TIME SLAVES

The sun had barely risen over the mist-covered hills of Gordon, and yet the village was already stirring. Smoke spiraled lazily from chimneys, mingling with the crisp morning air. The scent of baking bread, damp earth, and wildflowers carried on the wind, creating a sense of calm that had settled over this small, quiet place for generations. Wooden cottages lined the cobblestone paths, their roofs uneven, patched with old tiles, yet sturdy and welcoming.

Riven moved silently along the village path, adjusting the strap of his worn satchel. He carried a bundle of herbs for the apothecary, careful not to drop a single sprig. He always preferred running errands or wandering the edges of the village rather than joining the other boys in games or sparring. It was not because he lacked strength—though he did—but because he liked observing, helping quietly, and learning from the unnoticed corners of life.

“Riven! Hurry up, boy! Don’t dawdle!”

The sharp yet warm voice belonged to his adoptive mother, Elara. She was kneeling beside a stack of water barrels near the village well, wiping her hands on a cloth, her hair catching the sunlight like molten gold. She smiled when she saw him approaching, a mixture of patience and amusement in her gaze.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Riven called back, picking up his pace.

“You’re always in a rush,” Elara laughed softly. “But I suppose it’s better than being late. Here—help me steady this one.”

Riven nodded, gripping the barrel. His fingers brushed against hers, warm and calloused from years of labor. He felt a quiet comfort in that touch, a reassurance that, no matter how small or weak he felt, he mattered to someone.

“You’ve always been so helpful, Riven,” she said, straightening. “Don’t ever think small of yourself.”

Riven forced a smile, trying to believe her words. They were easy to hear, yet hard to carry in a world so vast, so unpredictable. He wanted to matter—not just to her or his adoptive father, Kael—but to the world beyond the village, though he did not yet know how.

He glanced over at his father, who was mending a wooden fence near the edge of the village. Kael’s hands were strong, his movements precise and deliberate, a man shaped by patience, discipline, and quiet strength. When he noticed Riven looking, he gave a small nod, an unspoken encouragement. That simple gesture meant more than any words could.

Riven sighed. He envied the other boys in the village. They ran faster, swung sticks with skill, and competed in games that left him exhausted and embarrassed. Yet even in his weakness, he tried to find purpose. Small tasks, unnoticed kindnesses, careful observation—these were his strengths.

As he helped his mother, Riven allowed his gaze to wander. The village was alive with activity: merchants setting up stalls, children chasing chickens, and the occasional villager practicing swordplay in the training yard. Despite the peaceful morning, he could not shake the unease that sometimes clung to him like a shadow. A strange hum seemed to drift through the air, subtle but insistent, a vibration that made his teeth chatter slightly.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he muttered to himself. Yet the feeling remained.

“Riven?” His mother’s voice, gentle yet concerned, pulled him back. “Are you feeling alright?”

He nodded quickly, not wanting to worry her. “Just… thinking, Mother.”

“Thinking is good,” she said. “But don’t let it make you fearful. You’re braver than you believe.”

Bravery. The word lingered in his mind. Bravery. Was he brave? He had helped carry herbs, fix fences, and assist neighbors—but when it came to real danger, would he be? Could he be? He did not know.

His father’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Riven, come here for a moment.”

Riven jogged over, curious. Kael was standing near the edge of the village, where the trees began to darken, their shadows long and cold. “See those woods?” Kael asked, pointing. “That forest is old. Old enough to hold secrets we can’t understand. Some call it sacred. Some call it cursed. You must remember—caution is as important as courage.”

Riven nodded, trying to memorize the words. The forest had always been a place of fascination for him. Its edges shimmered in the morning light, whispering secrets he could not yet comprehend.

“You have a good mind, Riven,” Kael continued, his eyes scanning the horizon. “And a good heart. But strength… strength is earned. You will need more than courage to survive in the world.”

Riven swallowed hard. “I’ll try, Father. I promise I’ll try.”

Kael smiled faintly, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “That is all I ask.”

The morning passed slowly. Riven ran errands, helped in small ways around the village, and practiced modest exercises to keep fit. Every so often, he glanced toward the forest’s edge, feeling that same low hum in the air, a warning he could not yet name.

At noon, he joined a group of children near the village square. They were sparring with wooden swords, laughing, shouting, teasing one another. Riven hesitated at the edge of the group.

“Come on, Riven! Don’t just stand there!” one boy called, swinging his stick.

Riven shook his head, stepping back. He wasn’t strong enough yet. Not for them. Not for anything real. Yet even as he avoided the sparring, he watched carefully—their movements, their strategies, how they adapted. He learned silently, absorbing what others failed to notice.

Afterwards, he returned home, carrying small bundles of firewood. He helped his mother bake bread, listening as she hummed softly. Kael returned, carrying tools and inspecting the village perimeter. They laughed quietly at small, shared jokes, filling the house with warmth.

Even in this ordinary day, there were lessons. Observing, helping, learning—these were the foundations of Riven’s life. He did not yet know that they would be the first bricks of something far greater.

As dusk fell, Riven sat on the small hill overlooking the village. The sky bled gold and crimson, fading to deep indigo. The forest beyond swayed in the evening wind. Shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally.

A chill ran down his spine. Something moved between the trees, subtle, almost unseen. A ripple of unease passed through the village, though the villagers were too busy preparing for nightfall to notice.

Riven’s hands clenched into fists. He did not know what it was, nor if he could face it. But he made a silent vow:

One day, I will be strong enough to protect those I care about. No matter what comes.

The forest whispered back, shadows dancing. The quiet hum lingered, a promise of the unknown that awaited him.

Riven did not know it yet, but his life would never be ordinary