Chapter 19: Halfway Haven
The late afternoon sun bathed the rolling prairie beyond the forest in copper light, a startling contrast to the dim greens of the Mawing Wood. Approaching the settlement, Connor caught the aroma of civilization—woodsmoke from cookfires, the yeasty tang of brewing ale, baked bread, and the unmistakable musk of penned animals. After the forest's damp rot and wolf-stench, these simple odors were a welcome bouquet. He hadn't realized how much tension he carried until he saw the town; his shoulders relaxed a fraction knowing a real roof and a bed waited, however humble.
At the open gate—little more than a gap in the wall with a wooden arch—two armed women straightened at the sight of Sela's contingent. They were dressed in patched leather jerkins and carried old-model rifles. Clearly militia rather than formal guards. The older of them, a grizzled woman with streaks of gray in her braid, squinted up at Sela on her horse and then at Connor walking beside. Recognition or at least realization dawned in her eyes; she elbowed her comrade and both hurried to bow deeply.
"Captain. My lord," the elder greeted respectfully, voice a bit awed. "Welcome to Havenmoor." Her gaze flitted curiously to Connor's face and away just as quickly, cheeks flushing. Connor managed a polite nod, still not entirely comfortable with the reflexive reverence strangers gave him.
Sela inclined her head. "Thank you. We seek lodging and fresh supplies for the night."
"Of course! Right away." The militia women exchanged another glance. One dashed ahead of them through the gate, presumably to alert the townsfolk. The other remained, nervously brushing dust off her tunic. "It's an honor to have you, truly. We don't see many travelers these days… certainly n-never had a male guest before." She directed the last part more to Connor, offering a smile that was equal parts delighted and anxious.
"I'm pleased to visit," Connor replied kindly. He was exhausted, sweaty, and likely looked nothing like the ethereal princes they probably imagined men to be, but he mustered his best courteous tone. "Thank you for having us."
Inside the wall, Halfway Haven was a modest sprawl of about twenty buildings. A main dirt road ran through the center, lined with a tavern (judging by the faded tankard sign), a livery stable, a blacksmith's shed, and a small marketplace of stalls now shuttered for evening. Villagers were already gathering, drawn by the commotion at the gate. Mostly women of various ages, clad in homespun work dresses or aprons, some wiping flour from their hands, others carrying toddlers on hips. A few older children peered from behind barrels and corners, eyes wide at the newcomers.
When they saw Connor—clearly neither a child nor an old man but a young adult male—their reaction was palpable. A hush fell, followed by excited whispering. A middle-aged woman with freckled cheeks stepped forward, wringing her hands in her apron, and executed a deep curtsey directly to him. "Blessings of the Twin Moons upon you, sir," she breathed, seemingly near tears. "You grace our humble town."
Connor's face warmed. "You're too kind. I'm just a traveler," he said softly. He wasn't sure how to respond to such reverence; he settled for a slight bow which elicited a collective sigh from the gathering crowd as if he'd performed some miracle.
Sela cleared her throat gently, stepping forward with an authoritative but friendly smile. "Greetings. I am Captain Sela Var of Asterholt, leading this expedition. This is Sir Connor, our ward, and our companions Dame Zara, Thea, and our guards. We request hospitality for the night."
At the introduction of Connor by name, more murmurs rippled—perhaps some had heard rumors of the "star-fallen gentleman" or the male ward traveling north. A younger woman darted off, exclaiming something about preparing the guesthouse.
An older matron bustled out from the tavern, wiping her hands on her skirts. She had the look of the town's mayor—chin held high, eyes bright with practical intelligence. "Captain Var, we are honored. I am Yelena Moore, the elected headwoman of Havenmoor." She gave a respectful nod to Sela, then turned to Connor and bowed even lower. "And my lord, welcome. We rarely have the privilege of male visitors, let alone one under the protection of Asterholt's finest."
Connor detected a note of genuine warmth under her formal words. "Thank you, Headwoman Yelena. Your town looks very welcoming after a long journey," he replied.
