Errant

( Centuries before Silver Tide)

 

CHAPTER 1: THE WANDERER

 

The Forest spoke in whispers.

He had learned to listen.

He moved through the trees with the ease of someone who Belonged there, his boots soft against the moss-covered ground, his breath steady and unhurried. The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled light across his path. Somewhere to his left, a stream murmured over smooth stones. Ahead, a hawk called out, circling high above the Valley.

He paused, tilted his head, and Listened.

Not with his ears alone—though he heard the rustle of leaves, the distant crack of a branch, the soft hum of insects in the undergrowth. He listened with something deeper, something he'd never been able to name. A sense that reached beyond sound, beyond sight, into the pulse of the World itself.

The Forest was calm today. No danger. No storms brewing on the horizon. Just the quiet rhythm of Life continuing as it always had.

He exhaled, shoulders relaxing, and continued walking.

Swift followed a few paces behind, the brown saddle horse picking his way carefully over roots and uneven ground. The horse's ears flicked forward, attentive, trusting. He didn't need to look back to know Swift was there. He could feel him—the steady presence, the warmth, the unspoken bond between them.

"Good day for it," he said aloud, his voice low and easy. "No rain. No wind. Just us and the trees."

Swift snorted softly, as if in agreement.

He smiled.

He'd been talking to Swift for as long as he could remember—which, admittedly, wasn't very long. Seven years. That's all he had. Seven years of memory, of existence, of Being.

Before that?

Nothing.

He'd woken in these Woods at fourteen years old, alone and confused, with no past and no answers. No family. No home. No name, even. He'd never chosen one. What was the point? There was no one to call him anything. Swift didn't need a name for him. The Forest didn't ask.

He was just... here.

He'd survived because the land had taught him. The Forest had spoken, and he had listened. He'd learned which plants were safe to eat, which streams ran clean, where to find shelter when the storms came. He'd learned to move quietly, to read the sky, to sense when danger was near.

And he'd found Swift.

The horse had been Wild then, young and skittish, but he had approached him slowly, carefully, speaking in low tones until Swift had allowed him close. They'd been Together ever since.

He didn't know why he could do the things he did—why he could Listen the way he did, why the world seemed to answer him. He only knew it was part of him, as natural as breathing.

He didn't question it anymore.

The trees began to thin ahead, opening into a small clearing bathed in golden light. He stepped into it, pausing to let the sun warm his face. The air smelled of pine and earth and something faintly sweet—wildflowers, maybe, blooming somewhere nearby.

He closed his eyes and breathed it in.

This was Home. Not a place, exactly—he had a cabin, a small structure he'd built himself a few miles West—but this feeling. The Wilderness. The quiet. The Freedom.

He opened his eyes and glanced around the clearing, taking in the familiar details: the ring of stones where he sometimes built a fire, the fallen log he used as a seat, the patch of clover where Swift liked to graze.

And then—

Silence.

Complete, unnatural silence.

He froze.

The birds had stopped singing. The insects had gone quiet. Even the stream seemed muted, as if the World itself had drawn a breath and held it.

Swift shifted uneasily behind him, ears pinned back.

He Listened.

Something was here.

Not a predator. Not a storm. Something else. Something that didn't belong. The Forest had sensed it—pulled back from it, gone still in its presence.

And so had he.

His pulse quickened. His hand moved instinctively to the knife at his belt, though he didn't draw it. He scanned the clearing, searching for movement, for a threat.

And then he saw it.

At the center of the clearing, half-buried in the soft earth, something gleamed.

He frowned and stepped closer, cautious, every sense on high alert.

It was small—no larger than his palm—and circular, like a coin or a medallion. But it wasn't metal. It was something else. Something that caught the light and held it, shimmering faintly even in the shadows.

He crouched down, brushing away the dirt with careful fingers.

The object was smooth and cool to the touch, its surface etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shift when he looked at them too long. It hummed faintly—not a sound, exactly, but a vibration he could feel in his chest, in his bones.

His breath caught.

He listened.

The Disk—because that's what it was, he realized, a Disk of some kind—thrummed with Power. Not loud or violent, but deep and steady, like a heartbeat. It felt... Important. Ancient. Alive.

He didn't know what it was or where it had come from. But he knew, with absolute certainty, that it hadn't been here yesterday.

It had appeared.

The Forest had sensed it. The birds had fled from it. The very air had changed around it.

And now, so had he.

He lifted the Disk carefully, cradling it in his palm. It was lighter than he'd expected, almost weightless, but the hum intensified the moment he touched it. His skin tingled. His pulse quickened.

Swift whinnied softly behind him, uneasy.

"I know," he murmured, not taking his eyes off the Disk. "I feel it too."

He should leave it. He should bury it again, walk away, forget he'd ever seen it.

But he couldn't.

The Disk Mattered. He didn't know why or how, but he could feel it in the same way he could feel the Forest, the wind, the turning of the Seasons. This was Meant to be found. Meant to be kept Safe.

He closed his fingers around it and stood.

"We'll take it with us," he said quietly, slipping the Disk into the leather pouch at his belt. "Just for now. Until I figure out what it is."

Swift tossed his head, still uneasy, but didn't protest.

He rested a hand on the horse's neck, steadying him. "It's all right. We'll be careful."

The moment the Disk left the clearing, the Forest exhaled.

The birds began to sing again. The insects resumed their hum. The stream murmured as it had before.

But something had changed.

He could feel it.

He didn't know, then, how wrong he was.

He didn't know that taking the disk would change everything.

That it would bring shadows to his door.

That it would bring him.

But for now, in the golden light of the clearing, he felt only curiosity and a strange, quiet certainty.

He had found something Important.

And he would Protect it.

CHAPTER 2: THE FIRST SHADOW

 

The unease didn't leave.

Three days had passed since he'd found the Disk, and the feeling had only grown stronger. It sat in the leather pouch at his belt, silent and still, but he could feel it. Always. A low hum beneath his skin, a weight that had nothing to do with its size.

He'd tried to ignore it.

He went about his days as he always had—checking his snares, gathering firewood, refilling his water skins at the stream. He talked to Swift, cooked simple meals over his fire, slept under the stars when the weather was fair.

But the Disk was always there.

And so was the feeling that something had changed.

The Forest felt different now. Not hostile, exactly, but... watchful. The birds still sang, the wind still moved through the trees, but there was a tension in the air that hadn't been there before. As if the World itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Swift felt it too.

The horse had been skittish ever since they'd left the clearing. His ears swiveled constantly, listening for threats that never materialized. He startled at shadows, at the snap of twigs, at nothing at all.

"Easy," he murmured, running a hand along Swift's neck as they walked through the Forest. "Nothing's here. We're fine."

But even as he said it, he didn't believe it.

He Listened.

The Forest whispered back, but the message was unclear. No danger. No storm. Just... something. Something out of place. Something wrong.

He exhaled slowly and kept walking.

By midday, they reached the ridge overlooking the Valley—a favorite spot of his, where the trees thinned and the land opened up into rolling hills and distant mountains. He often came here to think, to watch the hawks circle overhead, to feel the wind on his face.

Today, he came hoping the open air would ease the tension coiled in his chest.

It didn't.

He stood at the edge of the ridge, one hand resting on Swift's shoulder, and scanned the Valley below. Green and gold in the afternoon light, peaceful and familiar. Nothing moved except the wind through the grass.

And then—

A figure.

Far below, at the edge of the tree line, someone stood watching.

His breath caught.

He couldn't make out details from this distance—just a shape, tall and still, dark against the lighter backdrop of the Forest. But even from here, he could feel it.

Wrong.

Swift snorted sharply and backed up a step, ears pinned flat.

He tightened his grip on the reins, his pulse quickening. "I see him."

The figure didn't move. Didn't call out. Just stood there, watching.

Watching him.

His hand moved instinctively to the pouch at his belt, fingers brushing the disk's smooth surface. The hum intensified, vibrating against his palm.

The figure tilted its head.

And then, slowly, deliberately, it raised one hand—pointing directly at him.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

He didn't wait to see what would happen next.

"Go," he said sharply, swinging up into the saddle. "Swift, go!"

The horse didn't need to be told twice. He wheeled around and bolted back into the trees, hooves pounding against the earth, branches whipping past as they plunged deeper into the Forest.

He didn't look back.

He didn't need to.

He could feel it—the presence behind him, the weight of eyes on his back, the certainty that whoever that was, they weren't going to stop.

They rode hard for an hour, cutting through dense undergrowth and narrow trails only he knew. Swift's breath came in sharp bursts, foam flecking his neck, but the horse didn't slow.

Finally, when the sun had dipped low and the shadows had grown long, he pulled Swift to a halt in a small hollow surrounded by thick pines. The horse trembled beneath him, sides heaving.

He dismounted quickly, scanning the trees, Listening.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No movement. Just the wind and the fading light.

But the feeling hadn't left.

He led Swift deeper into the hollow, where the trees grew close together and the ground was soft with pine needles. A good place to hide. A good place to wait.

He unsaddled the horse, checked him over for injuries, and offered him water from a nearby stream. Swift drank gratefully, but his ears stayed alert, swiveling at every sound.

"I know," he murmured, resting his forehead against the horse's neck. "I don't like it either."

He built no fire that night.

Instead, he sat with his back against a tree, the Disk in his hand, and stared into the darkness.

Who was that?

Why were they watching him?

And how had they known where to find him?

The Disk hummed softly in his palm, warm and steady, as if answering a question he hadn't asked.

They're looking for this.

He closed his fingers around it, jaw tightening.

He didn't know what the Disk was. Didn't know what it could do, or why it Mattered. But he knew one thing with absolute certainty:

He wasn't going to let them have it.

Not without a fight.

The next morning, he woke to silence.

Not the unnatural stillness from the clearing—just the quiet of early dawn, before the birds began to sing. The air was cool and damp, mist clinging to the ground in soft patches.

Swift stood nearby, ears forward, alert but calm.

He exhaled slowly and rose to his feet, muscles stiff from sleeping on the ground. He packed quickly, efficiently, and swung back into the saddle.

"We'll head west," he said quietly. "Stay off the main trails. Keep to the dense cover."

Swift snorted in agreement.

They moved through the Forest like ghosts, silent and careful, avoiding open ground. He kept his senses sharp, listening for anything out of place.

 

For hours, there was nothing.

And then—

Swift stopped.

The horse's entire body went rigid, ears pinned back, nostrils flaring.

He froze, hand moving to the knife at his belt.

"What is it?"

And then he felt it.

The same wrongness from before. Closer now. Much closer.

He turned slowly in the saddle, scanning the trees—

And saw him.

The figure stood twenty paces away, half-hidden in shadow. Tall. Dark-haired. Dressed in black, with something gleaming at his side—metal, maybe, or something worse.

And his face—

His breath stopped.

The man looked exactly like him.

Same build. Same features.

Except the hair. Where his was blond, the stranger's was black as night. His eyes were storm gray instead of gold. He was paler. But everything else was the same.

They stared at each other in silence.

And then the stranger spoke, his voice low and cold.

"You have something that doesn't belong to you."

His heart pounded. His hand tightened on the reins.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The stranger's eyes narrowed. "Yes. You do."

He took a step forward.

Swift reared, panicked, and he barely kept his seat.

"Stay back!" he shouted, drawing his knife.

The stranger stopped—but not out of fear. Out of... confusion.

He tilted his head, studying him with an expression that was equal parts rage and disbelief.

"Why do you look like me?"

The question hung in the air between them, sharp and accusing.

He had no answer.

The stranger's jaw tightened. "What are you?"

"I don't know," he said, voice shaking. "I don't—I don't know who you are. I don't know why—"

"Give me the Disk."

His hand moved instinctively to the pouch at his belt.

The stranger's eyes followed the movement, and something dark flickered across his face.

"So you do have it."

He didn't answer.

The stranger took another step forward. "Give it to me. Now."

"No."

The word came out stronger than he felt.

The stranger's expression hardened. "You don't know what you're holding. You don't know what it can do. Give it to me, and I'll let you walk away."

"I said no."

For a long moment, they stood frozen—two mirrors staring at each other across an impossible divide.

And then the stranger moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

He yanked Swift's reins hard to the left, and the horse bolted just as something dark and sharp whistled through the air where his head had been a heartbeat before.

He didn't look back.

He just ran.

 

CHAPTER 3: THE MIRROR

 

He didn't stop running until the forest forced him to.

Swift crashed through the undergrowth, hooves pounding over roots and stones, breath coming in sharp, desperate bursts. Branches whipped past, tearing at his sleeves, his face. He ducked low in the saddle, urging the horse onward, deeper into the wild tangle of trees where the trails disappeared and the land grew rough.

Behind him—nothing.

No footsteps. No pursuit he could hear.

But he didn't slow down.

He could still feel it. The wrongness. The weight of eyes on his back.

The forest thickened around them, the trees growing closer together, their trunks gnarled and ancient. Moss clung to the bark in thick patches, soft and green, and the air smelled of damp earth and rotting leaves. Ferns unfurled in the shadows, their fronds brushing against Swift's legs as they pushed through.

Above, the canopy closed in, filtering the sunlight into thin, golden shafts that barely reached the ground. The World felt smaller here. Quieter. Safer.

He pulled Swift to a halt in a narrow ravine where the ground dipped sharply between two rocky outcroppings. Water trickled down the stone face on one side, pooling in a shallow basin before spilling over into a thin stream that wound its way through the ravine floor.

Swift's sides heaved, foam flecking his neck. He dismounted quickly, leading the horse to the water, letting him drink while he scanned the trees above.

Still nothing.

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady his racing heart.

What just happened?

The stranger's face flashed in his mind—identical to his own, except for the hair, the eyes, and his complexion. Other than that, he had the same build. The same everything.

Why do you look like me?

He didn't have an answer.

He didn't even know who he was, let alone who the stranger might be.

He crouched by the stream, splashing cold water on his face, trying to think. The Disk sat heavy in the pouch at his belt, humming faintly, as if aware of the danger.

'You have something that doesn't belong to you.'

The stranger had known. Had come looking for it.

But how?

And why did he look like—

A sound.

Faint. Distant. But unmistakable.

Footsteps.

His head snapped up.

Swift's ears pinned back, and the horse backed away from the stream, nostrils flaring.

He rose slowly, hand moving to his knife, and Listened.

The Forest had gone quiet again.

No birds. No insects. Just the soft trickle of water and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

And then—

"You can't run forever."

The voice came from above.

He spun, heart slamming against his ribs, and looked up.

The stranger stood on the rocky outcropping above the ravine, silhouetted against the sky. His dark hair caught the wind, and something gleamed at his side—metal, cold and sharp.

No.

Not metal.

Shadow.

The stranger's hand rested on the grip of a gun—but it wasn't like any gun he'd ever seen. It was black as night, its surface rippling faintly, as if made of smoke and Darkness given form. Tendrils of Shadow curled around the barrel, writhing like living things.

His breath caught.

"I told you," the stranger said, his voice low and cold. "Give me the Disk."

He didn't move. Didn't answer.

The stranger's eyes narrowed. "You don't even know what it is, do you?"

"No," he said quietly. "But I know you want it. And that's enough."

The stranger's jaw tightened. "You're a fool."

"Maybe."

For a long moment, they stared at each other—two mirrors separated by stone and shadow.

And then the stranger jumped.

He landed in the ravine with barely a sound, boots hitting the soft earth, the shadow-gun still in his hand. He straightened slowly, and for the first time, they stood face-to-face on level ground.

The resemblance was even more striking up close.

Same height. Same build. Same sharp features and steady gaze.

But where his own eyes held confusion and fear, the stranger's burned with something darker. Rage. Certainty. Purpose.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice shaking.

The stranger tilted his head. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I don't know."

"Convenient."

"It's the Truth!" His voice cracked. "I don't—I don't know who I am. I woke up in these woods seven years ago with no memory, no past, nothing. I don't know why I look like you. I don't know what this Disk is. I don't know anything."

The stranger studied him in silence, his expression unreadable.

And then, slowly, something shifted in his gaze. Not softening—but... uncertainty. Confusion.

"You really don't know," the stranger said quietly.

"No."

The stranger's hand tightened on the gun. "Then you're even more dangerous than I thought."

"What?"

"That Disk," the stranger said, nodding toward the pouch at his belt. "It doesn't belong in this World. It doesn't belong in any World. And you—" He gestured sharply. "You're errant. A stray. A fool stumbling around with something you can't possibly understand."

The word hit him like a blow.

Errant.

The stranger's lip curled. "You don't even have a name, do you?"

He didn't answer.

"Of course you don't." The stranger shook his head, disgust flickering across his face. "You're nothing. A blank slate. An accident."

