Chronicle 3
For weeks, the house had been wrong.
Not loud.
Not openly hostile.
Just wrong.
Conversations shortened.
Questions went unanswered.
Silences stretched too long.
Phoebe stopped lingering in shared spaces.
She ate quickly.
Left early.
Spent hours alone in her room, or outside, or anywhere that
wasn't near the table.
When asked how she was feeling, she always gave the same
answer.
"I'm fine."
Nobody believed her.
Not Arel-Sin.
Not Zas.
Not even Phoebe.
Zas tried, at first.
Careful questions.
Measured attempts at normal conversation.
They never lasted.
Every topic seemed to circle back.
Responsibility.
Judgment.
Consequences.
Armintie.
It always returned to Armintie.
Arel-Sin learned to intervene early.
To redirect.
To change the subject before it sharpened.
Sometimes it worked.
Most times it didn't.
The tension settled into the walls.
Into the routines.
Into the quiet moments between words.
By the fourth week, even breathing in the same room felt
like a risk.
Dinner had become unbearable.
Nobody said it.
Everyone knew it.
Tonight began like the others.
Plates set.
Food served.
Minimal conversation.
The fire crackling too loudly in the silence.
Zas spoke first.
Not intentionally.
Not maliciously.
Simply a passing observation regarding responsibility.
Consequences.
Choices.
Phoebe's spoon hit the table.
Hard.
The room immediately became quiet.
Arel-Sin looked down.
He had learned to recognize the warning signs.
"You always do that."
Zas looked up.
"Do what?"
"You always talk about her like she deserved it."
Zas' expression remained calm.
"She did deserve consequences."
Phoebe laughed bitterly.
"There it is."
"Phoebe-"
"No."
Her voice rose immediately.
"No."
Weeks of frustration poured out.
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
The answer arrived without hesitation.
Phoebe stared at him.
Almost amazed.
"You really believe that."
"Yes."
The word landed heavily.
The fire crackled.
Nobody spoke.
Then Phoebe leaned forward.
"What do you think happened to her?"
The question hung in the room.
Zas remained silent.
"What do you think happened?"
Phoebe repeated.
"Do you think she found some magical village?"
No answer.
"Do you think she's warm?"
"Fed?"
"Safe?"
Still nothing.
Phoebe felt anger replacing grief.
A dangerous transformation.
"You left her somewhere to die."
Arel-Sin flinched.
Zas' expression hardened.
"That is not what happened."
"It is exactly what happened."
Phoebe rose to her feet.
Her chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"You left her in the wilderness."
"Alone."
"Without a destination."
"Without help."
"Without anything."
The words came faster now.
"You sentenced her to death."
Zas stood as well.
"No."
His voice remained controlled.
"She was given a chance."
"A chance?"
Phoebe laughed.
The sound was ugly.
Painful.
"A chance to what?"
"Freeze?"
"Starve?"
"Get eaten by wolves?"
The room fell silent.
Phoebe's eyes filled with tears.
"If you wanted her dead, you should have done it at the
Council."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Even Arel-Sin looked shocked.
Phoebe continued anyway.
"You should have used the scythe."
The tears finally began falling.
"At least it would have been quick."
The silence afterward felt enormous.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Finally Zas answered.
His voice was quiet.
Exhausted.
Almost reflective.
"Maybe I should have."
The world stopped.
Phoebe stared at him.
Certain she had misheard.
Arel-Sin looked up suddenly.
The fire cracked loudly.
...but nobody noticed.
Zas did not take the words back.
Did not soften them.
Did not explain them.
For him it was merely a statement.
A possibility.
Nothing more.
For Phoebe it was something else entirely.
A revelation.
The final piece.
The final confirmation.
For weeks she had been fighting herself.
Making excuses.
Finding reasons to stay.
Convincing herself that her father was still the man she
remembered.
That somewhere beneath the anger and certainty he regretted
what had happened.
That somewhere deep inside he still cared.
Now she knew.
Or at least she believed she knew.
The hope vanished.
Completely.
...and in the empty space it left behind, something else
appeared.
Clarity.
Phoebe did not sit back down.
She turned.
Walked away from the table.
Neither Zas nor Arel-Sin spoke.
They assumed she needed space.
That she would return.
