The morning air clung to the skin like a whisper of frost, crisp and cool with the unmistakable scent of damp earth, woodsmoke, and fallen leaves curling in the breeze. Autumn had settled across the land in full, draping the homestead in a tapestry of amber, russet, and gold. Eldrin cinched the final buckle on his weathered leather satchel, the worn straps creaking softly in protest. Above him, the sun began its slow ascent, casting warm streaks of crimson and honeyed light across the rolling hills, stretching long shadows like fingers across the dew-kissed grass.

  Birdsong fluttered in the branches overhead—light, cheerful melodies that belied the heaviness in his heart. Somewhere beyond the treeline, Millie’s low, throaty whinny echoed through the morning air. She knew. The saddle would soon rest on her back again, and the road would once more lie open before them.

  Eldrin paused, eyes sweeping across the quiet land he called home. The garden still shimmered with early frost. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney. It was a beautiful morning—too beautiful for farewells.

  “It’s been a long time,” he murmured to no one, the wind his only witness. A long time since he had answered the call of the unknown. Perhaps this would be his final journey. But he took comfort in one truth.

  This time… he wouldn’t walk it alone.

  Eldrin moved methodically as he secured the last of his traveling gear to Millie’s saddle, the leather straps tightened with practiced ease. The mare stood patiently, her ears flicking at the rustle of wind through the trees.

  From the edge of the winding path, Elara emerged like a shadow slipping between worlds. Her deep green cloak fluttered behind her, already pulled snug around her shoulders, and a satchel hung at her side, fastened with care. She walked with the quiet confidence of someone well-versed in early departures—her steps light, her posture alert, and every motion purposeful.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, her voice calm and clear, the faintest trace of anticipation in her tone.

  Eldrin paused, his hands resting gently on Millie’s saddle as the sound of quick footsteps and laughter reached his ears. He turned just in time to see his daughters racing down the path toward the stable, their cloaks fluttering behind them like banners in the wind.

  “Father, wait!” Nora called, her voice bright with excitement.

  Both girls skidded to a halt beside him, cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming with pride. In their arms, they carried a carefully wrapped bundle, tied with a ribbon and glowing faintly with enchantment. Eldrin knelt as they presented it to him, curiosity blooming across his weathered features.

  “We made this for you,” Abbi said, a touch of pride in her voice. “A new alchemist’s bag and a potion case.”

  Eldrin’s breath caught as he unfolded the bundle, revealing a finely stitched leather satchel lined with reinforced compartments, each crafted with care and precision. Tucked inside were several small vials—each one filled with familiar mixtures of healing draughts and alchemical brews. A faint scent of crushed herbs and arcane dust rose from within.

  “We used your tomes,” Nora added, beaming. “The ones from your study. We followed the instructions and labeled everything. And look—we even left room for more ingredients!”

  Tucked into a side pouch was a folded sheet of parchment, filled with their careful handwriting: notes on potion brewing, copied directly from the volumes Eldrin kept in his private study.

  A warm smile spread across Eldrin’s face as he pulled both girls into a tight embrace. “You two are remarkable. Thank you.”

  “When you get back,” Abbi said, looking up at him, “we want to hear everything. Every adventure, every spell, every strange creature.”

  “And souvenirs!” Nora chimed in. “Something from each place you go!”

  Eldrin chuckled, his throat tight with emotion. “You have my word.”

  As he stood, he carefully secured the alchemist’s bag to Millie’s side, his heart swelling with pride. It wasn’t just the magic in the vials that gave him strength—it was the love that had created them.

  As Eldrin finished tightening the last strap on Millie’s saddle, he heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind him. He turned to see Tivariel approaching, carrying a small leather satchel with both hands. She offered it without a word, her gaze lingering on him longer than usual. He took it gently, nodding his thanks.

  After she stepped away, Eldrin opened the satchel and slowly knelt beside a nearby stone, setting the bundle on its surface. The morning light caught the edges of the cloth as he unfolded it, revealing a collection of carefully prepared items.

  He smiled faintly and exhaled through his nose, more in thought than amusement. “Let’s see what you’ve given me this time,” he murmured.

  The first thing he picked up was a cloth-wrapped pouch. The scent of crushed lavender and silver-veined herbs rose softly in the breeze.

  Moonmoss Tea. He turned the bundle in his hands. “Good for the mind,” he said to himself. “When the dreams start clawing again... this will help me sleep. Help me... stay whole.”

  Next was a sealed tin, still faintly warm to the touch. When he opened it, a savory aroma filled the air—rich marrow broth, root vegetables, and emberbloom petals.