The words stung more than they should have.

"Give me the Disk," the stranger said again, raising the gun. "Before you destroy everything."

"No."

The stranger's eyes flashed. "Then you'll die with it."

He moved.

Fast.

The shadow-gun fired—not with sound, but with a sharp crack of displaced air. Darkness streaked toward him, fast as lightning.

He threw himself to the side, hitting the ground hard as the shadow-bolt slammed into the rock face behind him. Stone exploded, shards raining down, and the air filled with the acrid smell of burnt earth.

Swift reared, panicked, and bolted up the ravine.

"Swift!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet.

The stranger fired again.

He ducked behind a boulder, heart pounding, as another bolt of shadow tore through the space where he'd been standing. The ground hissed and blackened where it struck, smoke curling up from the scorched earth.

What is that thing?

He didn't have time to think.

The stranger was moving, circling around the boulder, cutting off his escape.

He Listened.

The ravine. The water. The rocks.

There—a narrow gap between two outcroppings, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through. It led upward, toward the ridge.

He ran.

The stranger fired again, and the shadow-bolt grazed his shoulder, searing through fabric and skin. He bit back a cry and kept running, throwing himself into the gap.

The rocks pressed close on either side, rough and cold, scraping his arms as he climbed. His shoulder burned, but he didn't stop.

Behind him, the stranger cursed.

"You can't hide forever, errant!"

The word echoed through the ravine, sharp and mocking.

Errant.

He gritted his teeth and climbed faster.

The gap opened onto a narrow ledge overlooking the ravine. He pulled himself up, gasping for breath, and looked back.

The stranger stood below, shadow-gun raised, his face twisted with frustration.

Their eyes met.

And for a heartbeat, neither moved.

"This isn't over," the stranger said quietly.

"I know."

The stranger's jaw tightened. "You should have given it to me."

"I couldn't."

"Then you're a fool."

"Maybe," he said again. "But it's my Choice."

The stranger stared at him for a long moment—and then, slowly, he lowered the gun.

"Run, then," he said coldly. "Run as far as you can. It won't matter. I'll find you again."

He didn't wait to hear more.

 

He turned and ran along the ledge, following the ridge as it curved away from the ravine. The Forest opened up ahead, thick with pines and underbrush, and he plunged into it without looking back.

Swift's whinny echoed somewhere to his left, and he followed the sound, crashing through ferns and low-hanging branches until he found the horse waiting in a small clearing, sides still heaving.

He grabbed the reins, swung into the saddle, and urged Swift forward.

They rode hard, cutting through the Forest, following Trails only he knew—narrow paths between ancient trees, hidden streams, rocky slopes where the undergrowth grew too thick for anyone to follow.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grew cooler. The Forest whispered around them, Alive and watchful.

And still, he didn't stop.

Not until the stars began to appear overhead, and the darkness grew too deep to see.

Only then did he pull Swift to a halt in a dense thicket, hidden beneath the low-hanging branches of a massive oak.

He dismounted, legs shaking, and leaned against the tree, trying to catch his breath.

His shoulder throbbed where the shadow-bolt had grazed him. He pulled back his sleeve and winced—the skin was blistered and blackened, as if burned by something far worse than fire.

But he was alive.

And he still had the Disk.

He pulled it from the pouch, cradling it in his palm. It hummed softly, warm and steady, as if reassuring him.

'I won't let him take you,' he thought. 'I don't know what you are. But I won't let him have you.'

He closed his fingers around it and looked up at the stars.

The stranger's words echoed in his mind.

'You're errant. A stray. A fool.'

He exhaled slowly.

Maybe he was.

But if that's what he was—

Then that's what he'd be.

Errant.

The name settled over him like a cloak, heavy and strange, but... fitting.

He didn't have a past. Didn't have a Family or a Home or a Purpose.

But he had this.

A Name. A Choice. A Disk to Protect.

And a stranger who looked like him, hunting him through the Wild.

He didn't know what any of it meant.

He looked back the way he'd come—and his stomach sank.

The broken branches. The trampled ferns. The deep gouges Swift's hooves had left in the soft earth near the stream.

He'd left a trail a child could follow.

That's how the stranger had found him so fast. Not Magic. Not Luck. Just... Skill. And Errant's own panic.

He exhaled slowly, jaw tightening.

He couldn't just run anymore.

He had to be smarter.

CHAPTER 4: THE CHASE BEGINS

 

The Forest was different now.

Errant had always known these woods—every trail, every stream, every hidden hollow where the deer came to drink at dawn. He'd walked these paths for seven years, alone except for Swift, and the land had been his Home.

But now it felt like a trap.

He moved carefully through the trees, eyes scanning the undergrowth, ears straining for any sound that didn't belong. Swift walked beside him, reins loose in Errant's hand, the horse's ears swiveling constantly, alert to every rustle of leaves.

Three days had passed since the ravine.

Three days of running, hiding, doubling back on his own trail.

Three days of looking over his shoulder.

The stranger—Riven.

The name had come to him in the darkness after the ravine, unbidden and certain, as if he'd always known it. The stranger hadn't given a name. Hadn't introduced himself. But Errant knew it anyway.

Riven.

He didn't understand how. Didn't understand why the stranger felt familiar in a way that had nothing to do with their identical faces. It was deeper than that. Older. Like a word on the tip of his tongue, a memory just out of reach.

It unsettled him more than the shadow-fire or the rage.

'Who are you? he thought. And why do I know your name?'

He shook his head and kept walking.

The morning sun filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns across the forest floor. Moss clung to the tree trunks, thick and green, and the air smelled of damp earth and pine. Somewhere nearby, a stream murmured over stones.

Errant paused, tilting his head, and Listened.

The Forest whispered back.

No danger. No wrongness. Just the steady pulse of Life continuing as it always had.

But he didn't relax.

He couldn't.

Not anymore.

He led Swift to the stream, letting the horse drink while he crouched by the water's edge and studied the ground.

His own tracks were there—boot prints in the soft mud, clear as day.

He grimaced.

Still leaving a trail.

He'd been trying to be more careful. After the ravine, after realizing how easily Riven had followed him, he'd started thinking about every step. Choosing harder ground when he could. Avoiding mud. Stepping on rocks instead of soft earth.

But it wasn't enough.

Swift's hooves left marks no matter where they went. And Errant didn't know how to hide them.

Not yet.

He stood, wiping his hands on his trousers, and looked upstream.

The water ran clear and cold, tumbling over smooth stones, winding its way through the Forest. If he followed it, stayed in the water, his tracks would disappear.

It would slow him down. The rocks were slippery, and Swift would struggle. But it might buy him time.

He glanced back the way they'd come, scanning the trees.

Still nothing.

But Riven was out there. Somewhere. Hunting.

Errant could feel it.

He turned back to the stream and made his decision.

"Come on," he murmured, tugging gently on Swift's reins. "We're going this way."

The horse snorted, uneasy, but followed.

Errant stepped into the water, gasping as the cold soaked through his boots. The current tugged at his legs, not strong but persistent, and the stones beneath his feet were slick with moss.

He moved carefully, one step at a time, leading Swift along the streambed.

The horse balked at first, ears pinned back, but Errant spoke to him in low, soothing tones, and eventually Swift stepped into the water, hooves clattering against the stones.

They moved slowly, following the stream as it wound deeper into the Forest.

The trees grew thicker here, their branches tangling overhead, blocking out the sun. The air grew cooler. The sound of the water filled the silence, drowning out everything else.

Errant kept his eyes on the ground, watching for loose rocks, for places where the current ran too fast. His legs ached from the cold, and his boots squelched with every step, but he didn't stop.

This would work.

It had to.

 

They stayed in the stream for hours.

By the time Errant finally climbed out onto the bank, the sun had shifted overhead, and his legs were numb from the cold. He pulled Swift up after him, both of them dripping, and stood for a moment, catching his breath.

The Forest around them was unfamiliar.

He'd followed the stream farther than he'd intended, into a part of the woods he didn't know well. The trees here were older, their trunks massive and gnarled, their roots twisting across the ground like serpents. Ferns grew thick in the shadows, and the air smelled of moss and decay.

Errant Listened.

The Forest was quiet. Watchful. But not hostile.

He exhaled slowly and looked down at the ground.

No tracks.

The streambed had done its job.

For the first time in days, he allowed himself a small flicker of Hope.

Maybe he'd bought himself some time.

Maybe Riven would lose the trail.

Maybe—

Swift's ears pinned back.

Errant's head snapped up.

The horse was staring into the trees, nostrils flaring, body tense.

Errant's hand moved instinctively to the knife at his belt.

"What is it?" he whispered.

Swift didn't answer. Just stood there, trembling, staring at something Errant couldn't see.

He Listened.

And then he felt it.

The wrongness.

Faint. Distant. But unmistakable.

He's close.

Errant's heart slammed against his ribs.

How?

He'd covered his tracks. Stayed in the water. Done everything right.

How had Riven found him so fast?

He didn't have time to figure it out.

He grabbed Swift's reins and ran.

The Forest blurred around him as he crashed through the undergrowth, branches whipping at his face, roots catching at his boots. Swift thundered behind him, hooves pounding against the earth, breath coming in sharp bursts.

Errant didn't know where he was going.

He just ran.

The trees thinned ahead, opening into a rocky slope covered in loose stones and scrub brush. Errant didn't slow down. He scrambled up the slope, boots slipping on the loose rock, using his hands to pull himself higher.

Swift struggled behind him, hooves scrabbling for purchase, but the horse kept moving.

At the top of the slope, Errant paused, gasping for breath, and looked back.

The Forest stretched out below him, dark and tangled, the canopy swaying gently in the breeze.

No movement.

No sign of pursuit.

But the feeling hadn't left.

He's still coming.

Errant turned and kept moving.

The slope leveled out into a plateau covered in low scrub and scattered boulders. The ground was hard here, rocky and unforgiving, and Errant's boots left no prints.

Good.

He led Swift across the plateau, moving quickly but carefully, choosing his path with purpose now. No more panic. No more blind running.

He had to think.

Riven was tracking him somehow. Following him even when Errant covered his trail.

But how?

Errant's hand moved to the pouch at his belt, fingers brushing the Disk's smooth surface.

Could he sense it?

No.

That didn't make sense. If Riven could sense the Disk, he would have found Errant immediately. He wouldn't need to track him at all.

So it had to be something else.

Skill. Experience. Relentless Determination.

Errant gritted his teeth.

He couldn't outrun Riven forever.

But maybe he didn't have to.

Maybe he just had to stay ahead long enough to figure out what to do next.

By nightfall, Errant had put miles between himself and the slope.

He'd crossed the plateau, descended into a narrow Valley, and climbed back up into the Hills on the other side. The terrain was rough and unforgiving, but it didn't hold tracks well, and that was all that mattered.

He made camp in a dense thicket of pines, hidden beneath low-hanging branches. No fire. No light. Just darkness and silence.

Swift stood nearby, head low, exhausted.

Errant sat with his back against a tree, the Disk in his hand, and stared into the night.

His body ached. His legs were bruised from scrambling over rocks. His shoulder still throbbed where the shadow-bolt had grazed him.

But he was alive.

And he still had the Disk.

He turned it over in his palm, studying the intricate patterns etched into its surface. They seemed to shift in the faint starlight, never quite the same twice.

'What are you?' he thought. 'Why does he want you so badly?'

The Disk hummed softly, warm against his skin, but it didn't answer.

Errant closed his fingers around it and leaned his head back against the tree.

He couldn't keep running like this.

Sooner or later, Riven would catch him.

Sooner or later, he'd have to make a Choice.

Fight.

Or give up the Disk.

Errant's jaw tightened.

He wasn't going to give it up.

He didn't know why. Didn't know what the Disk was or what it could do.

But it had come to him. Appeared where he could find it.

And that meant something.

It had to.

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, he'd keep moving.

Tomorrow, he'd stay one step ahead.

And maybe—just maybe—he'd figure out what to do before Riven caught up.

He looked back the way he'd come—and his stomach sank.

The broken branches. The trampled ferns. The deep gouges Swift's hooves had left in the soft earth near the stream.

He'd left a trail a child could follow.

That's how Riven had found him so fast. Not Magic. Not Luck. Just... Skill. And Errant's own panic.

He exhaled slowly, jaw tightening.

He couldn't just run anymore.

He had to be smarter.

CHAPTER 5: CLOSE CALLS

 

The days blurred together.

Run. Hide. Move. Repeat.

Errant lost track of time. One morning bled into the next, each dawn bringing the same cold knot of fear in his chest, the same desperate need to keep moving.

Riven was always behind him.

Not close enough to see. Not close enough to hear. But there. A shadow at the edge of Errant's awareness, relentless and patient.

Errant had gotten better at covering his tracks. He used streams when he could, chose rocky ground over soft earth, doubled back on his own trail to confuse pursuit. He moved carefully now, deliberately, thinking three steps ahead.

But it wasn't enough.

Riven always found him.

Not immediately. Not quickly. But eventually, the wrongness would return—that cold, creeping sensation that prickled at the back of Errant's neck and made Swift's ears pin flat.

And Errant would run again.

It happened in a canyon.

Errant had been following a narrow gorge between two towering rock faces, the walls rising high on either side, blocking out the sun. The ground was hard-packed stone, smooth and trackless, and he'd thought—hoped—that it would buy him time.

He was wrong.

He heard it first: the faint scrape of boots on stone, echoing off the canyon walls.

Swift's head jerked up, ears swiveling.

Errant's heart dropped.

He spun, scanning the canyon behind him.

Nothing.

But the sound came again—closer this time.

He's in the canyon.

Errant didn't hesitate. He grabbed Swift's reins and ran.

The canyon twisted ahead, narrowing into a tight passage barely wide enough for the horse. Errant squeezed through, boots scraping against stone, Swift's sides brushing the walls.

Behind him, the footsteps quickened.

The passage opened into a wider space—a dead end.

Sheer rock walls rose on three sides, unclimbable, trapping him.

Errant's breath came in sharp gasps. His eyes darted around, searching for a way out.

There—a narrow crack in the rock face, barely visible in the shadows. Too small for Swift, but maybe wide enough for a man.

He turned to the horse, hands shaking as he loosened the saddle.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'll come back for you. I promise."

Swift whinnied softly, pressing his nose against Errant's shoulder.

Errant's throat tightened. He rested his forehead against the horse's neck for one brief moment, then stepped back.

"Go," he said, slapping Swift's flank. "Get out of here."

The horse hesitated, then turned and bolted back through the passage.

Errant didn't watch him go.

He ran for the crack in the rock.

It was tighter than he'd thought—barely wide enough to fit his shoulders. He squeezed through, stone scraping his arms, his chest, pressing in on all sides.

For a terrible moment, he thought he was stuck.

Then he twisted, exhaled hard, and pushed through.

The crack opened into a narrow crevice that climbed steeply upward. Errant didn't stop. He scrambled up, hands and feet finding holds in the rough stone, pulling himself higher.

Below, he heard the echo of footsteps entering the dead end.

A pause.

Then Riven's voice, cold and sharp:

"I know you're here. You can't hide forever, errant fool."

The words—spoken in that voice, so much like his own but twisted with contempt—sent a chill down his spine.

Errant froze, pressed flat against the rock, barely breathing.

Silence.

Below, Riven's footsteps moved slowly across the stone, searching.

Errant's fingers ached where they gripped the rock. His legs trembled. But he didn't let go.

Minutes passed.

Or maybe hours.

Finally, the footsteps retreated.

Errant waited.

And waited.

Only when the canyon had been silent for a long time did he allow himself to move.

He climbed higher, pulling himself up through the crevice until it opened onto a narrow ledge overlooking the canyon. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the rock.

Errant collapsed onto the ledge, gasping for breath, his whole body shaking.

That had been too close.

Far too close.

He found Swift two days later.

The horse was grazing in a small meadow at the edge of the forest, saddle gone, reins trailing. When he saw Errant, he whinnied and trotted over, pressing his nose against Errant's chest.

Errant wrapped his arms around the horse's neck and didn't let go for a long time.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Swift snorted softly, as if to say it's all right.

But it wasn't.

Errant had almost lost him.

And he knew—knew—that next time, he might not be so lucky.

The close calls kept coming.

A week later, Errant woke in the middle of the night to the sound of footsteps circling his camp. He grabbed the disk and ran, leaving everything else behind—his bedroll, his supplies, even his knife.

He spent the rest of the night hiding in a hollow tree, heart pounding, listening to Riven search the area.

When dawn came, Riven was gone.

But so was everything Errant owned.

Another time, he was crossing a river when he saw Riven on the opposite bank, standing in the shadows, watching.