The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall.
A cupboard opened.
Closed.
Something shifted.
Arel-Sin frowned slightly.
Zas remained still.
Then came the unmistakable sound of fabric.
A bag being lifted.
Arel-Sin looked up.
Confusion flickered across his face.
"Phoebe?"
No answer.
He stood.
Moved toward the doorway.
...and then he saw her.
Phoebe stood by the door.
Her bag slung over her shoulder.
Her hand already on the latch.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
The realization came slowly.
Then all at once.
"Phoebe," Zas said.
Not loudly.
...but sharply.
"What are you doing?"
Phoebe did not turn.
"I'm leaving."
The words were simple.
Final.
Arel-Sin's breath caught.
"What?"
Phoebe opened the door slightly.
Cold air slipped into the room.
"You can't just-"
Zas stepped forward.
"You are not leaving like this."
Phoebe paused.
Just for a moment.
Then she turned her head.
Not toward him.
Toward Arel-Sin.
...and she saw it.
The tears.
He hadn't made a sound.
...but they were there.
Running silently down his face.
Something in Phoebe shifted.
She hesitated.
Then she stepped away from the door.
Crossed the room.
Zas moved to intercept her.
"Phoebe-"
She brushed past him.
Without looking.
Without stopping.
She reached Arel-Sin.
He looked at her like he didn't understand what was
happening.
Like if he didn't move, maybe she wouldn't leave.
Phoebe reached out.
Pulled him into a tight embrace.
He froze for a second.
Then clung to her.
"Don't go," he whispered.
Phoebe closed her eyes.
"I'm sorry."
Her voice broke.
"I have to."
Arel-Sin shook his head against her shoulder.
"You don't."
"I do."
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
"I'm going to be okay."
It wasn't a promise.
It was something she needed him to believe.
She brushed the tears from his face.
A small, trembling smile.
"Take care of yourself."
Zas stepped closer.
"Phoebe, this is not-"
She didn't look at him.
Didn't acknowledge him.
Didn't respond.
She turned back to the door.
Opened it fully this time.
The cold rushed in.
For a moment, she stood there.
Then she stepped outside.
...and left.
The door closed behind her.
The house fell silent.
Zas stood where he was.
Waiting.
Expecting something.
A word.
A glance.
Anything.
Nothing came.
Arel-Sin remained where Phoebe had left him.
Still crying.
Neither of them noticed the empty space on the table.
Where Phoebe once sat.
Armintie woke slowly.
For several seconds she did not move.
Did not open her eyes.
Did not think.
She simply existed.
Warm.
Comfortable.
Safe.
The realization felt wrong.
Her eyes opened immediately.
A blanket covered her body.
Not just any blanket.
Her blanket.
The one she had lost.
The one she had abandoned when she fled from the wolf.
Armintie sat upright so quickly that dizziness nearly sent
her back to the ground.
Her robe had been draped over her as well.
Folded carefully.
Almost thoughtfully.
Nearby rested her bag.
Food.
Water.
Everything.
Exactly where she could reach it.
Armintie stared.
Unable to understand.
The hot spring was gone.
The flowers were gone.
The birds were gone.
The sunlight seemed ordinary now.
The paradise had vanished.
Only a small clearing remained.
Grass.
Trees.
Stone.
Nothing more.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Her mind began assembling the pieces.
The spring.
The voices.
Zas.
The warmth.
None of it had been real.
A mirage.
A dream created by cold and exhaustion.
The realization should have frightened her.
Instead it left her confused.
Armintie looked around.
Searching for answers.
Finding none.
Then movement caught her eye.
A wolf stepped from between the trees.
The same wolf.
She recognized the eyes immediately.
The animal stopped several paces away.
Watching.
Waiting.
Armintie held her breath.
The wolf did not growl.
Did not bare its teeth.
It simply sat.
As though checking whether she was still alive.
Another shape emerged behind it.
Then another.
A small pack.
Armintie blinked.
"They found me."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
The thought seemed ridiculous.
Yet she couldn't shake it.
The wolves had found her.
Tracked her.
Stayed with her.
The first wolf tilted its head.
Then another wolf approached carrying something in its
mouth.
A rabbit.
Freshly killed.
The animal crossed the clearing.
