The morning air carried the fresh scent of dew. Small birds chirped from the branches of the pine trees, and a thin mist still hung low among the wet grass.
The golden rays of the sun slipped over the hills surrounding Audhild, highlighting the fields of potatoes and wheat that were growing well.
Østberg squinted, looking up at the sky for a moment, before lowering the axe back onto the trunk of the pine tree that had fallen overnight.
The sound of thak! echoed rhythmically through the trees. Beside him, Famed, sweat dripping down his brow, lifted a large log and placed it on a small wooden cart.
"Hey, Øst. You know, I just realized,"
"Every time we chop wood like this… I feel like the world isn't so bad after all."
Østberg smiled a little. "Because no one's chasing you with fire or sword, maybe?"
"Maybe. But seriously, I like it when things feel… calm."
Østberg didn't answer right away. He just stared at the next tree trunk, then swung his axe once more.
Amidst the clink of the axe and the rustle of leaves, his thoughts drifted, especially to the strange dreams that increasingly bothered him at night. Dreams about the symbol of a broken eye, and whispering voices he couldn't recognize.
After two hours of work, they returned to the village with a cart full of firewood. Children ran along the dirt road carrying a small cat, an old woman arranged onions in front of her house, and the smell of boiling broth from the kitchens of the houses teased stomachs that were starting to growl.
"Østberg!"
A soft voice called from a distance.
Elara waved from across the street, wearing a thin cream coat and a green scarf that she had knitted herself. Her golden brown hair was loose, and a thick book was clutched in her hands.
"You look like you just stepped out of a painting," Famed murmured before pushing his cart toward the workshop.
"You take care of the wood, I'll take care of the iron nails. See you later, Lumberjack of Hope."
Østberg just shook his head slowly at the joke, then walked over to Elara.
"I found something in the old library in the west," Elara said matter-of-factly.
"Do you have time now?"
Østberg nodded. "Sure. To the lake?"
"Exactly."
---
[At the Shore of Lake Audhild]
A cool breeze blew gently, making the surface of the lake reflect the blue-gray sky. Under an old willow tree that towered over the edge of the lake, they sat side by side.
Elara opened her book, revealing a hand-drawn page, a circle with a symbol of an eye split in two.
"This is… similar to what you saw in your dream, right?" she asked.
Østberg swallowed. He stared at the page for a few seconds, then slowly nodded.
"Yes. But when I saw it in my dream, the symbol… was bleeding. As if it was crying."
Elara closed her eyes, then said,
"According to this book, the symbol is called the Okularus Fractum. The Broken Eye. In the old legends, it is a symbol of destruction and absolute vision. Like… a truth too painful to comprehend."
Østberg rubbed his face.
"And I keep seeing it. Every night. Sometimes with a voice… sometimes just silently, but it makes me wake up in a cold sweat."
Elara looked at him, her brown eyes full of sympathy. "Do you think it's a sign? Or some kind of calling?"
"I don't know… But it's like the world is trying to tell me something, and I can't understand its language."
They were silent for a while. Only the sound of the rippling water and the birds broke the silence.
Elara closed her book slowly. "If the world is speaking to you, then we will learn to understand its language together. You are not alone, Øst."
Østberg looked at her, this time with a warmer smile. "Thank you, Elara."
---
A bonfire was burning behind the house.
Thin smoke rose into the starry night sky.
Østberg stood straight, facing Uncle Arvid, who held a long wooden staff in his left hand.
"Now, listen carefully," Arvid said in a serious tone.
"The world doesn't always give warnings before it strikes. But the forest will always whisper. Learn to read those whispers."
Østberg nodded. They began their training session, reading footprints in the ground, guessing the direction of the wind, and understanding the position of the stars.
"Do you see the shape of these leaves?" Arvid asked, pointing to scattered leaves.
"If their color fades faster than usual, there's a disturbance around here. Either a creature, or an abnormal energy."
"Why are you teaching this now?" Østberg asked, exhausted but curious.
Arvid stared out into the forest, his old eyes troubled.
"Because these nights… the sky has been talking. And I don't like the answers."
They then moved on to physical training, close-range archery, throwing knives at tree trunks, and dodging surprise attacks with sticks.
In between, Arvid also taught him to hold his breath in water, make fire from stones, and recognize the sounds of wild animals.
"Don't think of this as training to become a fighter, Østberg," he said firmly.
"This is training to stay alive."
---
The night was getting late. Østberg sat on the balcony of his house, staring at the vast sky. The stars were like small holes in the dark cloth, twinkling as if trying to send an unreadable message.
He thought about everything that had happened today, the conversation with Famed, the secret that Elara had discovered, and the unusual firmness of Uncle Arvid.
He felt like he was in the middle of a transition. Like when the wind suddenly stops before a storm comes.
He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he heard the voice from his dream again, soft, whispering, and cold.
You see, but you don't want to know.
He woke up, sweating, even though his eyes were not yet fully closed.
In the distance, from behind the forest, a crow flies across the moon.