  Golden Hearth Stew. Eldrin’s brows lifted. “Hells... haven’t smelled this since last winter. Warmth in a bowl.” He nodded to himself, his voice soft. “For the nights that feel too empty. When I need to remember why I came back at all.”

  He picked up a flask next, its contents glowing faintly in the light. The crisp scent of citrus and honeyed ginger lifted his spirits immediately.

  Emberleaf Tonic. He chuckled under his breath. “For when I can’t breathe... when the pressure builds. Gods know I’ll need this more than once.” He slipped it into a side pouch of his pack, fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.

  The next item was a wax-lined pouch filled with delicate oat and chamomile biscuits.

  Willowglow Biscuits. He popped the pouch open, taking in their scent—warm, earthy, familiar. “For the road. For the pain. For when the weight of the day settles in my shoulders.” He shook his head slightly, but smiled. “She thinks of everything.”

  Last was a small crystal vial wrapped in silk. The liquid inside shimmered golden as sunlight.

  Dawnpetal Elixir. He stared at it in silence for a moment, then spoke almost in a whisper. “For the days I forget why I keep going. When the grief comes back... hard.” He tucked it carefully into a protected spot in his pack. “This one might be the most important of all.”

  Eldrin stood slowly, tightening the satchel against his hip. His breath hung briefly in the morning air as he looked toward the path ahead.

  “These aren’t just supplies,” he said, mostly to himself. “These are reminders. That I’m still human. Still needed. Still... loved.”

  It was then that Eldrin’s thoughts were interrupted by the distant creak of wagon wheels rolling over the dirt path. He turned toward the sound, eyes narrowing slightly as the wagon came into view—old but well-kept, pulled by a familiar chestnut mare. Behind the reins sat a man he recognized instantly, even at a distance.

  His father.

  The old warrior gave a lazy wave as the wagon rumbled to a halt near the stable. “Came to see you off, son,” he called with a grin. “Had a stowaway that insisted I bring him into town with me.”

  Before Eldrin could respond, a blur of movement launched itself from the back of the wagon. His son came barreling toward him, face lit up with pure excitement, arms wrapped around something large, lumpy, and wrapped in gray cloth bound with leather twine.

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  Eldrin raised an eyebrow. “Came to see me off, huh? And where exactly did you take my son so early in the morning?”

  His father chuckled, swinging his legs off the wagon seat and stepping down with a groan.

  “Oh, you know Grayson. Said he wanted to find something special for his old man before he left on his big journey.”

  Eldrin turned to his son just as the boy skidded to a stop in front of him, cheeks flushed and grinning from ear to ear.

  “Here you go, Father!” he said, thrusting the bundle forward with both hands. “I told Grandpa you should have this—something real—for your adventure.”

  Eldrin blinked and slowly accepted the heavy parcel. The weight of it settled into his arms like an old memory. He ran his fingers across the tightly bound leather, feeling the faint outlines beneath the cloth. He hadn’t held something like this in years—not since before his children were born. Wooden practice swords had sufficed for training in the yard, safe tools for teaching lessons and burning off energy. But this… this was something else.

  Not a practice weapon—this was true steel.

  As Eldrin unwrapped the gray cloth and loosened the leather twine, the sword came into view: a modest, well-forged longsword, its blade polished but plain, the steel carrying faint signs of the forge’s fire along its fuller. It was no heirloom, no weapon of ancient kings—but it was solid, reliable, and newly made. A sword for someone starting over.

  He ran his fingers along the cross guard—sturdy iron with minimal ornamentation—and then to the grip, wrapped in simple leather dyed dark. The pommel was shaped like a flattened disc, weighted just right to bring balance to the blade. It fit comfortably in his hand, not too light, not too heavy. It didn’t sing with magic or whisper secrets, but it hummed with quiet readiness, like a loyal hound waiting for its master’s command.

  Eldrin gave it a slow test swing, feeling the familiar pull through his arm. It had been years since he’d held a weapon that could draw blood, but the muscle memory was still there, waiting beneath the surface.

  “Not just for show,” he murmured. “This’ll hold up if it comes to it.”

  He looked down at his son, who was watching with wide, eager eyes, and gave him a nod.

  “It’s perfect. Just what I needed.”

  He glanced at his son, who was practically bouncing with anticipation, then looked back at the bundle—at the past it represented, and the future it might demand.

  “You helped pick this out?” Eldrin asked, his voice quieter now.