Yelena beamed and clapped her hands. "We'll see to your every comfort. Rooms are being prepared at our best cottage—er, which is to say, the only proper guest lodging. It's small but clean. Please forgive any lack, as we are but a frontier village."
"Anything is appreciated," Sela said. "Also, our mules could use feed and we may need to replenish provisions."
Yelena immediately dispatched a lanky teenager to guide the animals to the stable and see to feed and water. She then gestured for the group to follow her. As they moved down the road, villagers kept at a respectful distance, bowing or curtsying as Connor passed. He heard snippets of their awed chatter: speculation that he was a "blessing on their town" or perhaps a harbinger of change. One voice, lower and harsher, muttered about "trouble coming with that star man." That made him pause mid-step. He scanned for the source and saw an older woman hunched at the stoop of a shuttered shop, shaking her head at them. Perhaps not everyone was overjoyed—some might fear he would attract monsters (which ironically he had) or conflict.
As if sensing his unease, Thea leaned closer to murmur, "They're mostly excited you're here."
Connor gave a faint, distracted smile. "Mostly," he repeated. "But not all."
Thea followed his gaze to the dour older woman. "Superstitions," she whispered. "Pay it no mind."
Zara chuckled quietly from across the road. "If only they knew the omen does bite back at danger, eh Titan-Tumbler?" she teased under her breath. Connor flushed, and Sela rolled her eyes with a tolerant smirk.
They tried to relax then, enjoying the first truly hot meal in days inside Yelena's tavern hall. Sela engaged Yelena in some polite conversation about the road ahead and any news. The headwoman mentioned that trade wagons had been sparse of late, likely due to increasing monster activity and fears from the crater rumors. At mention of "monster activity," Sela's interest sharpened.
"Anything specific? We encountered a Titan in the high pass weeks back," Sela said. "Hopefully not another one of those."
Yelena winced. "Titan? Saints preserve us, no, not that. But…" She lowered her voice. "We've had our own troubles. There's something nesting out in the badlands a few miles north of here. A great worm or serpent, by the description of those who've seen it. It burrows underground. The quakes it makes have rattled our homes twice this month."
"Seismic wyrm," Zara said grimly, clearly familiar with such beasts. "They usually stay deep in uninhabited areas."
"Likely stirred up by the same starfall energies affecting everything," Connor murmured. It made sense: if wolves and trees were warped, a subterranean creature might be driven from its normal pattern too.
Yelena sighed. "Three nights ago it came closer than ever—surfaced in our grazing fields. It took two cows and collapsed part of the pasture. We've warned everyone not to stray far, but if it gets bolder…" She trailed off, worry etched on her face.
The meaning was clear. Havenmoor was vulnerable. They had few defenses against something that large. Connor could feel the unspoken hope hanging in the air around their table. Villagers watching from nearby were leaning in, awaiting the reaction of the capable-looking outsiders who had wandered into their plight.
Sela leaned back, exchanging a cautious glance with Zara. "We're sorry for your troubles. We'll keep watch tonight in case it approaches the town." Her tone was carefully neutral, not committing to more. Connor knew that tone; she was balancing compassion with caution.
Yelena nodded appreciatively. "We would be in your debt for that alone, Captain."
As the headwoman moved off to address another table, an awkward silence fell among the companions. Connor stared down at the browned crust of bread in his hand, mind churning. Every instinct in him screamed to help these people. A seismic wyrm was a terror they didn't deserve to face alone. And here they were—armed, experienced fighters, and a mage—surely able to make a difference.
But Sela's fingers tapping on the tabletop betrayed her inner conflict. She caught Connor's eye. "We have a mission," she said softly so only their group could hear. "The crater. That must remain our priority."
He understood her unspoken point: risking themselves in a fight here could delay or derail the expedition, not to mention risk him unnecessarily. And after last night, no doubt Sela was even more protective of him.
Zara folded her arms. "If that thing attacks while we're here, we'll respond. But seeking it out might not be wise." Despite her hunter's spirit, she looked to Sela for direction.