Dropped the rabbit onto the grass.
...and stepped back.
Armintie stared.
The wolf stared back.
Neither moved.
Neither seemed entirely certain what was happening.
A laugh escaped Armintie.
A confused laugh.
Half disbelief.
Half wonder.
"Did you adopt me?"
The question sounded absurd the moment she asked it.
No answer came.
Only silence.
Then a fourth figure appeared.
Human.
A woman emerged from the trees wearing a heavy cloak made
from animal skins.
The wolves barely reacted.
Which somehow startled Armintie more than anything else.
The animals knew her.
The woman carried a flask.
Nothing else.
She approached calmly.
As though finding half-frozen girls in mountain clearings
was perfectly ordinary.
Armintie opened her mouth.
No words emerged.
The woman knelt beside her.
Held out the flask.
"Drink."
Her voice was gentle.
Firm.
Unconcerned.
Armintie accepted it automatically.
The water was cold.
Clear.
Wonderful.
She drank greedily.
The woman waited until she finished.
"Easy."
Armintie lowered the flask.
Still confused.
Still struggling to understand whether she was awake.
"Who are you?"
The woman smiled slightly.
A knowing smile.
The sort worn by people who had already figured out
something you had not.
"Someone who found you before the mountain did."
Armintie looked toward the wolves.
Then back toward the woman.
Nothing about the situation felt real.
Yet the water was real.
The blanket was real.
The rabbit was real.
The woman was real.
...and for the first time since leaving Daral Valley-
Armintie no longer felt alone.
The woman accepted the empty flask.
Satisfied that Armintie had finally slowed down.
For a few moments neither spoke.
The wolves remained nearby.
Watching.
Listening.
Occasionally glancing toward the woman as though awaiting
instructions.
Armintie found that oddly comforting.
"Do they belong to you?"
The question escaped before she could stop it.
The woman laughed.
A warm, genuine sound.
"No."
One of the wolves flicked an ear.
"They'd be offended if I said they did."
Armintie found herself smiling.
The woman sat beside her.
Carefully.
As though accustomed to dealing with injured people.
"What's your name?"
"Armintie."
The answer felt strange.
She had not introduced herself to anyone in weeks.
The woman nodded.
"I'm Vera."
"Just Vera?"
"Usually."
The answer carried a hint of amusement.
Armintie looked at her.
Really looked.
The woman appeared older than she first thought.
Not old.
Perhaps in her thirties.
Maybe forties.
Weathered.
Strong.
Comfortable in the wilderness.
"Where are you from?"
Vera pointed vaguely westward.
"A very long way from here."
That wasn't helpful.
Vera seemed to realize it.
"Sarmizegetusa."
Armintie's eyebrows rose.
"Dacia?"
"Dacia."
The answer still felt absurd.
That was half a world away.
"What are you doing here?"
Vera smiled.
"Funny story."
She adjusted her cloak.
"I came because of a university placement."
Armintie blinked.
"A what?"
"A university placement."
The smile widened.
"I was supposed to spend a few months studying the
Blade."
"What happened?"
Vera looked around the forest.
The mountains.
The wolves.
The trees.
Then shrugged.
"I forgot to leave."
For the first time in days, Armintie laughed.
A real laugh.
Not a bitter one.
Not a desperate one.
A real one.
Vera seemed pleased.
"So now you live here?"
"More or less."
"Alone?"
"Mostly."
The answer was casual.
As though it were perfectly normal.
Armintie looked toward the wolves.
"They're my friends."
The wolves ignored the statement entirely.
Which somehow made it more believable.
Vera continued.
"I still talk to people."
"Sometimes."
Armintie frowned.
"How?"
Vera pointed upward.
"The sky."
That answer made even less sense.
Vera laughed again.
"I have a satellite phone."
Armintie stared.
"You have a what?"
"A satellite phone."
The confusion on Armintie's face deepened.
Vera waved dismissively.
"It lets me call my family."
"Back in Dacia?"
"Back in Dacia."
Armintie blinked.
The statement felt impossible.
Vera seemed accustomed to that reaction.
"My brother calls every few weeks."
"...and my mother likes reminding me I should move
somewhere civilized."
"You don't listen?"
"No."
The answer came instantly.
Armintie found herself smiling again.
