Harwin couldn't sleep.
He lay on his side, then his back, then turned again, as though shifting his weight could somehow quiet the storm inside him. The room was dim, lit only by the dying glow of the hearth downstairs. The old mattress creaked under his frame, and Mira lay beside him—still, quiet, facing the wall. But he knew she was awake. How could she not be?
How could either of them sleep after hearing what their son had said?
He stared at the cracked wooden ceiling for a long time before he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper.
"Mira," he said. "What if… what if we did leave? What if we went to Caelondia?"
Mira didn't respond at first.
Harwin continued, "It's not just about Ryan anymore. There's no future here. Not for him. Not for us. What are we clinging to? Unfair Taxes? Fear? The same four walls?"
Mira rolled over slowly. Her face was shadowed, but her voice was clear.
"You remember what happened to Joran's family? They tried. They didn't even make it past the northern checkpoints. The soldiers caught them. Marched Joran's father into the square, made the whole village watch. Said leaving without permission was treason." Her voice cracked, then turned cold. "They executed him with a smile."
Harwin didn't answer. He didn't need to. He knew. He remembered.
He remembered too well.
He also remembered his father—broad-shouldered and proud—falling to the ground with a sword through his chest. All because he raised a kitchen knife against a pig of a noble who'd spat on Harwin's mother, calling her filth, mocking their hunger, their clothes, their worth.
Harwin had been Ryan's age.
After his father's death, the noble had returned—not with justice, but with papers. Took everything. Said it was for "peacekeeping." Took the house, the animals, even his mother's wedding ring. The village watched, heads low, pretending not to see. Pretending they weren't next.
That was the day Harwin stopped dreaming.
That was the day he learned what happened to those who fought back in Zeronthal.
He tightened his fists beneath the blanket, jaw clenched.
There were days he still dreamed of that noble—stripping the bastard bare, dragging him by the hair through the village square until nothing was left but shame and blood. But that was all it ever was. A dream. Because now he had something his father fought for. A wife. A son. A family that still had a chance, however small.
"I know you're thinking about that dreaded day again," Mira said gently, breaking the silence.
Harwin looked at her, surprised by the clarity in her voice.
"What else can I do?" he whispered. "Let Ryan rot in this place? Just like us? Just like our fathers before us?"
Mira didn't answer right away. She only looked at the ceiling now, her fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket.
"There's no way out," she said at last. "Only darkness."
The room fell silent again, but the weight of their thoughts filled it like smoke.
They were trapped in a cage with walls made of fear, history, and blood.
And yet… somewhere, deep in their hearts, a tiny, flickering thought remained:
What if there was a way out?
It had been days since Harwin first voiced the thought. The idea had rooted itself in his mind, stubborn as a weed—what if Ryan could leave? Not all of them, no. That was impossible. But maybe… just Ryan.
And now, there was no more time. Elandor would set sail with the morning tide.
Harwin stood in the kitchen long before sunrise, hands shaking as he sipped a lukewarm mug of tea. He couldn't delay it anymore. He turned to Mira, who sat quietly by the hearth, staring into the dying fire.
"We could send just him," he said, voice low and tired. "Give everything we have to Elandor—pay off the guards, the portmaster. Just enough to get one boy through. We'll deal with the rest later… but at least he'll have a chance."
Mira's eyes didn't leave the flames. "He's nine, Harwin."
"I know," he whispered. "But if we wait, he'll be twelve then fifteen then thirty soon and stuck here forever paying for the luxurious lives of those noble bastards."
She finally looked at him, and the anguish in her face nearly broke him. "You'd send him off to some foreign land alone? With a man we barely know?"
"He's a good man, Mira. I've seen how he talks to Ryan. Like he matters."
"That man isn't his father—no matter how good," she said bitterly. "He doesn't know how Ryan flinches in his sleep after nightmares. Or how he bites his lip when he's trying not to cry."
Harwin clenched his jaw. "And we're just going to let him stay? Let him rot like we did? Watch him break under this country like our parents did, and theirs before them?"
Mira looked away again, eyes glassy. She didn't answer.
Harwin turned to the window. Dawn was creeping in, slow and grey. He had to try. If nothing else, he needed to know if Elandor would give him his word.
That morning, before the sun touched the sea, Harwin stood outside by the dock, where the fog still clung to the water and seagulls circled in silence. Elandor was inspecting a shipment by torchlight, his coat flaring with each breeze.
Harwin approached, heart pounding.
"I need a word," he said.
Elandor turned, and for the first time, Harwin dropped all formality. He told him everything—the conversation with Ryan, Mira's fears, the death of his father, the shame of watching a son lose hope. He asked for a favor, not as a customer, not even as a friend, but as a father.
To Harwin's surprise, Elandor listened in full silence. Not a word, not a glance away.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and sure.
"I've seen it too," Elandor said. "The way your boy watches the world. The questions behind his eyes. He doesn't belong in this place. And I'd be honored to take him."
Harwin exhaled, a weight lifting—until Elandor continued.
"But this won't be easy. A single boy vanishing? Doable. A whole family? That'll bring the king's hounds down before we even reach open water. And Ryan… he wouldn't leave if it meant putting you in danger. I know him well enough by now to say that with certainty."
Harwin looked away, ashamed. "I was hoping money would be enough."
Elandor shook his head. "I don't care about the coin. I care about the risk. But…" he glanced toward the fog-drenched shore. "I am a merchant. And sometimes, you spot a gem before anyone else. I'll find a way. Tell your wife to keep everything ready. I may knock before dawn, or not at all."
Harwin stood silent for a long moment, then stepped forward and gripped Elandor's arm.
"Thank you. I will owe you my life for this."
Elandor gave a small nod. "You don't owe me a thing yet."
Harwin rushed back toward the inn, wind biting his cheeks, heart racing with something he hadn't felt in years.
Hope.
Now all that was left… was to convince Mira.