Connor realized they were all expecting him to assent, to follow the strategy of avoidance. That they assumed he'd accept prioritizing his own safety. The older woman's mutter at the bar echoed in his mind: trouble coming with the star man. Would he prove her right by bringing danger and then shrinking from it?
He pushed his plate away gently. "I know our mission is urgent," he began, keeping his voice low but firm. "But these people… they have nowhere else to turn. If we can remove this threat, even quickly, perhaps we should."
Thea nodded quietly beside him, her expression supportive. Farrah and Nima, the two guards at the end of the table, exchanged glances; Nima spoke hesitantly, "We could at least scout for it, Captain. Better we meet it on our terms than it surprise us at 3 a.m. tearing through the town."
Sela's lips pressed into a thin line. One could almost see the competing arguments in her mind. Finally, she exhaled. "It's nearly dark now. The wyrm comes out mostly at night, I gather. We can set a trap or ambush outside town, perhaps, rather than waiting."
A spark of determination lit in Connor's chest as Sela implicitly accepted the plan. He felt a surge of gratitude toward her trust. "I'm for that. Zara, what do we need to know about seismic wyrms?"
Zara downed the last of her cider and wiped her mouth. "Big. Armored hide, burrows and senses vibrations. Sensitive hearing too, ironically. Usually come aboveground to feed. If it took cattle, likely it'll surface again around the pastures or outskirts sniffing for more."
Sela was already rising. "We'll need to lure it out. Perhaps tether a goat or use other bait at the far field. Then hit it with everything we have." She glanced at Connor. "We'll handle the close combat. Connor, you hang back. Use your power when the time's right."
Connor nodded, ignoring the clench of anxiety in his gut at the thought of facing such a monster. "Understood."
The tavernkeeper overheard enough to know something was afoot, and soon Yelena and a few stout villagers were helping coordinate. They led the team to the northern edge of town as dusk settled into purple night. The pastures lay beyond a split-rail fence. A few nervous goats were corralled in a pen; one was tied to a stake further out as bait, bleating plaintively.
Connor stood with Thea atop a hay wagon parked near the fence, giving him some elevation. Thea clutched a lantern but kept it hooded to a mere glow. Sela, Zara, and the two guards spread out in a loose semi-circle around the tethered goat, weapons ready. A handful of braver townsfolk stood by with torches further back, emergency backup or at least spectators who could raise alarm if things went awry.
The night air was still, disturbingly so. Even the insects seemed to hush as if anticipating calamity. The only sound was the occasional bleat of the goat and the far-off howl of wind over the plains. Stars emerged in a scatter, and one of the twin moons—the smaller blue one—rose above the horizon, casting a faint silvery light.
Connor's palms were damp. He wiped them on his trouser legs and flexed his fingers. He inhaled slowly, repeating a quiet breathing pattern—four counts in, hold, four counts out—trying to keep himself centered like a ticking metronome. He needed to be focused and calm when the wyrm appeared. If last night's lesson held, panic or excess power could be dangerous.
Minutes crept by. Each passing heartbeat made it harder to stay calm. A low tremor began to vibrate through the ground. It was subtle at first—Connor wondered if he imagined it. But then the water in a trough nearby rippled. The goat jerked against its tether, sensing something in the earth, and let out a terrified bleat.
A distant rumble, like thunder beneath the ground, grew louder. The vibration became more violent, rattling the fence posts. "Steady!" Sela called, bracing her stance with shield raised (she had taken a roundshield from a villager). Zara crouched with one knee on the soil, ear tilted as if listening to the ground, her blade drawn.
Suddenly, with an explosion of dirt and rock, the earth about twenty yards beyond the goat erupted. A massive, sinuous shape burst forth, outlined in the moonlight and the sudden flares of torches.
The seismic wyrm was terrifying to behold. Its body was like an enormous segmented snake, at least thirty feet long and as thick around as an oak barrel. Plates of jagged stone-like armor covered it, encrusted with soil and glowing lichen. It had no visible eyes—just a gaping circular maw at the front, ringed with rotating teeth like a grotesque grinder. As it reared up, it emitted a shrill, unearthly screech that reverberated in the chest of every onlooker.
