Rothe's Arc

Chapter 11 of 11

At dawn, Rothe left the monument and walked the path toward the trees, learning the road he had vowed to guard. Miri slept safe behind him. For the first time, his steps were sure and his fire was steady. He meant only to scout. He stopped at a small gazebo of woven willow branches that some villager had built long ago. Soft runes still glowed in the wood. A nest sat tucked in the rafters. Inside, a tiny yellow chick pushed its head up, mouth open and trembling. The mother bird landed on the rim and bent to feed it. Rothe did not move. His fire dimmed in his palm. The chick swallowed and chirped, alive only because something larger had chosen to come back. He watched it eat. He had stood at thrones. He had judged the dead. None of it had felt like this small thing did. He stayed until the mother flew off again. Then he turned back toward the cottage with the road mapped in his mind and something new sitting quiet in his chest. He had come out to learn how to guard. He had learned, instead, what living was for.