The first light of dawn found the four travelers already on the move. Philip led the way with a steady, unhurried pace that belied his age, staff tapping rhythmically against the packed dirt of the old trade road. Adam walked beside him, hands in his cloak pockets, violet hair catching the early sun. Ignis and Lilith followed a few steps behind—Ignis humming softly and spinning occasionally to take in the morning mist over the fields, Lilith gliding with her usual silent grace.

The road west was peaceful. Birds sang in the hedgerows, and the air carried the clean scent of dew-wet grass and distant woodsmoke. They passed small farmsteads where chickens scattered at their approach and dogs barked from safe distances. Farmers paused in their fields to wave or nod at Philip—an old familiar face returning home.

Conversation flowed easily. Philip pointed out landmarks, an ancient oak said to be older than the kingdom itself, a crumbling stone bridge built by long-fallen elves, a shallow ford where the river ran clear and cold. He spoke of the village ahead—Elden Hollow, nestled in a gentle valley where the soil was rich and the wells never ran dry.

"Used to be a mining town two centuries back," he said, gesturing toward distant hills. "Iron and silver. Veins ran out, but the hollow stayed. Good folk. Quiet life."

Adam listened carefully, filing away every detail of the terrain and local mood. Ignis asked endless questions—about crops, animals, the taste of surface bread—her curiosity earning fond chuckles from the old man. Even Lilith occasionally joined in, her questions more measured, probing gently about local healers, rare herbs, or rumors from the east.

By mid-morning they crested a low rise, and Elden Hollow came into view.

The village lay cupped in a green bowl of rolling hills, perhaps forty stone-and-timber houses clustered around a central green. A sturdy wooden palisade ringed the settlement—not for war, Philip explained, but to keep wandering beasts out at night. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys. A water mill turned slowly beside a clear stream. Fields of wheat and barley stretched golden in the sunlight, dotted with workers already at their labor.

Children playing near the gate spotted them first. Shouts of "Grandpa Philip's back!" rang out, and a small swarm of kids came running. Philip laughed, kneeling stiffly to accept hugs and answer rapid-fire questions about his journey.

Word spread quickly. By the time they reached the gate, curious villagers had gathered—farmers in homespun, a blacksmith wiping soot from his hands, the village elder leaning on a cane. Greetings were warm but restrained; strangers were rare, yet Philip's presence smoothed any wariness.

Philip's house sat on the eastern edge of the village—a modest two-story cottage of river stone and dark timber, roofed in slate. A small herb garden bloomed in front, and climbing roses framed the door. An older woman with silver-streaked hair and kind, tired eyes waited on the porch—Aish, Philip's wife. She was thinner than she should have been, cheeks hollow, but her smile was bright as she embraced her husband.

"You're late, old man," she scolded gently, voice soft with affection. "And you brought company."

"Couldn't leave them to the wolves," Philip replied, kissing her forehead. "Aish, meet Adam, Ignis, and Lilith. Travelers heading east. They've agreed to grace our table tonight."

Aish's eyes lit up with genuine delight. She clasped each of their hands in turn—her grip surprisingly firm despite her frailty.

"Welcome, welcome. Any friends of Philip's are friends of ours. Come in, come in. I've bread baking and stew on the hearth."

The interior was warm and lived-in: low ceilings, polished wood floors, shelves of dried herbs and preserved fruits. A fire crackled in the stone hearth. Aish bustled about despite Philip's quiet protests, insisting the guests sit while she prepared tea and fresh bread.

Adam caught Lilith's subtle glance—scanning corners, windows, exits out of habit. Ignis, meanwhile, was openly enchanted by everything: the smell of baking bread, the colorful quilts on the walls, the cat curled on the windowsill.

As Aish set out cups of herbal tea—steaming and faintly sweet—Philip pulled a chair close to his wife and took her hand.

"The Silverveil worked wonders last time," he said quietly. "The new blooms should help even more."

Aish squeezed his fingers, then turned to their guests with a tired but gracious smile.

"Forgive an old woman's curiosity, but travelers are rare these days. What brings three fine young people through our little hollow?"

Adam met her gaze steadily, keeping his story simple and believable.

"We're seeking knowledge in the east," he said. "Old lore, rare herbs… things that might help someone dear to us who's fallen ill."

