Reaching the treeline, Darian was surprised to see the village blacksmith, Breck, out chopping firewood. He was usually locked away inside his smithy this time of morning.

Darian gave him a friendly wave as he drew nearer. "Morning, Breck."

The burly blacksmith lowered his axe and eyed Darian critically. "You're back early from the woods again, boy. And with scarce little to show for it."

He gestured at Darian's nearly empty game bag.

Darian's smile faded. He shrugged. "Small haul today. But enough for the pot."

Breck's bushy brows drew together. "Enough for the pot, perhaps, but not to fill your purse. A man provides, especially with no father around. How will you care for your mother and sister?"

Anger sparked in Darian's chest. He understood Breck meant no real harm - the blacksmith was known as an abrupt but well-meaning man. Still, the criticism stung. How could Brek imply that he was failing his family?

"We get by fine, thank you," Darian said stiffly. "My sister has been ill, if you didn’t know. I'm needed at home."

Breck's face softened slightly. "Aye, I heard about young Talia's sickness. I'm sorry for that, truly."

He sighed heavily, looking off into the distance. "I know what it's like to have a little one fall ill. My own boy, Eamon, he caught the wasting fever when he was barely five summers old. Fought it hard as he could, but in the end..."

Breck's voice trailed off, his eyes glistening. Darian shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to say. He had forgotten that Breck was a widower who had lost his only child. The grief of it still seemed to hang over the blacksmith like a shroud.

After a moment, Breck cleared his throat gruffly. "What I mean to say is, I understand wanting to be there for your sister. But don't forget your other duties. You're the man of the house now, Darian. That means providing for your family, no matter what."

Darian glared at the ground, hands fisting. "She needs me there with her," he repeated through gritted teeth.

"I'm not trying to scold you, boy,” Breck held up his hand. “Just reminding you of the hard truths of this world. When I lost my son, I near went mad with grief. Wanted to curl up and die right along with him."

The blacksmith's voice roughened with emotion. "But I had a wife who needed me. A forge that needed tending. Life doesn't stop for our sorrows, much as we might wish it. You have to find a way to keep going, keep providing, even when your heart is broken."

Darian met Breck's eyes, seeing the pain and hard-earned wisdom there. He knew the blacksmith was trying to help in his own gruff way. But the words still chafed.

"I understand," Darian said quietly. "But I can't just abandon Talia. Not now."

Breck sighed. "No, I’m not saying you should. Just remember, there's more than one way to be there for your family. Don't forget that."

With a final nod, the blacksmith turned back to his woodpile, hoisting the axe once more. Darian took that as his cue to leave.

As he trudged toward the cottage, Breck's words echoed in his mind. The blacksmith knew the anguish of losing a child. And yet he had found the strength to carry on, to provide for his wife even in the depths of grief, until she was taken from him too…

Could Darian do the same for his mother, if the worst happened? His stomach clenched at the thought. No, he couldn't dwell on such things. Talia would recover. She had to.

Forcing his mind away from dark paths, Darian focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He would check on Talia, then head out hunting again. Bring back enough food to fill their bellies and maybe a bit extra to trade.

He could be there for his sister and provide for his family. No matter what Breck or anyone else thought.

Darian quickened his pace toward home, determined to prove them all wrong.

Reaching their cottage, Darian forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn't let his family see the blacksmith's comments had shaken him.

Inside, the cottage was dim and silent. His mother must be napping, which meant Talia was unattended. Anxiety spiked in Darian's chest.

He hurried to the bedroom and froze in the doorway.

Talia lay soaked in sweat, hair plastered to her deathly pale face. Her cheeks were flushed unnaturally rosy, eyes glassy and squinting against even the faint light.

As Darian watched in horror, she erupted into a fit of deep, wracking coughs that went on and on.

"Mother!" Darian cried desperately.

Mara came rushing in, took one look at Talia, and let out a horrified gasp. She flew to her daughter's side, feeling her face and neck.

"No no no, not again," Mara wept. She clutched Talia's limp hand. "The fever has returned, worse than before!"

Darian stood paralyzed. This couldn't be real. Talia had been getting better!

His mother whirled on him with terrified eyes. "Fetch Kalyna at once!"

Jolted into action, Darian pelted from the cottage at a dead run. Villagers jumped aside to avoid being trampled as he raced through the town toward Kalyna's home.

Lungs burning, Darian arrived gasping her name. The healer took one look at his wild expression and grabbed her medicine bag.

"Talia?" she demanded. At Darian's nod, her face became grim. They hurried back without another word.

Kalyna muttered under her breath as she examined Talia, now coughing harder than ever. Darian hovered nearby, fists clenched.

Finally Kalyna stepped back, shaking her head. She beckoned Mara and Darian into the other room. Grief already shadowed Mara's eyes.

"I'm afraid there is nothing more I can do," Kalyna said gently. "Her sickness is beyond my skill to cure. She is in the hands of the gods now."

The words seemed to freeze Darian’s very blood. He swayed where he stood, watching his sister’s life slip away with each ragged breath. First his father, now sweet little Talia too...how much more could one family endure?

“There must be something...” Darian muttered desperately. “Some rare herb or ritual...”

Mara only wept harder, sinking to her knees by Talia’s bed.

Darian stroked Talia’s hair, his vision blurring with tears. He blinked them back angrily. Crying like a baby would not help matters. He was the man of this family. What use was that status if he sat by helpless while his sister died?

There had to be a way to save Talia…

I…I have to get out of here.

Darian stumbled out into the night, his vision blurred with tears. He couldn't bear to stay in that cottage a moment longer, not doing anything.

