The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master

Eight hours later, the coastline blurred under a thin sheet of mist.

Vencian stood near the railing of the ferry, holding the folded map against his chest. His hair was windblown and the salt air left a film on his skin. The earlier voyage on the larger vessel had been smooth, but this smaller ferry rolled more with the waves.

Roselys stood beside him, quiet as usual, watching the shoreline grow larger. The ferry rocked again as it neared the dock.

"Dalgough Hill should be two miles from the port," she said.

Vencian opened the map. The paper edges had softened from use. "The village lies near the slope," he replied. "There's a main path that circles through the farmland."

The ferry bumped against the landing post. Crew members threw the ropes and lowered the plank.

They stepped down to the pier. The boards creaked under their weight. The port was small, a row of warehouses and boats pulled ashore for repairs. The smell of grain sacks mixed with tar.

Roselys adjusted the strap of her bag. "We can reach before sunset if we walk at a good pace."

He nodded, folding the map and tucking it into his coat.

Their path wound inland. The air cooled as they climbed higher ground.

The trail turned dusty after the first mile. Patches of green stretched ahead, where terraced fields layered the slope.

By the time the village roofs appeared, the sun had dipped low behind Dalgough Hill.

The path ended near a farm that looked deserted. Fences leaned. The ground was dry in places, wet in others, as though the owner had abandoned the irrigation halfway through the season.

A scarecrow stood in the middle of the field. Its head was covered with an old sack, its arms stretched wide, wearing the remains of a dark cloak.

Vencian slowed for a moment. The figure's outline against the dull sky felt out of place.

He looked away. It's a scarecrow, nothing else.

Roselys walked ahead, unfazed. "We'll find someone inside the village," she said.

The path curved again, leading toward clustered houses.

It was quiet. Only the rustle of crops moved the air.

Vencian's hand brushed the side of his coat, near where his sword hung. Too quiet. Then he reminded himself that most people would be gathered near the square for festival preparations.

They reached the first group of houses. Smoke rose from a few chimneys, and the smell of roasted grain drifted faintly in the air.

A woman appeared from behind one of the barns. She carried a bundle of harvested stalks on her shoulder. Her clothes were simple but well-kept, and she had the look of someone used to long hours of field work.

She stopped when she saw them. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Travelers?" she asked, shifting the bundle. "Or officials?"

Her voice was not hostile, but cautious.

Vencian looked at Roselys, waiting for her lead.

Roselys smiled faintly. "Neither. We're students from the Academy of Ethnohistory. We're studying how local customs have changed over time."

The woman blinked, then laughed under her breath. "So, not tax collectors, then."

"Do we look like ones?" Vencian asked.

"You never know. Last year they came dressed as traders," she replied, setting her bundle on the ground. Her tone lightened as she studied them again. "The Festival of Solace brings all sorts around. You picked the right time to visit."

Vencian nodded. "We heard it's tomorrow."

"That's right," she said. "Biggest day for us. Though most of the preparation happens tonight. You'll find the elders near the central well. They handle all arrangements."

Roselys thanked her.

The woman brushed her hands and tilted her head. "Where are you two from? Your clothes don't look local."

"The far south," Roselys answered smoothly. "We're siblings. Our tutor recommended this area for our thesis."

The woman's eyes shifted between them, then to their hair. It shared a similar pale shade. "That explains it," she said, satisfied. "Well, the village isn't large. You'll find rooms near the square. Don't expect much comfort, but folks are kind."

She hoisted the bundle back onto her shoulder and walked away toward another barn.

When she was out of earshot, Vencian looked toward Roselys. "That cover story seems to work better than I thought."

"It's safer," she said. "We can't mention the old civilization openly."

He knew she was right. The state religion allowed only the worship of its central deity. Anything outside its doctrine was treated with suspicion.

"Studying belief shifts," he said, repeating their chosen term. "That's vague enough to pass anywhere."

Roselys gave a small nod. "As long as we keep our purpose hidden."

They resumed their walk along the path that entered the village center. Houses were built close together, roofs low and tiled with slate. Strings of small charms hung near doorways.

People moved in small groups, talking quietly, carrying baskets or decorations. A faint sense of excitement buzzed beneath the stillness.

Vencian observed the layout of the place. Efficient, simple. Most of the population must be farmers or artisans.

He took out the map again. The slope of Dalgough Hill stretched behind the village, a wide arc of terraces leading up to woodland. The old markers drawn across that area were faint, half-erased from the page.

