them for a long moment. "This deal will make waves. You understand that, yes?"
Isgram gave a dry laugh. "We're drowning in waves already. Might as well surf a few."
That pulled the smallest flicker of a smile from Fujin. He tapped a finger on the table. "Three hands. Once every full moon. I'll pick the ones who won't scream at your pet rabbits, preferably young men."
Fang nodded. "Fair."
"Then in a moon's time," Fujin said, rising from his seat, "we'll review the trade and the terms. If the harvest is good, we continue. If not…"
"We'll survive," Gaia said. "With or without you."
Isgram and Fang smiled at her strong statement and looked at Fujin's unimpressed face.
"It would be wise of you to remember that I have information on your kind.
The water mage from the east is still unknown to most factions, but I have the intel none have. You should stay humble, girl."
This, in return, earned him an annoyed look as Gaia exhaled loudly.
Fujin gestured to Alona to get up, and they both exited the room. "I will let you finish your meal while I go tend to other matters."
He left them with that.
Silence hung in the hall for a beat.
Then Isgram leaned back, arms crossed. "Well. That went better than I expected."
Fang didn't answer. His fingers still rested on the silver coin.
Fang nodded slowly. "He's planning something."
Isgram rolled his eyes. "They're all planning something. The real question is, are we?"
Fang finally stood, his body still stiff, but his eyes sharp. "We'll return to the cave tomorrow. We've got planting to do, and I need to hear more about that water mage."
And so, the trio finished their meal and bid goodbye to their gracious host.