Luckborn

They reached Stonetrail Glen two hours after sunrise. It wasn't a town. Otter would barely even call it a village. Just a few squat cottages sat scattered across the hillside, smoke rising from chimneys in lazy plumes. A pair of goats bleated near a crooked fence. Someone was already drawing water from a well.

"This is it?" Jasper asked, adjusting the shield now strapped to his backpack. After some discussion, they had decided to take it. Whoever had left it in the copse clearly had no intention of returning for it. So they decided to put it to use. "I've seen gardens in Aurelia bigger than this."

Otter looked around and realized just how quiet it was. He heard no distant clatter of carts, no street criers, no echo of footsteps on cobblestone. Just wind through grass and the occasional soft call of a bird. The hush was complete.

"Small," Erin said. "But sturdy."

"You'd have to be," Sage murmured. "Living out here, hours from the city. No walls. No wards. Just land and luck."

"Maybe that's why there's so few people," Milo added. "Can't afford to make mistakes when the nearest healer's a day away."

They passed a barn, then a tilled field that looked half-abandoned. Otter spotted someone moving near a cottage, hanging a line of laundry. He raised a hand in greeting. The figure looked at them a moment too long before returning to their task.

"Friendly," Jasper muttered.

"They're wary," Sage replied. "Wouldn't you be?"

Otter spotted a house near the edge of the glen—low-roofed, thatched, with a split-log fence running behind it. Smoke curled from the chimney. "I guess we need to ask around for Tennin. Might as well start there."

The man who answered the door was tall, broad through the chest and shoulders, with the rough build of someone shaped more by weather than by years. His full beard was stark white, the same color as the sheep roaming the hills outside. A heavy wool shirt stretched across his frame, worn soft with age, and a cap sat low on his head, shading eyes that were sharp and clear beneath bushy brows. He clutched a stout staff in one hand. There was something solid about the man, something immovable. Like a stone fence built by hand and kept standing by sheer stubbornness.

When he spoke, however, his voice was soft and gentle, in stark contrast to his appearance. "Can I help you?"

"We're from the Adventurer's Guild," said Sage.

"You lot don't look like Guild."

"We're auxiliaries," she said, holding out the writ.

The man squinted at the paper, then at the group again. "Young for it."

"We get that a lot," Otter said, trying to smile.

After a pause, the man grunted. "Name's Tennin. You're here about the thing I saw?"

"We'd like to hear the whole story," Sage said. "If that's alright."

Tennin didn't open the door further, but he stepped aside and jerked his head toward a bench under the eaves. "Let's talk out here. Speaking of such things inside is asking for bad juju."

Milo sat on the bench, removing his boots and massaging his aching feet. The others leaned against the wall.

Tennin stood, leaning slightly on his staff.

"It was three nights ago," he said. "Just after dusk. I'd brought the flock in early because of the wind. Something felt off—don't ask me how. I've worked these hills for thirty years. You learn to listen to your gut."

He looked out over the glen.

"I was locking the barn gate when I saw movement in the south field. Near the tree line."

"What kind of movement?" Milo asked.

"Something walking," Tennin said. "Too far to see clearly. Shape wasn't right, though. Hunched. Legs moved strange. Not like a beast. But not like a man, either."

"Did it see you?" Erin asked.

Tennin shook his head. "Didn't seem to. Just passed between the trees and kept going. Slow. Like it had all the time in the world."

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They let that hang in the air a moment.

"I didn't follow," Tennin added. "Didn't call for help. Just went inside. Bolted the door and waited for morning."

"Smart," Sage said.

"Next day, I went to look. Found nothing. No tracks. But one sheep was gone. And when I found what was left…" His voice hitched. "It weren't no wolf. I can tell you that. Seen plenty of carcasses after wolves get done with 'em. Messy. But this… Just bones left. Clean-picked. Arranged in a stack like… well, I don't know what like. But it weren't natural."

Otter reached into his pack and pulled out a journal. "Would you mind if I tried to sketch what you saw? It might help us narrow it down."

Tennin raised a brow. "If you like."

Otter flipped to a blank page and began. He asked a few more questions about its basic shape, then sketched loosely. More questions about posture, limbs, proportions.

Tennin answered the best he could and watched Otter closely. He had him make a couple of corrections, but when Otter finished, the old man went still and let out a low whistle. "That's close," he said after a long pause. "Too close."

Otter swallowed and turned the page to show his friends. They all shifted nervously.

"You've seen one before?" the old man asked.

"No," Otter said quickly. "Not in person. But I think we've all learned about them."

"You're sure you only saw one?" Milo asked.

"Yeah. Just the one. There may have been more after, but I didn't stick around to see."

