His thoughts drifted in that quiet warmth until movement in the corner of his eye pulled him back. He turned toward the doorway—and there was Mela, calling to him with a bright wave.

Mela bounded into the room, grinning wide, and pressed something small into Ash's palm—a carved figure of living root, its surface worn smooth by years of being held, its edges darkened with age.

"It's supposed to be you," she said proudly, her eyes alight, "I made it when I was little, from the stories my parents and grandparents told me about the saviour."

Ash stared at it, the aged wood carrying not only the weight of her small hands from long ago but also a surge of complicated emotions. The rough contours spoke of care more than skill, a child's earnest attempt to capture a legend. For a moment, he was silent.

Seeing Ash so intently observing the figure, Mela's smile faltered, her voice shrinking as she admitted, "It looks more like a thornbeast… but I tried my best."

Ash shook his head firmly, "It looks amazing."

"Eh! Really?"

Hearing that, Mela's eyes lit up again, shimmering with sudden sparkles, wide and searching his face with the eager expectation of someone who needed to hear it again.

Ash nodded with quiet certainty, "Really."

The sincerity in his tone made Mela's whole face brighten in delight.

"Kyaaaaa! The Saviour said he likes my model of him!" she exclaimed in excitement and joy as her eyes sparkled. She let out little yelps of joy and began hopping around in a circle as a tiny blossom unfurled right above her head, swaying gently as if sharing in her happiness.

"Um… Mela… What am I supposed to do with this?" Ash asked her, observing the little carving before looking back at her.

"Eh?"

"To decorate your room of course," she replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She then turned and signalled to his room and spoke, "It looks too empty… You can't feel at home if your room is empty… It's also for you so that in case you ever forget who you are, this will help you remember."

'Who I am?'

For a moment, he didn't trust himself to speak, so he simply closed his fingers gently around the carving. His gaze lingered on its rough but heartfelt form before lifting to her face.

"Mela… how do you know I'm supposed to be the saviour?" he asked, the question edged with genuine curiosity and the desire for a reasoning that went past simple prophecy, his tone softer now as if coaxing a secret from her. His eyes searched hers, inviting her to share not just the reason, but the story and feeling behind her belief.

"Uh… well," Mela hesitated, her little fingers twiddling at the hem of her tunic.

"Because… your eyes," she said at last, her voice small but certain.

"My eyes?"

She nodded.

"They look… sad. Like mine did when Papa and Mama went away. But… it's more. Like… a big sad."

She scrunched her nose, fidgeting with her fingers. "And… They told me bad things are coming. But…"

Her gaze lifted to his, a shy smile flickering. "Your eyes feel like Papa's. That safe feeling… he said it was hope. And he told me… the saviour's the one who, even when it hurts so much, still keeps a little ember warm inside."

Her words sank deep into Ash, lodging themselves somewhere between his chest and his thoughts, directly shaking him.

'Sadness… a big sad?' he thought to himself as he recalled Mela's words which brought back memories.

The betrayal of his past life. The weakness he felt from when he was first summoned. The sadness of things that had been taken from him.

He stood there longer than he realized, staring at the carving in his hand, the edges pressing gently into his palm. It wasn't just what she said—it was the way her voice had carried an unshaken belief, light and sure like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For someone so young to look at him and see the scars, hurt and pain but still see the same hope that she'd known from her father—it was disarming.

Yet this time, he found himself somehow having less resistance towards believing that he was the saviour.

'Am I truly the saviour?'

Ash's mind began to circle the thought, picking at it, wondering if there was truth in it or only the hopeful haze of a child's heart. He might have stood there for minutes more if not for the sudden tug at his arm.

He might have stood there far longer, lost in the quiet churn of thought, if not for the sudden tug at his arm.

Mela's small fingers curled firmly around him, warm and sure, her energy a current pulling him free from the thicket of his own head.

"Come on," she said brightly, tugging at Ash, bringing him back out of his thoughts.

Her grin flashing like sunlight through leaves, as if she were dragging him away, "Your eyes shouldn't be empty. I don't want it to be sad."

Ash, looking down at the child who was desperately trying to tug him away, her intentions clear that she wanted him to take him away, "Where are we going?"

Without missing a step, Mela tossed him a playful look over her shoulder, "To check on the food! Mama always said a good meal will take your sadness away."

And just like that, she was dragging him out of the room and back towards the hall.

They crossed the hallways, the scents in the air growing richer- savory root-broth, herbs, the faint sweetness of roasting barkfruit.

Upon arriving at the hall, the soft glow of the kitchen spilled out ahead, and as they stepped inside, Ash was caught off-guard as warmth wrapped around him like a living thing.

The space inside was alive with quiet industry.

Several other females around the same age as Rhavri moved in an unhurried, practiced dance around the room- groups of them washing roots in a basin of clean water and grinding herbs with smooth stones. Others were slicing pale fungi into delicate fans before adding them into a giant pot which gently bubbled with the sound of stew, underscored by the comfort of familiar words shared among kin.

Their voices wove through the air, soft and companionable: remarks about the richness of the barkfruit harvest, laughter over a cousin's clumsy foraging trip, the hunting party boys, and murmured advice on seasoning from an elder to a younger cook.

A few of the others glanced up at Ash, curiosity in their eyes, but their hands never slowed. He took in the scene quietly, noting the way each person seemed to be part of something whole, the warmth not just from the hearth but from the bonds they shared here.

Tholn was at Rhavri's side, sleeves rolled back, deftly working at a pile of cut greens while she stirred a simmering pot. Every so often their elbows would brush, and they traded murmurs in the soft, easy rhythm of siblings who had long since learned each other's pace.

"Your cuts are too wide!" she could be heard scolding Tholn as she slapped him on the back with her free hand.

"Yeouch!" Tholn exclaimed at the sudden slap. He had been laser focused on cutting the greens that he was not able to dodge the attack that had attacked his blindspot.

"Hey!" he shouted, eyes turning into fireballs as he faced Rhavri, "I'm holding a knife here you know! I could've stabbed you or myself by accident!"

"Tch!" Rhavri snorted in contempt, "It's not my fault you can't cut it right!"

"It looks the same as your figurehead cut, Rhavri," Tholn retorted.

"You are off by a hair's width," Rhavri spoke, her voice emanating that preciseness of that level was as 'easy as breathing.'

…

'You've got to be kidding me,' Tholn deadpanned, his knife pausing mid-cut as he turned to stare at her like she'd just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable.

"Oh, brilliant idea, Rhavri. Why don't I just close my eyes while I cut too?" he quipped, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

He turned to her with mock admiration, head tilting as if genuinely considering it, "You know what? I might be onto something—could really spice up dinner prep."

Before that moment, Rhavri's head snapped toward Tholn, brandishing the hot stew-stirring spoon like a weapon as she growled, "You dare to ruin my meal prepared for Ash?"

She took a step toward him, clearly ready to land a solid earthquake-inducing whack on his head—when both she and Tholn suddenly noticed Ash standing in the doorway.

Their expressions shifted, and they called out to him together, the welcome in their tone unmistakable, just before Mela burst forward with an eager grin, declaring she would help and beckoning Ash to join them.

"Big Sis! Uncle!" Mela greeted excitedly as her face lit up with a wide grin, as she ran up to them, declaring proudly, "I'm here to help, Big Sis! And I brought Ash so he can help too!"

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