For some reason she liked this woman.
Vera rose to her feet.
Then extended a hand.
"Think you can walk?"
Armintie considered it.
Her legs hurt.
Everything hurt.
Just sitting upright felt exhausting.
Eventually she shook her head.
"I don't think so."
Vera nodded.
No disappointment.
No judgment.
Just acceptance.
"That's fine."
Armintie looked surprised.
"It is?"
"Of course."
Vera gestured toward the surrounding trees.
"We'll make camp."
The simplicity of the answer almost made Armintie cry.
No lectures.
No disappointment.
No anger.
Just a solution.
Vera pointed toward the mountains.
"My cabin is a fair hike from here."
"You have a cabin?"
"Several walls."
"A roof."
"Most days."
The smile returned.
"I'll probably head back there for supplies."
Armintie's expression immediately tightened.
The reaction was automatic.
Fear.
Vera noticed.
...and immediately understood.
"When I leave, I'll be gone a while."
The honesty was refreshing.
"No point pretending otherwise."
Armintie lowered her eyes.
Vera knelt beside her.
"You're not dying today."
The certainty in her voice felt unshakable.
"I promise."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Armintie swallowed.
Suddenly aware of how desperately she needed to hear them.
Vera stood again.
The wolves shifted nearby.
One yawned.
Another stretched.
The forest felt calm.
Safe.
For the first time since the Council.
For the first time since the exile.
For the first time since she had opened her eyes beside that
impossible spring- someone was taking care of her.
...and at that moment, Armintie realized she didn't care who
Vera was.
She didn't care where she came from.
She didn't care how she knew wolves.
All that mattered was one simple fact.
She wasn't alone anymore.
Vera returned near dusk.
Armintie heard the wolves before she saw the woman.
Not growling.
Not warning.
Just shifting.
Rising.
Acknowledging someone familiar.
Then Vera emerged through the trees with a large pack over
one shoulder and a smaller bag in one hand.
She looked mildly annoyed.
Not afraid.
Not hurried.
Just annoyed, as though the mountain had inconvenienced her
personally.
"Still alive?" she asked.
Armintie stared at her.
Vera smiled.
"Good."
She lowered the pack beside the small camp she had made
earlier.
The bag looked impossibly full.
Armintie watched as Vera began removing items.
Wrapped food.
A small metal box.
Cloth packets.
A sealed container.
A coil of rope.
A first aid kit.
Several things Armintie did not recognize at all.
Her confusion must have been obvious, because Vera glanced
at her and said, "Ask."
Armintie hesitated.
"What is all that?"
"Supplies."
"I know they're supplies."
"Then your question was too broad."
Armintie almost smiled despite herself.
Vera held up a packet.
"Electrolytes."
Armintie blinked.
"Salt water pretending to be medicine."
That explanation helped.
Vera opened the packet and poured it into a flask.
"You lost water. You lost warmth. You lost strength.
Drink slowly."
Armintie accepted it with both hands.
The taste startled her.
Sweet.
Salty.
Strange.
Not unpleasant.
Vera began checking her hands.
"Do you always carry this much?"
"When I expect to find someone half dead, yes."
Armintie lowered her eyes.
Vera's tone softened.
"That was not a criticism."
The wolves settled nearby.
One rested its head on its paws.
Another watched the rabbit as though wondering when humans
intended to do something useful with it.
Armintie took another careful drink.
"How do you have all this?"
Vera opened the first aid kit.
"Some I make. Some I gather. Some I trade for."
"Trade?"
"Yes."
"With who?"
"Traders. Market towns. Passing caravans. Sometimes
Peace workers if they're desperate enough to climb this far."
Vera began cleaning a cut on Armintie's hand.
Armintie winced.
"Sorry."
"You don't sound sorry."
"I'm practical. There's a difference."
Despite everything, Armintie laughed weakly.
Vera continued working.
"I use the forest for most things. Food. Water.
medicine. Wood. Skins when necessary."
She nodded toward her own cloak.
"...but I am not stupid enough to pretend the forest
gives everything."
She held up the first aid kit.
"This saves lives."
Then the packet.
"This helps."
Then a sealed bar of food.
"This tastes terrible, but keeps people standing."
Armintie looked at the bar with suspicion.
