Both nodded, fatigue shadowing their faces, but beneath it, a spark of curiosity stirred—a need to understand and to be understood.
Micah’s tone deepened, weighty with purpose. “First… what would your people do with Haniel?”
Spud glanced at Alexi, searching for strength in his familiar face. The question hung heavy between them.
“You mean… how we’d punish him back on Midterra?”
Micah nodded slowly. “Yes. I want to understand your justice—how it functions in a world so different from this one.”
Alexi’s gaze darkened, his fingers tightening unconsciously on the blanket’s edge. His voice dropped, steady but edged with bitter memory.
“In most cities, there’s a formal hearing. Chains. Cold stone halls. The accused stand beneath the judgment of strangers.”
He swallowed hard.
“Reckoning… it isn’t just words. It means pain. Whipping, exile. Branding, sometimes.”
Spud’s throat constricted at the image—the harsh punishments dealt without mercy. He remembered the shadowed alleyways of Bartrov, where whispered rumors of such fates haunted children like ghosts. Justice there was a blade—sharp, unforgiving, slow to heal.
Micah’s dark eyes narrowed, a flicker of sorrow crossing his face—an echo of battles fought long before these walls.
“Cruelty breeds cruelty,” he murmured, voice heavy with bitter truth, as if tasting old regrets.
Spud hesitated, the question’s weight pressing deeper than he’d expected.
“Would someone like Haniel ever be stripped of rank in your world? Publicly, I mean.”
Micah’s breath was slow, deliberate, filling the quiet room like a whispered reckoning.
“It’s rare,” he admitted after a pause, “but not unheard of.”
The silence stretched—thick, charged—before Spud found the courage to press on.
“In Convota, a public demotion is more than punishment. It’s a warning. A symbol. We make it known. Shame becomes the message.”
Micah’s eyes sharpened, glinting with newfound intrigue.
“A public demotion,” he repeated, turning the idea over like a rare gem caught in shifting light. “Not just punitive. Symbolic.”
He stopped pacing, and the room seemed to hold its breath with them.
“That’s… compelling.”
Spud felt the air thicken, charged with unspoken possibility. This was no ordinary conversation—it was a crossroads. Micah wasn’t simply listening. He was weighing, balancing their truth against his own hardened experience.
Looking at them both, Micah said quietly, “Your insights into justice are valuable.”
He leaned in, voice low.
“I may adopt that approach.”
Spud and Alexi exchanged a startled glance. There it was, unspoken and powerful: their words had made a difference.
Micah resumed pacing, then stopped mid-step, staring at the wall. A man caught between the weight of old laws and the spark of something new.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbhr9CaGQTC
He nodded once, firmly.
“We’ll speak more later. For now—rest.”
He left without fanfare. Quiet. Deliberate. Like a man changed.
Spud let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Alexi turned toward him, eyes brighter. “So what happened when the portal sucked you in?”
Spud laughed—sudden and soft, like the hush after thunder.
“It was… surreal,” he said. “Like falling through a whirlpool made of light. Everything spinning. You’re weightless. Lost. But not afraid.”
Alexi leaned closer, eyes wide. “And then?”
Spud’s smile dimmed, fading into something quieter. More fragile.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFsmIldNwCm
“Then it shifted. The colors faded. I saw things I don’t know how to explain.”
He paused, the memory brushing against something deeper.
*
Spud’s eyes widened as he took in the cabin. Every corner shimmered with a strange magic that made him feel tiny—like a small speck inside something vast and ancient.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9FaYQQhYUN
He turned slowly, barely daring to breathe.
The rough stone walls were carved with snarling beasts and glowing constellations—griffins frozen mid-roar, moons drifting like distant thoughts. Everything pulsed softly, alive in a quiet way. It was hard to tell if he was inside a room or inside a story coming to life.
The air smelled of cedarwood, parchment, and ash—and something older, like forgotten memories.
He swallowed, throat dry.
The cabin didn’t just feel magical. It felt aware, as if it was watching him as closely as he was watching it.
He sat down on a stack of old books, tracing their cracked spines. Many were covered in symbols he only half-remembered—fragments of childhood dreams slipping away. Shelves bent under the weight of relics and dusty tomes. Some objects floated quietly, murmuring in strange languages that sent chills down his spine.
Nearby, a purple crystal pulsed gently, like a second heartbeat. A silver locket hovered beside it, its chain looping endlessly through the air—hypnotic and mournful.
His breath caught.
Above the hearth, a tapestry shifted—not from wind, for there was none. The stars embroidered in the fabric rearranged themselves with purpose.
A fox chasing seven stars.
His pulse quickened.
He knew that shape.
His mother had drawn it once in the dirt by their tent, tracing the stars with her fingertip. “This one guides the lost,” she had said softly, “when they can’t find their way home.”
Seeing it here—woven into this ancient place—was overwhelming. Strange. Beautiful.
His chest tightened.
Was this real?26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2h59ICzKNx
Was he meant to be here?26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDFNQIz34Nk
Or was this a dream he hadn’t woken from—some illusion clinging to his mind?
