We quickly went through the last of our food. But thankfully, after walking for hours towards the west, me and Ameline stumble upon a lone cabin with smoke rising out of its chimney. I knock on the door lightly, careful not to punch through the rotted wood. Soon, an equally ancient-looking man greets us, dressed as an ordinary peasant with a scraggly white beard on his wrinkled face.

“Hello. Might you have some food for a hungry child?” I asked politely.

The old man showed a friendly smile and stepped aside. “Certainly. Please come in,” he said with a shaky voice. 

The cabin is large enough to fit a small bed, a table for dining, and a stack of books. But standing out the most is the assortment of paintings nailed to the walls. All of them are simple illustrations of buildings and landscapes.

“Pardon the mess,” the old man said. “I’ve had no chance to tidy around the place. I rarely get visitors, but lately, my little home has been a gathering spot for weary travelers! Like that fellow. Found him on the side of the road just this morning.”

He points to his bed, where a man lies still with his forehead caked in sweat. He looks young, his skin golden brown. A noticeable scar was carved on his cheek, two slashes crossing at the center. 

“Is he gonna be okay?” 

“I’m not sure,” the old man replies. “I’ve done my best, but modern medicine only gets you so far these days. Hopefully, he’ll be fine after a good night’s rest.”

The old man goes to a cauldron being stewed by the hot fireplace. Ameline makes herself comfortable in his seat while he tastes the soup.

“Just about done stewing some red bean soup. Plenty for everyone.”

“You’re very kind,” I say with a nod. “What’s your name?”

“The name’s Gus. Just Gus.”

“Gus. I like that name. My name’s Ameline,” she said.

“I’m Triton. Triton Netherbane.”

The old man then looks back at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Ah, thought that marking looked familiar. ”

Then, he weakly started to get down on his knee, his entire body shaking to the floor. 

“Oh, please, you don’t have to bow,” I tell him.

I’m quick to offer the old man his shoulder as ballast, and he pats my shoulder in thanks. 

“These all look professional,” I say while examining the paintings.

“You flatter me,” Gus says with a smile. “‘Been painting for close to twenty years now, ever since I became a hermit. I’ve always had an eye for capturing nature’s beauty. Most of these are from my travels, painted right on the spot.”

“You must’ve traveled quite far to find some of these places.”

“When you’re an old man, you gotta find things to occupy your time.”

“What’s that?” Ameline squeaks. She points at the painting tacked above the fireplace. 

“That there’s the capital city,” Gus says. “Obsidia.” 

However, when I see the picture, my heart sinks into my stomach. Though the painting is in simple black, I remember the shape of that city. I remember it being bathed in a harmony of whites and blues. I remember the mighty palace at the center and the wall that barricaded the city's outer edge. More memories begin to flood- my bedchamber where I rested my weary head- the royal training grounds where I practiced for days on end- the cathedral where I prayed to the moon. 

It was called Asreal, the actual capital city.

“Gus…” I mutter. “When did you draw this?”

“Oh, that’s one of my oldest works. ‘Drew it about fifteen years ago.”

“Why is it called Obsidia now? Does that mean…?”

“Ah… I’m guessing you didn’t live to see that day. ‘Was wondering why you looked so young.”

I stay silent, only managing to give a slow nod as confirmation.

“The city was assaulted in a massive strike by them Shadowheart bastards. That was a few decades or so ago. Everyone in it either got killed or turned into more of them like they do with every other place they go. Either way, the place is called Obsidia now.”

My Auryn might just stop burning. I can’t take my eyes off the painting as I try to remember my last day seeing the city in its glory. But it’s all a blur.

“Terribly sorry, lad. But it ain’t all bad, you know? You’ve been given life after death. Not just anybody gets that kinda privilege.”

“Yes…” I mutter. “I remember Asreal being such a strong place, filled with strong warriors. And now that it’s all gone… What does that mean for Cinedime? For my people?” 

After pacing around for a moment, Gus gives me a disappointed glare.

“Listen to an old man’s wisdom, will ya? Life’s too good to watch it all get turned into dust. If we just sit back and reminisce on the things we lost, we might as well just die with ‘em. But nobody’s put on this planet just to die. Not you, and not even you, young lady.”

Ameline looks comforted as she presses her doll close to her cheek.

“I think you’re gonna be fine, lad,” Gus says with a smile. “You don’t need a city to show the world what you’re made of.”

After supper, me and Ameline moved up to the roof. There was not enough room for us to sleep in the cabin, but Gus was generous enough to lend us warm bedrolls to combat the cold. 

“Can we please start a campfire?” Ameline says with her teeth nearly chattering.

“Not right now. There might be Fiends around here.”

“But I’m cold.”

“Me too, but we’re safer this way,” I say.

I haven’t stopped thinking of Asreal, of all those faces and sights from my childhood. Learning about the city’s downfall from Gus was enough to make me tear up, but I’m trying to remain calm for Ameline’s sake. She shouldn’t have to worry about me.

“I have a question,” she coos. “When we find a Well, what’re we gonna do next?”

“Find another location and light the next one.”

“We’re just gonna keep moving? We’re not gonna stop and try to make a home somewhere?”

“The more time we waste, the longer people stay unprotected. So yes, we have to keep moving.”

“But what if we can’t find any Wells to light?”

“We will. There are hundreds of them.”

Ameline swallows whatever care she had and lets out a soft hum. 

“I was thinking about leaving you in an orphanage, if I’m honest,” I bluntly tell her. “But I don’t think you’d want to be in another one. Right?”

“No. I don’t ever want to go back to one of those awful places.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t. But you’ll have to get used to not being able to stop for very long.”

“I guess it’s better than an orphanage. I never told you, but all the other kids liked to fight and tease me. See this scar?” she says

Ameline points to her forehead. There was a small incision right under her hairline, though she has to pull away part of her hair to show it. 

“I have more of them. I got them from a game we used to play. ‘Stone the witch.’ Someone has to be the witch, and they get tied up to a pole while everyone else throws rocks at them. If the witch breaks the rope, she wins. I was always the witch.”

“That doesn’t sound like a fun game.”

“It wasn’t,” Ameline says. “But if I wasn’t a witch, and they weren’t throwing rocks at me, nobody would talk to me. And I don’t like to be alone.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that the old Herald came to adopt you,” I say. “And hey. You are not alone right now, are you?”

I reach out and gently pat her head. Ameline scrunches her shoulders a bit, but she doesn’t shake my hand away. 

“Try to get some sleep. Okay?”