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Thane wakes in Arbelon mid-escape, injured and bound to a stolen horse as the group rides deeper into the forest to stay ahead of the Riders. When they finally stop, Lirien tends his wound and offers him a rare moment of kindness before Kaelir reveals they are heading next to Comstock, where they hope to disappear before the hunt catches up.
Chapter 12 - A Hog’s Breath Welcome
The road narrowed as they approached the village, hemmed in by forest on both sides. Thick-trunked trees leaned in close, their limbs gnarled like old fingers. Purple hues of dusk crept through the branches overhead, turning the forest to shadow. The air was still but not silent—just hushed, like the trees were listening. The steady clop of hooves echoed off the packed earth, joined by the soft rush of a nearby river weaving in and out of view between the trees.
A crooked wooden sign marked the path ahead: Comstock — the paint faded, half-swallowed by moss and time.
Thane squinted at it, unimpressed. The name meant nothing to him—but something about the hush in the trees made him wish it did.
Kaelir rode ahead without pause, clearly familiar with the way.
As they crested a small rise, the trees opened into a hollow, revealing the village nestled at the river’s bend. Wooden cottages with neat thatched roofs clustered together, each with a stone chimney puffing thin trails of smoke into the cool night air. Their windows were aglow with lamplight casting golden reflections off the water that threaded between the buildings. A series of charming wooden bridges arched over the gently moving current, connecting paths and cottages like veins in a living map.
Comstock was no sprawling city—but the neatly stacked firewood and freshly swept stoops marked a community that took pride in its own. It pulsed with life, as people moved briskly to finish their day’s work. A butcher hauled a basket of game into his shop. Two kids darted past, laughing, before vanishing down a side lane. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked once, then fell silent. There was movement, warmth, and a quiet sort of vigilance behind every glance from the villagers.
It didn’t look like a place that welcomed visitors. It looked like a place that didn’t get many.
As they passed through the narrow main road, villagers paused in their evening routines, eyes drawn to the visitors. Conversations dimmed briefly, but then carried on in hushed tones.
Thane noted the unease—not fear, exactly, but a wariness likely sharpened by the fact that they were on the Riders’ horses. Stolen. And from the eyes directed their way, it was clear everyone here knew as much.
They kept moving, following Kaelir across a wooden bridge. At the far end of the main road, nestled between a leaning stable and an old stone well, stood a squat timber building. Faded green shingles adorned the roof, and a matching wooden sign swung gently above the door: The Hog’s Breath Inn.
“You weren’t kidding,” Erynn said, eyeing the rustic porch. “Somehow exactly what I expected… and still worse,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose.
Kaelir dismounted with a grunt that might’ve been a laugh. “That’s the charm.”
As the others dismounted, several villagers slowed to watch them. Not their faces—their horses.
Thane caught it too. The gray mounts still wore the Rider’s tack—impossible to miss.
A gruff voice rang out from the Inn’s open doorway, “Just take the horses to the stable.”
A burly man stepped out onto the porch, wiping his hands on a stained apron. His beard was thick and streaked with gray, one eye clouded with cataract. The other fixed sharply on Kaelir.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you unless someone was dragging your body behind a cart.”
Kaelir offered a half-smile. “Give it time.”
The man smiled, his good eye flicked over the group, then down to the horses. His mouth thinned. “You bringin’ trouble to my doorstep, or just asking for a drink?”
“Little of both,” Kaelir said. “We need these horses to disappear.”
The man snorted. “Yeah, no kidding. Whole damn valley’ll know those beasts.”
“This is Garrus,” Kaelir said over his shoulder. “Owner. Cook. Tavern-keep. Disgruntled local legend.”
Garrus eyed the horses again. “I’ll see they go missing by morning. But if you brought trouble with you—”
“We’ll be gone by first light,” Kaelir said.
“You better be,” Garrus muttered, before hollering to the stablehands. “Now, get inside,” he said, motioning them forward. “You’re making the neighbors nervous.”
Inside, the Inn was anything but subtle. Warm candlelight spilled across timber walls and mismatched rugs. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread clung to the air. A wide hearth dominated one end of the room, the fire within crackling and bright.
The place was alive with low chatter and clinking mugs. A handful of locals were gathered at tables—hunters in well-worn cloaks, traders passing through, a couple of locals dicing quietly by the bar.