He tried to speak, but his voice felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. Still, he told their story—quietly and carefully—as if louder words might break the magic around him.
Across from him, Alexi sat cross-legged, eyes bright in the firelight. He listened without interrupting, reverent and still.
“And then?” Alexi whispered, the question soft, almost a prayer. It hung in the air like a fragile breath.
Outside, Timmy stood near the portal’s edge. The storm had passed, but the air remained thick with tension and unspoken fear. Crickets chirped softly. The forest held its breath.
Timmy reached out.
The air bit at his fingers—sharp, electric, but not painful. Something tugged—not with force, but with memory. With blood and loyalty. Something ancient and wordless.
If he lost Spud now...
Suddenly, a firm hand gripped his wrist.
Timmy spun around, heart pounding, ready to fight—then froze.
A man stood there.
“Chum?” Timmy’s voice caught in his throat.
The Huntmaster. No armor, no cloak of shadow. Just a weathered man, steady and calm. His eyes were steady and unreadable—no judgment, no command—just solid presence.
Inside the cabin, Spud rose unsteadily, brushing ash and dust from his shoulders. The storm’s fury had ebbed, but its echoes still clung to the air, lingering like smoke.
The portal no longer roared. Instead, it hung suspended—a low, steady hum vibrating through the very air, like the world holding its breath in anticipation.
Less a threat.
More... a question waiting for an answer.
Spud felt a heavy pull deep in his chest—not pain, not fear—but like gravity drawing him forward.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzifBBoZzS6
His legs moved on their own.
Ahead, past the flickering firelight, an armchair waited. It was tall-backed, its leather worn smooth from years of use, shaped like a familiar companion.
The firelight danced across the stone walls, casting shadows over shifting constellations: lions crowned with flames, wings torn by wind, crowns cracked in two.
Spud recognized those symbols—not from books, but from somewhere deeper: half-remembered dreams, whispered lullabies too old to recall, warnings carved into the world itself.
A heavy weight settled on his shoulders. This place—this moment—was older than him. Bigger. Fragile.
And now, he was part of it.
The chair began to turn.
Spud’s breath caught.
Each creak echoed in his chest—slow, deliberate. This was no welcome. It was a summons.
The chair faced him fully. Its dark surface gleamed in the firelight, carved by hands that seemed to remember the world’s first breath. The shape was familiar, but its intent was anything but kind.
His feet twitched, urging him to step back. His body wanted to flee. But his soul held firm.
Then he saw the figure.
Motionless in the chair, draped in robes the color of midnight. Stars and crescents shimmered faintly on the fabric, glowing slow and steady, like breath beneath silk. The robe moved—not from any breeze, but as if the ocean itself was breathing beneath it.
Slowly, the figure raised both hands and pulled back the hood.
Spud inhaled sharply.
The face beneath was ancient and ageless. Skin drawn tight in deliberate lines, each marked by time’s patient hand. Yet beneath the wear of centuries, there was a profound stillness—undisturbed, not frozen by immortality, but beyond time itself.
Their eyes were deep blue—like dusk after a storm. Eyes shaped by falling stars and forgotten empires.
Under that gaze, Spud felt himself shrink—small, mortal. But not unseen.
The presence gave no comfort, no cruelty. Only a stillness so complete it silenced the chaos in his mind. Not peace from safety, but peace from survival. From walking through fire and not being consumed.
His heart stumbled.
The stars stitched along the robe’s sleeves—he’d seen them before. In the clearing. Beneath the storm. The one who stood between them and death.
Could this be the one who saved them?
The figure lowered their gaze, long fingers moving carefully over an open book in their lap. Each motion deliberate, reverent, like turning the pages of something alive.
Spud watched, unable to look away. Each gentle brush of the figure’s fingers stirred something deep within him—a feeling distant yet familiar, like an answer his bones remembered but his mind had long forgotten.
The room seemed to hold its breath, thick with silence and waiting.
Then the figure’s eyes lifted and met his.
Not hostile. Not warm. Searching.
Spud flinched—not from fear, but under the crushing weight of being truly seen—not just his thoughts, but everything.
Every wound.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs0AGlaaVO9
Every mistake.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI6Q5v9wLwk
Every flicker of courage he hadn’t even known he had.
And in those deep, ageless eyes, something stirred.
Not pity.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeVU6hlaYPt
Not judgment.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpWnHmU66cG
Recognition.
Understanding.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIn5UgUvH0u
Of fear.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh0K7JakAgW
Of doubt.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1dlqIQdxUe
Of the quiet courage it takes to keep moving when every part of you wants to run.
Spud staggered back a step, breath quick and uneven.
But his gaze held firm.
In that fragile moment—between heartbeats, between worlds—he understood one thing:
He was not alone.
Slowly, he turned away.
Before him, the portal shimmered.
Like starlight rippling over black water.
Its surface shifted, veiling truths too vast for words.
It didn’t ask.
It waited.
Outside, Chum stepped forward, his weathered face taut with focus.
His eyes studied the rippling veil, reading its shifting patterns like tracks in fresh snow.
Timmy lurched toward the portal, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.
Chum lifted a steady hand.