"It looks like a brick."
"It tastes worse."
"Then why eat it?"
"Because dying tastes worse."
Armintie had no answer to that.
Vera bandaged her hand with practiced movements.
"You really don't know any of this?"
Armintie looked away.
"Not much."
"Strange."
The word pricked.
Armintie's expression hardened.
Vera noticed immediately.
"I don't mean stupid."
"You said strange."
"I did. Because it is."
Vera sat back on her heels.
"Most clans keep supplies. Not like cities do, but
enough. Winter stores. medicine chests. emergency packs. Trade goods. Dried
food. Salt. lanterns. batteries if they have them."
Armintie stared into the trees.
"The Blue Shield had stores."
"Then why don't you know how to use any of this?"
The question landed harder than Vera intended.
Armintie's jaw tightened.
For a moment she said nothing.
Then she answered quietly.
"Because the Blue Shield exiled me."
Vera stopped moving.
The wolves remained still.
Armintie kept her eyes down.
"They gave me a day's food. A day's water. A blanket.
Then they left me."
Vera's face changed.
Not shock exactly.
Recognition.
That was somehow worse.
"I'm sorry," Vera said.
Armintie looked at her.
"You don't sound surprised."
"I'm not."
The answer hurt.
Vera sighed and sat beside her.
"I find people in these woods more often than I
should."
"Exiles?"
"Sometimes."
"From the clans?"
"Usually."
Armintie swallowed.
The knowledge made something inside her twist.
She had thought her punishment was singular.
A disaster unique to her.
Now Vera spoke of it like a pattern.
A cruel custom repeated often enough that she had procedures
for it.
"The clans don't tell you?"
Vera gave a small smile without humor.
"The clans and I have an arrangement."
"What arrangement?"
"They tolerate me. I tolerate them. We trade when
necessary. We avoid each other when possible."
"That's all?"
"That is plenty."
Armintie lowered her gaze.
Vera resumed unpacking.
Food.
Medicine.
A folded tarp.
Another blanket.
A small cooking pot.
The practical objects gathered between them like evidence
that survival could be built one item at a time.
Armintie watched silently.
Then asked the question she had been trying not to ask.
"What happens next?"
Vera did not look up.
"First, you rest."
"...and after that?"
"You eat."
"After that?"
"You drink more."
"Vera."
The woman finally looked at her.
Armintie hated how small her voice sounded.
"What happens to me?"
Vera studied her for a moment.
Then answered honestly.
"I help you get healthy."
Armintie waited.
"Then I decide whether you can travel."
"...and if I can?"
"Then I get you to Purushapura."
The name felt distant.
Almost unreal.
"Why?"
"Because Love has a hospital there."
Armintie frowned.
"A hospital?"
"...and an office...and people whose job is to know
what to do with cases like yours."
"Cases like mine?"
Vera's expression softened.
"People who have nowhere safe to go."
Armintie looked away.
The words were true.
That made them worse.
"...and after that?"
"After that, Love decides."
"You don't know?"
"No."
Armintie stared at her.
"You rescue people and then you never find out what
happens?"
"Sometimes I do."
"Usually?"
"Usually, no."
The answer should have frightened her.
Instead it felt oddly comforting.
Vera was not making promises she couldn't keep.
She was not pretending the world would suddenly become kind.
She was only offering the next step.
Rest.
Food.
Water.
Health.
Purushapura.
Love.
One step after another.
Armintie looked toward the wolves.
The rabbit still lay in the grass.
The first wolf watched her calmly.
As if waiting for her to understand something obvious.
Armintie took another drink.
The sweet-salt taste no longer seemed so strange.
"Will you leave again?"
"Probably."
Armintie's fingers tightened around the flask.
Vera noticed.
"Only for supplies. Not forever."
Armintie nodded.
Trying to pretend that distinction did not matter.
It did.
Vera placed another blanket over her shoulders.
"You're not being abandoned."
Armintie closed her eyes.
The words were almost too much.
Vera returned to the pack and began arranging the camp for
night.
The wolves settled around the clearing.
The sky darkened above the trees.
Armintie sat wrapped in blankets, holding the flask with
both hands.
She still did not know where she was going.
She still did not know what Love would do with her.
She still did not know whether Phoebe was safe, or angry, or
gone forever.