Aish's expression softened with understanding. "Then you've come with kind hearts. Rest here tonight. The road east is long, and a good meal and soft bed will serve you better than haste."

After a hearty breakfast of fresh bread, soft cheese, and Aish's thick vegetable stew, Ignis could barely sit still. She kept craning her neck toward the open door, golden eyes bright with restless energy.

"Adam," she finally blurted, "can we go look around the village? Please?"

Lilith, seated gracefully across the table, allowed herself the faintest smile. "I confess I'm curious as well."

Adam glanced at Philip and Aish, who both waved off any concern.

"Go on, then," Adam said, sliding the Pouch of the Hoarding Gnome across the table to Lilith. "Take this. If you see anything useful—herbs, tools, whatever—buy it. We've got plenty of coin from… previous travels."

Lilith accepted the pouch with a nod, tucking it discreetly beneath her cloak. Ignis was already on her feet, practically bouncing.

"We'll be back before supper!" Ignis promised, grabbing Lilith's hand and tugging her toward the door.

The two women stepped out into the morning sunlight, disappearing down the lane toward the village green—Ignis's excited chatter fading into the distance.

Philip chuckled, watching them go. "Active pair, those two. Full of life. Good thing in times like these."

Adam stood, stretching slightly. "I've imposed enough just by staying the night. Let me earn my keep—what needs doing around here?"

Aish turned from the hearth, wiping her hands on her apron. "Nonsense, lad. You're a guest. Sit and rest."

Adam shook his head with a small smile. "I'd feel better helping. I'm not used to sitting idle."

Philip rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well… if you're offering, I could use a hand splitting the logs I felled last week. Firewood for the coming winter—furnace never seems to have enough."

"Happy to," Adam replied.

Aish frowned at her husband. "Philip Greystone, don't you go putting our guest to heavy labor."

"It's fine, really," Adam assured her. "I could use the exercise."

Philip grinned and led the way out back to a large stack of seasoned logs beside a chopping block. Two well-worn axes leaned against the woodshed.

Adam picked one up, testing the weight. The moment he gripped the handle, he felt the ridiculous disparity—his Strength stat of 74 made the axe feel like a feather. He deliberately relaxed his muscles, dialing his power down to something closer to human limits.

He set the first log upright, swung—and the blade bit clean through, splitting the wood into two perfect halves with almost no resistance.

Philip whistled low. "Strong lad. Good form, too."

Adam shrugged modestly, setting up the next log. "Had to get strong. Too many things out there trying to kill you if you're weak."

Philip took the second axe and split his own log with practiced, efficient strokes—clean, powerful cuts that spoke of decades of experience.

"True enough," the old man agreed. "But there's satisfaction in honest work like this. Hearing the wood crack just right… feels good in the soul."

Adam swung again, the axe head thudding home with a satisfying 'thunk'. "You're right. It's more enjoyable than I expected."

Philip laughed. "Aye. The only downside is the sweat and sore back after—ahaha!"

Adam grinned. "A little tiredness is a fair price."

He glanced at the growing pile of split firewood, then at Philip.

"Tell you what—let's make it interesting. Whoever splits and stacks the most by the time Aish calls us in wins."

Philip's eyes sparkled with competitive fire. "Don't underestimate an old man, son. I accept."

The next hour rang with the steady rhythm of steel on wood. Logs flew—Adam carefully moderating his strength to keep the contest fair, Philip swinging with the steady power of long experience. Splinters scattered, piles grew tall on both sides, and good-natured banter filled the air.

Eventually Aish appeared at the back door, carrying a tray with two mugs of cool cider. She stopped dead at the sight of two massive, neatly stacked cords of firewood where there had been only rough logs before.

"Philip Greystone!" she scolded, hands on hips. "I said no heavy labor for our guest! Look at this—you've worked the poor boy half to death!"

Philip leaned on his axe, breathing hard but grinning. "Wasn't me, love. We were just playing a little game. Adam here's a natural."

Adam wiped sweat from his brow—genuine this time, from the effort of holding back—and accepted the cider with a sheepish smile.

"It was fun, honestly. Haven't felt this… normal in a long time."

Aish huffed, but her eyes softened as she handed Philip his mug. "Men and their games. Come inside when you're done showing off."

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