One of the elders stepped forward.

  He was younger than most of the others—maybe late forties—with a thick brown beard and a long scar cutting down his right cheek, breaking the beard into a ragged line. His robes were plain, stitched at the shoulders where heavy use had worn them thin. Still, he carried himself with a kind of steady weight.

  He raised one hand, and the crowd quieted further.

  When he spoke, his voice was rough but clear, carrying across the square without effort.

  “Listen well, everyone,” he said. “These past few weeks, the number of beast sightings around Fallen Mist has risen sharply. Too sharply.”

  A low murmur rippled through the gathered villagers.

  The elder continued, his face grim. “Fields torn up. Herd animals gone missing. Homes left empty. What’s more, the beasts are getting bolder. Coming closer to the village, even in daylight.”

  He let the words settle like stones dropped in a pond.

  Several people shifted uneasily.

  “For the safety of the village,” the elder said, “the council has agreed to put a curfew in place. No one is to leave the village bounds after sunset. No wandering into the woods, no fishing at the south stream, no late work in the paddies. If you’re caught outside after dark, you’re on your own. Everyone is to move into the town. Where we can all protect each other.”

  The crowd stirred at that. Muttering. A few loud whispers.

  Then a sharp voice rang out from the left side of the square.

  “What’re we supposed to do, Elder Tian?!” a stocky farmer shouted, jabbing his hand in the air. “You telling us to starve? How’re we supposed to feed our families if we can’t tend the fields properly? And are you expecting us to sleep on the streets. Surely it’s not that bad.”

  A ripple of agreement passed through the crowd. Others nodded, voices rising in grumbled support.

  Elder Tian folded his arms across his chest, frowning but saying nothing.

  Instead, another figure stepped forward.

  An older woman, grey-haired and sharp-eyed, wearing simple work robes tied neatly at the waist. She was shorter, her back bowed slightly with age, but her presence stilled the noise quickly.

  She raised one hand in a calming gesture.

  “We understand,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “We all know the price of a wasted harvest. Of leaving your home unattended.”

  She glanced over the crowd, meeting eyes without flinching.

  “But Fallen Mist is small. Always has been. We survive because we lean on each other. We don’t leave anyone behind. We will all get by, hunters will still go out during the day. Homes will be opened to farmers. We will all work together.”

  Her words carried easily through the square, smoothing some of the tension.

  She stepped down one stair, closer to the villagers.

  “We’ll work the fields earlier,” she said. “Shift the hours. If some can’t work, they’ll help elsewhere. No one will go without food. No one will be left alone.”

  The murmurs died down, replaced by nods and a few relieved sighs.

  “We’ve survived worse,” the older woman said. “And we’ll survive this.”

  There was a finality in her voice that left no room for argument.

  Elder Tian lifted his head again.

  “We’ve sent word to the Fallen Mist Sect,” he said. “For aid. Whatever they can spare.”

  Another ripple of conversation passed through the villagers, softer this time.

  A younger man beside me muttered, “like they will actually answer.”

  But no one spoke loud enough to challenge the decision.

  Elder Tian scanned the crowd one last time, then gave a firm nod.

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  “For the safety of Fallen Mist,” he said.

  “For Fallen Mist,” several voices echoed back half heartedly.

  Fi Yan grabbed my sleeve and gave it a tug.

  “Does that mean no more frog taming?” she asked, her voice mournful.

  I closed my eyes and facepalmed.

  “Come on, you menace,” I muttered.

  We started making our way back toward Master Kai’s clinic, weaving between the thinning crowd.

  But before we got far, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

  The village elder, Tian, I thought his name was, stepped down from the platform. His robe brushed the stone stairs as he moved toward us, his expression unreadable beneath that thick brown beard.

  I straightened instinctively, feeling Fi Yan shift nervously beside me.

  When he reached us, Elder Tian gave the slightest bow at the waist.

  I hesitated, then mirrored it, lowering my head briefly.

  When I looked up, the corner of his mouth twitched into a small, approving smile.

  “You move well for someone who nearly bled out on our doorstep,” he said.

  “I’m feeling much better, thanks to Master Kai.”

  Tian’s voice softened slightly. “I’m sorry, I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Tian Fei. I wanted to thank you, Fang Wu. For saving Wei Lin.”

  He glanced toward the fields behind me.

  “I knew his father well, when we were both younger and much less wise. It’s good to see someone stand up for the boy when he needed it.”

  The thought of his mother’s open throat replayed in the back of my mind.

  “I didn’t do much. He looked after himself.”