Their eyes met across the water.

Neither moved.

And then Errant turned and ran upstream, plunging into the Forest, not stopping until his lungs burned and his legs gave out.

Each time, he escaped.

Each time, it was closer.

And each time, Errant felt the weight of the Disk growing heavier.

'Why?' he thought, staring at it one night as he huddled beneath a rocky overhang, rain pouring down outside. 'Why does he want you so badly? What are you?'

The Disk hummed softly, warm in his palm.

But it didn't answer.

By the time the first storm came, Errant was exhausted.

He'd been running for weeks—maybe longer. He'd lost track. His clothes were torn and filthy. His boots were falling apart. He had no food, no supplies, nothing but the Disk and Swift.

And Riven was still behind him.

The storm hit without warning.

One moment, the sky was clear. The next, dark clouds rolled in, blotting out the sun. Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and ominous.

Errant looked up, squinting against the wind.

Rain began to fall—light at first, then harder, until it was pouring down in sheets, soaking through his clothes, turning the ground to mud.

Swift whinnied, uneasy.

Errant tightened his grip on the reins. "I know. We need to find shelter."

But there was nowhere to go.

The Forest stretched endlessly in every direction, dark and tangled, offering no refuge.

The rain fell harder.

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the trees in stark white flashes. Thunder cracked overhead, so loud it shook the ground.

Errant kept moving, leading Swift through the storm, searching for anything—a cave, an overhang, a dense thicket.

And then he saw it.

Smoke.

Rising in the distance, barely visible through the rain.

His heart lurched.

Fire.

No—not wildfire. Too controlled. Too steady.

A campfire.

Someone was out here.

Errant stopped, rain streaming down his face, his whole body going cold.

People.

His chest tightened. His hands trembled on Swift's reins.

He'd avoided them for seven years. Kept to the Wild places where no one went. The few times he'd seen travelers from a distance, he'd hidden until they passed.

People meant danger. Unpredictability. Violence.

He'd learned that the hard way.

The memory flashed unbidden: voices shouting, the crack of gunfire, blood on the ground. He'd stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time, seen something he shouldn't have. He'd run, and he'd never gone near a Town again.

And now—

He looked down at the Disk in his hand, then back at the smoke.

It could be Riven.

Or it could be someone else. A Traveler. A Hunter. Someone who might have food, shelter, answers.

Or someone who would kill him for what he carried.

His breath came shallow and fast.

I can't.

But he had no food. No shelter. No knife. Nothing but soaked clothes and a horse on the verge of collapse.

He was out of options.

Errant closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe.

Just... look. From a distance. If it's dangerous, I'll leave.

He opened his eyes and turned Swift toward the smoke.

Every step felt like walking toward the edge of a cliff.

The fire belonged to a small camp tucked beneath a rocky overhang. A single figure sat beside it, wrapped in a dark leather rain jacket, hood pulled low, face hidden in shadow.

Errant stopped at the edge of the firelight, one hand on Swift's reins, the other resting on the empty sheath where his knife used to be.

The figure didn't move.

"I don't mean any harm," Errant called out, raising his free hand. "I just need shelter from the storm."

The figure tilted its head.

And then, slowly, it stood.

Errant's breath caught.

The figure stepped closer to the light—not fully into it, but enough for Errant to see: an older man, silver-streaked hair visible beneath the hood, sharp eyes studying him carefully.

Not Riven.

Errant's shoulders sagged with relief.

The man gestured to the fire. "Sit. You look half-dead."

Errant hesitated.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man said, his tone dry but not unkind. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead."

Errant believed him.

He led Swift under the overhang and sat by the fire, keeping the Disk hidden in his pouch.

The man handed him a waterskin and a piece of dried meat. Errant took them gratefully, too exhausted to question.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

The rain poured down outside, drumming against the rocks, and the fire crackled softly between them.

Finally, the man broke the silence.

"What are you running from?"

Errant looked up, meeting his gaze—or trying to. The hood still shadowed most of the man's face.

"I don't know," Errant said quietly. "But he won't stop until he finds me."

The man studied him for a long moment.

Then he nodded, as if that explained everything.

"Then you'd better keep running."

By morning, the storm had passed.

The man was gone when Errant woke, the fire reduced to cold ashes. He'd left a small bundle—dried food, a waterskin, and a worn but serviceable knife.

Errant stared at it for a long time.

Then he packed it carefully, swung onto Swift's back, and kept moving.

 

CHAPTER  : THE AMBUSH

 

Errant was done running.

The thought came to him on the third day after the storm, as he sat beneath a sprawling oak tree, the disk warm in his hand, Swift grazing nearby.

He'd been running for weeks. Maybe longer. And Riven was still behind him.

Always behind him.

No matter how carefully Errant covered his tracks, no matter how far he ran, Riven found him.

And Errant was tired.

Tired of the fear. Tired of the sleepless nights. Tired of looking over his shoulder.

But more than that—he was tired of not knowing.

'Who is he? Why does he look like me? Why do I know his name?'

The questions circled endlessly in his mind, unanswered and maddening.

Errant stared down at the Disk, turning it over in his palm.

Running wasn't working.

Hiding wasn't working.

Maybe it was time to try something else.

The idea was reckless.

Errant knew that.

But he couldn't shake it.

What if I stopped running? What if I waited for him—and got the jump on him first?

He'd never fought anyone before. Not really. He knew how to Defend himself—how to use a knife, how to move quickly—but he'd never attacked someone.

The thought made his stomach twist.

But he had to know.

He had to understand what was happening, why Riven was hunting him, why they looked the same.

And the only way to get answers was to make Riven talk.

Errant exhaled slowly and stood.

"All right," he murmured to Swift. "Let's do this."

 

He chose his spot carefully.

A narrow trail that wound through dense Forest, flanked on both sides by thick undergrowth. The trees here were old and massive, their branches spreading wide overhead, their trunks broad enough to hide behind.

Perfect.

Errant led Swift off the trail and tied him loosely to a tree, far enough away that the horse wouldn't be in danger but close enough that Errant could reach him quickly if things went wrong.

"Stay quiet," he whispered, running a hand along Swift's neck. "I'll be back soon."

Swift snorted softly, uneasy.

Errant didn't blame him.

He turned back to the Trail and studied the trees.

There—a massive oak with low-hanging branches, thick enough to support his weight. It overlooked the Trail perfectly.

Errant climbed.

His hands were shaking as he pulled himself up, finding footholds in the rough bark, hauling himself higher until he reached a sturdy branch about fifteen feet off the ground.

He settled onto it, pressing his back against the trunk, and waited.

The hours crawled by.

The sun shifted overhead, casting long shadows through the trees. Birds called in the distance. The wind rustled the leaves.

Errant's legs cramped. His back ached. His hands were slick with sweat.

But he didn't move.

He Listened.

The Forest whispered around him, calm and steady.

And then—

The wrongness.

Faint at first, then stronger.

Errant's heart slammed against his ribs.

He's coming.

He forced himself to breathe slowly, quietly, gripping the branch beneath him.

Below, the undergrowth rustled.

Footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate. Moving along the Trail.

Errant peered down through the leaves.

And there he was.

Riven.

Walking along the Trail, head down, eyes scanning the ground. Tracking.

Errant's breath caught.

He looked exactly the same as he had in the ravine—tall, dark-haired, dressed in black. The shadow-gun gleamed at his side, tendrils of Darkness curling faintly around the barrel.

Riven stopped directly beneath the tree.

Errant's pulse roared in his ears.

Now.

He didn't let himself think.

He just moved.

Errant launched himself off the branch, dropping straight down.

Riven looked up—

Too late.

Errant slammed into him, and they both went down hard, hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Riven shouted, twisting, trying to throw him off, but Errant held on, adrenaline flooding his veins.

He yanked the knife from his belt and pressed it against Riven's throat.

"Don't move!"

Riven froze.

They stared at each other, breathing hard, faces inches apart.

Up close, the resemblance was even more unsettling. Same eyes. Same features. Same everything—except the hair.

Riven's expression shifted from shock to fury.

"Who are you?!" he demanded, voice sharp.

Errant hesitated.

He'd never said it aloud before. Never claimed it as his own.

But now—

"Errant," he said quietly.

Riven's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"My name," Errant said, louder this time. "It's Errant."

Riven stared at him, and something flickered across his face—recognition, maybe. Or disbelief.

"You took the insult," Riven said slowly. "You made it your name."

"It's who I am," Errant said, his voice steady despite the trembling in his hands. "A stray. Lost. I don't know where I came from or who I was before. But I know who I am now."

Riven's jaw tightened. "You're a fool."

"Maybe." Errant pressed the knife harder against Riven's throat. "But at least I have a name. Now tell me—who are you? Why do you look like me? And how—" His voice cracked. "How do I know your name?"

Riven's eyes widened, just slightly.

"What?"

"Your name is Riven," Errant said, his voice shaking. "You never told me. But I knew it. The moment I saw you, I knew. How is that possible?"

Riven stared at him, and for the first time, Errant saw something other than rage in his eyes.

Confusion.

Fear.

"I don't know," Riven said quietly.

"You're lying."

"I'm not!" Riven's voice rose, sharp and desperate. "You think I have answers?! You appeared out of nowhere with that Disk, and you look like—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "I don't know who you are. I don't know why you look like me. I don't know how you know my name. I just know you have something that doesn't belong to you, and I was sent to get it back."

"Sent by who?"

"The Council."

"What Council?"

"It doesn't matter!" Riven snapped. "Just give me the Disk, and this ends!"

"No."

Riven's eyes narrowed. "Then kill me."

Errant froze.

"You have the knife," Riven said, his voice cold and steady. "You have the advantage. So do it. Kill me. End this."

Errant's hand trembled.

He could do it.

Right now.

One quick motion, and Riven would be gone. The threat would be over.

He'd be safe.

But—

He couldn't.

His hand wouldn't move.

He stared down at Riven, at the face so much like his own, and felt something twist in his chest.

'I can't.'

Riven saw it.

The hesitation.

His eyes flashed, and he moved—fast.

He shoved Errant hard, throwing him off-balance, and rolled to the side. Errant hit the ground, the knife slipping from his grip.

Riven was on his feet in an instant, the shadow-gun in his hand, aimed directly at Errant's chest.

They stared at each other.

Errant's breath came in sharp gasps. His whole body shook.

Riven's finger hovered over the trigger.

But he didn't fire.

"You're a fool, Errant," Riven said quietly.

Errant didn't answer.

Riven's jaw tightened. "Next time, I won't hesitate."

And then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the trees.

Errant sat there on the ground, trembling, staring at the spot where Riven had been.

He'd had the chance.

And he'd let it slip away.

 

By the time Errant made it back to Swift, the sun was setting.

He untied the horse with shaking hands and swung into the saddle, his whole body aching.

What was I thinking?

He'd learned nothing. Gained nothing.

All he'd done was prove that he couldn't kill—even when his Life depended on it.

Errant exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against Swift's neck.

His head was swimming. His hands wouldn't stop trembling. Every part of him hurt.

He needed to rest. Needed to think. Needed to figure out what to do next.

And there was only one place he wanted to go.

Home.

The cabin.

He didn't think about the risk. Didn't think about whether Riven might follow.

He just needed to be somewhere familiar. Somewhere Safe.

Somewhere that was his.

He turned Swift toward Home and started riding.

 

The cabin sat in a small clearing, nestled between towering pines. It was simple—just four walls, a roof, and a stone fireplace—but Errant had built it himself, and it was the closest thing to a Home he'd ever had.

He approached cautiously, scanning the trees, listening.

Nothing.

No wrongness. No danger.

Just the quiet of the forest.

Errant dismounted and stepped inside.

Everything was as he'd left it. His bedroll in the corner. His few belongings stacked neatly on a shelf. The fireplace cold and dark.

He moved quickly, gathering what he needed—dried food, a spare waterskin, a length of rope, a small pouch of herbs. He stuffed them into a worn pack and slung it over his shoulder.

One last look around.

The cabin was small. Simple. But it was his.

He'd built it with his own hands. Survived seven winters here. It was the only Home he'd ever known.

Errant exhaled slowly and stepped outside.

He swung onto Swift's back and turned toward the Trail that led up into the Cliffs—a narrow, winding path he'd used countless times to survey the Valley below.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows through the trees.

Errant didn't look back.

The Trail climbed steeply, cutting through dense Forest before opening onto a rocky outcropping high above the Valley. Errant had always loved this spot—the way the wind moved through the pines, the way the world stretched out below him, vast and wild.

He pulled Swift to a halt at the edge of the cliff and looked down.

The clearing where his cabin stood was just visible through the trees, a small patch of open ground nestled among the pines.

And then—

Light.

Errant's breath caught.

Fire.

The cabin was engulfed, flames roaring up through the roof, consuming the walls, devouring everything.

Errant stared, frozen, his heart pounding.

'No.'

Through the smoke and the distance, he could just barely make out a figure standing in the clearing.

Tall. Dark-haired. Silhouetted against the flames.

Riven.

Watching.

Errant's hands clenched into fists, gripping Swift's reins so hard they bit into his palms.

He wanted to scream. Wanted to ride back down, to fight, to do something.

But he couldn't.

He was too far away. Too late.

All he could do was watch as his Home burned.

Everything he'd built. Everything he'd had.

Gone.

The flames climbed higher, sparks spiraling up into the darkening sky, and the smoke rose in thick, black columns.

Errant stared for one more heartbeat—

And then he couldn't.

He couldn't watch it anymore.

He turned Swift away from the cliff and rode into the darkness.

He didn't stop until the fire was far behind him, until the glow had faded from the sky and there was nothing but stars overhead, cold and distant.

Errant pulled Swift to a halt in a dense thicket and dismounted, his legs shaking.

He had nothing now.

No Home. No past. Nothing but the Disk, the clothes on his back, the supplies he'd taken from his cabin, and a horse.

But he couldn't keep running.

He couldn't fight.

He needed help.

He needed answers.

And there was only one place he might find them.

Farhaven.

The Town he'd avoided for seven years.

The last place Riven would expect him to go.

Errant looked up at the stars, exhaled slowly, and made his decision.

Tomorrow, he would ride for Farhaven.

Toward answers.

Toward Hope.

CHAPTER 8: THE DOCTOR

 

The Town appeared through the trees like a mirage.

Errant had been riding for two days straight, barely stopping to rest, pushing Swift harder than he ever had before. The horse was exhausted, his coat dark with sweat, his breathing labored.

But they'd made it.

Far Haven.

The name had come from a traveler Errant had met months ago—a merchant passing through the wilderness who'd mentioned a Town to the North, tucked into the Mountains, far from the main roads. A place where people didn't ask too many questions. Where you could disappear if you needed to.

Errant needed to disappear.

The cabin was gone. Burned to ash and rubble. Everything he'd built, everything he'd owned—gone.

And Riven was still out there. Hunting.

Errant had nowhere else to go.

So he'd ridden North, following half-remembered directions, hoping the Town still existed, hoping he could find shelter before he collapsed.

Far Haven was smaller than he'd expected. A handful of buildings clustered along a single dirt road, surrounded by dense forest and steep mountain slopes. Smoke rose from chimneys. A few people moved between the buildings, bundled against the cold.

It looked quiet. Peaceful.

Safe.

No one stared as he rode through the dusty streets, but he kept his head down. The fear still chewing at him. 

Errant dismounted slowly, his legs shaking with exhaustion. Swift stood with his head low, sides heaving.

"I'm sorry, boy," Errant whispered, running a hand along the horse's neck. "I know you're tired. We'll rest soon. I promise."

He led Swift down the main road, scanning the buildings. A General Store. A Blacksmith. A small Inn with a faded sign swinging in the wind.

And at the far end of the street—a larger building with a painted sign: PHYSICIAN & HEALER

Errant's chest tightened.

A Doctor. Someone who might have supplies. Medicine. Maybe even a place to stay.

He tied Swift to the hitching post outside and climbed the steps to the door.

His hand hesitated on the handle.

What if they turn me away? What if they ask questions I can't answer?

But he had no choice.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The interior was warm and dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of herbs and wood smoke. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars and bottles and bundles of dried plants. A fire crackled in the hearth at the far end of the room.

And standing in the doorway to the back room, watching him with sharp, knowing eyes, was an old man.

Silver-streaked hair. Weathered face. Dark coat dusted with ash.

Errant froze.

His breath caught in his throat.

His mind reeled.

'I know you.'

The certainty was overwhelming, impossible to ignore. He'd seen this man before. Spoken to him before.

But where?

And then it hit him.

The storm. The fire. The hooded figure who'd given him food and shelter and disappeared before dawn.