...but for now there was water.
There was food.
There was a fire being built.
There was a woman who knew what to do.
...and for now, that was enough.
Phoebe kept seeing the moment she stood up.
Not the argument itself.
Not the words.
Just the suddenness of it.
The scrape of the chair.
The way everything shifted in an instant.
One moment she had been sitting at the table.
The next she was leaving.
She hadn't planned it like that.
Not exactly.
The pack had been ready for days.
Weeks, maybe.
...but she had always imagined something quieter.
Something controlled.
A decision made in calm silence.
Instead, she had walked out in the middle of dinner.
Left plates half-finished.
Left Arel-Sin sitting there.
Left everything unresolved.
The memory twisted in her chest.
Not because of Zas.
She didn't regret what she had said to him.
Didn't regret pushing.
Didn't regret refusing to accept his silence anymore.
...but Arel-Sin-
Phoebe exhaled slowly.
She could still feel the way he had held onto her.
Like if he held tight enough, she might stay.
She hadn't stayed.
She had chosen not to.
That was the part that lingered.
Not anger.
Not doubt.
Choice.
She had chosen to leave him behind.
Chosen to walk out while he was still calling after her.
Chosen not to turn back.
Phoebe pressed her lips together.
"I'm sorry," she murmured again, though there was
no one to hear it.
The words felt small now.
Insufficient.
...but they were all she had.
She adjusted her pack and kept walking.
Forward was the only direction left.
The village was still awake.
Fires burned in windows.
Voices carried faintly through the cold air.
Phoebe walked past them all.
Past familiar paths.
Past familiar homes.
Past everything she had ever known.
The note was still in her pack.
She had written it long ago.
Rewritten it.
Folded it.
Carried it.
Forgotten it.
Now it stayed with her.
Unsent.
Unread.
The mountains loomed around Daral Lake.
Phoebe stopped only once.
She looked back.
Not at the village.
At Arel-Sin's window.
A faint light flickered inside.
He wasn't asleep.
The thought hurt more.
"I'm sorry."
The words disappeared into the cold air.
Then she turned and walked away.
The first few days passed surprisingly well.
Phoebe knew what she was doing.
That realization brought little comfort.
Her father had always insisted that survival training
mattered.
The Blade was unforgiving.
A storm.
A broken leg.
A wrong turn.
Any of them could become deadly.
Phoebe had listened.
While other children complained.
While Armintie occasionally grew bored.
While Arel-Sin asked endless questions.
Phoebe listened.
Now those lessons kept her moving.
She knew how to build shelter.
How to preserve food.
How to identify safe water.
How to read terrain.
How to track weather.
The skills worked.
That was the problem.
Every successful decision reminded her where she had learned
it.
From Zas.
The man she was running from.
The contradiction followed her everywhere.
Every campfire.
Every meal.
Every safe night beneath a shelter.
The knowledge keeping her alive had come from the same
person she could no longer forgive.
On the fourth day she crossed a narrow ridge overlooking a
frozen valley.
Phoebe stopped.
Studied the landscape.
Then unfolded a rough map.
Not a real map.
A collection of memories.
Conversations overheard during childhood.
Stories told around campfires.
Rumours shared by Order members.
Most of them concerned a single person.
The woman in the woods.
Phoebe didn't know her name.
Nobody seemed to know her name.
Or if they did, they never used it.
She was simply the woman in the woods.
The strange outsider.
The Dacian.
The trader.
The wilderness hermit.
Depending on who was telling the story.
Some members respected her.
Others distrusted her.
A few seemed frightened of her.
...but everyone agreed on one thing.
She existed.
...and she lived somewhere out here.
That was enough.
Phoebe folded the map.
She had given herself one week.
Seven days.
If she found the woman, perhaps she would learn what
happened to Armintie.
Perhaps she would learn where Zas had left her.
Perhaps she would learn whether Armintie was even alive.
If she failed?
Phoebe already knew the answer.
Purushapura.
The name felt enormous.
Distant.
Almost mythical.
...but it was real.
...and if Armintie had survived, Phoebe suspected that
sooner or later every road would lead there.
To Love.
To help.
To answers.
The possibility frightened her.
Because another possibility existed as well.
Armintie might already be there.