  He gave a quiet hum, like he didn’t quite believe that but wasn’t going to argue.

  “The village is going to need men like you in the coming days,” Elder Tian said, his voice dipping low enough that only I could hear it. “Rest up while you can.”

  Before I could respond, he clapped a hand lightly on my shoulder and turned away.

  I caught movement up near the council platform. The other elders were still there, standing just beneath the faded banners of the sect building, their eyes following me across the square.

  I shifted my weight and looked away.

  Fi Yan tugged my sleeve again. “Come on, slowpoke.”

  I let her pull me along.

  The streets were clearing now, villagers drifting back to their homes and shops. Lanterns were being lit, their warm glow pushing against the deepening twilight.

  We made it back to the healer’s just as Master Kai was stepping out onto the porch.

  He spotted us immediately.

  His eyes narrowed into slits, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Fi Yan,” he said, his voice sharp, “what did I tell you about running off without finishing your chores?”

  She ducked her head, suddenly very interested in the toes of her sandals.

  “And you,” Master Kai added, jabbing a finger at me. “Out of bed already? Spirits above, boy—you think a few hours of sleep fixes torn flesh and blood loss?”

  I lifted my hands defensively. “Just needed some air.”

  “Air,” he repeated dryly. “Next time you collapse in the street, don’t come crying to me then.”

  Despite his words, there was no real anger in his tone. Just a deep-seated exhaustion—and maybe, just maybe, a little relief.

  I offered a small, sheepish nod and followed him inside.

  Fi Yan scampered in after me, still muttering under her breath about “no sense of adventure.”

  The door swung shut behind us, sealing out the last light of day.

  I followed Master Kai through the narrow hallways of the clinic.

  The place wasn’t large by any means, just a handful of rooms branching off a crooked main corridor but it was solid. Built from riverstone and timber, thick enough to hold against both weather and time. A far cry from the cabin out by the fields.

  I winced at the thought.

  The cabin was gone now. Broken and splintered, its walls torn apart, the old roof caved in. I’d come to enjoy it out there. In the quiet.

  And now it was just another ruin.

  The pang of loss caught me by surprise. I pushed it down and kept walking.

  We reached a heavy oak door, slightly ajar, and Master Kai nudged it open with the heel of his boot.

  The sharp tang of herbs filled the room instantly. Thick. Bitter. It clung to the air like a second skin. Dried bundles hung from the ceiling beams all twisting slowly in the faint breeze from the window. I had no idea what they were but they must have been important, judging from how many there were.

  Wei Lin lay in the center of it all, swallowed by the bed.

  He looked even thinner than I remembered.

  His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. His face was pale, almost translucent in the half-light, and his hair clung to his forehead in damp strands. His torso was wrapped so tightly in bandages that there wasn’t an inch of skin visible. The fabric was stained faintly red in places, where the blood had seeped through.

  I stepped closer, my hand tightening around the doorframe without meaning to.

  “He’ll live,” Master Kai said from behind me. His voice was quiet but certain. “Barring fever or spirit slippage, he’ll pull through. Just needs time.”

  I nodded without looking back.

  Master Kai gave a low grunt, then turned and herded Fi Yan away with a few sharp words about chores and ‘not pestering the half-dead.’

  The door clicked shut softly behind them, leaving me alone with Wei Lin.

  I pulled a chair over and sat heavily beside the bed.

  For a long time, I just watched him.

  The steady, fragile rise and fall of his chest.

  The small twitches of his fingers every now and then, like his body was fighting even in his sleep.

  The memories clawed their way up.

  The fight.

  The blood.

  The moment I realized I couldn’t save her.

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, letting the weight of it all settle.

  And then, very quietly, I said, “Sorry.”

  Not really to him.

  More to myself.

  Sorry for not being stronger.

  Sorry for letting another person get hurt while I stood there, too slow, too weak, too human.

  Sorry for surviving when others didn’t.

  I pressed my hands together, fingers locking tight.

  And sitting there, in the silence, I made a promise.

  I wouldn’t let this happen again.

  I didn’t care how far I had to go. How much blood, sweat, or Qi it took.

  I would become strong enough.

  Strong enough that the next time death came, I could stand between it and the people who needed me and not move.

  I sat there until the light outside faded into a soft violet dusk. Until the ache in my chest dulled into something cold and steady.

  Until the promise was no longer just words, but something hard, like iron, forged deep inside my bones.

  Only then did I lean back, resting my head against the wall, and let my eyes close for a while.

  Tomorrow would come fast.

  And I had work to do.

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