The door creaked open, slow and stiff on its hinges. Warm firelight spilled across the threshold, casting flickering light on the rough-hewn floorboards.

  “Papa?” Seraphina called softly into the dim.

  A chair scraped sharply in the gloom. From the shadows near the hearth, a broad-shouldered man slowly rose. His face was carved by time and wind, with deep lines from years of toil and loss. His eyes, though sharp as fresh steel, searched her with a silent storm of worry.

  Next to him stood a younger man, tall and lean, with wiry muscles beneath a sweat-stained tunic. A towel hung over one shoulder. His arms were already crossed when I stepped in, suspicion sharpening every line of his jaw

  The older man broke the silence. “Well, I’ll be damned. Thought the forest finally got you.”

  Seraphina offered a small smile. “Not today.”

  The younger man’s gaze fixed on me like a thrown knife. “Who’s he?”

  She stepped away from the doorway. “This is David. He saved me in the glen. I kept him from being lunch a few times.”

  “Mutual survival,” I added, raising a hand with the most harmless wave I could manage. “Hi.”

  The older man’s grunt was a mix of laughter and a test. “I’m her father, Edmund. Come in, then. If you braved the woods with her and made it out alive, you’ve earned a spot at the table.”

  I stepped inside, ducking instinctively beneath the low wooden beam that arched across the ceiling. The room was small and cozy, in a way only lived-in places can be. Firelight danced across cracked walls and the threadbare rug beneath the table. A pot simmered on the hearth, and the table was already set with handmade bowls and a wrapped loaf of bread. The weight of unspoken questions hung over it all.

  “We were just about to eat,” Edmund said, gesturing to a chair. “Sit.”

  “Thanks,” I said, stepping carefully over the threshold. “Just for the record, I come in peace. Not here to marry your daughter, start a cult, or burn your village to the ground.”

  Elias, the brother, snorted without humor. “Good. One of those already happened last season.”

  Seraphina rolled her eyes and pulled out a chair. “Enough, Elias. Let him sit. Also, David, if you didn’t surmise, this is my annoying younger brother.”

  I easily noticed the sibling mockery in their expressions. Then, right on cue, my stomach growled loudly, shamelessly, and impossible to ignore. Edmund smirked as if he’d been waiting for it.

  Seraphina took over serving. Her hands moved smoothly, ladling stew with the quiet grace of someone used to doing too much for too many. Her motions were careful, but her shoulders drooped from the day’s exhaustion. Seraphina hummed a tune as she handed out the plates.

  For a moment, the world seemed to blur. I wasn’t in that room. I was in a cramped kitchen from another life, laughing over burnt rosemary, her hands stained with garlic and too much wine. She hummed a little tune when she stirred. Then nothing. Silence. Loss.

  I blinked the memory away.

  Edmund handed me thick slices of dense, fresh, sour bread, the kind that lingers on your tongue with the flavor of yeast and stone ovens. I muttered thanks, tearing off a piece as the bowl was placed in front of me. The stew was packed with flavor, meaty, spiced, and grounding. It burned slightly as I swallowed, tasting like warmth earned the hard way.

  “You okay?” Seraphina asked softly, her spoon paused in midair.

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Stew’s just really good.”

  She didn’t smile, but she didn’t look away either.

  The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it simply existed, like an old friend sitting at the table with us. Edmund finished his bowl first, set it aside, and leaned back with the ease of someone who acts on instinct. He tore another piece of bread and chewed slowly as his gaze fixed on me, thoughtful and quiet, weighing my soul as if he’d been paid to do just that.

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  “So,” he finally said. “You and my daughter just happened to cross paths in the wild?”

  I set my spoon down. “I got turned around in the hills when the storm hit. Ended up deeper in the woods than I meant to.”

  “And found her,” Edmund said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Right before a goblin nearly got her. Ugly thing. All teeth and stink.” I paused. The room shifted. Elias froze mid-chew. “The little bugger could move…”

  “A goblin?” Edmund’s voice lost its warmth.

  “Yeah. Pretty sure. Alone, but definitely armed.”

  Seraphina nodded. “A scout. Most likely. Moving early.”

  Across the table, Elias straightened, jaw tight. His glance flicked to his father before he spoke. “You don’t think? Could it be from the north? With the rumors… the ones about the border?”