'It was you.'

Errant's voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper. "I know you."

The man's expression confirmed it. Guilt flickered across his face, followed by something that looked almost like relief.

He didn't deny it.

He didn't look surprised.

He just stood there, watching Errant with those sharp, ancient eyes.

"Hello," the man said. "My name is, Corwin."

"Sit," Corwin said, gesturing to the chair. "Please. You're safe here."

Errant's legs felt weak. He moved to the chair and sank into it, his whole body trembling.

Corwin studied him for a long moment, his sharp eyes taking in every detail—the torn clothes, the exhaustion, the barely-healed wound on Errant's shoulder where the shadow-bolt had grazed him weeks ago.

"You're hurt," Corwin said quietly.

Errant's hand moved instinctively to his shoulder. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing." Corwin stood and moved to one of the shelves, pulling down a small jar and a roll of clean cloth. "Shadow-fire leaves a mark. If it's not treated properly, it festers."

Errant stiffened. "How do you know—"

"I know a great many things," Corwin said, returning to the desk. "Let me see it."

Errant hesitated, then slowly pulled back his sleeve.

The wound was ugly—blistered and blackened, the skin around it red and inflamed. It throbbed constantly, a dull ache that never quite went away.

Corwin's jaw tightened. "This should have been treated weeks ago."

"I didn't have—" Errant stopped. "I didn't have anywhere to go."

Corwin's expression softened. He opened the jar, and the scent of herbs filled the air—sharp and clean, with an undertone of something Errant couldn't name.

"This will help," Corwin said, scooping out a pale salve. "It may sting at first."

He applied it carefully, his touch gentle but sure.

The moment the salve touched Errant's skin, warmth spread through the wound. Not painful—soothing. Like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Errant's breath caught.

The pain faded. The throbbing stopped. And beneath the warmth, he felt something else—something that made his chest tighten and his eyes sting.

Peace.

He looked up at Corwin, confused.

The old man's hands were steady, his expression calm, but there was something in his eyes—something ancient and sad and impossibly Kind.

"What..." Errant's voice cracked. "What is that?"

"Herbs," Corwin said simply, wrapping the clean cloth around Errant's shoulder. "And a little Knowledge."

But it wasn't just herbs.

Errant knew it.

He could feel it.

Before he could ask again, the door opened.

A young woman stepped inside, carrying a basket of vegetables. She was maybe a few years older than Errant, with dark hair pulled back in a loose braid and bright, curious eyes.

She stopped when she saw Errant, her gaze flicking between him and Corwin.

"We have a guest?" she asked, setting the basket on a nearby table.

"Adaline," Corwin said, his tone gentle. "This is... a traveler. He needs our help."

Adaline—Addy—studied Errant for a moment, then smiled. It was warm and genuine, and it made something in Errant's chest loosen.

"You look like you've been through hell," she said bluntly.

Errant blinked. "I... yes."

"Well, you're Safe now." She glanced at Corwin. "Did you feed him?"

Corwin's lips twitched. "Not yet."

"Of course not." Addy shook her head and moved to the basket, pulling out bread and cheese. "You never think of the practical things."

Corwin didn't argue.

Addy set the food on the desk in front of Errant. "Eat. You look half-starved."

Errant stared at the food, his throat tight.

When was the last time someone had offered him Kindness like this? Without asking for anything in return?

"Thank you," he whispered.

Addy's expression softened. "You're welcome."

She pulled up another chair and sat across from him, watching as he ate. Corwin returned to his desk, but Errant could feel the old man's gaze on him, thoughtful and assessing.

Finally, Addy broke the silence.

"So," she said. "What brings you to Farhaven?"

Errant hesitated, glancing at Corwin.

The old man nodded slightly, as if giving permission.

Errant set down the bread and met Addy's gaze.

"I'm looking for answers," he said quietly. "About... something I found. And someone who's hunting me because of it."

Addy's eyes widened. "Hunting you?"

Errant nodded.

She leaned forward, her expression serious now. "What did you find?"

Errant's hand moved to the pouch at his belt.

He pulled out the Disk.

The moment it appeared, the room seemed to shift.

The candlelight flickered. The air grew heavier.

And Corwin went very, very still.

Addy stared at the Disk, her mouth slightly open. "What... is that?"

"I don't know," Errant said. "I found it in the Forest. And ever since, someone's been chasing me. Someone who looks exactly like me."

Corwin stood slowly, his gaze fixed on the Disk.

"May I?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Errant hesitated, then handed it to him.

Corwin cradled the Disk in his hands, turning it over carefully, studying the intricate patterns etched into its surface. His expression was unreadable, but Errant saw something flicker in his eyes.

Recognition.

"You know what it is," Errant said.

Corwin looked up, meeting his gaze.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I do."

Addy glanced between them. "Well? What is it?"

Corwin set the Disk gently on the desk and sat down, his hands folded in front of him.

"It's called the Disk of Intention," he said. "An Artifact from another World. It has the Power to reshape Reality—but only in response to Choice. To Will. To the deepest desires of the one who holds it."

Errant's breath caught. "Reshape... Reality?"

Corwin nodded. "It doesn't grant wishes carelessly. It responds to Intention. To what you truly want, in the moment you hold it. And it's dangerous—because Intention isn't always pure. Desire isn't always good."

Addy stared at the disk, her face pale. "And someone's hunting him for it?"

"The Council," Corwin said grimly. "A group from the other World who want to use the Disk for their own purposes. They've been searching for it for a long time."

"Why?" Errant asked. "What do they want with it?"

Corwin's expression darkened. "Control. Power. The ability to reshape the World according to their vision—a vision built on Darkness and domination."

Errant's hands clenched into fists. "And the man hunting me? Riven?"

Corwin's gaze sharpened. "Riven?"

"That's his name," Errant said. "At least... I think it is. I knew it the moment I saw him, even though he never told me. And he looks exactly like me. Same face. Same build. Everything except the hair."

Corwin went very still.

Addy leaned forward. "How is that possible?"

Corwin didn't answer immediately. He stared at Errant, his expression troubled, as if weighing how much to say.

Finally, he spoke.

"There's more to this than you know," he said quietly. "More than I can tell you—yet. But I Promise you this: you're not alone. And you're not a mistake."

Errant's throat tightened. "Then what am I?"

Corwin's gaze was steady, Kind, and impossibly sad.

"You're someone worth Protecting," he said. "And I've been watching over you for a long time."

 

CHAPTER 9: THE TRUTH REVEALED

 

Errant stared at Corwin, his mind reeling.

'Watching over you for a long time.'

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Corwin leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant, as if looking at something far beyond the walls of the small room.

"There are two Worlds," he said quietly. "This one—the World you know, the world of Forests and Towns and ordinary Life. And another. A world of Light and Shadow, of Power and ancient things. The two Worlds exist side by side, separated by a Veil so thin that sometimes, things slip through."

Addy was listening intently, her eyes wide. Errant got the sense she'd heard pieces of this before, but not the whole story.

"The Disk," Corwin continued, "came from that other World. It was never meant to be here. But it fell through the Veil—or was pushed through, I'm not certain which. And when it did, it needed a Guardian. Someone to keep it Safe. Someone who couldn't be corrupted by its Power."

"Me?" Errant said.

Corwin nodded. "You."

"But I didn't ask for this. I didn't—" Errant stopped, his hands shaking. "I don't even know who I am. I woke up in the forest seven years ago with no memory, no past, nothing. How could I be a Guardian of anything?"

Corwin's expression softened. "Because that's exactly what makes you perfect for it."

Errant blinked. "What?"

"You have no ties to the other World," Corwin said. "No allegiances. No ambitions. No desire for Power. You're... pure, in a way. Uncorrupted. The Disk Chose you because you wouldn't use it for selfish gain. You'd Protect it simply because it needed Protecting."

Errant shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. I'm nobody. I'm just—"

"You're not nobody," Addy said firmly.

Errant looked at her, startled.

She was leaning forward, her gaze fierce. "You survived seven years alone in the Wilderness. You built a Home. You protected that Disk even when someone was hunting you. You're not nobody, Errant. You're exactly who you need to be."

Her words hit him harder than he expected. His throat tightened, and he had to look away.

Corwin watched him quietly, then continued.

"The Council wants the Disk because they believe they can control it. Use it to reshape the World according to their vision. But the Disk doesn't work that way. It responds to Intention, yes—but it also has a will of its own. It won't be controlled. It will only be... Guided. By someone it Trusts."

"And it Trusts me?" Errant asked, his voice skeptical.

"It Chose you," Corwin said simply. "That's Trust enough."

Errant looked down at the Disk, sitting on the desk between them. It gleamed faintly in the candlelight, its surface shifting with patterns he couldn't quite follow.

"What about Riven?" he asked. "Why does he look like me? How do I know his name?"

Corwin's expression grew troubled. "That... I don't fully understand. But I have a theory."

Errant waited.

"The Disk doesn't just Choose one Guardian," Corwin said slowly. "It creates a Balance. Light and shadow. Two halves of the same Whole. One to Protect it. One to challenge it. One to ensure it's never used carelessly."

Errant's blood ran cold. "You're saying Riven and I are... Connected?"

"I believe so," Corwin said. "You may have been created at the same time, from the same source. Two sides of the same coin. That's why you look alike. Why you know his name without being told. You're Bound to each other in ways you don't yet understand."

Addy's eyes widened. "So they're... Brothers?"

"In a sense," Corwin said. "Though not in the way you'd think. Not by blood. By purpose."

Errant's hands clenched into fists. "Then why is he trying to kill me?"

"Because the Council has twisted him," Corwin said grimly. "They found him first. Raised him. Trained him. Filled his mind with their lies. He believes the Disk is a weapon. A tool to be used. He doesn't understand what it Truly is—or what he Truly is."

Errant stared at the Disk, his mind spinning.

Riven is my... Brother?

No.

Not Brother.

Something else. Something stranger.

A reflection. A shadow.

A part of him he didn't understand.

"Can he be saved?" Errant asked quietly.

Corwin hesitated. "I don't know."

The honesty in his voice was almost worse than a lie.

Errant exhaled slowly, trying to process everything.

"So what do I do?" he asked. "I can't keep running forever. And I can't fight him. I tried. I had the chance to kill him, and I couldn't do it."

Corwin's gaze sharpened. "You had the chance?"

Errant nodded and told him about the ambush. About tackling Riven, holding the knife to his throat, and freezing.

When he finished, Corwin was quiet for a long moment.

Then he smiled—faintly, but genuinely.

"Good," he said.

Errant blinked. "Good?"

"You didn't kill him," Corwin said. "Even when you had the chance. Even when it would have been easier. That's proof that the Disk Chose well."

"But he's going to keep coming," Errant said. "He's not going to stop."

"No," Corwin agreed. "He won't. Not unless something changes."

"What could change?"

Corwin leaned forward, his expression serious. "He needs to see the Truth. About the Disk. About the Council. About himself. And the only person who can show him that... is you."

Errant's stomach twisted. "How?"

"I don't know yet," Corwin admitted. "But I'll help you. We'll figure it out Together."

Addy reached across the table and placed her hand over Errant's. Her touch was warm, grounding.

"You're not alone anymore," she said softly.

Errant looked at her, then at Corwin, and felt something shift in his chest.

For the first time in seven years, he wasn't alone.

He had Help.

He had Hope.

And maybe—just maybe—he had a chance.

They talked late into the night.

Corwin explained more about the other World, about the Veil, about the Protectors who watched over both Realms. He didn't say much about himself, but Errant noticed the way Addy looked at him sometimes—curious, questioning, as if she sensed there was more to her Father than he let on.

Errant told them about his life in the Forest. About Swift. About the cabin burning. About the fear and the loneliness and the desperate need to understand.

Addy listened with rapt attention, asking questions, offering sympathy, making him feel seen in a way he'd never experienced before.

And slowly, the weight on Errant's shoulders began to lift.

Not entirely. The danger was still there. Riven was still hunting him.

But he wasn't facing it alone anymore.

When the candle burned low and exhaustion finally caught up with him, Corwin showed Errant to a small room at the back of the house.

"You can stay here as long as you need," Corwin said. "Rest. Recover. We'll figure out the next step together."

Errant nodded, too tired to argue.

He collapsed onto the narrow bed, still fully clothed, and closed his eyes.

For the first time in weeks, he slept without nightmares.

 

CHAPTER 10: ADALINE

 

Errant woke to sunlight streaming through a small window.

For a moment, he didn't know where he was. The bed was soft—too soft. The room was warm. The air smelled of herbs and old wood instead of pine and earth.

And then he remembered.

Farhaven. Corwin. The Disk. The Truth.

He sat up slowly, his body aching but rested in a way it hadn't been in weeks. The wound on his shoulder barely hurt anymore—just a faint tenderness when he moved.

He looked down at the bandage Corwin had wrapped around it and carefully peeled it back.

The skin beneath was pink and new, the blistering gone, the blackened edges faded to pale scars.

Errant stared at it, his chest tight.

Herbs and a little Knowledge.

That's what Corwin had said.

But this wasn't just herbs.

Errant had felt it—the warmth, the light, the sense of Peace that had flooded through him when Corwin touched the wound.

'What are you?' he thought, staring at the closed door.

But he didn't have an answer.

He stood, pulled on his boots, and stepped out into the main room.

Addy was sitting at the table, a cup of tea in her hands, staring out the window. She looked up when Errant entered and smiled.

"Morning," she said. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better than I have in weeks," Errant admitted.

"Good." She gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit. I'll get you some breakfast."

"You don't have to—"

"I know," Addy said, already standing. "But I'm going to anyway."

Errant sat, watching as she moved around the small kitchen with easy familiarity. She pulled out bread, cheese, and a jar of honey, setting them on the table with practiced efficiency.

"Corwin's out," she said, pouring Errant a cup of tea. "He had some errands to run. Said he'd be back by midday."

Errant nodded, accepting the tea gratefully.

Addy sat back down across from him, her gaze curious but not intrusive.

"So," she said. "We didn't really get a chance to talk last night. I'm Adaline, by the way." She extended her hand across the table. "Adaline Bollard. Though most people just call me Addy."

Errant shook her hand, her grip warm and firm.

"Errant," he said. Then hesitated. "Just... Errant."

Addy's expression softened. "Well, Just Errant, it's nice to properly meet you."

He managed a small smile.

Addy leaned back in her chair, studying him. "You've been through a lot."

"Yeah," Errant said quietly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He hesitated. "I don't know where to start."

"Start wherever feels right," Addy said. "I'm a good listener."

And so he did.

He told her about waking up in the Forest with no memory. About building the cabin. About the years of solitude, the fear of people, the quiet life he'd carved out for himself.

He told her about finding the Disk. About Riven. About the chase, the ambush, the burning cabin.

Addy listened without interrupting, her expression shifting from sympathy to anger to sadness as the story unfolded.

When he finished, she was quiet for a long moment.

Then she reached across the table and placed her hand over his.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "For all of it. You didn't deserve any of that."

Errant's throat tightened. "I don't even know who I am. I don't know where I came from or why I exist. How can I deserve anything?"

"Because you're here," Addy said firmly. "Because you survived. Because you Chose to Protect that Disk even when it would have been easier to give it up. That's who you are, Errant. That's enough."

Her words hit him harder than he expected. He had to look away, blinking against the sudden sting in his eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Addy squeezed his hand. "You're welcome."

They spent the morning together.

Addy showed him around the small house—Corwin's study, cluttered with books and strange Artifacts; the kitchen, warm and inviting; the Garden out back, where herbs and vegetables grew in neat rows.

"Corwin's a bit of a collector," Addy said, gesturing to the shelves packed with jars, scrolls, and objects Errant didn't recognize. "He's obsessed with old things. Artifacts. History. He says understanding the past helps us protect the future."

Errant studied a small, intricately carved box on one of the shelves. "Does he... find these things? Or do people bring them to him?"

"Both," Addy said. "People come from all over with questions about strange objects they've found. Corwin helps them figure out what they are—and whether they're dangerous."

"And are they? Dangerous?"

Addy's expression grew serious. "Sometimes. That's why he's so careful. He doesn't just study Artifacts for fun. He studies them to keep people Safe."

Errant thought about the Disk, sitting in Corwin's study, and felt a flicker of unease.

"Does he ever... use them?"

Addy hesitated. "Not often. He says most Artifacts are too unpredictable. Too risky. But sometimes, if there's no other Choice..." She trailed off, then shook her head. "He's careful. He knows what he's doing."

Errant wasn't sure if that reassured him or made him more nervous.

They were in the garden when Corwin returned.

He stepped through the back gate, carrying a satchel over his shoulder, and smiled when he saw them.