Light from the hearth spilled across the polished wood floor. A rack of drying herbs hung behind the bar, filling the room with an earthy scent. A hunting spear and a stuffed black-feathered bird hung over the mantle. Trophies. Part inn, part gathering spot, and apparently the unofficial seat of Comstock’s secretive charm.
A few heads turned as the group entered—mostly to stare at the newcomers’ clothes, and more pointedly, at the Riders’ horses now stationed out front.
Garrus waved them toward a large table near the hearth, where he was already clearing it with exaggerated grumbling.
“This one’s yours,” he said. “No one else wants it now, anyway.”
“Because of us?” Erynn asked.
“Because I said so.”
Garrus brought out a round of mugs without being asked, slapping them down with a muttered, “House ale. Still awful.”
Cael sniffed his suspiciously. Erynn didn’t even touch hers.
Thane took a sip. Bitter. Earthy. Weirdly strong. He winced, and set the mug down like it might bite him. “Shit, awful is an understatement.”
“It’s tradition,” Garrus called from across the room, as Kaelir patted Thane on the back with a chuckle before taking a sip of his own.
“You’ll live,” Lirien said, sliding onto the bench beside him as Garrus returned with bowls of a thick, meat-heavy stew that smelled far better than it looked.
Garrus dropped it all with a grunt. “Eat up. You’ll need it.”
Thane dipped his spoon and blinked. “Okay. This food has no right tasting this good.”
“Arbelon’s full of contradictions. This inn’s one of the better ones,” Cael said quietly.
Thane scanned the tavern like he was in a cutscene. A bar full of locals. A roaring fire. A mysterious innkeeper. He half-expected to see a quest board by the bar.
The fire popped loudly from across the room. A moment later, a lanky man stepped onto a small platform in the corner with a lute in hand. He didn’t speak—just strummed once, twice, and then began to play.
The tune was slow and minor, a sad melody that wove through the corners of the inn, softening conversations, lowering voices.
Thane’s spoon paused halfway to his mouth. The music was oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place it. And the longer the bard played, the more the familiarity grew.
Thane leaned forward, listening despite himself.
The song spoke of a traveler bound by fate. Of a city sealed in silence, a land swallowed whole by whispers. Of voices that called from beyond, promising salvation or ruin. The lyrics were old—older than memory, it felt like. Yet, every note vibrated with something personal, like a thread pulled taut inside him.
It didn’t name Thane. But it didn’t have to.
Erynn’s fingers curled around her mug, as she took a sip, her eyes fixed on the bard. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s not a song. It’s a sign.”
“You can say that again,” Cael said, glancing briefly in her direction.
Lirien’s gaze also didn’t leave the bard. “They say this song’s older than the Codex. No one knows who wrote it, or where it came from.”
“It’s just always been,” Erynn added, her voice uneasy. “The Ballad of the Broken—it tells a story of redemption.” She turned to Thane. “Perhaps your story.”
“Correction,” Cael interrupted. “Not perhaps. It is about him,” he added, matching her gaze.
Lirien’s eyes flicked toward Thane, then to Erynn. Just for a moment. Then back to the bard.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Thane said, shaking his head slightly. “There’s no way that’s about me. I just got here.”
Almost on cue, the bard hit a riff rising into a theatrical crescendo. The bard didn’t look at them, didn’t seem to notice them at all. His eyes were closed, his hands moving by memory.
And yet, Thane swore the man stole a glance at him during the final verse.
As the strumming of the strings ended, the bard bowed and slipped away, the lute cradled under his arm like something precious.
No applause. No questions. Just the slow return of clinking mugs and murmured conversation.
Thane stared at the stage, his stew forgotten.
The song still echoed. Like a warning. Or a promise.
Then the fire cracked loudly, like punctuation.
Minutes turned to hours, and the fire had burned low, throwing long shadows across the tavern floor. Most of the locals had drifted out with nods and yawns.
Garrus shuffled back into the room with a tray and began clearing away empty mugs. He eyed Kaelir on his way past.
“Don’t burn the place down,” he muttered. “But if you do, make sure you take the outhouse with it. Damn thing’s cursed.”
The group chuckled softly, and Garrus vanished with a final grunt. The tavern door closed behind him, and the room fell into a gentle hush. Just the firelight, the creak of wood settling, and the faint murmur of the river outside.
“So the Test is in the shadowed city of Salile,” Erynn said as she reached into her satchel and pulled out a small, weatherworn scroll, unfolding it on the table. A map. The others leaned in.
