The autumn light bathed the village in a gentle glow, somewhere between pale gold and aged copper.
The wind stirred the nearly bare branches, and the air carried mingled scents of baked apples, upturned earth, and damp woodsmoke. It was the end of the harvest, and the eve of the yearly celebration held to honor the final gathering before the great cold set in.
The troupe, for its part, was preparing to leave. After several days of discussion beneath Aldous's tent, it had been decided: they would head to the southern town of Briarhold before the roads became impassable. A larger town, where winters were less harsh, and where the group could survive on its skills. It was a place of passage, of trades, of dense hearths. There, they could sell, mend, teach.
There, they would winter.
But for now, they lingered—just a little longer—in this village nestled at the edge of the forest. And in that strange pause, bonds began to form.
Preparations for the festival had taken over the village square. Garlands of leaves and strands of colored wool stretched from tree to tree. Wooden trestles had been set up for the evening banquets. Young girls sat in circles weaving crowns of dried flowers and ivy. Music floated up in fits and starts, scratchy and eager from a corner. Children ran everywhere, waving wooden swords and willow hoops.
Adam, sleeves rolled up, had been tasked with raising one of the poles for the central garland. He set to it with good cheer, joking with the elders, drawing smiles from the passing girls.
The scar on his face—a long white gash stretching from forehead to jaw—could have chilled or intimidated. But he bore it with calm ease, and it somehow added to his presence, like an unexpected texture on a face otherwise too smooth.
"He must've survived a whole battle," people whispered. "Or a duel for honor."
Adam let them say what they would. He offered a smile, a charming word, and kept working without insistence. A girl with her arms full of ribbons shyly asked for help tying them. Another brought him a piece of pie without meeting his eyes. He accepted both with disarming ease, wiped his hands on his tunic, and thanked them with the same warm grin.
He wasn't trying. He was simply magnetic.
A few paces away, Edric was also drawing attention—though in a different way.
He had been seen sitting near the old apple tree at the edge of the hamlet, off to the side. His coat was still on, but open, arms resting on his knees. Two children had approached, silently at first, then on tiptoe, like one approaches an animal thought to be dangerous. They stood before him, one holding an apple, the other a twig. And, unexpectedly, Edric had spoken.
Not just a grunt or a dismissive wave—he'd actually answered their questions. In that deep, dry voice of his, but with a patience that surprised. He'd rolled his eyes when the youngest asked if his sword could slice a house in two, but he explained the weight, the metal, the scabbard. When a little girl asked if he'd ever killed wolves, he replied that wolves weren't half as cruel as people could be.
A smile, faint and fleeting, had even brushed across his face when the boy began mimicking a charging knight with the twig as a sword. Edric leaned in, corrected his grip, showed a movement. Slowly. Almost tenderly.
Emma, passing by with two young women, stopped in her tracks.
— "That's... Edric, isn't it?" asked one of them, eyebrow raised.
— "Yes," Emma replied, half-surprised, half-touched.
The younger of the two, a lively blonde, gave her a sideways glance.
— "And the other one? The tall, dark one who's always in your shadow. Is he your husband?"
Emma froze for a second. Her gaze drifted toward Victor, who was helping an old man repair a wagon wheel nearby. His sleeves were rolled up, hair tousled by the wind, brow slightly furrowed in concentration.
A strange warmth stirred in her chest. Not embarrassment—something else. As if the word husband had unlocked a door she hadn't dared look behind.
— "No... not exactly," she murmured.
— "Not exactly?" the other laughed. "Either he sleeps beside you, or he doesn't, right?"
— "He sleeps with me," Emma admitted, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
The young woman nudged her playfully.
— "Well, around here, that's as good as a husband. If he protects you, listens to you, fights for you... And if he's nice to look at on top of that? That's the full package."
Emma looked down, her smile small but sincere. She realized it was true—Victor did all of that for her.
She wasn't used to being spoken to like this. As if she belonged. As if she were part of something soft, and easy, and real.
It felt... nice. And almost new.
As she walked away, she glanced toward Victor. He had just finished with the wheel and straightened, back a little stiff, hands on his hips. He saw her and gave her a brief nod—one of those that meant more than words. Emma felt her cheeks warm.
Not far off, Edric was still with the children. He'd picked up a fallen apple and handed it to the smallest without a word, eyes narrowed under the softening light. That was when Adam passed behind him, a bundle of ribbons slung over his shoulder, a crooked smile on his face.
— "If I'd known all it took was a kid and an apple to make you smile like that," he said, "I'd have found you a dozen earlier this year."
Edric snorted, not turning around.
— "Keep talking and I'll stuff your ribbons up your nose."
Adam burst out laughing. He walked away without pushing further—but as he turned back, he saw what he'd hoped for: a flicker of a grin on his companion's face, fleeting and barely there—but real.
The gruff ex-soldier had surprised them all.
Himself, most of all.
And in the gentle twilight of that late autumn day, as the festival drew near and the road to Briarhold took shape in their minds, something was beginning to soften.
---
Night had settled over the village, and around the central fire, music was in full swing: lively flutes, a cheerful tambourine, and a swirl of dancers spinning on the trampled grass.
Adam was in his element. His shirt open at the collar, hair damp from a hasty wash, he had been dancing for quite a while, spinning one giggling girl after another into the rhythm. None of them seemed to notice the scar slashing his cheek—or perhaps they did, and found it all the more charming.
Victor, watching from a little distance, smiled. Classic Adam. Nothing new there.