The goat bleated frantically. In a flash, the wyrm lunged, mouth-first, toward the tethered animal. But Sela was faster; she dashed forward and slashed the rope binding the goat, sending the poor creature scampering aside just as the maw slammed into the ground where it had stood. The wyrm's teeth ground on empty air, spraying up clods of dirt.
Zara let fly a javelin she had prepared. It struck the beast's side with a metallic thud and glanced off the stony plates. Nima and Farrah hurled spears as well; one bounced away, the other managed to wedge between two armor segments, eliciting an angry hiss from the creature.
Connor stayed back on the wagon, heart pounding but mind focused. He extended his aetheric sense and felt the wyrm's presence—a roiling mass of energy, frenzied and hunger-driven. Small sparks of aether crackled where the villagers' torches lit its hide—perhaps remnants of whatever corrupted influence drove it above ground. He knew he'd need a significant force to penetrate that armor. A precise application, maybe telekinetic pressure at a weak point, or some element of surprise.
The wyrm thrashed, swinging its massive tail. The tail crashed into a fence section, smashing wood to splinters. Sela ducked behind her shield as debris flew. The beast oriented towards the movement of Zara and the guards, sensing them through vibrations. With alarming speed for its size, it lunged sideways. Zara rolled clear with a curse, but Farrah wasn't as quick—the wyrm's tail clipped her and sent her sprawling with a cry.
The beast's maw plunged down toward the prone guard, intending to swallow her whole. Farrah raised her arms in a futile guard, eyes wide.
Connor acted without thinking. He thrust out his left hand, fingers splayed, and yanked upward with his will. A directed telekinetic grip seized Farrah's armored form and wrenched her across the ground, sliding her out from under the descending jaws just in time. The wyrm's mouth crashed onto bare earth, and it reared back in confusion, having lost its target. Farrah scrambled away, pale but alive, mouthing thanks toward Connor's silhouette on the wagon.
Connor swayed as a lance of pain seared through his temples—a reaction from the sudden heavy lift. But he kept his focus. That was one life saved; now to end the threat.
The wyrm was enraged, swiveling its front half back and forth. With a grinding hiss, it began to dive back into the ground—perhaps to reposition or launch another surprise strike from below. They could not allow that; if it burrowed again, it might come up under someone.
"Stop it!" Sela shouted. She and Nima rushed forward, slashing at its retreating tail. The blades scraped but didn't penetrate deeply. The creature's head was already half-submerged in the churned soil, tunneling down.
No, you don't. Connor raised both hands now, summoning more of his strength. He visualized pushing against the sides of the tunnel it bored, trying to wedge it in place. With a guttural effort, he sent out a telekinetic force like an expanding ring. The ground around the wyrm shuddered; clumps of earth collapsed onto its back. The beast halted with another shriek, its body half-in, half-out of the ground, momentarily stuck as Connor's power pressed from all sides like an invisible vice.
"Now! Hit it now!" Connor yelled, voice strained. He could feel the monstrous strength thrashing against his hold, an almost unbearable pressure building in his mind. It was like trying to hold back a collapsing mine shaft with outstretched arms. Already a warm trickle of blood from his nostril tickled his lip—his old nemesis, backlash.
Zara didn't hesitate. She sprinted closer, drawing a long curved hunting sword with both hands, and swung brutally at a spot where the earlier spear jutted between armor plates. With a crunch, her blade bit in. The wyrm's screech was deafening, thrashing anew. Nima drove her pike at the same opening, twisting to widen the wound. Thick, tar-like blood gushed out, splattering the ground.
Sela, seeing the opportunity, rushed the creature's front. She dodged a feeble snap of its jaws and, with a fierce cry, drove her sword deep into what passed for the beast's throat, right beneath the whirring rings of teeth. The blade sunk to its hilt. Sela wrenched it sideways, and a horrific gurgling noise erupted from the wyrm.