  Edmund tore off another piece of bread, slow and deliberate, as if chewing could keep the silence intact. His brow twitched, but his voice stayed steady. “We don’t know that. It could just be a stray. The roads have been quiet for years.”

  “But the caravans,” Elias said, lowering his voice, “supplies, soldiers, all going north.”

  “I said we don’t know,” Edmund repeated, firm now. “And panicking in the kitchen won’t change that.”

  Seraphina watched both of them before turning to me.

  “How’d you get away?” Elias asked sharply, still tense.

  “We didn’t,” Seraphina said. “He killed it. With a rock.”

  That earned a long pause.

  “You have a warrior class or something?” Elias asked, narrowing his eyes.

  I shook my head. “No, sir. Just a blacksmith.”

  Edmund leaned forward, hands flat on the table now. “You’re some wandering blacksmith that just happens to kill a goblin with a rock. No magic. No weapon.”

  “No, I got lost, and from where I was, I had a chance to surprise it,” I replied. “And I also had a lot of luck.”

  Seraphina cut in, voice calm but firm. “He didn’t hesitate.”

  Edmund watched me for a long moment. “Most men do.” He finally said.

  Elias muttered, “That’s not normal.”

  “Neither are goblins showing up unannounced,” Seraphina replied.

  A heavy silence settled over us.

  “You planning to go back to the glen tomorrow?” Elias asked after some time.

  “No,” Seraphina said. “We’re going to the old church.”

  The room stilled again. Even the fire quieted.

  Elias’s jaw worked. “Why?”

  Seraphina’s tone was resolute. “Because I need to know if he’s part of it.”

  “That’s not your call to make,” Elias snapped.

  “No,” I said, finally speaking up. “But I think I deserve to know what ‘it’ even is.”

  Edmund rubbed his face with both hands. “The church isn’t for outsiders.”

  “He’s not an outsider,” Seraphina said firmly. “Not anymore.”

  She angled her body toward me, her expression still fierce, but with sadness in her eyes. “You could’ve told me you were different,” she said, her voice low.

  I frowned, caught off guard. “Told you what?” My voice was low, rough. “That I don’t know where I am? Like you already know, I’m from the south, and that everything familiar is gone? I’m still trying to figure out which way is north, let alone explain the truth.”

  She hesitated, her mouth tightening like she wanted to challenge that, but didn’t. Instead, her gaze dropped briefly to her plate, then back to me, softer now. For a moment, the silence between us wasn’t hostile. Just heavy like we were both carrying something neither of us could name.

  Edmund pushed back from the table and stood. “That’s enough. He sleeps by the hearth. You take him to the priestess in the morning.”

  Elias looked ready to protest again, but thought better of it.

  As the two men moved to the back, Seraphina and I stayed by the fire. The glow from the hearth lit her skin in copper and shadow, making her look both older and younger, like a girl who’d survived too much and a woman just starting to fight.

  “You could’ve told me about your status panel,” she repeated.

  “To be honest… I don’t even know what I am anymore. Or who. I thought I did, but now, I’m just lost. Or what you called me, broken,” I paused, searching her face. “You looked so tired. I didn’t want to be one more weight on your shoulders.”

  “You already are,” she said, but her voice wasn’t cruel. Her gaze softened, the words landing more like truth than blame. She fetched a bundle of blankets and placed them near the fire.

  “You’ll be warm enough here.”

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  She lingered a moment, fingers brushing the edge of the blanket, as if weighing words she couldn’t quite speak. Then, softly:

  “Goodnight, David.”

  “Goodnight.”

  She slipped through the door to the back, her glance lingering just a breath longer than necessary.

  I waited until the fire was the only thing moving before I raised my hand.

  [Status]

  The panel shimmered into view. Still flickering and still glitching. But clearer than before.

  [David Allen Robertson]

  Race: Human

  Status: Unmarried

  Title: None

  Age: 20

  Class: HIDDEN lvl 2

  Strength: 24

  Intelligence: 30

  Wisdom: 17

  Agility: 22

  Charisma: 18

  HP: 320/320

  MP: 200/200

  SP: 210/210

  Skills:

  ? Blacksmithing Lvl. 10

  Passive Traits:

  None

  Hidden. Not lost. Not broken. Just not ready to be seen. I closed the window and leaned back. The fire crackled.

  “That’s something,” I muttered to no one.