Location: Branhal, the Longhouse Time: Evening - Day 7
Evening in Branhal
The sound of voices rose from the longhouse, muffled but lively, spilling out into the cool evening air. Branhal's council had convened earlier than usual, with the light of sunset still visible through the narrow gaps in the timbers. Inside, the air was warm and thick with the smell of smoke and cider.
Alec stood just beyond the door, his satchel slung over his shoulder, waiting.
Jorren, the blacksmith, leaned against the outer wall nearby, arms crossed, chewing on a strip of dried meat. He glanced at Alec without speaking for a moment, his eyes assessing as always.
"You've stirred up more talk in four days than the last four years," Jorren said finally, breaking the silence.
Alec didn't look at him. "Talk doesn't concern me. Actions do."
Jorren snorted. "Actions scare people more. You've got folks saying you're touched by something unnatural. Others think you're just too clever for your own good."
"And you?" Alec asked.
The blacksmith shrugged. "I think you're trouble. But not the bad kind. Not yet."
The door creaked open, and Merrit, the council's scribe, peered out with his narrow, ink-stained face. "The headman will see you now."
Inside the Longhouse
The long table was half-filled with Branhal's council. Harwin sat at its head, leaning forward on his elbows, the flickering firelight deepening the lines on his weathered face. Beside him sat Silla, her leather armor freshly cleaned, her expression unreadable.
To Harwin's left sat two more figures Alec hadn't met before: Balen, the village steward, thin and balding with a calculating look, and Lysa, the headman's niece, a young woman with golden hair and sharp blue eyes that carried the quiet weight of ambition.
The other seats were empty.
Alec stepped forward, calm but purposeful. His gaze swept the room in a single glance, taking in the wary eyes, the tense shoulders, and the quiet rustle of clothing as they shifted under his presence.
"Sit," Harwin said, gesturing to the chair at the opposite end of the table.
Alec sat.
"You've made an impression," Harwin began. "The mill turns again. Some of the men say it's the first time they've seen a stranger sweat harder than our own."
"It's functional," Alec said. "Not finished. The gears need proper teeth, and the foundation won't hold more than a season without reinforcement."
"Still, it works," Harwin said. "And that's more than anyone else managed in ten years. You've earned my attention, Alec."
Alec inclined his head slightly. "What do you intend to do with it?"
Harwin smirked faintly. "The question, lad, is what you intend to do with it."
Testing Intentions
Silla leaned forward, her voice low and cutting. "You say you're here to help. That you're not a threat. But every time you open your mouth, you talk about change."
"Change is inevitable," Alec said evenly. "You can either resist it or shape it."
"And you think you're the one to shape it?"
"I think I'm the only one here who knows how."
Silla's jaw tightened. Before she could speak again, Harwin raised a hand.
"You've got ideas," Harwin said. "Big ones. But Branhal's a small place. It doesn't take kindly to big ideas. You've already stirred talk. Whispers. Some think you're a gift. Others think you'll bring trouble."
"What do you think?" Alec asked.
"I think you're useful," Harwin said bluntly. "But usefulness doesn't guarantee trust."
Alec met his gaze. "Then tell me how I can earn it."
Harwin leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "The mill was a good start. But fixing something broken is one thing. Building something new is another."
"What do you want built?"
"Not built. Grown."
Alec frowned slightly. "Explain."
Harwin gestured to Balen, who cleared his throat nervously. "The barley fields," Balen said. "They've been yielding less every season. The soil's tired, but we don't have the manpower or tools to expand. If we can't grow more, we'll face shortages by next harvest."
Alec's mind immediately began to race through solutions: crop rotation, irrigation techniques, soil restoration through composting. Primitive, but effective. The problem wasn't beyond him.
"I can help with that," Alec said. "But it'll take more than ideas. I'll need people willing to listen and work."
"That's for you to figure out," Harwin said. "If you can prove you're not just a tinkerer with tricks, if you can show the village your ideas can feed them, you'll have more than my attention. You'll have their loyalty."
"And if I fail?"
Harwin's expression darkened. "Then you'll remind everyone why we don't trust men who fall from the sky."
After the Meeting – A Quiet Warning
The council dispersed after Harwin's words, but Silla lingered by the doorway as Alec prepared to leave. She stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"You played that well," she said.
"It wasn't a game."
"Everything here's a game," she said quietly. "You don't see it yet, but you will. Harwin gave you this chance because he knows he can use you. But the moment you stop being useful, you're not just expendable. You're dangerous."
Alec studied her for a moment. "You don't trust me."
"I don't trust anyone who thinks faster than they talk," she said. "And you think too fast for your own good."
"I'm not here to hurt anyone."
"That doesn't matter," Silla said. "You're already changing things, whether you mean to or not. And change makes enemies."
Alec nodded slowly. "Good."
Silla frowned. "Why?"
"Because enemies tell you where the weak points are," Alec said. "And I'm going to fix this place whether it wants me to or not."
Silla shook her head, stepping back. "Just don't mistake patience for weakness, Alec. You're not untouchable."
He watched as she walked away, her shadow long against the firelight.
A New Ally
As Alec left the longhouse, he found himself intercepted by someone unexpected: Lysa, the headman's niece. She stood waiting by the path, her golden hair loose over her shoulders, her blue eyes bright with curiosity.
"You're not what I expected," she said as he approached.
Alec raised an eyebrow. "What did you expect?"
"Someone older. More arrogant. Less... interesting."
Alec tilted his head. "Interesting how?"
"You have the kind of mind that bends things," she said. "Tools, people, ideas. You don't fit here, and yet you're making everyone pay attention to you."
"And what does that mean to you?"
"It means I'd like to know what you're planning," Lysa said. "And whether there's a place for someone like me in it."
Alec studied her carefully. Her posture was relaxed, but there was a sharpness in her gaze, a quiet hunger. She wasn't just curious. She was ambitious.
"What do you want, Lysa?" Alec asked.
"Opportunity," she said simply. "Branhal is small, but I won't stay small forever. I've seen what happens to people who let the world pass them by. I won't let that happen to me."
Alec nodded slowly. "Then we'll see how useful you can be."
She smiled faintly. "Good answer."
Back at the Healer's Hut
It was late by the time Alec returned to Mira's hut. She was seated by the fire, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle. She looked up as he entered.
"You look like a man who's just been handed a test," she said.
"I have."
"And?"
"And I'll pass it."
Mira smirked. "You say that like failure's not an option."
"It's not," Alec said simply. "Not for me."
She paused, studying him. "You know, most people would be scared in your position. Harwin doesn't make promises lightly. And if you fall, he won't catch you."
"I don't need him to."
"No," she said softly. "You don't."
Alec sat down across from her, the firelight flickering over his face. He was silent for a long moment, his thoughts turning over the council's words, Silla's warning, Lysa's ambition.
"You're going to build something here," Mira said, breaking the silence. "I can feel it. I don't know if it's going to be good or bad, but it's going to change everything."
Alec looked at her, his gaze steady. "That's the point."
She didn't look away.