The cart rolled steadily, its wheels creaking in rhythm with the horses' steady trot. The scent of damp earth mixed with the crisp freshness of the morning air as Valen and Dorin sat side by side, their bags tucked tightly at their feet. The sun was rising higher now, casting long shadows across the path that stretched before them, a road that would soon lead them far from Draymoor and into the heart of a war they had not chosen.
The small group of volunteers, who had gathered at the town square earlier, now filled the cart with their quiet murmurs and the occasional chuckle. Valen glanced around, taking in the faces of the others, men of various ages, each with their own story, their own burdens. His gaze settled on a man sitting across from him, a large figure whose hands were as calloused as his weathered face. His skin was tanned from years in the sun, his dark hair pulled back in a rough ponytail. A scar ran across his cheek, a reminder of battles long past, though his eyes held no hint of regret, only a steely resolve.
"Name's Tolan," the man said, noticing Valen's gaze. His voice was low and gravelly, as if the years had ground his words into something rough and deep. "I'm from the northern edge of Vareldrin. Farm boy, once. But there ain't much farming when the lands are scorched by war. Now, it's just fight or die."
"I'm Valen," he replied, his tone cautious but open. "From Draymoor."
Tolan nodded, his lips quirking into something resembling a smile. "Draymoor, huh? Quite the peaceful place. You'll miss it. I don't know if I'd trade the peace for this war, but sometimes you don't get a choice."
Dorin, who had been silent until now, jumped in with a grin. "I'll miss the food. They say the army's bread could be used as a weapon of its own. I don't think I'm ready for that."
Tolan chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. "You'll get used to it. You'll get used to everything. The hunger. The cold. The sweat. And the men who don't speak at all because they don't have the strength to say anything."
Valen shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't the kind of talk he wanted to hear, but it was the truth. War was never easy, and from the looks of the men around him, they knew that better than anyone. The conversations ebbed and flowed, a mixture of anecdotes and half-forgotten memories, until the cart hit a particularly rocky stretch, causing everyone to lurch forward.
Beside them, a younger man, his features sharper, more delicate,.shifted on the edge of the cart. He had a quiet demeanor, though there was an energy about him that seemed to vibrate just beneath the surface. His name was Kael, and he had the look of someone who had seen far too much of the world for his young age.
"You've got the look of someone who's never been far from home," Kael said to Valen, his voice gentle but full of curiosity.
Valen gave a short, almost embarrassed laugh. "You could say that. I've lived my whole life in Draymoor, haven't been much further than the market square."
Kael's eyes shone with a mix of youthful optimism and something deeper—like he understood that the world held more than it let on. "I've traveled a lot. Been all over. It's strange, though. You leave one place, and you think you've seen it all. But there's always something different in the next village. Something new. A new way of living, a new way of thinking. You'll see."
Valen nodded, intrigued. "Where did you go?"
"South, mostly. Beyond the borders of Vareldrin. I've been to villages where they worship gods with faces like the moon, and cities where they don't worship anything at all. You'll see, Valen. The world's a lot bigger than you think. People have stories to tell."
At the mention of gods, Valen's curiosity peaked. His family had never been religious, his father had always scoffed at the gods, claiming they were distant and indifferent to the struggles of men. Garric's scars, both seen and unseen, had convinced him that the divine had no place in the world of men. Elira, too, had never spoken much of the gods, instead grounding her faith in her family and the love they shared. As for Lyria, she had yet to form any strong opinions, still young enough to be shaped by whatever came her way.
Valen had never given religion much thought. He had often heard whispers about the gods in the marketplace, people speaking reverently of deities with names like Vessa, the goddess of the harvest, or Isryn, the god of war, but he had never felt the need to seek their guidance. Now, though, as Kael's words lingered in the air, he found himself drawn to the idea of a different belief, a world beyond the walls of Draymoor, where faith and gods held sway over lives and destinies.
Kael seemed to sense his interest. "You don't know much about the gods, do you?" he asked, his tone softening.
Valen shook his head. "No. My family… we've never really talked about them. My father doesn't believe in them. Says they've never done anything for him."
Kael nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. It's easy to lose faith when you've seen the things men can do to one another. But the gods are more than that. They're a part of us, not distant, not cold. They watch over us, guide us in their own ways. At least, that's how I've been taught."
Valen's brow furrowed. "But why believe in them? If the gods are real, then why do people suffer so much?"
Kael's expression shifted, the youthful energy fading just enough to reveal something more complex behind his eyes. "Because suffering is a part of life. It's a test, a trial. The gods give us strength to endure. They offer their blessings to those who prove themselves worthy. It's not about escaping pain or hardship, it's about finding meaning in it."
Tolan, who had been listening quietly, let out a long sigh, his voice heavy. "He's not wrong. The gods don't promise an easy life. They don't promise victory or comfort. But they promise something better, a purpose. Something to fight for."
Valen considered this. He had always thought of life as something to be shaped by his own hands. But Kael's words stirred something deep within him, a longing for something greater, something beyond himself.
Kael continued, his voice becoming more passionate. "In the south, where I've traveled, they speak of the god Oloran, the protector of the soul. He teaches us that every act of kindness, every battle fought with honor, brings us closer to the divine. It's not about fear, Valen. It's about finding the divine within ourselves and within each other. The gods are not just distant beings to pray to. They're within us. They guide us, shape us, if we only choose to listen."
Valen was silent for a moment, the words weighing heavily on him. His father's view of the gods had always been one of disdain, how could a god, or gods, allow men to suffer so terribly in war, to lose everything to the cruelty of battle? But now, sitting among these men, listening to Kael's fervor, Valen wondered if there was something more to it. Could the gods really be the answer? Or was it just another way to give people something to cling to in the face of the inevitable?
"I don't know if I'll ever believe in the gods," Valen said quietly, his voice thoughtful, "but I'm listening. Maybe there's something to what you're saying."
Kael smiled, a soft, understanding smile. "That's all anyone can ask for, Valen. Just listen. And when the time comes, you'll know what to do."
The cart creaked again as they continued on their journey, the road stretching out before them like an uncharted path. For the first time, Valen felt a flicker of something deep within him, a curiosity, a hunger for understanding, a desire to seek answers in a world that had always seemed so certain. As the days ahead would unfold, he would carry those words with him, unsure of what they meant, but knowing that somehow, they were important.
And maybe, just maybe, the gods would have a place in his journey after all.