"Good," he said. "You're both here."

Addy stood, brushing dirt from her hands. "How were the errands?"

"Productive," Corwin said. He set the satchel down and looked at Errant. "We need to talk."

Errant's stomach tightened. "About what?"

"About what comes next," Corwin said. "Riven is still out there. He's hunting you, and he won't stop. Eventually, he'll find you. We both know that."

Errant nodded slowly. "So what do I do?"

"You prepare," Corwin said. "I can teach you things that might help. About the Disk. About yourself. About the Connection between you and Riven. It won't be easy, and I can't promise it will be enough. But it's better than facing him unprepared."

Addy glanced between them. "How long do we have?"

"I don't know," Corwin admitted. "Days. Weeks. Maybe longer. But we can't waste the time we do have."

Errant exhaled slowly. "Then let's start."

Corwin's expression softened, and he nodded. "Tomorrow. Rest tonight. You'll need your strength."

 

CHAPTER 11: TRAINING 

 

The training began the next morning.

Errant woke early, the sky still gray with dawn, and found Corwin already waiting in the Garden behind the house.

The old man was sitting on a weathered wooden bench, his eyes closed, his hands resting on his knees. He looked Peaceful—almost serene—but there was something about the stillness around him that felt deliberate. Intentional.

Errant approached quietly, boots crunching softly on the dry earth.

Corwin's eyes opened.

"Good," he said. "You're awake. Sit."

Errant sat on the bench beside him, the cool morning air raising goosebumps on his arms. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. The Town was beginning to stir—the clatter of wagon wheels on dirt roads, the low murmur of voices, the smell of woodsmoke from morning fires.

"What are we doing?" Errant asked.

"Learning to Listen," Corwin said.

Errant frowned. "I already know how to Listen. I've been doing it for seven years."

"You've been surviving," Corwin corrected gently. "That's different. You've been reacting to danger, sensing wrongness, trusting your instincts. But you haven't understood why you can do those things. Or what else you might be capable of."

Errant's chest tightened. "What do you mean?"

Corwin gestured to the World around them—the Garden, the Town beyond, the Mountains rising in the distance. "Close your eyes. Tell me what you hear."

Errant hesitated, then obeyed.

At first, there was nothing but the usual sounds—horses nickering in a nearby stable, the creak of a windmill turning lazily, the distant ring of a Blacksmith's hammer on an anvil.

"I hear horses," Errant said. "The windmill. Someone working metal."

"Good," Corwin said. "Now go deeper. Don't just hear the sounds. Feel them. Let them tell you what's happening."

Errant frowned but tried.

He focused on the sounds, letting them wash over him. And slowly, something shifted.

The horses weren't just making noise—they were calm, well-fed, content. The windmill turned steadily, no strain, no trouble. The Blacksmith's rhythm was even and unhurried—a man at Peace with his work.

Errant's eyes snapped open. "I... I felt it. The Balance. Everything's... okay."

Corwin smiled. "That's your gift. You don't just hear the World. You sense it. The Balance of things. The rightness or wrongness of a moment. It's why you knew Riven was coming before you saw him. Why you've survived alone for so long."

Errant stared at him. "But I don't understand it. I don't know how it works."

"That's what we're going to change," Corwin said.

They spent the morning in the Garden.

Corwin taught Errant to quiet his mind, to focus not on individual sounds but on the feeling beneath them. To sense the World as a Whole instead of in pieces.

It was harder than Errant expected.

His mind kept wandering—to Riven, to the Disk, to the fear that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.

But Corwin was patient.

"Don't fight the fear," he said. "Acknowledge it. Let it pass. Then return to the present."

Slowly, Errant began to understand.

The World wasn't just noise. It was a web of Connections, a Balance of Forces. And he could feel it—if he let himself.

In the afternoon, Corwin brought out the Disk.

He set it on the heavy wooden table in his study, and Errant stared at it, his stomach twisting.

The room was cluttered with the remnants of Frontier Life mixed with stranger things—old maps pinned to the walls, jars of herbs and preserved specimens on shelves, a collection of Artifacts that looked like they'd been pulled from ruins and forgotten places. A kerosene lamp burned low on the desk.

"I'm not going to teach you to use it," Corwin said. "That would be too dangerous. But I want you to understand it."

He gestured for Errant to sit.

"The Disk responds to Intention," Corwin said. "Not wishes. Not commands. Intention. The deepest, Truest desire of the person holding it. That's why it's so dangerous. Most people don't know what they truly want. Or they want the wrong things."

Errant looked down at the Disk. "What happens if someone uses it?"

"It reshapes Reality," Corwin said. "But not always in the way they expect. Intention is complicated. Layered. The Disk sees all of it—the surface desire and the hidden fears beneath. And it responds to all of it."

Errant's hands clenched. "So it could make things worse."

"Yes," Corwin said. "That's why the Council wants it. They think they can control it. Use it to reshape the World according to their vision. But they're wrong. The Disk can't be controlled. It can only be... Guided. By someone pure enough to hold it without corruption."

"And you think that's me?" Errant asked, his voice skeptical.

Corwin's gaze was steady. "The Disk chose you. That's proof enough."

On the third day, Addy joined them.

She appeared in the Garden and gestured for Errant to follow her to the back of the property, where a small clearing opened up beyond the vegetable rows. The ground was hard-packed dirt, worn smooth from use.

"Corwin's great at Philosophy," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "But you need to know how to Defend yourself."

Errant's stomach tightened. "I don't know how to fight."

"I know," Addy said. "That's why I'm teaching you."

She pulled a revolver from the holster at her hip and held it out to him.

Errant stared at it, his whole body going cold.

The crack of gunfire. Blood on the ground. Screaming.

He took a step back. "I can't."

Addy studied him for a moment, her expression softening. Then she nodded and holstered the gun. "Okay. No guns."

Errant exhaled, relief flooding through him.

"But you still need to know how to Protect yourself," Addy said. She pulled a knife from her boot—simple, practical, well-worn with a leather-wrapped handle. "Can you use one of these?"

Errant hesitated, then nodded. "I've used knives. For hunting. Building."

"Good," Addy said. "Then let's start there."

She handed him the knife and stepped back, her hands empty, her stance relaxed but ready.

"Come at me," she said.

Errant blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Come at me like you're trying to hurt me."

Errant shook his head. "I'm not going to—"

"I know you won't actually hurt me," Addy said, grinning. "But I need to see how you move. So come on. Try."

Errant hesitated, then lunged awkwardly.

Addy sidestepped easily, grabbed his wrist, and twisted. The knife fell from his hand, and he hit the ground hard, dust puffing up around him.

She stood over him, smirking. "You telegraph everything. Your shoulders, your eyes, your feet. Riven will see you coming a mile away."

Errant groaned and sat up, spitting dirt. "So what do I do?"

"You learn," Addy said, offering him a hand. "Again."

They trained for hours under the hot sun.

Addy taught him how to move without thinking, how to read an opponent's body language, how to use his environment—a fence post, a water trough, the corner of a building. She showed him holds and counters, how to disarm someone, how to escape a grapple.

She was relentless, but never cruel. Every time Errant fell, she helped him up. Every time he hesitated, she pushed him forward.

And slowly, he began to improve.

By the time the sun was high overhead, Errant was drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging to his back, his muscles aching.

Addy tossed him a canteen. "You're quick," she said, breathing hard. "And you've got good Instincts. You just need to Trust them."

Errant wiped sweat from his forehead and drank deeply. "I don't feel quick."

"You will," Addy said. "Give it time."

On the fourth day, Corwin taught Errant about the Bond.

They sat in the study, the Disk resting on the table between them. Outside, the afternoon heat pressed down on the Town, and the streets had gone quiet during the hottest part of the day.

"You and Riven are connected," Corwin said. "Two halves of the same Whole. That's why you knew his name. Why he feels familiar. The Bond exists whether you want it or not."

Errant's chest tightened. "Can I use it? To find him? To know where he is?"

"You could," Corwin said. "But I strongly advise against it."

"Why?"

"Because the Bond goes both ways," Corwin said. "If you reach out to sense him, he'll feel it. And he'll know exactly where you are. He'll come straight for you."

Errant's stomach dropped. "So I just... ignore it?"

"No," Corwin said. "You learn to recognize it without activating it. The bond will stir when Riven is close. You'll feel it—the wrongness, the pull. But you must not reach for it. Don't try to find him. Don't feed the Connection. Just... be Aware."

Errant swallowed hard. "And when he comes?"

Corwin's expression grew serious. "When he comes, you'll have to face him. Not as enemies. But as what you Truly are—two people bound by the same purpose, twisted by different Paths. And the only way either of you will be Free... is if you find a way to reach him."

"How?" Errant asked.

"I don't know," Corwin admitted. "But I believe you'll figure it out when the time comes."

 

The days blurred together.

Errant trained with Addy in the mornings, learning to move, to fight, to think on his feet. They sparred in the clearing behind the house, dust rising around them, the sun beating down.

He meditated with Corwin in the afternoons when the heat was too much for physical work, learning to sense the World, to quiet his mind, to Trust his Gift.

And in the evenings, he sat with both of them at the worn kitchen table, eating simple meals—beans, cornbread, salt pork.

At first, the silence felt awkward.

Errant didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to be around people. He'd spent seven years alone, and conversation felt like a skill he'd forgotten.

But Addy didn't seem to mind.

She filled the quiet with stories—about growing up with Corwin, about the strange travelers who came seeking his help, about the time a man brought in what he thought was a cursed amulet but turned out to be a broken pocket watch.

Corwin listened with a faint smile, occasionally correcting details, his eyes warm with affection.

And Errant... listened.

At first, he just listened.

But then, slowly, he started to respond.

A question here. A comment there.

And then, one evening, Addy asked him about Swift.

"You said you've had him for years," she said, leaning forward. "How'd you find him?"

Errant hesitated, then told her.

About finding the colt alone in the forest, injured and scared. About nursing him back to health. About the way Swift had stayed, even when he was strong enough to leave.

Addy's eyes softened. "He Chose you."

"Yeah," Errant said quietly. "I guess he did."

"That's how you know it's Real," Addy said. "When someone—or something—Chooses to stay."

Errant looked at her, something tightening in his chest.

Another evening, Corwin set down his cup and looked at Errant thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "About your cabin."

Errant's hands stilled on his fork. He hadn't talked about it. Hadn't wanted to.

"How did you—" He stopped. "You were watching."

Corwin nodded. "For years. I couldn't interfere. Couldn't help directly. But I watched. I saw you build it. Saw you survive winter after winter. Saw you make a life for yourself out there."

Errant's throat tightened. "Then you saw it burn."

"Yes," Corwin said, his voice heavy with regret. "But not until it was too late. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it."

Errant looked down at his plate. "It was just a cabin."

"No," Corwin said gently. "It was your Home. The first thing you ever built for yourself. That's no small thing."

Errant's chest ached.

He'd told himself it didn't matter. That it was just wood and stone. That he could rebuild.

But hearing Corwin say it—acknowledge what it had meant—made the loss feel real in a way it hadn't before.

"I didn't know what I was doing at first," Errant said quietly. "The roof leaked. The walls weren't straight. But I kept fixing it. Making it better."

"That takes Patience," Corwin said. "And Determination. You should be proud of what you Built."

Errant looked up, meeting Corwin's gaze.

The old man's eyes were kind, sad, and impossibly understanding.

"Thank you," Errant whispered.

Corwin nodded. "You'll build another. When this is over. Somewhere safe. And this time, you won't be alone."

The nights grew easier.

Errant found himself looking forward to the evenings—to the warmth of the kitchen, the smell of food cooking, the sound of Addy's laughter when Corwin said something dry and unexpected.

He started contributing to the conversations. Sharing small pieces of himself.

And one night, as they sat around the table, Addy reached across and squeezed his hand.

"I'm glad you're here," she said simply.

Errant stared at her, his chest tight.

No one had ever said that to him before.

No one had ever been glad he was there.

"Me too," he whispered.

And he meant it.

But it wasn't just the evenings.

It was the mornings, too—waking up to the smell of coffee brewing, hearing Addy humming as she worked in the garden, seeing Corwin already awake and reading by lamplight.

It was the afternoons—training with Addy, her teasing him when he stumbled, her pride when he got something right.

It was the quiet moments—sitting with Corwin in the study, the old man explaining some ancient Artifact while Errant listened, fascinated.

It was the feeling of being Seen.

Of Mattering.

Of not being alone.

Errant hadn't realized how lonely he'd been.

For seven years, he'd told himself he was fine. That solitude was safer. That people were dangerous.

But now—

Now he understood what he'd been missing.

Connection.

Belonging.

Life.

He felt Alive in a way he never had before.

And it terrified him.

Because he knew it couldn't last.

Riven was still out there. The Council was still hunting him.

And when they came, this fragile, beautiful thing he'd found—this feeling of Home—would shatter.

But for now, he held onto it.

And he let himself feel it.

 

CHAPTER 12: MOMENTS

 

The days settled into a rhythm.

Not the solitary, survival-driven rhythm Errant had known in the forest, but something warmer. Softer. Something that felt almost like... Living.

 

It started with a shutter.

Errant was sitting in the Garden one morning, watching Addy tend to the vegetables, when he heard Corwin muttering inside the house.

He stood and peered through the window.

Corwin was standing in his study, staring up at a shutter that hung crooked on its hinges, swaying slightly in the breeze.

"Need help?" Errant called through the open window.

Corwin looked over, surprised. "I can manage."

"I know," Errant said. "But I'm offering anyway."

Corwin hesitated, then smiled faintly. "All right. Come in."

Errant found tools in a small shed out back—a hammer, nails, a piece of scrap wood. He climbed onto a chair and examined the shutter, testing the hinge.

"It's loose," he said. "The wood's rotted where the screws go in. I can patch it."

Corwin watched as Errant worked, his movements careful and practiced.

"You're good at this," Corwin said.

Errant shrugged. "I had to be. Out there, if something broke, I fixed it. No one else was going to do it."

He reinforced the frame with the scrap wood, reset the hinge, and tested the shutter. It swung smoothly, no longer crooked.

Corwin nodded, impressed. "Thank you."

Errant climbed down, wiping his hands on his trousers. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Corwin said quietly. "You didn't have to help. But you did. That Matters."

Errant looked at him, something warm settling in his chest.

"You've helped me," he said. "It's the least I can do."

A few days later, Addy found Errant brushing Swift in the small stable behind the house.

"He's beautiful," she said, leaning against the stall door.

Errant glanced up. "Thanks. He's... he's been with me a long time."

Addy reached out slowly, letting Swift sniff her hand before stroking his nose. The horse nickered softly, leaning into her touch.

"He likes you," Errant said, surprised.

"Most animals do," Addy said with a grin. "I've got a way with them."

Errant smiled. "You want to ride him?"

Addy's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Sure," Errant said. "If you want."

He saddled Swift and led him out into the clearing. Addy swung up easily, settling into the saddle with practiced confidence.

"You've ridden before," Errant said.

"A little," Addy said. "But not in a while."

Errant climbed up behind her, his arms reaching around to hold the reins.

Addy stiffened slightly, then relaxed.

"Ready?" Errant asked.

"Ready."

He urged Swift into a gentle trot, guiding the horse along the Trail that led up into the Hills behind Farhaven.

The wind picked up as they climbed, cool and fresh, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers. The town spread out below them, small and peaceful in the afternoon light.

Addy laughed, her hair whipping in the wind. "This is amazing!"

Errant felt something loosen in his chest.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd shared this—the simple Joy of riding, of being outside, of feeling Free.

They rode for an hour, following the trail through the Hills, talking and laughing and letting the World fall away.

When they finally returned, Addy slid down from the saddle, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.

"Thank you," she said. "That was... I needed that."

Errant dismounted, his heart beating a little faster than it should. "Anytime."

Addy smiled, and for a moment, they just stood there, looking at each other.

Then she turned and headed back to the house, and Errant stood there, watching her go, feeling something he couldn't quite name.

 

Corwin sent Errant into Town a few days later.

"I need a few things from the General Store," he said, handing Errant a list. "Herbs, lamp oil, a spool of thread. Think you can manage?"

Errant hesitated. "I... I don't know the Town well."

"You'll be fine," Corwin said. "It's a small place. And people here are decent, for the most part. Just keep your head down, get what's on the list, and come back."

Errant nodded, his stomach tight.

He hadn't been into Town alone since he'd arrived. Hadn't walked the streets, hadn't interacted with strangers.

But Corwin trusted him.

And he didn't want to let him down.

The General Store was at the center of Town, a squat wooden building with a covered porch and a hand-painted sign that read 'TUCKER'S GOODS'.