Recovering.
Waiting.
Thinking Phoebe had abandoned her.
Phoebe's stomach tightened.
"No."
She adjusted her pack.
Resumed walking.
One week.
That was all she would allow herself.
One week to find the woman in the woods.
One week to find a clue.
One week to find Armintie.
After that, the mountains would have no more answers to
give.
...and Phoebe would have to enter the wider world.
Whether she was ready or not.
By the sixth day, Phoebe had stopped looking for the woman.
Instead, she started looking for where the woman would live.
The distinction mattered.
A person could be anywhere.
A home could not.
So Phoebe approached the problem the way Zas had taught her
to approach tracking.
Don't look for the thing.
Look for what the thing needs.
The woman lived alone.
That meant she needed water.
Shelter.
Firewood.
Some way to trade with outsiders.
Some way to avoid being buried under snow every winter.
A cliffside cave was unlikely.
A mountain peak was foolish.
The stories always described her as practical.
Phoebe followed streams.
Examined valleys.
Eliminated places that made no sense.
Slowly the wilderness began narrowing itself down.
The woman had to be somewhere.
The mountains could only offer so many good places to
survive.
By midday Phoebe crossed a ridge and stopped.
Something felt wrong.
Not dangerous.
Artificial.
She crouched.
Studied the landscape.
Then saw it.
A straight line.
Nature rarely created straight lines.
Phoebe moved closer.
The line became a wall.
Not a massive wall.
Just a sturdy barrier made from stacked logs.
Deliberately constructed.
Deliberately maintained.
A few more careful steps revealed even more.
A moat.
Shallow but effective.
Designed less to stop people and more to discourage animals.
Phoebe blinked.
The woman in the woods had built defenses.
Good defenses.
The realization somehow made the stories feel more real.
Her pulse quickened.
She approached cautiously.
The cabin sat beyond the wall.
Larger than she expected.
Smoke drifted from a chimney.
Several structures surrounded the main building.
Storage sheds.
Animal shelters.
A woodpile.
Evidence of long-term habitation.
Someone definitely lived here.
The sight almost made her laugh.
After days of searching.
Days of uncertainty.
Days of wondering whether she was chasing stories.
She had actually found something.
Then she noticed the pole.
Phoebe stopped.
A wooden post stood near the entrance.
Attached to it was a box.
The box resembled a mailbox.
Sort of.
Mounted beside it was a large button.
Phoebe stared.
The wilderness hermit had a button.
That wasn't what she expected.
She looked around.
Half expecting someone to jump out and explain it.
Nobody did.
The cabin remained quiet.
The smoke continued rising from the chimney.
Phoebe stepped closer.
Examined the button.
Looked back toward the cabin.
Then pressed it.
Nothing happened.
For several seconds.
Then a faint sound echoed somewhere beyond the wall.
A bell.
Phoebe jumped.
The bell stopped.
Silence returned.
Phoebe waited.
One minute.
Then two.
Then three.
Suddenly she became very aware of how ridiculous this might
be.
What if this wasn't the woman?
What if it belonged to somebody else?
What if she had just announced her presence to an angry
hunter?
Or a smuggler?
Or a dozen wolves?
Phoebe shifted nervously.
The button now seemed like a terrible idea.
She looked toward the mailbox.
Then back toward the cabin.
Then toward the trees.
Wondering whether she should stay.
Wondering whether she should leave.
Wondering whether she had finally found the woman in the
woods.
Or made a very serious mistake.
The Elder received him without ceremony.
As always.
No guards.
No attendants.
No displays of authority.
Just an old man seated beside a fire.
Waiting.
Zas stood in silence for several moments.
Trying to decide how to begin.
The Elder spared him the effort.
"Phoebe has left."
It wasn't a question.
Zas nodded.
"She left three days ago."
The Elder studied him.
"Voluntarily?"
"Yes."
The word felt heavier than it should have.
The Elder leaned back slightly.
"What happened?"
Zas remained silent.
For a moment.
Then another.
Finally he answered.
"We argued."
The Elder waited.
"About Armintie."
There it was.
The name.
The Elder noticed immediately.
His eyebrows rose.
Very slightly.
That was all.
Yet it was enough.
Zas noticed.
The Elder noticed him noticing.