Connor's head felt like it was splitting. He released his telekinetic grip as the beast convulsed; any further hold was unnecessary. The wyrm flailed in agony, its massive body thumping the ground in spasms. Sela fell back out of range, retrieving her sword as she went. Zara yanked Nima aside as the tail whipped past them one last time. Then, with a shuddering heave, the monstrous worm collapsed. Half of its length slumped out of the tunnel, coiling on the trampled pasture. Its maw opened and closed weakly, a keening whine emanating as dark blood pooled under it. Finally, its movement stilled, the huge form settling like a felled tree. The seismic wyrm was dead.
A cheer rose from the watching townsfolk. Several came running forward, lanterns aloft, whooping in triumph and gratitude.
Connor sat down hard on the wagon, legs suddenly jelly. He wiped the back of his hand under his nose, smearing the telltale blood. His head still throbbed, but he breathed through it—slow, rhythmic. The pain ebbed to a dull ache. Not so bad, he thought. In truth, he was drained, but compared to earlier episodes, he managed to stay conscious and in control. A small victory.
Thea was instantly by his side. She had stayed put during the fight as instructed, though he'd seen her with a throwing knife in hand scanning for any stray threats. Now she looked at him with a mixture of exhilaration and worry. "Connor, your nose—"
"I'm alright," he assured, pinching the bridge of it to stop the bleeding. He tried a grin. "We did it."
She returned the smile, eyes shining. "Yes, you did." She pressed a clean handkerchief from her pocket to his nose gently. "Hold that. And please, rest a moment."
Down in the field, Sela was helping Farrah to her feet while Zara and Nima cautiously prodded the wyrm to ensure it was truly gone. The villagers were already crowding around, though maintaining a respectful distance, applauding softly or simply gazing at him like a hero from legend.
One older man (one of the only men present, and clearly very aged) tottered forward, leaning on a cane. He bowed as deeply as his frail back would allow and addressed Connor in a quavering voice, "In all my years, I never thought I'd live to see one of the Blessed Brothers (he must mean a man) fight a demon of the earth. You honor us, sir."
Connor didn't know how to respond to such a lofty comment. He shook the man's hand gently. "I'm glad we could help. No one should have to abandon their home because of monsters."
This earned him more murmurs of approval. A few of the braver villagers, women in their prime, suddenly broke into a traditional frontier victory song—wordless humming at first, then a lilting melody about dawn driving away night's terrors. The impromptu music and the warm torchlight combined with the collective relief created a moment of true celebration. Connor found himself at the center of it, an uncomfortable focal point yet also strangely fulfilled. This was what using his power was supposed to feel like: meaningful, protective, right.
Sela caught his eye and gave him a subtle nod—half proud, half cautioning. He understood. They'd done good here, but it was a visible deed that would likely spread as gossip. And visible deeds had consequences.
Soon enough, Yelena was insisting they return to the tavern to toast the victory and tend to any wounds. The dead wyrm could be dealt with on the morrow (some already talked of harvesting its armored plates for smithing, and whatever strange organs might fetch coin with alchemists). The group made their way back into town as villagers peeled away to either stand watch in case of other threats or to excitedly relay the news to those who stayed behind.
Farrah's shoulder was bruised from her tumble, and Sela's left arm had strained again during one of her shield blocks—both were given immediate fussing care by Havenmoor's resident midwife. Connor got away with just cleaning up his nosebleed, which had already stopped, though the midwife clucked about him needing rest and pressed a tonic into his hands.
Later, in the privacy of the guest cottage, the companions debriefed in hushed tones. Through the window, they could still hear distant laughter and chatter from the tavern—Havenmoor celebrating late into the night. Their mood inside was more subdued.
Zara stretched out on a cot, exhaustion evident now that adrenaline ebbed. "Well, that detour ended well. No casualties on our side." She pointed her knife at Connor in a playful gesture. "Thanks to our resident miracle-worker here."
Connor shook his head. "Team effort. If you three hadn't slashed it to bits, my head trick would've just annoyed it."