But after a while, Victor noticed something unusual: for several dances now, it was the same young woman Adam was twirling. A spirited brunette with flushed cheeks who laughed at every quip, her eyes growing warmer.
And then, at some point, they slipped away behind the lanterns.
Victor raised his brows, surprised. Adam was used to flirting, sure. A word, a grin, a well-placed spin—but he never really took it further.
Maybe it was the effect of the festival. Or just the right moment, the right person.
Tonight, apparently, Adam allowed himself more.
Edric, for his part, had kept to the edge at first, mug in hand, leaning against a tree with the kind of burly familiarity that discouraged small talk. But as children raced between skirts, and laughter rang through the air, and music swelled like a quiet tide, his features began to ease. He even exchanged a few words—nods, half-smiles—with some of the village men.
Victor, having lost track of Adam, turned toward Emma. She was across the fire, chatting with two young women. One leaned in to whisper something in her ear, then giggled and tilted her head toward Victor.
Emma, caught off guard, blushed—but didn't deny anything. A smile slipped through.
Victor didn't hesitate. He crossed the space between them and held out his hand:
— "May I have this dance, miss?"
Emma arched a teasing brow.
— "Do you even know how to dance?"
— "Not really. But I learn fast. And I have a very good reason to try."
She laughed, took his hand, and they launched themselves clumsily into the dance. After a few hesitant steps and one or two crushed toes, their laughter mingled with the others—light and genuine. The music carried them, drew them closer, and in a gentle pause, he pulled her in for a kiss.
They lingered there for a moment, as if apart from the bustle, arms around each other, simply content.
— "Ooooh, lovers!" called a voice behind them.
They turned around. Adam had reappeared, hair tousled, shirt wrinkled, and a smug grin stretching across his face.
— "I thought I hadn't seen you for a while," Victor said, raising an eyebrow.
— "I was… let's say, in good company," Adam replied, absentmindedly straightening his collar. "Figured it'd be less obvious if I didn't come back right away."
— "You ever think about guarding your reputation, just a little?" Emma teased.
— "Too late for that, sweetheart. Gotta lean into the legend now."
Then, catching sight of Edric near the fire, who had just joined them silently, he added with a sly smile:
— "You all right, Ed? You look like you don't even feel like punching anyone tonight. Should we be worried?"
Edric didn't look at him right away. He was watching the fire, thoughtful, a mug in hand. Then, without taking his eyes off the flames, he replied:
— "It's the music. Makes fools bearable."
Adam burst out laughing.
— "Now if that's not a declaration… Never thought I'd see the day."
Edric barely shrugged, but the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.
— "Even an old dog can lay his head down for one night of celebration."
Adam gave him a look that was half amused, half fond.
— "You scare me when you get poetic."
— "It's the alcohol."
— "You only had one sip."
— "It was a big sip."
Adam laughed harder, shook his head, and drifted away, snagging a passing dance, leaving Edric there, his features softened. He watched his friend for a moment, then looked back up at the stars, as if searching for something he hadn't quite found yet.
---
The walk back was lit by the trembling glow of lanterns. A few voices still sang, lifted by cider and good cheer, but the troupe moved gently along the beaten path, full of warmth, light, and music.
Adam was chuckling softly at a joke from one of the older men. He walked with his arms folded behind his head, eyes turned to the stars. He wasn't drunk—not tonight. Just happy, it seemed. Unburdened.
A little further ahead, Edric was speaking in low tones with Aldous. A half-smile hovered on his lips. Light. Not ironic. Just there, resting, as if he hadn't noticed it himself.
Victor and Emma trailed behind at their own pace, hand in hand. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. The celebration still hummed gently in their temples, like an echo inside their chests.
Back at camp, everyone drifted to their quarters with slow steps. The torches around the circle were snuffed one by one, and the last voices faded like embers under ash.
Inside the tent, the air was warm. It smelled of woodsmoke and crushed grass. Emma slipped off her jacket in silence, undid her braids, and sat cross-legged on the blankets. Victor, standing in the doorway, watched her for a moment, then stepped closer. He crouched in front of her.
— "Are you cold?" he whispered.
She shook her head. He held out his hand. She took it.
He drew her gently to him. Their lips met effortlessly, as they had so often of late, but this time, something didn't pull away. No laughter interrupted. No word, no need to move. They kissed longer. Differently.
This time, the warmth didn't stay at the surface.
Victor slid a hand behind her neck, brought her closer. Emma rose to her knees, wrapped her arms around him in one sure, quiet motion. When their foreheads touched, he asked softly:
— "Is this… do you want me to stop?"
She answered with a look, a breath, a deeper kiss. He understood.
Everything moved slowly. A shirt lifted, a blanket drawn aside. Their movements were sometimes awkward, too careful, but they laughed under their breath, helped each other, found their way by feel. Emma shivered, but not from the cold. Victor lingered over every inch of skin as if afraid to rush anything. She soothed him with a hand at his nape, a kiss to his temple.
They loved each other without a sound. Short breaths, hands sliding together, mouths searching, eyes open even in the dark. Victor clung to her like a truth. Emma muffled her sighs against his shoulder, tucked into him. Everything became very simple, and very strong.
When it was over, they stayed there, wrapped together, listening to their breath slow, hearts thudding gently.
— "You asleep?" Victor murmured.
— "No… You?"
— "Not yet."
A pause. Then Emma whispered, almost smiling:
— "I'm glad it was you."
He pulled her closer, his lips pressed to her temple.
— "Me too."
And then nothing. Just their breath, quiet, in the night.