Errant stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling.

The store was dim and cluttered, shelves packed with everything from canned goods to saddles to bolts of fabric. A man stood behind the counter—middle-aged, balding, with a friendly face.

"Help you?" he asked.

Errant pulled out the list and handed it over.

The man scanned it, nodding. "I can get all this. Give me a minute."

He moved around the store, gathering items, chatting amiably as he worked.

"You're new in Town, aren't you?" he asked.

Errant nodded. "Staying with Corwin."

The man's expression brightened. "Ah, Doc Corwin! Good man. Helped my wife once when she found a strange trinket in her grandmother's things. Turned out it was just an old locket, but he took the time to explain it to her. Real patient. Fixed up my boy's broken arm last winter, too. Steady hands."

Errant managed a small smile. "He's... he's been kind to me."

"That's the Doc," the man said, setting the items on the counter. "Always helping folks. You're lucky to have found him."

Errant paid, gathered the supplies, and stepped back out into the sunlight.

As he walked back through Town, he noticed things he hadn't before.

People nodding to each other as they passed. A woman laughing with a friend outside the bakery. A child chasing a dog down the street.

It wasn't perfect.

But it felt... Safe.

For the first time in seven years, Errant walked through a Town and didn't feel the need to run.

He didn't feel the cold knot of fear in his chest, didn't flinch at every voice or footstep.

He just... walked.

And it felt good.

That night, after dinner, Addy pulled out a deck of cards.

"You know how to play poker?" she asked.

Errant shook his head.

"Perfect," Addy said, grinning. "I'll teach you."

They played for hours, Addy explaining the rules, Corwin watching with quiet amusement as Errant fumbled through his first few hands.

But slowly, he got the hang of it.

And when he finally won a hand—purely by Luck—Addy threw her cards down in mock outrage.

"Beginner's Luck!" she declared.

Corwin chuckled. "Or he's a natural."

Errant laughed—really laughed—for the first time in as long as he could remember.

And as the night wore on, as they played and talked and teased each other, Errant realized something.

He wasn't just surviving anymore.

He was Living.

And it felt... good.

Better than good.

It felt like something he wanted to hold onto.

Forever.

 

CHAPTER 13: FALLING

 

The weeks passed quietly.

Errant stopped counting the days. Stopped looking over his shoulder every time he heard a sound. Stopped waiting for the wrongness to return.

For the first time in his Life, he let himself just... Be.

 

It started one evening after dinner.

Addy had gone out to the Garden to check on something, and Errant followed without thinking.

She was standing near the fence, looking up at the sky. The stars were out, bright and endless, scattered across the darkness like scattered salt.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said without looking at him.

Errant stopped beside her. "Yeah."

They stood in silence for a while, just watching the stars.

"I used to do this when I was younger," Addy said quietly. "When things felt too big or too complicated. I'd come out here and look up, and it would remind me that I'm just... small. One person in a huge World. And somehow, that made things feel easier."

Errant glanced at her. "Does it still work?"

Addy smiled. "Sometimes."

She turned to look at him, her expression soft in the starlight.

"What about you?" she asked. "Did you ever do this? Out in the forest?"

Errant nodded. "All the time. It was... quieter out there. No lanterns. No fires from Town. Just the stars and the trees and me."

"Were you lonely?" Addy asked gently.

Errant hesitated. "I didn't think I was. I told myself I was fine. That I didn't need anyone."

"And now?"

He looked at her, his chest tight.

"Now I know I was lying to myself."

Addy's smile widened, warm and genuine. "Good. Because we need you too."

They stood there, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and Errant felt something shift between them.

Something warm and fragile and terrifying.

 

A few days later, Corwin asked them both to help reorganize his study.

"It's gotten out of hand," he admitted, gesturing to the cluttered shelves and stacks of books. "I can't find anything anymore."

Addy laughed. "You say that every year, and every year it gets worse."

"Which is why I need help," Corwin said with a faint smile.

They spent the afternoon sorting through Artifacts, books, and papers. Corwin explained the history of each object as they worked—where it came from, what it did, why it Mattered.

Errant listened, fascinated.

And Addy teased Corwin gently, rolling her eyes when he got too caught up in a story, nudging Errant when Corwin wasn't looking and whispering, "He'll talk for hours if you let him."

Errant grinned.

At one point, they reached for the same book at the same time, and their hands brushed.

Addy pulled back quickly, her cheeks flushing. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Errant said, his heart beating faster than it should.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Corwin cleared his throat from across the room, and they both looked away, embarrassed.

But Errant couldn't stop thinking about it.

The warmth of her hand. The way she'd looked at him.

The way his chest had tightened, like something inside him was waking up.

 

It happened a week later.

Errant was fixing a loose board on the back porch when Addy came out with two cups of coffee.

"Thought you could use a break," she said, handing him one.

"Thanks," Errant said, setting down his hammer and sitting on the steps.

Addy sat beside him, close enough that their knees almost touched.

They drank in comfortable silence, watching the sun sink lower in the sky, painting the Hills gold and orange.

"I've been thinking," Addy said after a while.

"About what?"

"About you," she said. "About how different things are now that you're here."

Errant looked at her, his pulse quickening. "Different how?"

Addy smiled. "Better. It's... it's nice having someone else around. Someone who isn't just Corwin."

"He's not so bad," Errant said.

"No," Addy agreed. "But he's not you."

Errant's breath caught.

Addy turned to face him, her expression serious now. "I'm glad you came here, Errant. I know it wasn't your choice. I know you were running. But... I'm glad you ended up here. With us."

"Me too," Errant said quietly.

They were close now. So close he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, the way her hair caught the fading light.

Addy's gaze dropped to his lips, then back up.

Errant's heart pounded.

He leaned in—

And then the door opened.

Corwin stepped out onto the porch, a book in his hand, and stopped when he saw them.

"Oh," he said. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

Addy pulled back quickly, her cheeks flushing. "You're not. We were just—"

"Talking," Errant finished, his voice a little too loud.

Corwin's lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile. "Of course. I'll just... leave this here."

He set the book on the porch railing and went back inside.

Addy and Errant sat in awkward silence for a moment.

Then Addy laughed—soft and a little breathless.

"That was..."

"Yeah," Errant said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Addy stood, still smiling. "I should... I should go help with dinner."

"Right," Errant said. "Yeah."

Addy hesitated, then reached out and squeezed his hand—just for a moment, her fingers warm against his.

Then she stood and walked to the door.

She paused at the threshold, looking back at him. Her expression was soft, Hopeful, a little uncertain.

"Errant?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here."

He met her gaze, his heart pounding. "So am I."

She smiled—really smiled—and then slipped inside.

Errant sat there on the porch for a long time after she left, watching the sun sink below the hills, the sky turning from gold to deep purple.

His hand still tingled where she'd touched it.

His chest still felt tight, like something inside him was trying to break free.

He didn't know what to call this feeling.

But he knew he didn't want it to end.

That night, Errant lay awake in his small room, staring at the ceiling.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

About the way she laughed. The way she looked at him. The way his whole body had felt Alive when she'd leaned in close.

He'd never felt this way before.

Didn't even know what to call it.

But he knew one thing for certain:

He didn't want to lose it.

Didn't want to lose her.

For the first time in his Life, Errant had something worth Protecting that wasn't just survival.

He had a Home.

A Family.

And maybe—just maybe—something more.

He closed his eyes and let himself imagine it.

A Future. Here. With them.

With Her.

It felt impossible.

But it also felt... Right.

 

CHAPTER 14: THE SNAKE

 

The morning started like any other.

Errant woke to the smell of coffee brewing and the sound of Addy humming in the kitchen. He dressed quickly and stepped out into the main room, where Corwin was already at his desk, bent over a book.

"Morning," Errant said.

Corwin looked up and nodded. "Morning. Sleep well?"

"Well enough," Errant said, though that wasn't entirely true. He'd spent half the night thinking about Addy, replaying the moment on the porch over and over.

Addy appeared from the kitchen, carrying a plate of biscuits. She smiled when she saw him, and Errant's chest tightened.

"Morning," she said.

"Morning."

They ate breakfast together, the conversation light and easy. Corwin mentioned needing to check on a patient in Town later. Addy said she wanted to gather some herbs from the Hills before the afternoon heat set in.

"I can come with you," Errant offered.

Addy's smile widened. "I'd like that."

 

They set out an hour later, following a narrow trail that wound up into the hills behind Farhaven.

The morning was cool and clear, the sky a brilliant blue. Wildflowers dotted the hillsides—yellows and purples and whites—and the air smelled of sage and pine.

Addy carried a woven basket over one arm, stopping every so often to examine a plant or pluck a handful of leaves.

"What are you looking for?" Errant asked.

"Yarrow," Addy said. "And maybe some wild mint if I can find it. Corwin's running low."

Errant watched as she worked, her movements quick and practiced. She knew these Hills, knew the plants, knew exactly what she was looking for.

"You're good at this," he said.

Addy glanced at him, smiling. "I've been doing it since I was a kid. Corwin taught me. He said if I was going to live with him, I needed to know how to help."

"Do you like it?" Errant asked. "Helping him?"

Addy paused, considering. "Yeah. I do. It feels... useful, you know? Like I'm doing something that Matters."

Errant nodded. He understood that.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the trail climbing higher, the town shrinking below them.

And then Addy stopped.

"There," she said, pointing to a cluster of plants growing near a rocky outcropping. "Yarrow. Perfect."

She set down her basket and knelt beside the plants, carefully cutting the stems.

Errant stood nearby, watching the horizon, letting his mind wander.

And then he heard it.

A sharp, dry rattle.

His blood went cold.

"Addy—"

She screamed.

Errant spun.

Addy was on the ground, clutching her leg, her face twisted in pain. A few feet away, coiled among the rocks, was a rattlesnake—thick-bodied, its tail still vibrating.

"No—" Errant's voice broke.

He lunged forward, grabbing a rock and hurling it at the snake. It struck the creature's head, and the snake recoiled, slithering away into the rocks.

Errant dropped to his knees beside Addy.

"Let me see," he said, his hands shaking.

Addy's face was pale, her breathing shallow. She pulled her hand away from her calf, and Errant saw the two puncture marks, already swelling, blood trickling down her leg.

"It bit me," she whispered. "Errant, it—"

"I know," Errant said, his voice tight. "It's okay. You're going to be okay."

But he didn't know if that was True.

He'd seen snakebites before. Seen what they could do.

"We need to get you back to Corwin," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Can you walk?"

Addy tried to stand, but her leg buckled. She gasped in pain, and Errant caught her.

"I can't—" Her voice was shaking. "Errant, I can't feel my leg."

Panic clawed at Errant's chest.

The Town was too far. Corwin was too far.

She didn't have time.

"It's okay," he said, lowering her gently to the ground. "Just... just stay still. Don't move."

Addy's eyes were wide, terrified. "Errant—"

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he said, his voice fierce. "I Promise."

But he didn't know how to keep that Promise.

He looked down at her leg, at the swelling spreading rapidly, the skin turning dark and mottled.

She was dying.

And he couldn't stop it.

'No.'

The thought came unbidden, desperate.

'No. Not her. Not now.'

His hand moved to the pouch at his belt.

The Disk.

He pulled it out, the metal warm against his palm, the patterns shifting in the sunlight.

"Errant, what are you—" Addy's voice was faint now, her breathing labored.

He didn't answer.

He pressed the Disk against her leg, over the bite, and closed his eyes.

'Please.'

The word filled his Mind, his Heart, his entire Being.

'Please. Save her. I can't lose her. Please.'

The Disk grew warm.

Then hot.

And then—

Light.

Brilliant, blinding Light that poured from the Disk, flooding through Errant's hands, through Addy's leg, through everything.

Errant gasped, his whole body trembling.

He felt it—the Disk responding to him, to his Intention, to the desperate, aching need to Save her.

And then, as suddenly as it had come, the Light faded.

Errant opened his eyes.

The Disk was cool in his hand, inert.

And Addy—

She was staring at him, her eyes wide, her breathing steady.

"What..." she whispered. "What did you do?"

Errant looked down at her leg.

The swelling was gone. The puncture marks had closed, leaving only faint scars. The dark, mottled skin had returned to its normal color.

She was Healed.

Completely.

Errant's hands were shaking so hard he nearly dropped the Disk.

"I... I don't know," he said, his voice barely audible. "I just... I couldn't let you die."

Addy sat up slowly, testing her leg. She flexed her foot, pressed her fingers against the scars, her expression stunned.

"It's gone," she said. "The pain. The venom. It's... it's gone."

She looked up at Errant, her eyes filled with Wonder and fear.

"You used the Disk."

Errant nodded, his throat tight.

"I didn't know what else to do."

Addy reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"You Saved my Life."

Errant's chest ached. "I couldn't lose you."

Addy's eyes filled with tears. "Errant—"

A voice called from down the trail.

"Addy! Errant!"

They both turned.

Corwin was running up the path, his face pale, his eyes wide.

He must have felt it. The Disk's Power. The Light.

He reached them, breathing hard, and dropped to his knees beside Addy.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Snake," Addy said, her voice shaking. "Rattlesnake. It bit me. But Errant—" She looked at Errant. "He used the Disk. He healed me."

Corwin's gaze snapped to Errant, then to the Disk still clutched in his hand.

For a long moment, Corwin said nothing.

Then he exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.

"You used it," he said quietly.

Errant nodded. "I didn't have a Choice. She was dying."

Corwin looked at Addy, at her healed leg, then back at Errant.

"Your intention was Pure," he said. "You wanted to Save her. Nothing else. That's why it worked."

Errant's hands were still shaking. "I didn't know if it would. I just... I couldn't let her die."

Corwin's expression softened. "I know."

He stood, helping Addy to her feet. She tested her leg again, still marveling at the fact that it was whole.

They started back down the trail, Addy leaning slightly on Corwin's arm, Errant walking beside them.

The morning was still beautiful. The sky still clear. The wildflowers still bright.

Everything looked the same.

But Errant couldn't shake the strange feeling in his chest—drained and electrified at the same time.

'She's safe. That's what Matters.'

 

They were halfway back to the house when Addy stopped.

"Oh no," she said. "My basket. I left it up by the rocks."

Errant turned. "I'll get it."

"You don't have to—"

"It's fine," Errant said. "You should rest. I'll be right back."

Addy hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you."

Errant jogged back up the trail, retracing their steps.

The basket was right where Addy had left it, sitting beside the rocky outcropping. Errant picked it up, checking to make sure nothing had spilled.

And then he felt it.

The wrongness.

Cold. Sharp. Familiar.

His blood turned to ice.

He turned slowly.

And there, standing at the edge of the clearing, was Riven.

Tall. Dark-haired. Dressed in black.

The shadow-gun gleaming at his side.

Errant's breath caught.

Riven stood perfectly still, his eyes locked on Errant.

And then, slowly, he smiled.

"Hello, Errant."

 

CHAPTER 15: THE CONFRONTATION 

 

Errant couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

Riven stood twenty feet away, perfectly still, his dark eyes fixed on Errant with an intensity that made Errant's skin crawl.

He looked exactly the same as he had during the ambush—tall, lean, dressed in black. The shadow-gun hung at his hip, and his hand rested near it, casual but ready.

But there was something different now.

Something in the way Riven was looking at him.

Not just anger. Not just determination.

Curiosity.

"You've been running a long time," Riven said, his voice calm. Almost conversational. "I'm impressed. Most people don't last a week."

Errant's hand moved instinctively to the pouch at his belt, fingers brushing the Disk.

Riven's eyes tracked the movement. "Don't."

Errant froze.

"I'm not here to kill you," Riven said. "Not yet. I just want the Disk. Give it to me, and you can walk away."

Errant's throat was dry. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" Riven asked, tilting his head. "What is it to you? You don't even know what it does."

"I know enough," Errant said quietly. "I know the Council wants it. I know what they'll do with it."

Riven's expression darkened. "The Council wants to restore order. To fix what's broken. The Disk is the key to that."

"By controlling people?" Errant said, his voice stronger now. "By reshaping the World to fit their vision? That's not fixing anything. That's tyranny."

Riven's jaw tightened. "You don't understand. The World is chaos. People are selfish, destructive, cruel. The Council can bring Balance. Peace. But only if they have the Power to enforce it."

"And you Believe that?" Errant asked.

Riven hesitated. Just for a moment.

Then his expression hardened again. "It doesn't matter what I Believe. I have a job to do."

"You're a Person, not a weapon," Errant said. "You have a Choice."

Riven's eyes flashed. "I am a weapon. That's all I've ever been. That's all I was made for."

Errant's chest tightened. "That's not True."