Sela, seated by the small table cradling her sling-bound arm (the midwife insisted she rest it), cleared her throat. "Still, Connor. You saved Farrah's life. And likely others." Her eyes shone with sincere admiration. "You truly embraced responsibility out there. I'm proud of you."
The praise warmed him deeply. Connor attempted to shrug it off lightly, but he couldn't hide his pleased smile. "It felt… good to help." His gaze drifted to the window, where beyond lay the dark silhouette of the felled monster in the moonlight. "Though now more people know about what I can do."
"They do," Sela acknowledged quietly. "Word will spread along the frontier faster than wildfire. By next week, every hamlet will be buzzing that a male sorcerer vanquished a wyrm at Havenmoor."
Thea frowned. "Could that be a problem? Perhaps it might deter some factions—the knowledge that Connor isn't defenseless."
"Or it may entice them more," Zara countered grimly. "Some might see it as proof of the power to be gained if they control him."
Connor sighed. This was the trade-off he'd been aware of. "I couldn't just do nothing."
"And you shouldn't have," Sela said firmly. "We did the right thing. We'll handle whatever comes." She glanced toward the other room where their two Asterholt guards slept. "At first light, we depart. With speed. The longer we linger, the more chance attention catches up."
Connor knew she was thinking of Lady Vesna's spies, the cartel's bounty hunters, and of course the unresolved matter that gnawed at them all: the saboteur who had vanished back at Asterholt. They hadn't spoken of it openly in days, but Connor saw Sela's troubled look each night when she thought no one watched. A porter assigned to their expedition had disappeared just before they left the fortress-city, along with some sensitive documents. It wasn't hard to guess her allegiance lay with their enemies.
As if reading his thoughts, Sela spoke softly, "We must assume by now that missing porter from Asterholt has passed information to someone. Perhaps even about our route, our timing… maybe even about Havenmoor being a stop."
Zara sat up, eyes narrowing. "Do you suspect an ambush waiting ahead?"
Sela drummed her fingers once on the table. "Havenmoor was not a planned stop on any official itinerary. So perhaps not here. But certainly further along, toward the crater, I'd bet on it."
Connor exchanged a glance with Thea. She was nibbling her lip, worry evident. He realized how risk after risk had piled on for her too, far from the timid apprentice he first met. He put a reassuring hand over hers. "We'll be ready," he said, trying to sound confident.
A faint smile tugged at her lips. She turned her hand to squeeze his briefly. "We will."
Zara sighed and flopped back onto her cot. "I hate two-legged foes. Give me beasts and wild magic any day. But if they come, they'll find we've teeth as well." She patted the hilt of a dagger under her pillow.
In spite of the tension, Connor managed a chuckle. The fatigue was hitting him hard now. He lay back on his bunk, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling. Victory and its costs. Tonight had been a high point—he had been able to fully help, to be more than a symbol. But tomorrow would bring its own challenges. Rival hunters possibly lying in wait, an unknown cult puppet master out there as Brynna's letter had warned… and the crater itself still beckoning, full of cosmic mystery.
As he drifted towards sleep, Connor thought of the villagers' song—dawn chasing away the dark. He hoped they had given Havenmoor a lasting dawn free of fear. And he prayed in turn that when darkness next fell upon him and his friends, he would find a similar light to see them through.
His eyes closed to the muffled sound of Sela quietly arranging a rotating watch among them for the remainder of the night. Even here, even after triumph, caution did not sleep. Connor clutched Thea's little handkerchief in his fingers as he lost himself to weariness. It smelled faintly of her lavender perfume, a gentle, human scent that grounded him.
Outside, the town of Havenmoor celebrated its safety under the twin moons. Inside, Connor and his companions stole a few hours of hard-earned rest. But beyond the comforting circle of that Halfway Haven, the vast frontier night remained full of unseen eyes and conspiracies edging ever closer.
And come morning, the open road to the crater—now shorter than the road behind—awaited them, whatever perils it might bring.