"This is where it begins," he said.

Roselys leaned closer to glance at the page. "We'll start there after meeting the elder. The archives say something about relics being stored near the hill temple before the unification wars."

Vencian folded the map again and tucked it under his arm.

They reached a small bridge crossing an irrigation channel. The water moved sluggishly under it. The path after that split toward the main square.

He looked toward the nearby slope. "I never asked before," he said. "How did you find a lead here? You said you had sources, but that could mean anything."

Roselys adjusted the strap on her shoulder. "As I mentioned earlier, my contacts specialize in records that survived the early purges. A few hinted that remnants of the old faith still appear in some Solace rituals."

Vencian frowned. "That was over an epoch ago."

"Yes."

"The fourth epoch, fourteenth century," he said, more to himself than to her. "That's the current date. The clan you're chasing lived at least one epoch earlier. You think traces can last this long?"

"Traces can hide in customs," she said. "People keep doing what their ancestors did, even if they forget the reason. That's what we're here to find."

He considered her words while they walked. She might be right. Beliefs survive in behavior. Still, finding proof of a clan that old sounds impossible.

The square opened ahead, small but active. A few villagers worked around a wooden stage. Decorations were half complete, and the smell of food cooked somewhere nearby.

Roselys slowed near the well at the center. "We'll ask about a place to stay and join the crowd later," she said.

Vencian glanced back toward the slope one more time. The terraced fields caught the last trace of sunset. The scarecrow at the edge of the farm still stood, barely visible from this distance.

He looked away. It's probably nothing.

They crossed into the village square.

Half-finished decorations hung between the poles. Smoke drifted from small braziers near the well. The air carried the mixed smell of incense, cooked grain, and ash.

People moved in scattered groups, setting up stalls and hanging cloth banners. The festival preparations had the rhythm of half-finished work, everyone focused yet quiet.

Vencian scanned the square. The setting reminded him of a market, but the faces showed less excitement, more obligation. They'll celebrate tomorrow. For now, it's labor.

Roselys stopped near the edge of the square, watching an older man tie symbols to a frame. "If we want to get any real evidence," she said, "we need to find something tangible."

"Like what?"

"Patterns. Anything that connects this place to the Erythrai clan," she said. "Settlement traces, mound structures, old boundary stones."

He thought about the description they had studied before leaving the academy. The Erythrai used distinct clay markings near dwellings. Some kind of coded script that recorded ownership.

"Pottery shards too," he said. "Their symbols were pressed before firing. If any of that survived, it could confirm their migration path."

Roselys nodded. "Then we cover more ground if we split. I'll search near the upper terraces. You can check the plains and fields."

Vencian studied her face. "Fine. If we find something, we regroup near the square before sunset."

"Agreed." She adjusted her cloak and turned toward the road leading uphill.

He watched her go for a moment. She works well, but she keeps her findings close. Always two steps ahead.

Once she was out of sight, he exhaled quietly. "Quenya," he said.

The air shimmered faintly near his shoulder. Her faint blue form appeared, half-transparent.

"Yes?"

"Follow her," he said. "Stay close but unseen. Watch if she talks to anyone or asks something unusual."

"You asked me this before," she replied.

"And I'll keep asking until I know I can trust her fully."

Quenya's tone was neutral. "Understood."

Her image faded again, leaving the faint sense of static in the air.

Vencian turned toward the open trail leading down. The settlement spreads halfway up the hill. The rest stretches into the plains. She went upward, so I'll stay below.

He adjusted his pack and started walking.

The main road passed between rows of houses. The sound of tools echoed faintly, but the further he walked, the quieter it became.

He crossed a small wooden fence that opened to the farmlands. Rows of stalks swayed slightly under the dry wind.

After some distance, he saw movement near the fields. A group of children played near the irrigation ditch, their laughter sharp against the still air.

They rolled a wooden hoop and chased it across the path, shouting to one another.

Vencian slowed, watching. Normal village life. No sign of ancient relics here.

He was about to turn away when he noticed someone apart from the group.

A girl sat on a boulder near the edge of the field. Her chin rested on her palms. She watched the children but did not join them.

Her clothes were plain, like the others, but cleaner, the color faded with sun.

Vencian's curiosity stirred. She doesn't seem part of their game.

He walked toward her, his boots pressing into dry soil.

When he came within a few paces, she spoke without looking at him.

"You shouldn't have come here."