  His son nodded eagerly. “I wanted you to have something strong. Something that would protect you, like you protect us.”

  Eldrin swallowed the lump rising in his throat and managed a smile as he rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll carry it with me… and I’ll carry you with me too.”

  The boy beamed, standing a little taller.

  Eldrin glanced toward his father, who gave him a slow, knowing nod. No words needed—just shared understanding between men who had seen too much and still found ways to pass on hope.

  “Well, what are you going to name it?” Grayson asked, practically bouncing in place beside the sword, his eyes full of anticipation.

  Eldrin blinked, still caught in the weight and feel of the blade in his hands. “Name it?” he echoed. “I hadn’t really thought about that… What do you all think?”

  Immediately, the family erupted into a flurry of suggestions. The air was filled with laughter and wild ideas.

  “Steelie McSwordface!” Nora shouted, grinning.

  Abbi gasped dramatically. “No, no—what about Doomwhisper? Or Sir Stabs-a-Lot!”

  “Papa’s Pokey Stick!” Grayson giggled.

  Eldrin shook his head, chuckling despite himself as the names grew more absurd. For a moment, the burdens of the road ahead felt lighter.

  Then, as if they'd rehearsed it, both girls shouted at once: “Wayfinder!”

  Everything went still for a moment.

  Eldrin looked down at the blade, the laughter fading into thoughtful quiet. He turned it in his hands slowly, the morning light glinting off the metal.

  “Wayfinder,” he repeated. The name settled into place like the final stone in a long-forgotten wall. “Yeah… I think that’s it.”

  Behind them, Elara approached, wiping her hands on her travel cloak. She had been packing up her gear near the edge of the stable but had clearly been listening. She stopped a few steps away, eyeing the sword with a curious tilt of her head.

  “Oh wow,” she said, stepping in closer. “That’s made of aetheral metal.”

  Eldrin blinked and looked at her. “It’s what now?”

  “Aetheral,” she repeated, crouching slightly to examine the blade’s subtle shimmer. “It’s rare—not legendary, but uncommon. Strong as steel, but lighter. More responsive. It's attuned to energy. You can use it to channel magic or even sense it. Think of it as the fifth element—alongside fire, earth, air, and water. Some call it the breath of the world.”

  Eldrin looked down at the sword in a new light, fingers curling instinctively around the grip.

  “So… it’s magical?”

  “Sort of,” Elara said, standing again. “Aetheral metal isn't enchanted by spellcraft—it’s naturally attuned. Like the blade itself remembers the weave of the world. A lot of mages use it in staves or foci. But in a sword? That’s rare. And valuable.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “My son picked it out.”

  She smiled. “Smart kid.”

  Eldrin looked down at Grayson, who was now pretending to swing an imaginary sword beside Millie. He smiled softly, then turned back to Elara.

  “Well, I guess I’d better live up to it,” he said.

  Elara smirked. “Then we’d best get moving, Wayfinder.”

  Eldrin swung one leg over Millie’s back and settled into the worn saddle. The leather creaked softly beneath him as he adjusted his cloak and took up the reins. The morning air was calm, the sky painted in soft golds and blues. Everything was ready.

  And yet… he wasn’t.

  He sat still for a moment, his breath catching just slightly in his chest. The quiet around him grew louder—his thoughts crowding in.

  Okay. I have the satchel. Potions. Stew. Elixir. Rations, tools, extra socks, the notes from—wait, did I pack the map? What about the binding rings? Did I make sure I had enough coin stashed away? What if I didn’t—gods, what if—

  His thoughts began to unravel, slipping from practical to panicked. His fingers tightened unconsciously around the reins.

  Then, a soft touch grounded him.

  Tivariel stepped up beside Millie, placing her hand gently on his knee. Her eyes met his, calm and steady, filled with something stronger than reassurance—trust.

  “Let go,” she said softly. “If you forget something… or don’t have something, it’ll be okay. You’ll make do with what you have.”

  He stared at her, the whirlwind of his mind beginning to slow under the weight of her words.

  “Remember the man you were,” she continued. “The brave, fearless adventurer who wasn’t afraid to leap without seeing where he’d land. Go find him. Heal what needs healing. And then…” Her voice caught slightly, but she smiled through it. “Then come back to me, my love.”

  Eldrin exhaled, long and slow, the tension easing from his shoulders. He reached down, taking her hand in his, and gave it a firm squeeze.

  “I will,” he said. “I promise.”

  And with that, he nudged Millie forward, the journey had finally begun—not just on the road ahead, but within.