Chapter 15: Journey
Corven returned to the village under the silent shroud of midnight, the peak of night having long since claimed the sky. The stars were veiled behind dark clouds, and only the cold, pale light of the moon spilled over the rooftops like silver mist.
The villagers were fast asleep now, their windows dark, their dreams unbothered by what had transpired earlier in the day.
But this hour—the witching hour—belonged to creatures like him. Creatures of the night, born of blood and shadow. And they roamed freely now, thriving in the quiet, forgotten corners of the world.
He dropped Rose just outside the small, weathered house, her bare feet landing softly on the dew-kissed grass.
She looked at him, brows furrowed, her newly restored eyes reflecting the moonlight. "What are you planning to do?" she asked, voice low and uncertain.
Corven didn’t answer right away. He stared at the doorway, its wooden frame slightly ajar, the faint scent of old grief still clinging to its threshold.
"I need to tie up some loose ends," he finally said, his voice firm, but quieter than before. "And at the same time... ask for permission."
Then, without waiting for her response, he stepped inside.
The house was dim. Silent. Hollow.
The scent of sorrow lingered, faint but unmistakable. The body of the man—once sprawled across the floor in lifeless disarray—was gone. Likely buried by the woman, in a quiet attempt to move forward. To survive. To breathe again.
Corven bit his lower lip, jaw tightening as guilt clawed at his chest like a silent beast.
’I can’t get stuck in self-torment,’ he murmured to himself. ’I need to grow. I have to.’