The three days passed with agonizing slowness.
Aeon spent most of his time sleeping, allowing his body to knit itself back together with the unnaturally rapid healing that had so concerned Eldara. The herbalist checked on him twice daily, changing bandages and applying fresh poultices with professional efficiency, though he noticed she never met his eyes for longer than necessary.
Meals arrived with clockwork regularity—simple but nourishing fare brought by rotating guards who never spoke beyond basic necessities. Bread, stew, water, occasional fruits that suggested the village had access to trade goods despite its hidden nature. The food was good enough to indicate they weren't planning to starve him, but not so generous as to suggest welcome.
But it was the children who proved most interesting.
Starting on the second day, Aeon became aware of small faces appearing briefly at his window—curious eyes peering around the frame before vanishing when they realized he was awake and watching. Sometimes he caught whispered conversations just outside his hearing range, young voices filled with the kind of fascination that adults tried to suppress.
"—really came from the river?"
"—mama says he's dangerous—"
"—looks normal to me—"
"—but what if he's a spy?"
The children's interest was understandable. In a village that had remained hidden for over a century, the arrival of an outsider was probably the most exciting thing to happen in their lifetimes. Aeon found their curiosity oddly comforting—at least someone wasn't looking at him with suspicion and fear.
By the third day, his major wounds had healed enough that he could move without excessive pain, though Eldara insisted on keeping the bandages in place. The diagonal scar across his chest was still tender, and his broken hand remained splinted, but he felt more like a person and less like a collection of injuries held together by wishful thinking.
The guards had maintained their rotation schedule with military precision. Each shift brought a different face, but the same watchful alertness. They spoke to him only when necessary, answered no questions about the village or its people, and made it clear that any attempt to leave the room would be met with immediate violence.
Aeon used the time to think, to plan, and to carefully test the limits of his infinity attribute without alerting his watchers. The power was still there, flowing through his consciousness like an underground river, but he kept its manifestations subtle—tiny distortions in space that were too small to notice, brief moments where he could feel the concept of endlessness responding to his will.
The ability was growing stronger as he healed, or perhaps he was simply learning to access it more efficiently. Either way, it was reassuring to know that if diplomacy failed, he wasn't entirely defenseless.
On the morning of the fourth day, Captain Henrik arrived with a contingent of four guards instead of the usual single watcher.
"Time to face the council," Henrik announced without preamble. "Can you walk?"
Aeon tested his legs, finding them steady enough despite the lingering weakness. "Yes."
"Good. You'll be escorted to the Assembly Hall where the village elders will determine your fate. I strongly suggest you consider your words carefully—this community has survived for generations by making hard decisions when necessary."
The implication was clear enough. Aeon nodded his understanding and allowed the guards to form up around him as they left Eldara's shop for the first time since his arrival.
The walk through Millhaven was a revelation.
The village was larger than he had expected, with well-maintained buildings arranged along paved streets that suggested both prosperity and permanence. Gardens flourished between houses, and he could see workshops and businesses that indicated a fully functioning community rather than just a refugee camp.
But it was the people that drew his attention.
They lined the streets in unusual numbers for what should have been a normal working day, standing in doorways and gathering in small groups to watch him pass. Adults regarded him with mixtures of fear, suspicion, and carefully controlled hostility. Some whispered to each other behind raised hands, their conversations stopping abruptly when he looked in their direction.
The children were different. Despite their parents' obvious disapproval, young faces tracked his progress with open curiosity. A few even waved before being quickly hushed by nearby adults.
Aeon kept his expression neutral and his pace steady, but internally he was cataloging everything he saw. Guard positions, building layouts, potential escape routes, the general mood of the population. The information might prove useful if the council meeting went poorly.
The bandages that still covered most of his visible skin seemed to fascinate the onlookers almost as much as his presence did. He could hear fragments of conversation as they passed.
"—still healing from whatever happened to him—"
"—look at how many wounds—"
"—just a child, really—"
"—children can be the most dangerous—"
The Assembly Hall stood at the center of the village, a substantial stone building that radiated authority and permanence. Two additional guards flanked the entrance, and Aeon could feel the weight of magical wards settled over the structure like a heavy blanket.
As they approached the steps leading to the heavy wooden doors, Henrik turned to face him one final time.
"Last chance to reconsider what you're going to tell them," the captain said quietly. "The council doesn't give second opportunities."
Aeon met his eyes steadily. "I understand."
The guards opened the doors, and Captain Henrik gestured for him to enter.
"Then let's find out what kind of future you've chosen."