The wind changed on the second night.
It blew from the west—cold, heavy with the scent of fire and distance. In the old tower on the hill, Frido sat awake while Teren slept, tracing his finger along the grooves in the stone floor. There were markings. Hundreds of them. Names. Carved by soldiers, travelers, or the forgotten.
"Rellin. 304th Scout. Died with honor."
"Vaine. Lost brother, kept promise."
"Dalin + Mara. Together, even in war."
Each inscription was a life, or the memory of one.
Frido whispered them softly.
Over and over.
---
The Weight of Words
When morning came, Teren was stronger.
His fever had broken sometime before dawn. He sat up slowly, arm stiff, but breathing easier.
Frido offered him a few bitter berries and rainwater gathered in an old tin plate.
They ate in silence.
Then Teren asked, "Why are you reading those?"
Frido looked up. "Because someone carved them. That means someone wanted them to stay."
"Most people forget names when the bodies are gone."
"That's why I remember them."
Teren didn't laugh this time.
He just nodded.
---
Visitors Beneath the Hill
That afternoon, movement stirred on the plains below.
Frido spotted three riders far off—small dots of motion in the sun-drenched grasslands. They weren't military. No banners. No formation.
But they moved with purpose.
"They're not patrols," Teren said, squinting.
"Then who?"
"Scouts. Or deserters. Or worse."
Frido didn't respond.
He simply walked downstairs, picked up a stone, and placed it near the door.
Then another.
Then another.
"What are you doing?" Teren asked.
"Making noise," Frido said. "If they try to enter, they'll knock the pile. It'll wake us."
Teren watched him work.
For a boy with no training, Frido moved like someone who understood patience.
---
The Woman with the Chain Blade
They came at dusk.
Three strangers. Two men, one woman.
All in faded cloaks and mismatched gear. Not soldiers. Not quite rebels.
Survivors.
The woman led. She was tall, lean, her face half-covered by a scarf. Across her back was strapped a weapon Frido had never seen—a curved blade chained to a wooden handle.
She knocked on the tower wall. Once. Twice.
Frido opened the door.
"We saw the smoke," she said.
Frido nodded.
"We're not here to fight," she added.
Teren stood behind him. "What are you here for?"
The woman pointed to the sky. "Rain. Shelter. And a place to be forgotten."
Frido hesitated. Then stepped aside.
---
Stories and Soot
They shared the fire.
The strangers didn't give names right away.
The older man with the broken nose spoke first. "We came from Alder's Gate. Wasn't much left when we got there. Just smoke and bones."
The younger one—barely more than a boy—held a string of beads and said nothing. His hands shook when he tried to eat.
The woman finally said, "Call me Mira."
She didn't smile.
Frido watched her eyes. They scanned everything—the exits, the beams, the shadows.
She was a soldier once. Or worse.
Teren leaned close to Frido and whispered, "We should be careful."
Frido whispered back, "They're broken. Not dangerous."
Teren frowned. "Broken people are the most dangerous."
---
The Truth Beneath Silence
Later, Mira asked, "Why are you two out here?"
Teren replied first. "Escaped a dead camp. He saved me."
Mira looked at Frido. "Why?"
"Because he wasn't dead."
"That's not a reason."
Frido met her gaze. "It is for me."
She studied him.
Then said, "You speak like someone who's seen too much."
Frido shrugged. "I've seen enough."
"Where are you headed?"
Frido looked out the window at the plains.
"I don't know. But I'll know when I get there."
The young man with the beads finally spoke. His voice was soft.
"There's a whisper. A place they say the war hasn't touched. A village that vanished before the first arrow was drawn. They call it Nollan."
Frido turned.
"Is it real?"
The man looked at his beads.
"I want it to be."
---
Ashes in the Hearth
The strangers left before sunrise.
No words. Just silence and the sound of boots on stone.
Mira placed something beside the fire before she left—a map, scrawled and half-faded. Not detailed, but marked with signs and lines.
"I don't know if Nollan's real," she had said. "But it's better than waiting for the sky to fall."
Frido watched them vanish into the mist.
Teren stirred beside him.
"You want to go looking for a ghost town?"
Frido didn't answer.
He just picked up the wooden bird.
Held it in his hand.
And looked east.
---
The Mark on the Stone
Before they left the tower, Frido added one more name to the wall.
He used a sharp stone and pressed carefully.
"Reni—died in the fire."
"Old Bo—never lost faith."
"Teren—burned but breathing."
He paused, then carved:
"Frido—still listening."
---
[End of Chapter 5]