The morning light doesn't feel the same.
I sit by the shrine's cracked doorway, the ring still on my finger, hidden beneath the sleeve of my tattered cloak. I haven't taken it off. I *can't* take it off. Not because it's stuck, but because it *feels wrong* to remove it. Like it's not just mine now—like it's part of me.
I walk back to the village as the sun breaks over the trees. Darnem Hollow doesn't notice me return. They never do. Except today.
Bereth spots me near the well.
"You were gone last night," he grunts. His hand rests on the hilt of his rusted blade. "Out howlin' with the devils?"
"I was walking," I say.
"Where?"
"Shrine."
He squints. His knuckles tighten.
No one goes near the shrine.
"You trying to bring another curse on us, boy?" His voice rises. Loud enough to draw the eyes of the others.
Marga appears from her crooked hut like a snake drawn by noise. "Let the child be, Bereth," she rasps. "The gods stopped listening to this place long before he was born."
Bereth scoffs but backs off.
I don't thank Marga. She doesn't expect it. She knows I don't like owing people favors.
But today, I make an exception.
I follow her back to her hut.
She senses me. Doesn't look. "If you want bread, it's stale. If you want herbs, they cost."
"I want a name," I say.
That makes her pause.
She turns slowly, eyes narrowing behind strands of silver hair. "A name? For what?"
"For myself."
Her gaze drifts to the ring on my finger.
She doesn't ask. She doesn't speak.
She just nods once and says, "Then you'll earn one."
She gives me a pouch. Inside—roots. Bitter, dark.
"There's a man in Stonefold, two days east. Name's Tarn Velin. He buys these for more than they're worth. Trade them. Don't let him cheat you. Come back with silver, and I'll tell you the name I see in you."
I leave without a word.
And just like that, I take my first real step out of Darnem Hollow.
The road is cold, rough on my feet. But I walk with purpose. Not for the roots. Not even for the silver.
But because, for the first time, someone gave me a task *because* they saw something in me—not despite what I am.
And as I walk, I feel it again.
A pulse beneath my skin. A whisper in my bones.
The ring is quiet—but it *listens.*
And so do I.