"How would you know?" Riven snapped. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you're more than what they made you," Errant said. "I know because I'm the same."

Riven stared at him, his expression unreadable.

"What are you talking about?"

Errant took a breath. "We're Connected. I don't know how or why, but we are. That's why we look the same. That's why I knew your name before you told me. We're... we're two halves of the same Whole."

Riven's hand moved to his shadow-gun. "That's insane."

"Is it?" Errant said. "Look at me. Really look. You know I'm telling the Truth."

Riven's eyes narrowed, but he didn't draw the gun.

For a long moment, they just stood there, staring at each other.

And then Riven spoke, his voice low and dangerous.

"If we're Connected, then you're just as much a weapon as I am. Which means you should understand why I have to take the Disk."

"I understand why you think you have to," Errant said. "But you're wrong. The Council doesn't care about you. They don't care about Balance or Peace. They just want Power. And they'll use you until there's nothing left."

Riven's expression twisted. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Errant said. "You said it yourself—you're a weapon. That's all they see you as. But you're more than that. You could be more than that. If you'd just—"

"Enough," Riven said, his voice sharp.

He drew the shadow-gun.

Errant's heart slammed against his ribs.

"I gave you a chance," Riven said. "Now give me the Disk, or I'll take it from your corpse."

Errant's hand closed around the Disk in his pouch.

He could feel it—warm, alive, waiting.

But he didn't pull it out.

"I'm not going to fight you," Errant said quietly.

Riven's eyes narrowed. "Then you're a fool."

"Maybe," Errant said. "But I'm not going to kill you. And I'm not going to let you kill me."

"You don't have a Choice."

"There's always a Choice," Errant said.

Riven raised the shadow-gun, aiming it directly at Errant's chest.

And then—

A voice rang out across the clearing.

"Stop."

Both of them turned.

Corwin stood at the edge of the clearing, his expression calm but his eyes blazing with Light—faint, golden, unmistakable.

Riven's eyes widened. "What—"

"Lower your weapon," Corwin said, his voice quiet but commanding.

Riven didn't move. "Who are you?"

"Someone who's been watching both of you for a very long time," Corwin said. He stepped forward, his gaze shifting between Errant and Riven. "And I'm not going to let you destroy each other."

Riven's hand tightened on the shadow-gun. "Stay out of this, Old Man."

"I can't do that," Corwin said. "Because you're both wrong."

Errant blinked. "What?"

Corwin looked at him, his expression sad. "You think you can save him with words. You think if you just reach him, he'll see the truth and change. But it's not that simple."

He turned to Riven. "And you think you're a weapon. That you have no choice. But you do. You've always had one. You're just too afraid to take it."

Riven's jaw clenched. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know more than you think," Corwin said. "I know you were created by the Council. I know they twisted you, shaped you, made you into something you were never meant to be. But I also know that you're still you. Somewhere beneath all that Darkness, you're still a person. And you can still Choose."

Riven's hand trembled. "I don't have a Choice."

"Yes, you do," Corwin said gently. "You always have."

For a moment, Riven just stood there, his expression torn.

And then his eyes hardened.

"No," he said. "I don't."

He pulled the trigger.

Shadow-fire erupted from the gun, streaking toward Corwin.

"No!" Errant screamed.

But Corwin didn't move.

He raised his hand, and Light blazed from his palm—brilliant, blinding, pure.

The shadow-fire struck the Light and shattered, dissipating into nothing.

Riven staggered back, his eyes wide with shock.

"What are you?" he whispered.

Corwin lowered his hand, the Light fading. "Someone who's trying to Save you both."

He looked at Errant. "Take Addy and go. Now."

"But—"

"Now, Errant."

Errant hesitated, his chest tight.

Then he turned and ran.

 

CHAPTER 16: RUN

 

Errant ran.

His boots pounded against the dirt trail, his lungs burning, Addy's basket forgotten somewhere behind him.

He could still see it—the light blazing from Corwin's hand, the shadow-fire shattering against it, Riven's face twisted in shock.

'Take Addy and go. Now.'

Errant burst through the back door of the house.

Addy was in the kitchen, her face pale. "What's happening? I heard—"

"We have to go," Errant said, grabbing her hand. "Right now."

"What? Errant, what—"

"Riven's here," Errant said, pulling her toward the door. "Corwin's holding him off, but we don't have much time."

Addy's eyes went wide. "We can't just leave him—"

"Corwin told us to go," Errant said. "And I need you to be safe. Please, Addy. I can't—" His voice broke. "I can't lose you."

Addy hesitated for only a second, then nodded.

They ran to the small stable behind the house.

Swift was already alert, ears pricked, sensing the danger.

Errant's hands shook as he threw the saddle over Swift's back, cinching it tight. No time for a proper job. No time for anything but speed.

Addy climbed up first, and Errant swung up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he grabbed the reins.

"Hold on," he said.

And then he kicked Swift into a gallop.

They tore through the Hills behind Farhaven, the Town shrinking behind them.

Errant didn't look back.

Couldn't look back.

If he did, he'd see Corwin. He'd see Riven. He'd see everything he was leaving behind.

And he couldn't afford to stop.

Swift's hooves thundered against the hard-packed earth, the wind whipping past them, Addy's hair flying in Errant's face.

She didn't speak. Didn't ask questions.

She just held on.

They rode hard for what felt like hours.

Errant's arms ached. His legs burned. Swift was breathing hard, foam flecking his neck.

But they didn't stop.

Not until they hit the main road.

Errant slowed Swift to a trot, then a walk, his chest heaving.

The road was wide and well-traveled, wagon ruts cutting deep into the dirt. Hoofprints everywhere—horses, mules, oxen. The tracks of a dozen travelers all mingling together.

Errant guided Swift onto the road, letting their tracks blend with the others.

"Smart," Addy said quietly, her voice shaking. "They won't be able to follow us."

Errant nodded, though he wasn't sure if it was True.

Riven had tracked him through the Forest for weeks. A crowded road might slow him down, but it wouldn't stop him.

Nothing would stop him.

Not until he had the Disk.

Or until Errant was dead.

They rode in silence for a long time.

The sun climbed higher, the heat pressing down on them. Errant's shirt stuck to his back with sweat. His head throbbed.

Addy shifted in the saddle, leaning back against him slightly.

"Is Corwin going to be okay?" she asked quietly.

Errant's throat tightened. "I don't know."

"He's strong," Addy said, like she was trying to convince herself. "He's survived worse."

Errant didn't answer.

He didn't know what Corwin was. Didn't know the full extent of his Power.

But he'd seen the Light. Felt it.

And he knew one thing for certain:

Corwin wasn't just a Doctor.

He was something more.

Something that could stand against Riven.

At least for a while.

Please let it be enough, Errant thought. Please let him be okay.

 

By midday, they reached a small Trading Post at a Crossroads.

It was little more than a wooden shack with a covered porch, a hitching post out front, and a hand-painted sign that read CROSS TRADING POST.

A few horses were tied outside, their riders nowhere in sight.

Errant dismounted and helped Addy down. Swift's legs trembled slightly, his coat dark with sweat.

"He needs water," Errant said. "And rest."

Addy nodded. "So do we."

Errant led Swift to the water trough and let him drink. The horse drank deeply, his sides heaving.

Errant stroked his neck. "Good boy. You did good."

Addy stood beside him, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked exhausted—her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Are you okay?" Errant asked.

Addy let out a shaky breath. "I don't know. Are you?"

Errant looked down at his hands. They were still shaking.

"No," he said quietly.

Addy reached out and took his hand, squeezing it.

"We'll figure it out," she said. "Together."

Errant nodded, though he didn't know how.

They stepped inside the Trading Post.

It was dim and cluttered, shelves packed with everything from canned goods to saddles to bolts of fabric. The air smelled of leather and tobacco.

An older man stood behind the counter, with a weathered face, with kind eyes.

"May I help you folks?" he asked.

"Just looking," Errant said.

The man nodded and went back to his ledger.

Errant wandered the aisles, his mind still racing.

What now? Where do we go? How do we stay ahead of Riven?

And then Addy's voice pulled him back.

"Errant."

He turned.

She was standing by a shelf near the back, holding something.

A hat.

Dark leather, wide-brimmed, well-worn but sturdy. The kind a real frontiersman would wear.

"You need a hat," she said softly. "The sun's brutal out here."

Errant stepped closer, taking the hat from her hands.

It was heavier than he expected. Solid. Real.

He tried it on.

It fit perfectly.

The Shopkeeper looked up from his ledger and nodded approvingly. "Good choice. That one's got a stampede string—keeps it on your head no matter how hard you ride."

He gestured to the braided leather cord attached to the hat, meant to loop under the chin or hang loose at the neck.

Errant adjusted it, testing the fit.

Addy smiled—small, but genuine. "You look like you Belong out here now. Not running. Just... Living."

Errant caught his reflection in a dusty window.

Hat pulled low. The cord resting against his collar. Swift waiting outside.

For the first time, he didn't look like someone lost.

He looked like someone with a Purpose.

A Protector.

A man with something Worth Fighting For.

He turned to the shopkeeper. "How much?"

They left the trading post an hour later.

Swift was rested. Errant wore his new hat, the brim shading his eyes from the sun.

Addy rode in front of him again, her back pressed against his chest, her hands resting on his arms.

They didn't know where they were going.

Didn't know if Corwin was Safe.

Didn't know how long they could stay ahead of Riven.

But for now, they were Together.

And that was enough.

 

CHAPTER 17: SHELTER

 

They rode until sunset.

The road stretched endlessly before them, winding through rolling hills and sparse woodland. Other travelers passed them—a wagon hauling supplies, a lone rider heading the opposite direction, a family on horseback with children bundled in blankets.

No one paid them much attention.

Just another couple on the road. Nothing unusual.

Errant kept his hat pulled low, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Every shadow made his heart race. Every distant sound made his hand move to the Disk at his belt.

But Riven didn't come.

Not yet.

As the sun dipped below the Hills, painting the sky orange and purple, Addy spoke for the first time in hours.

"We need to stop," she said quietly. "Swift needs rest. And so do we."

Errant knew she was right.

Swift's gait had slowed, his head hanging lower. The horse had carried them hard and fast all day without complaint, but he couldn't go on forever.

Neither could they.

"There," Addy said, pointing.

Off the main road, tucked into a grove of trees, was an old barn. Half-collapsed, weathered gray by time, but still standing.

Errant guided Swift off the road and toward the barn.

The barn was empty.

No animals. No people. Just old hay scattered across the floor and the smell of dust and dry wood.

Errant led Swift inside and unsaddled him, his hands moving automatically despite his exhaustion. He rubbed the horse down with handfuls of straw, checking his legs, his hooves.

"You did good today," Errant murmured. "Real good."

Swift nickered softly, leaning into Errant's touch.

Addy stood near the barn door, watching the road.

"Do you think he's following us?" she asked.

Errant didn't answer right away.

He wanted to say no. Wanted to believe they'd lost him.

But he knew better.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "He's following."

Addy's shoulders sagged. "Then what do we do?"

Errant straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers. "We keep moving. Stay ahead of him. Find somewhere Safe."

"Where?" Addy asked, turning to face him. "Where is Safe, Errant? He found you in the middle of nowhere once. He'll find you again."

Errant's jaw tightened. "I know."

"Then what's the plan?" Addy's voice cracked. "We can't run forever."

"I don't know," Errant admitted. "I don't have a plan. I just... I just need you to be Safe. That's all I know."

Addy crossed the barn and took his hands in hers.

"I am safe," she said. "Because I'm with you."

Errant looked down at their joined hands, his chest tight.

"You shouldn't be," he said quietly. "You should be back in Farhaven with Corwin. Safe. Away from all of this."

"But I'm not," Addy said firmly. "I'm here. And I'm not leaving you."

Errant's throat ached. "Addy—"

"No," she said. "You don't get to push me away. Not now. Not after everything."

She stepped closer, her eyes fierce.

"You saved my life, Errant. You used the Disk to save me. You risked everything. So don't tell me I should be somewhere else. I'm exactly where I want to be."

Errant stared at her, his heart pounding.

And then, before he could think, before he could stop himself—

He kissed her.

It was clumsy and desperate and perfect.

Addy's hands came up to his face, her fingers tangling in his hair, and she kissed him back with everything she had.

For a moment, the fear fell away.

The danger. The uncertainty. The weight of the Disk at his belt.

All of it disappeared.

There was just her.

Just this.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Addy smiled—small and trembling but real.

"Took you long enough," she whispered.

Errant let out a shaky laugh. "I didn't know if—"

"I know," Addy said, pressing her forehead against his. "But now you do."

They made camp in the barn.

There was no fire—too risky. But they had each other, and the warmth of Swift nearby, and the shelter of the old walls.

Addy curled up against Errant's side, her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her.

"What happens tomorrow?" she asked quietly.

Errant stared up at the barn's broken roof, the stars visible through the gaps.

"I don't know," he said. "But we'll figure it out. Together."

Addy's hand found his, their fingers lacing together.

"Together," she echoed.

And for the first time since Riven had appeared, Errant felt something other than fear.

He felt Hope.

But in the darkness beyond the barn, far down the road they'd traveled, a figure stood watching.

Tall. Dark-haired. Dressed in black.

Riven's eyes narrowed as he stared at the distant grove of trees.

He could feel it.

The Disk.

Faint. Distant. But there.

He smiled.

"Found you."

 

CHAPTER 18: THE CHOICE

 

Errant tried to stay awake.

He sat with his back against the barn wall, Addy curled up beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. Swift stood nearby, his breathing slow and steady.

Errant's eyes felt heavy. His body ached with exhaustion.

Just need to stay awake. Just a little longer.

But the warmth of Addy against him, the quiet of the night, the bone-deep weariness—

His eyes closed.

Just for a moment.

Swift's whinny jolted him awake.

Errant's eyes snapped open, his heart slamming against his ribs.

The horse was stamping, ears pinned back, nostrils flaring.

Something was wrong.

"Addy," Errant whispered, shaking her gently. "Addy, wake up."

She stirred, blinking groggily. "What—"

"Something's here."

Addy sat up, instantly alert.

And then they heard it.

Slow footsteps.

Coming closer.

Errant's hand moved to the disk at his belt, his pulse racing.

"We have to go," he whispered. "Now."

They scrambled to their feet. Errant grabbed Swift's reins, his hands shaking as he tried to lead the horse toward the barn door.

But before they could reach it—

A bolt of shadow-fire exploded through the barn wall, tearing through the old wood like paper.

Addy screamed.

Errant pulled her close, shielding her with his body as debris rained down around them.

"Go!" he shouted. "Out the back!"

They ran.

Swift bolted ahead of them, crashing through the barn's broken rear wall and into the open field beyond.

Errant and Addy followed, stumbling over uneven ground, the night air cold against their faces.

"Swift!" Errant called.

The horse circled back, wild-eyed but obedient.

Errant grabbed the saddle, hauling himself up, then reached down for Addy.

She took his hand, and he pulled her up behind him.

"Hold on!"

Errant kicked Swift into a gallop, the horse surging forward across the field.

The Mountains loomed ahead, dark silhouettes against the starlit Sky.

If they could just reach the trees—

Another bolt of shadow-fire streaked past them, so close Errant felt the heat of it.

And then—

The ground exploded in front of them.

Shadow-fire erupted from the earth, a wall of darkness and flame blocking their path.

Swift reared, screaming.

Errant grabbed for the reins, his legs clamping tight around the horse's sides, but it was too much—

They fell.

Errant hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. Addy tumbled beside him, gasping.

Swift scrambled to his feet and bolted, disappearing into the darkness.

Errant pushed himself up, his vision swimming, his ribs screaming in protest.

And then he saw him.

Riven.

Standing twenty feet away, silhouetted against the dying shadow-fire.

Tall. Dark. Unmoving.

The shadow-gun gleaming in his hand.

Riven walked forward slowly, his boots crunching against the dry grass.

He stopped a few feet away, his eyes locked on Errant.

And then he did something Errant didn't expect. He reached into his coat and pulled out a second shadow-gun—identical to the one in his hand. Dark metal, gleaming with that unnatural light.

He tossed it.

The gun landed in the dirt at Errant's feet.

"Pick it up," Riven said.

Errant stared at the shadow-gun, his chest heaving.

'No,' Errant thought, 'No, I can't.'

"What?"

"Pick it up," Riven repeated. "And fight me."

Errant's hands clenched into fists. "I'm not going to fight you."

'I've never held a gun. Never wanted to. Never needed to.'

Riven's expression darkened. "Then you're a coward."

"I'm not a coward," Errant said, his voice shaking. "I just don't want to kill you."