“To avoid prying eyes, we’ll need to move before first light heading north,” she said, tracing a path from Comstock toward the mountains at the southern edge of the Wastelands. As her finger moved along the map, she paused, holding it in place. “We’ll camp here —it’ll be a push, but worth it. And this ridge?” She moved her finger just a bit more. “The Codex says it holds some of the oldest trees in Arbelon.”
Lirien leaned closer, brushing her fingers against a trail that cut through the hills. “We’ll need to avoid this stretch here—too exposed.”
Kaelir nodded. “We’ll stick to the wooded paths. This stretch past the ridge will slow us down, but it’s safer.”
Thane watched them—all clustered around the table, heads together, murmuring like they’d done this a thousand times. Like this world mattered.
“Why do you care so much about this prophecy?” Thane asked, his voice softer than usual. “About me? I mean, you just risked your lives with those Riders.”
Erynn blinked, surprised by the question. She straightened slightly. “Because you might be the one who can save us. And because… I believe in what the Codex says.”
“And I believe in what I’ve seen,” Lirien added quietly, briefly looking away from the map in his direction.
No one spoke for a moment. The fire crackled, throwing flickers of light across their faces.
Cael leaned back slightly, voice calm and steady. “Belief isn’t just about prophecies, Thane. It’s about what we choose to fight for.”
Thane stood slowly, walking a few steps closer to the hearth, eyes fixed on the flames. They danced and twirled like something alive. The bard’s melody still pulsed within him, but something darker stirred beneath it—coiled and waiting.
He ran through the whispers he’d heard in his head since loading into this place—each one relentlessly prodding him forward. Even the one from his bedroom.
But how was that even possible?
Memory or madness, he wasn’t sure. But the words in the song and the ones in his head—they were too close. Too aligned.
There were no whispers now. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching.
“I’ve been hearing something,” he said quietly. “A voice, in my head. It speaks to me. It says things. But it’s… not normal.”
Chairs scraped softly as heads turned. Cael’s brow furrowed, but before he could speak, Erynn perked up, her tone shifting from curiosity to concern.
“A voice, speaking to you? That’s not in the Codex.” She frowned, thinking. “But sometimes I hear things too, so it’s not that strange.”
“I wish we could dismiss it that easily,” Cael said. His voice had gone grave, all warmth gone. “But if it is what I think it is, then this voice—it’s very old and very dangerous.”
Erynn frowned, reaching into her satchel, pulling out her copy of the Codex. She set it on the table with a thump, fingers jumping to various pages before she looked up again. “I swear there’s no mention of the Chosen One hearing voices, but that doesn’t mean it’s meaningless. It could be a sign.”
Thane turned, arms crossed. “Oh, great. More signs. Should I add hearing creepy whispers to my résumé as your savior?”
“Mock it if you want,” Cael said flatly. “But be careful. If this is what I think it is… Echo may already have its eye on you.”
The name landed like a weight.
Erynn stiffened. “Echo? As in… the old stories? The Echo of the Rending?”
Cael nodded. “Older than stories. It was a force even the Architects feared. Something that twists magic and memory. If it’s stirring again—”
“Then we’re already behind,” Kaelir said quietly.
Silence fell. The map still lay open, the lines and paths glowing faintly in the firelight.
Lirien stood first, brushing dust from her cloak. “We need to rest.” Her eyes lingered on Thane a moment, unreadable, then she turned and headed for the stairs.
Erynn hesitated before following. Then Kaelir rose. “We leave early,” he said, then gave Thane a look that was hard to place—part concern, part challenge—and disappeared upstairs.
Cael stood last, his hand briefly touching Thane’s shoulder. “Whatever’s whispering to you… don’t listen too closely.” Then he followed the others.
Thane stayed by the hearth.
He listened.
No whispers came. But the silence felt worse.
As he rose to head to bed, Thane paused. A weight at his wrist caught his attention—a dull pressure, familiar and out of place.
The watch. His dad’s watch. Somehow he hadn’t noticed it before, not since loading back into Arbelon. But there it was, worn and scuffed, the second hand still ticking away.
He stared at it for a long moment. It didn’t make sense. Nothing else he wore on Earth had come with him. And yet… here it was.
A chill ran through him. He tugged his sleeve down over it and said nothing. It’s best to keep this to himself. At least until he understood it better.
And then, for just a moment, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—Arbelon was actually real.
Then he buried it deep. There’s no way it could be.
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