"It looks like a Bonepicker," Otter said. "They usually travel in packs."

Jasper frowned. "Bonepickers don't stack remains, though. They leave them scattered."

Erin stepped closer to Otter's journal and squinted down at the drawing. "Look at the posture. The overlong arms. The legs that bend too far back. It's definitely in the Loper category."

Otter flipped to a different page in his notebook and wrote the word down. "Loper class. Right. I remember now. They usually travel in small packs. Five to ten. Communicate through clicks and gestures."

"Silent, fast, and hard to kill," Milo added grimly. "Their claws can shear through leather, and they don't bleed."

Tennin, still listening, let out a sharp breath through his nose. "So not a lone creature, then."

"Usually not," Sage said. "Which makes this even more worrying. If there's one, there could be others nearby."

"But if it is alone," Erin said slowly, "that raises a different kind of question."

"Right," said Otter. "Where are the others?"

Milo scratched at his arm absently. "Maybe it was sent ahead—a scout. We know Kaos warps its own sometimes. Gives them new roles."

"Or it wandered too far from its pack and got left behind," Erin suggested.

"Or the others are still out there," Jasper said, voice flat. "And they just haven't shown themselves yet."

A heavy silence settled over them.

Milo put his boots back on. "So do we head back now and tell the guild they need to get more people out here?

Sage shook her head. "Not yet. The description is certainly indicative of a Kaosling, but it is far from conclusive. No offense, Mr. Tennin."

"Sage is right," said Erin. "I think we need to take a look at these bones. Can you take us there, Mr. Tennin? Show us where you found them. There may be other evidence."

Tennin shrugged and gripped his staff tighter. "I reckon I can."

***

The sanctuary was quiet at this hour.

Brother Harneth moved through the colonnade slowly, his white robes brushing the flagstones, one hand steady on the railing. He was older now—he felt it in the joints, the breath, the weight behind his words—but today it wasn't his body that concerned him.

It was his patient.

He entered the chamber through the inner cloister, where sunlight filtered through colored glass. At the far end stood Drevan Caul, Senior Divine Conduit of Aurelia—tall, grave, and draped in ceremonial blue. He stood before the sanctuary altar, hands clasped behind his back.

Harneth cleared his throat. "You sent for my report, Eminence."

Caul turned slowly, his face unreadable. "I did. Sit, Brother."

A bench waited at the edge of the prayer floor. Harneth settled in, spine straight despite the ache.

"Well?" Caul asked.

Harneth didn't answer immediately. He folded his hands, fingers laced, and stared at the pale marble between his feet. "He's recovered. Physically. No lingering injuries. No signs of corruption on the body. His life force is stable. He eats. Sleeps. Wakes. Although I fear he will bear those burn scars on his face the rest of his days."

Caul waited. "I hear a but coming."

"But his mind is not whole," Harneth said quietly. "He flinches at shadows. Refuses to speak of what happened to him. Sometimes he stares at the wall for hours. Other times, he asks me if I can see them. When I ask who they are, he clams up. As though admitting it would open a door he's trying to hold shut."

"'Them?'"

"I don't know who he means. He won't say. He speaks in spirals. Sometimes he makes sense for a moment… and then it's gone. Slips away like water from cupped hands."

Caul's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you believe he's dangerous?"

"I believe he's… disoriented. Lost. Caught between what he remembers and what that place made him believe." Harneth hesitated. "He calls it a test. Sometimes a punishment. Other times, a revelation. It changes. But one thing hasn't."

"And that is?"

"He talks about justice. Not as mercy. Not as restoration. But as a reckoning. As if he has a ledger in his head, and someone still owes."

Caul turned away, staring once more at the altar. "Has he named anyone?"

"No," said Harneth. "But he fixates. Watches the door. Every time it opens, I see it in his eyes. He's waiting for someone. He thinks they'll come. And when they do, he'll be ready."

A long silence passed between them.

Then Caul spoke, voice low. "And his prayers?"

Harneth shook his head. "None that I've heard."

"Dreams?"

"Every night. I've scribed two dozen phrases from his sleep-talk. They're inconsistent. Fragments. One of them was: I saw the sky blink. Another: He was lucky. That's all."

Caul exhaled through his nose, then turned, folding his arms. "Marcus was once a promising conduit. Sharp. Disciplined. Loyal. But the Shadow Realm does not return what it takes."

"Then what should we do with him?"

Caul looked toward the window, searching for a wisdom that lay beyond them. "For now, we watch. Continue the healing rites. Report anything… alarming."

Harneth nodded slowly. "And if he asks to leave?"

Caul's voice was colder now. "His wrisplay's objective still says: Find Justice?"

"It does."

"Then we allow him to pursue his objective."