Neither mentioned it.
Instead the Elder asked:
"...and?"
Zas stared into the fire.
"I said things I should not have said."
That was as close to an apology as Zasaramel ever came.
The Elder accepted it.
"Do you believe your words caused her departure?"
"Partially."
The answer arrived without hesitation.
"I believe I gave her the final push."
The Elder nodded.
Then waited.
Eventually Zas reached the real reason he had come.
"I wish to organize a search party."
The Elder's eyes narrowed slightly.
"For Phoebe."
Zas hesitated.
Then continued.
"...and Armintie."
Silence.
The fire crackled.
Nothing else moved.
The Elder folded his hands.
"Armintie."
The name sounded strange coming from him.
Zas did not look away.
"If she is still alive."
The Elder waited.
"If?"
"If she is still alive."
Zas exhaled slowly.
"Then perhaps enough time has passed."
"Enough time for what?"
Zas searched for the words.
"Reflection."
The Elder almost smiled.
"Reflection."
The word hung between them.
"Perhaps she has learned her lesson."
The Elder watched him carefully.
"...and Phoebe?"
"They are too young to be alone."
The statement came immediately.
"They should not be out there."
The Elder nodded slowly.
Understanding dawning.
Not agreement.
Understanding.
"I see."
The old man studied him for a long time.
Then sighed.
"You are grieving."
The words landed harder than any accusation.
Zas stiffened.
"I am being practical."
"No."
The Elder's answer arrived instantly.
"You are grieving."
The room fell silent.
The Elder continued.
"You miss your daughter."
Zas remained silent.
"You fear she may die."
Silence.
"You fear Armintie may already be dead."
More silence.
The Elder nodded.
"As I thought."
Zas clenched his jaw.
"I am requesting a search party."
"...and I am evaluating the request."
The Elder's voice remained calm.
Steady.
Infuriatingly steady.
"Phoebe left voluntarily."
"She is still a child."
"She is young."
The Elder agreed.
"...but she is old enough to understand the choice she
made."
Zas opened his mouth.
The Elder raised a hand.
Stopping him.
"Did she leave by force?"
"No."
"Was she exiled?"
"No."
"Did she choose to go?"
Zas looked away.
"Yes."
The Elder nodded.
"Then she accepted the risks."
The words sounded familiar.
Too familiar.
Zas had used nearly identical logic himself.
Many times.
The realization made his stomach tighten.
The Elder saw it happen.
...and continued.
"As for Armintie."
The name again.
The Elder's gaze sharpened.
"Do you believe she deserves to return to the
Order?"
Zas said nothing.
The Elder waited.
Patiently.
Eventually:
"No."
The answer was barely audible.
The Elder nodded.
"As I suspected."
Silence returned.
"If we find her."
The Elder continued.
"If she is alive."
"If she asks to return."
"Would you support that?"
Zas stared into the fire.
Unable to answer.
Because the answer was no.
...and both men knew it.
The Elder leaned back.
"There is your answer."
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Zas hated it.
Hated the logic.
Hated the conclusion.
Most of all, he hated how familiar it sounded.
The Elder was using the same reasoning Zas himself had used
during the Council.
Responsibility.
Choice.
Consequences.
Duty.
All of it.
The words now tasted different.
The Elder's expression softened.
Only slightly.
"I understand why you came."
That somehow made things worse.
"I truly do."
Zas said nothing.
"...but the answer remains no."
The finality of it settled heavily over the room.
"No search party."
"No expedition."
"No exception."
The Elder stood.
The conversation was over.
Zas remained where he was.
For several moments.
Then finally rose.
Neither man spoke.
Neither man said goodbye.
Zas turned and walked toward the door.
The Elder did not stop him.
The cold air struck immediately as he stepped outside.
The village looked the same.
The mountains looked the same.
Nothing had changed.
Yet something felt different.
For the first time in many years, Zas found himself standing
on the wrong side of the Order's judgment.
...and for the first time in many years, he understood
exactly how powerless that felt.
Without another word, he walked home.
The Elder's refusal followed him through the snow.
...and somewhere deep inside him, a thought began taking
root.
A dangerous thought.
That perhaps the Order had failed him.
Just as it had failed Phoebe.
Just as it had failed Armintie.
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