Fate of the Marked

Frostmere

The road stretched out ahead of me, dimly lit by the silver glow of the moon. Shadows clung to the edges of the path, the trees on either side standing like silent sentinels. The air was cool, almost too still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. It had been years since I'd walked a road like this alone. Years since Roderick wasn't there, his heavy boots crunching alongside mine, his gruff voice breaking the quiet with some half-baked story or terrible joke.

But now? Just the sound of my own footsteps, steady and hollow against the dirt road. Even the usual nighttime chorus of crickets and owls seemed muted, as if the world was holding its breath.

It had barely been an hour since I left Hollowbrook, but the absence already felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on my chest. The night stretched wide and empty, and despite knowing it was for the best, I couldn't help but glance back over my shoulder every so often. Nothing. Just the dark, winding path disappearing behind me. No Roderick. No Elara. No Breon. Just me.

The thought struck harder than I expected, leaving an ache I hadn't prepared for. I'd always told myself that I could do this, that I'd be fine alone. But knowing it and feeling it were two different things. I missed the sound of Roderick's armor shifting with every step, his axe clanking softly against his back. I missed the way he'd grumble about the weight of his pack or complain about how the night air always made his joints ache.

And I missed the thing I'd never admit to anyone—not to him, not even to myself most days—the quiet reassurance that, no matter what, he'd be there. His shield ready, his axe swinging, always standing between me and whatever monster was foolish enough to cross us.

But now it was just me. Just my shadow stretching out long and thin under the pale moonlight.

I let out a breath, the sound loud in the stillness, and squared my shoulders. It wasn't the first time I'd felt this kind of loneliness. Hell, half the reason I started monster-slaying was because of that aching, hollow feeling that never quite left. But this? This was different. This wasn't just solitude. It was the weight of knowing I chose this. For them. For Breon.

The thought steadied me—just a little. I adjusted the pack on my shoulders, gripping my staff tighter as I forced my feet to keep moving. The road ahead was long, dark, and empty. But if I had to walk it alone, so be it.

Occasionally, I crossed paths with others on the road—adventurers with weapons slung across their backs, traders pulling small carts with creaky wheels, and soldiers marching in tight groups, their armor clinking softly in the night air. They'd nod in greeting, some sharing a few brief words about the road ahead.

"Quiet up this way," one of the soldiers had said, his helmet tucked under his arm. "Just keep your wits about you. There've been rumors of wolves."

"Thanks," I replied, offering a small nod as they passed. Wolves were the least of my worries, but I appreciated the sentiment.

The interactions were short, their words fading into the stillness as I continued on my way. It was nice, in a way, to hear voices other than my own thoughts, even if only for a moment. Still, none of them lingered long, and before I knew it, I was alone again, the road stretching endlessly under the faint moonlight.

The hours dragged, each step feeling heavier than the last. My legs began to protest, the weight of my pack pulling harder with every mile. By the time I saw a break in the trees—a small clearing bathed in silver moonlight—I knew it was time to stop.

I stepped off the road and into the forest, the ground softening beneath my boots as the scent of earth and pine filled the air. The clearing wasn't much, just a flat patch of ground surrounded by tall trees, but it would do.