'I don't want to be that person. I don't want to become what he is.'

"Why not?" Riven demanded. "I'm trying to kill you. I've been hunting you for weeks. I destroyed your Home. I would have killed you in that clearing if the Old Man hadn't stopped me. So why won't you fight back?"

"Because you're not my enemy," Errant said.

Riven's jaw tightened. "Yes, I am."

"No," Errant said. "You're not. The Council is. They're the ones who made you into this. They're the ones who twisted you, used you, turned you into a weapon. But you're more than that. You're—"

"Enough," Riven snapped.

He raised his shadow-gun, aiming it at Addy.

Errant's blood turned to ice.

'No. Not her. Anything but her.'

"Pick up the gun," Riven said, his voice cold. "Or I kill her."

Errant's mind raced.

'He means it. He'll do it. He'll kill her right in front of me.

I can't let that happen.

I can't lose her.'

His hand trembled as it moved toward the shadow-gun.

'I swore I'd never do this. Never pick up a weapon like this. Never become a killer.

Never become like him.

But if it Saves her—

If it's the only way—'

His fingers hovered over the dark metal, shaking violently.

He locked eyes with Riven, pleading. Tears blurring his vision. "No- Please-"

Riven cocked the gun. The click echoing around them. Pointed directly at Adeline.

"Do it," Riven said with venom in his voice.

A tear slipped down Errant's face and then two. He reached again for the gun, feeling the wrongness emanating from the weopon.

'I'll do it. I'll break every Promise I made to myself. I'll become whatever I have to be.

Even if it means becoming Darkness.

For Her.'

The gun seemed to pulse beneath his hand, waiting.

'Just pick it up. Just do it.'

His fingertips brushed the cold surface—

And then—

A voice rang out across the field.

"Stop!"

"Stop."

Both of them turned.

Corwin stood at the edge of the field, his coat torn, his face pale and drawn. Blood stained his shirt, but his eyes were blazing with Light.

"Corwin," Addy breathed.

Riven's eyes narrowed. "You again."

"I've been following you," Corwin said, stepping forward. "Waiting for the right moment."

"To do what?" Riven asked. "Stop me? You couldn't do it before."

"I wasn't trying to stop you before," Corwin said. "I was trying to give them time. But now—" He looked at Errant. "Now it's time to end this."

Riven's hand tightened on the shadow-gun. "Stay out of this, old man."

"I can't do that," Corwin said.

Riven's expression twisted. "Then you'll die with them."

He swung the shadow-gun toward Corwin—

And Errant moved.

He lunged forward, putting himself between Riven and Corwin, his arms spread wide.

"Stop!" Errant shouted.

Riven froze, the gun aimed directly at Errant's chest.

"Get out of the way," Riven said.

"No," Errant said.

"Move."

"No."

Riven's hand trembled. "I will shoot you."

"Then shoot me," Errant said.

He stepped closer.

'If this is how it ends, so be it. At least they'll be safe.'

Riven's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"If you want to kill someone," Errant said, his voice steady, "kill me. Not them. Not Addy. Not Corwin. Me."

He took another step.

The barrel of the shadow-gun pressed against his chest.

"I'm right here," Errant said quietly. "Take the shot."

Riven stared at him, his expression torn.

'What is he doing? Riven thought, his mind reeling. Why isn't he running? Why isn't he fighting?

Why is he just... standing there?'

"Why?" Riven whispered. "Why would you do this?"

"Because they Matter," Errant said. "Because I Love them. And I won't let you hurt them."

'Love.

That word again.

I don't understand it. I've never understood it.'

"You'd die for them?" Riven asked, his voice shaking.

"Yes," Errant said without hesitation.

'He means it,' Riven realized. 'He's not lying. He's not bluffing.

He would actually die for them.

Why?

What kind of person does that?'

Riven's hand trembled violently now, the gun shaking against Errant's chest.

'I'm supposed to kill him. That's my mission. That's what I was made for.

But he's not fighting back. He's not even afraid.

He's just... standing there.

Offering his life.

For them.'

"I don't understand," Riven said. "I don't understand you."

"I know," Errant said gently. "But maybe you don't have to. Maybe you just have to Choose."

"Choose what?"

"To be more than what they made you," Errant said. "To be free."

'Free.

What does that even mean?

I've never been Free. I've always had orders. Always had a Purpose.

But this—

This Feeling—

This confusion, this... doubt—

Is this what Freedom feels like?'

For a long moment, Riven just stood there, the gun pressed against Errant's heart.

'I could pull the trigger. Right now. End this.

Take the Disk. Complete my mission.

But then what?

I go back to the Council. Back to being their weapon.

Back to... nothing.

Is that what I want?

Is that all I am?'

And then—

Slowly—

He lowered the gun.

His hand fell to his side, the shadow-gun hanging loose in his grip.

'I don't know what I'm doing.

I don't know what happens now.

But I can't pull the trigger.

I can't kill him.

Not like this.'

He stared at Errant, his expression shattered.

"I don't know how to choose," he whispered.

"You just did," Errant said softly.

Riven's eyes glistened. He looked lost. Broken.

'What have I done?

What am I supposed to do now?'

And then he turned and walked away.

No words. No threats.

He just... left.

Errant stood frozen, his chest heaving, watching Riven disappear into the darkness, melting into the shadows.

And then Addy was there, her arms around him, holding him tight.

"You're okay," she whispered. "You're okay."

Errant's legs gave out, and they sank to the ground together, clinging to each other.

Corwin limped over, his face pale but relieved.

He paused, looking down at the shadow-gun still lying in the dirt where Errant had nearly touched it.

Without a word, Corwin bent down and picked it up, wrapping it carefully in a piece of cloth from his coat.

"What are you doing?" Errant asked, his voice hoarse.

"Taking it with us," Corwin said quietly. "This is a Council weapon. Dangerous. If we leave it here, someone else might find it. Use it."

He tucked the wrapped gun into his pack, his expression grim.

"Besides," he added, "I want to study it. Understand how they made it. What it can do."

Errant nodded slowly, too exhausted to argue.

Addy held him tighter.

"You did it," Corwin said quietly.

Errant looked up at him, his eyes burning. "Did what?"

"You showed him the truth," Corwin said. "That there's another way. That he has a choice."

Errant's throat tightened. "Will it be enough?"

Corwin was silent for a moment.

"I don't know," he said. "But it's a start."

CHAPTER 19: THE DECISION 

 

They stayed in the field until dawn.

Errant sat with his back against a fallen log, Addy curled against his side, her head on his shoulder. Corwin sat nearby, his coat wrapped around him, his eyes distant.

None of them spoke.

What was there to say?

Riven was gone. But he wasn't defeated. He wasn't dead.

He was just... somewhere else.

Thinking. Choosing. Maybe coming back.

The uncertainty hung over them like a storm cloud.

When the sun finally rose, Corwin stood.

"We need to talk," he said quietly.

Errant looked up at him, exhaustion weighing on every word. "About what?"

"About what happens next," Corwin said. He looked at Addy, then back at Errant. "You can't stay in Farhaven."

Addy sat up, her eyes wide. "What? Why not?"

"Because it's the first place they'll look," Corwin said. "The Council. When Riven doesn't return with the Disk, they'll send others. And they'll come here first. To my house. To the Town. They'll tear it apart looking for you."

Errant's chest tightened. "Then I'll leave. You and Addy can stay—"

"No," Corwin said firmly. "We all leave. Together."

Addy blinked. "You're coming with us?"

Corwin's expression softened. "Of course I am. You're my Daughter, Addy. I'm not letting you face this alone."

Addy's eyes filled with tears. "But your house. Your practice. Everything you've built—"

"Can be rebuilt," Corwin said gently. "Somewhere else. Somewhere safer."

He looked at Errant. "The Disk chose you for a reason. And until we understand what that reason is, you're going to need Protection. Guidance. And I'm not about to let the Council take you."

Errant stared at him, his throat tight. "You'd give up everything for us?"

Corwin smiled faintly. "I've given up more for less. Besides—" He glanced at Addy. "Family is worth more than a house."

Addy stood and threw her arms around Corwin, burying her face in his shoulder.

Corwin held her tight, his eyes closing.

Errant looked away, his chest aching.

Family.

I have a Family now.

They returned to Corwin's house to gather what they could carry.

Errant moved through the rooms in a daze, helping Addy pack clothes, food, medical supplies. Corwin gathered books, tools, a few personal items.

Swift waited outside, already saddled, his ears flicking nervously.

Addy paused in the doorway of her room, looking back at the small bed, the shelf of books, the window overlooking the Garden.

"I grew up here," she said quietly.

Errant stood beside her. "I'm sorry."

Addy shook her head. "Don't be. This is just a place. Home is..." She looked at him. "Home is wherever we are. Together."

Errant took her hand, squeezing it gently.

By midday, they were ready.

Three packs. One horse. And the open road ahead.

Corwin locked the door to his house one last time, then turned to face Errant and Addy.

"There's a place I know," he said. "On the coast. Remote. Hidden. The Council won't think to look there."

"How do you know about it?" Addy asked.

Corwin's expression was distant. "I've been alive a long time, Addy. I've seen a lot of places. This one... it's Special. Safe. A good place to start over."

Errant adjusted his hat, the stampede string resting against his collar. "How far?"

"A week's ride," Corwin said. "Maybe less if we push."

Errant nodded. "Then let's go."

They rode out of Farhaven as the sun climbed higher.

A few Townspeople watched them pass—curious, concerned, but no one asked questions.

Errant kept his eyes forward, his hand resting on the Disk at his belt.

This is the right Choice. The only Choice.

We can't stay. Not with the Council out there. Not with Riven still... uncertain.

Addy rode behind him on Swift, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed against his back.

Corwin walked beside them, his stride steady despite his injuries.

They didn't look back.

The road stretched before them, winding through Hills and Forest, past Farms and small Settlements.

They traveled in silence for the most part, each lost in their own thoughts.

Errant thought about Riven.

About the look in his eyes when he'd lowered the gun.

"I don't know how to choose."

"You just did."

Did he really? Or will he go back to the Council? Will he come after us again?

Errant didn't know.

And that uncertainty gnawed at him.

But he couldn't let it consume him.

He had to focus on what Mattered.

Addy. Corwin. Keeping them Safe.

Building a Life. A Real Life.

Not running. Choosing.

 

CHAPTER 20: THE COAST

 

The journey took about a week.

Six days of riding through Forest and over Hills, past Rivers and through Valleys. Six days of watching the landscape change—the trees growing sparser, the air growing saltier, the ground becoming rockier.

 

And then, on the seventh morning, Errant heard it.

A sound like distant thunder. Constant. Rhythmic. Powerful.

"What is that?" he asked, pulling Swift to a stop.

Corwin smiled. "That's the Ocean."

Errant's heart quickened.

Addy squeezed his waist. "We're close."

They crested the final hill just before noon.

And Errant saw it.

The Ocean.

Endless. Vast. Stretching to the horizon in every direction, a deep blue-green that shimmered in the sunlight.

Waves rolled toward the shore, crashing against the rocks with a roar that echoed through the air.

Errant couldn't breathe.

He'd never seen anything so big. So alive.

"It's..." He couldn't find the words.

"I know," Addy said softly, her voice full of Wonder.

Corwin gestured ahead. "The cove is just down that trail. Come on."

The trail wound down the cliffside, narrow and steep, but Swift navigated it carefully.

And then they emerged into the cove.

It was everything Corwin had promised.

A sheltered crescent of sandy beach, protected on three sides by towering cliffs. The Ocean lapped gently at the shore here, calmer than the wild waves beyond the rocks.

Tide pools dotted the beach, filled with starfish and small crabs. Seabirds circled overhead, their cries mingling with the sound of the surf.

And at the far end of the cove, a freshwater stream tumbled down the cliff face, pooling in a clear basin before flowing into the Sea.

"This is it," Corwin said, dismounting. "This is Home."

Addy slid off Swift and ran toward the water, laughing.

Errant dismounted slowly, his eyes wide, taking it all in.

This is Real. This is Ours.

Addy stood at the water's edge, the waves washing over her bare feet.

"Errant!" she called. "Come here!"

Errant walked toward her, his boots sinking into the wet sand.

He stopped beside her, staring out at the endless expanse of water.

The Ocean was louder here. Closer. The waves crashed and hissed, retreating and returning in an endless rhythm.

"Listen," Addy said, her voice barely audible over the surf.

Errant closed his eyes.

And he Listened.

Not just with his ears.

With everything.

The roar of the waves. The cry of the gulls. The whisper of the wind.

The disk at his belt grew warm, pulsing gently in rhythm with the waves.

And suddenly—

He could hear it.

Something deeper.

The Ocean's voice.

Ancient. Endless. Alive.

It spoke in a language without words—a Feeling, a Knowing, a Truth that resonated in his chest.

You are Safe here.

You are Home.

You are Free.

The Light inside him—the same Light that had saved Addy, the same Light that had connected him to the Disk—flared gently, responding to the Ocean's call.

And for the first time since he'd woken in the Forest with no memory, no name, no past—

Errant felt whole.

He opened his eyes, tears streaming down his face.

Addy squeezed his hand, her eyes wide. "What did you hear?"

Errant looked at her, then back at the ocean.

"Everything," he said softly. "I heard Everything."

It was overwhelming. Powerful. Humbling.

But also... Peaceful.

Like the World was breathing.

Like everything—the fear, the running, the uncertainty—was just a small part of something much, much bigger.

"It's amazing," he whispered.

Addy took his hand. "It's Home."

They spent the rest of the day exploring the cove.

Corwin pointed out the best places to build—flat ground near the stream, sheltered from the wind, with a clear view of the Ocean.

Addy collected shells and smooth stones, her laughter echoing off the cliffs.

Errant stood at the water's edge, letting the waves wash over his boots, feeling the pull and push of the tide.

I could stay here forever, he thought. I could Build a Life here. With Her.

He looked back at Addy, who was showing Corwin a particularly beautiful shell, her face bright with Joy.

This is what I was running toward all along.

Not away from something. Towards this.

Towards her.

 

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, the three of them sat together on the beach.

Corwin built a small fire, and they roasted fish he'd caught in the tide pools.

Addy leaned against Errant, her head on his shoulder, watching the waves.

"What do you think?" Corwin asked, looking at Errant. "Will this work?"

Errant nodded. "Yeah. This will work."

Corwin smiled. "Good. We'll start building tomorrow. A cabin first. Something simple. And then we'll see what else we need."

Addy looked up at Errant. "What do you want to Build?"

Errant thought for a moment.

"A Home," he said quietly. "A real Home. For us."

Addy's eyes shimmered. "For us."

She kissed him, soft and sweet, and Errant held her close.

 

That night, after Addy and Corwin had fallen asleep, Errant walked down to the water's edge.

The moon was full, casting silver light across the waves.

Errant pulled the Disk from his pouch and held it up, watching the moonlight reflect off its surface.

You brought me here, he thought. You Chose me. And I don't know why. But I'm going to Protect you. And I'm going to Protect them.

No matter what comes.

He tucked the disk away and looked out at the Ocean.

Somewhere, far beyond the horizon, the Council was plotting.

Somewhere, Riven was walking alone, trying to understand what Freedom meant.

But here, in this moment, Errant was Free.

Free to choose. Free to Love. Free to build a Life.

And he was going to make it count.

EPILOGUE: SHADOWS AND LIGHT

Far to the North, in a fortress carved from black stone, the Council of Darkness convened.

Twelve figures sat around a circular table, their faces hidden in shadow.

"Seeker Riven has failed," one of them said, their voice cold and sharp.

"He has not returned," another agreed. "And the Disk remains lost."

"Then we send others," a third said. "Stronger. Faster. More Loyal."

"No," said a voice from the head of the table.

The others fell silent.

The figure at the head leaned forward, their eyes glowing faintly in the darkness.

"Riven has not failed. He has Chosen."

"Chosen?" one of the Council members scoffed. "He is a weapon. He does not Choose."

"He does now," the figure said. "And that makes him dangerous."

"Then we destroy him."

"No," the figure said again. "We wait. Riven will return. And when he does, he will bring us the Disk. Or he will bring us war."

The Council murmured, uncertain.

But the figure at the head smiled.

"Either way, we win."

 

And far to the South, in a small Town on the edge of the Wilderness, Riven stood in the shadows of an alley.

He watched the people pass by—laughing, talking, Living.

What is it like? he wondered. To Live without orders? To Choose your own Path?

He didn't know.

But he wanted to find out.

He turned and walked into the Night, leaving the Town behind.

And for the first time in his Life, Riven was Free.

THE END

(To be continued in Book 2: Errant - Shadows of the Council)