“Stay back, boy. I got this.”
The voice was quiet, but carried the weight of storms weathered and battles survived.
Timmy froze, fists clenched tight, torn between frustration and helplessness.
Inside, Spud lingered at the portal’s edge, caught between the steady gaze of the robed figure and the silent pull of the unknown beyond the shimmering veil.
The cabin held its breath—suspended between firelight and starlight, between what was real and what defied explanation.
A choice waited.
Spud’s eyes flicked between the swirling portal and the robed figure.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTH5qJsrD4P
Fear tangled with wonder inside him.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXST33EDS3r
He turned, ready to step back—26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7c3m3q5Hkc
—but his foot caught on something.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUMCm65qFa4
He stumbled, heart hammering, barely steadying himself.
At his feet lay an open, ancient book. Its cracked cover whispered secrets of forgotten times and lost truths.
The portal pulsed again—not with menace, but like an invitation.
Spud glanced between the book and the figure.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡE0T7CaRObk
The man met his hesitation with a quiet, knowing look—patient and unshaken.
Outside, Chum’s fingers hovered near the veil’s edge, searching.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfNrJe2w0iH
No sign of Spud.
Timmy sagged, dread pressing heavy against his chest like a stone.
Inside, the ancient book at Spud’s feet began to lift, as if breathed upon by an unseen force.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXxpK5L0mXR
Then another.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu0F1uB3BU6
Then another.
They rose slowly, drifting in a silent, hypnotic spiral around the robed figure.
The cabin’s air thickened—heavy with dust, old magic, and memories older than any living soul.
Spud stood rooted, chest tight, heartbeat caught between hope and dread.
Then the stillness shattered.
“You made it, child,” the figure’s voice rolled out—deep and low, resonating like an echo remembered from a time long past.
“I knew our paths would cross again.”
Spud’s breath caught, a shiver crawling up his spine.
“It’s you… You saved us.”
The man nodded, humility softening his ageless face.
“I played but a small part.”
Drawn by awe and urgency, Spud stepped closer, eyes searching.
“How did you know I’d come here?”
The figure’s eyes darkened—like storm-tossed seas, ancient depths stirring beneath.
“Your time here is brief,” he said softly.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3A6d6JJRSR
“But I sense you carry a question more urgent than you realize.”
Spud faltered, then whispered,26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPyV15sCnQT
“What did you mean when you said—‘He’ll remember my face’?”
A faint smile touched the man’s lips.
“When things become more otherworldly than alien, you’ll remember these words.”
Confusion tightened Spud’s brow.
“I don’t understand.”
The man’s smile deepened, shadows flickering in his eyes like shooting stars tracing silent paths across a night sky.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJlsOkLpqYf
“Goodbye, young Spud.”
Outside, the portal shimmered once more, its veil thinning like mist at dawn.
Chum’s weathered hands hovered near the edge, tracing the shifting patterns as if reading ancient runes carved fresh in snow.
Timmy stood frozen at the edge of the portal, eyes wide, heart pounding like a drum. Inside, Spud felt a sudden surge—a whirlwind of color, sound, and light spinning faster and louder, filling the air with a dizzying chorus of memories.
Then—without warning—
A hand shot through the shimmering void, fingers grabbing Spud’s shoulder tight. He was yanked violently through the roaring vortex, wind and light clawing at him, the world fracturing around him—
—and then silence.
Spud hit the ground hard, but soft moss cushioned his fall. He gasped, lungs filling with the damp, earthy scent of moss and woodsmoke—a sharp reminder that he was back in a living, breathing world.
Relief swept over him, but beneath it, a heavier feeling lingered—an ache from what he had left behind. The portal, the cabin, the star-cloaked figure—all fading like a half-remembered dream.
“Spud!” Timmy’s voice cracked through the haze, raw with relief and fear. The sound pulled him back as Timmy wrapped him in a tight, trembling embrace. Spud clung to that warmth, desperate for something solid, something familiar.
His heart pounded, chest tight with a jumble of feelings—relief, confusion, awe. What had just happened? Was it real? The stranger’s words echoed in his mind—unsettling and incomplete—questions stirring deep inside.
Around them, the forest breathed quietly—the crackle of distant fire, the hum of ancient stones beneath the earth, and a faint pulse of magic threading through the land. Some things endured, even when everything else felt uncertain.
The portal’s glow faded away, leaving only memory behind. Spud felt loss—and a flicker of hope.
Chum stepped closer, his weathered face softening with relief. “You all right, lad?”
Spud nodded slowly. The word “fine” felt fragile on his tongue. Inside, he wasn’t sure he was okay—not yet.
Timmy laughed, a breathless sound caught between sob and joy. “Lucky that. Else Mum would kill me.”
Spud gave a small smile as Timmy hugged him again, tighter this time. Their laughter broke through the tension—a fragile shield against the unknown.
But even as he leaned into Timmy’s arms, Spud’s eyes drifted to the spot where the portal had been. A faint shimmer lingered at the edge of his vision—a quiet reminder this wasn’t over.
His heart whispered the truth: this was only the beginning.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAgduaOPaGm
and then Add to home screen.