Before he knew it, Darian found himself heading toward the village churches. There were a few scattered throughout town, each devoted to a different god or goddess. The Church of Light was the grandest and most popular. But Darian looked past its tall white spire, heading for a smaller chapel at the edge of town.

The Church of Death loomed before him, all dark stone and shadows. A single raven perched on the iron gate, regarding Darian with beady eyes. This was where the village honoured Kreya, goddess of the dead and keeper of souls.

Darian had never set foot inside before. Death was an uncomfortable subject and most folks avoided dwelling on it. But now, with Talia gone...maybe Kreya was the only one who could help him.

Hands shaking, Darian pushed open the heavy wooden door. The church was dimly lit by a few flickering candles. An altar stood at the far end, draped in black cloth. Carved ravens adorned the walls, their eyes seeming to follow Darian as he approached the altar and sank to his knees.

"Kreya," he whispered, voice cracking. "I've never asked you for anything before. Maybe I don't have the right to ask now. But please...please don't take her. Don't take my little sister."

Darian's shoulders heaved with sobs. He squeezed his eyes shut as hot tears ran down his cheeks.

"I know I failed her," he choked out. "I couldn't protect her like I should have. But she's just a little girl. Please, let her stay with us. I'll do anything. I'll be better, I swear it."

The candles sputtered and a cold draft whistled through the rafters. But no other sound answered Darian's plea.

He lowered his head, fists clenched against the rough stone floor.

"Why?" Darian shouted suddenly, his voice echoing in the empty chamber. "Why are you letting this happen? She doesn't belong with you! You can’t take her!"

"My son." A gentle voice came from behind him. "Shouting at the Goddess of Death will not change what will soon come to pass."

Darian whirled to see Father Caleb, the temple priest, regarding him with sombre eyes. The man stepped closer, his dark robes whispering across the floor.

"I am deeply sorry for your situation," Father Caleb said. "Truly. But you must understand - death comes for us all in the end. Your sister will soon be with Kreya. It is the way of things."

Darian glared at the priest through his tears. "I don't care about the way of things!" he spat. "Talia can’t dead! It's not right!"

"No, it isn't," Father Caleb agreed quietly. "The death of one so young never seems right or fair. But Kreya welcomes all souls, in their proper time. We mortals may rail against it, but we cannot change it."

The priest laid a hand on Darian's shaking shoulder. "Your sister is in pain now, child. Take comfort in that with death comes peace, her soul will be safe in Kreya's merciful embrace."

Merciful? Darian wrenched away from the priest's touch, a wild look in his eyes.

"No!" he shouted. "I won't let Kreya have her! Talia belongs with us, with her family! I'll find a way...I'll bring her back myself if I have to!"

Father Caleb's eyes widened in pity. "Son, you know not what you say. It is not for us to-"

But Darian was no longer listening. He turned and fled the Church of Death, tears still streaming down his face.

If the gods were not going to help him, he would do the only thing he was good at.

He would hunt!

Darian seized on that thought like a drowning man thrown a rope. He still had one skill to offer, one way to make a difference. He would track down game and provide fresh meat to strengthen Talia. And while hunting, who knew - perhaps he would cross paths with a wandering shaman or hermit with knowledge to cure her...

“I’ll hunt all night if I need to. Somehow…I’ll bring her back!”

***

Darian moved swiftly through the dark forest, ears and eyes sharply tuned to any hint of prey. But even as he searched, a small voice whispered that his efforts now were too little, too late. But he tried to ignore it, focusing on the task at hand.

After an hour, Darian managed to catch a young buck with a well-placed arrow. He field-dressed the carcass, saving the liver and heart. Fresh meat would restore Talia's strength, he told himself.

A bit deeper into the trees, he came across a small patch of azure flowers bobbing in the moonlight. Darian's breath caught. He recognized them as Miriam Grace, a rare medicinal herb from one of Kalyna’s books. The blossoms were said to have miraculous restorative properties.

“Thank the gods!” Darian cut a bundle of the Miriam blooms with renewed hope. With the deer meat and these herbs, then maybe Talia could be saved!

Darian hurried toward home as quickly as he could manage. He was so focused on getting back to Talia that he nearly tripped over a loose stone on the cottage path.

As Darian righted himself, he realized Thomas was standing just ahead on the path, an agonized look on his face. His friend seemed to be struggling to speak.

"What is it?" Darian asked sharply.

Thomas just opened and closed his mouth helplessly. His eyes shone bright with tears.

A cold fist of dread clenched Darian's heart, but he pushed past Thomas, breaking into a run. The herbs jarred in his pack as he pounded down the last stretch of road.

Outside the cottage, villagers were gathered in murmuring groups.

"Poor lamb, so young," came a woman's mournful voice.

"At least her suffering has ended," said another with a sigh.

Darian swayed, their meaning hitting him like a blow.

No...it couldn't be.

Old Breck turned to Darian, face grim beneath his beard. The others fell silent, not meeting his eyes.

Numb, he staggered past the villagers toward the door. None of them would meet his eye. His mind fuzzed with panicked denial.

It was a mistake...they’re wrong!

The inside of the cottage was dim, only a few candles burning. Mara sat crumpled and weeping by the bedside, a shroud draped over a small motionless figure.

"I'm sorry," Mara sobbed. "She's gone...my little girl is gone."

The words slammed into Darian with the force of a dwarf's hammerblow. His mind recoiled from them even as his heart shattered. The herbs and deer meat fell from Darian's arms.

His sister, his bright-eyed Talia...gone.

He froze, unable to breathe or think or feel.

Then his legs gave way beneath him.