Heartstone - Chapter 13: Chapter 13
You are reading Heartstone, Chapter 13: Chapter 13. Read more chapters of Heartstone.
Morning came slow and golden.
Mist rose from the forest floor, curling through broken walls and blackened fields. But for the first time in days, there was peace. No drones in the sky. No boots in the snow. Just quiet breath, and the soft sound of rebuilding.
Avera awoke to the scent of earth and ash. She stepped outside the small hut they’d been given, blinking against the light. Dalen was already at work, lifting what remained of a charred roof beam with two villagers, sweat on his brow.
It was strange—he moved like a soldier, but here, among these people, his edges had softened.
Avera joined in. She wasn’t used to working with others, but she learned fast. She helped repair a collapsed fence. She boiled water for tea. She watched children play with sticks in the snow and felt something she hadn’t known in years:
A fragile kind of belonging.
That night, Marah gathered them in the circle hall again—this time, not for judgment, but for stories.
She told them the history of the village: Tarin Hollow, one of the last mountain settlements that still remembered the Old Blood. A place built by those who turned away from the modern wars and machines, who believed in the earth, the sky, and silence.
“We were meant to guard the memory of the Faeron,” Marah said to Avera. “To wait for the day one would return.”
“But why me?” Avera asked. “What am I supposed to do?”
Marah looked at her with quiet resolve.
“Not all fires are meant to be feared. Some are meant to awaken the world.”
She then turned to Dalen.
“And you. I don’t know who sent you, or why your past is silent—but something tells me you’re part of this, too.”
Dalen said nothing, but a flicker passed behind his eyes—like the faintest whisper of a memory returning.
Later, after the fire died down, Avera and Dalen walked back to their hut under a sky full of stars.
These people,” Aver a said. “They’re not like anyone I’ve met.”
Dalen nodded. “It’s the first time I’ve felt human since I woke up in that wreck.”
She looked at him. “You think we could stay here?”
“For now,” he said. “But peace doesn’t last forever. Whatever we’re part of... it’s not done.”
She nodded slowly. “Then we help them. Protect them. Learn who we are—before the next storm comes.”
And as they stood together beneath the mountain sky, a new kind of fire sparked quietly between them:
Not one of destruction—but of purpose.
Mist rose from the forest floor, curling through broken walls and blackened fields. But for the first time in days, there was peace. No drones in the sky. No boots in the snow. Just quiet breath, and the soft sound of rebuilding.
Avera awoke to the scent of earth and ash. She stepped outside the small hut they’d been given, blinking against the light. Dalen was already at work, lifting what remained of a charred roof beam with two villagers, sweat on his brow.
It was strange—he moved like a soldier, but here, among these people, his edges had softened.
Avera joined in. She wasn’t used to working with others, but she learned fast. She helped repair a collapsed fence. She boiled water for tea. She watched children play with sticks in the snow and felt something she hadn’t known in years:
A fragile kind of belonging.
That night, Marah gathered them in the circle hall again—this time, not for judgment, but for stories.
She told them the history of the village: Tarin Hollow, one of the last mountain settlements that still remembered the Old Blood. A place built by those who turned away from the modern wars and machines, who believed in the earth, the sky, and silence.
“We were meant to guard the memory of the Faeron,” Marah said to Avera. “To wait for the day one would return.”
“But why me?” Avera asked. “What am I supposed to do?”
Marah looked at her with quiet resolve.
“Not all fires are meant to be feared. Some are meant to awaken the world.”
She then turned to Dalen.
“And you. I don’t know who sent you, or why your past is silent—but something tells me you’re part of this, too.”
Dalen said nothing, but a flicker passed behind his eyes—like the faintest whisper of a memory returning.
Later, after the fire died down, Avera and Dalen walked back to their hut under a sky full of stars.
These people,” Aver a said. “They’re not like anyone I’ve met.”
Dalen nodded. “It’s the first time I’ve felt human since I woke up in that wreck.”
She looked at him. “You think we could stay here?”
“For now,” he said. “But peace doesn’t last forever. Whatever we’re part of... it’s not done.”
She nodded slowly. “Then we help them. Protect them. Learn who we are—before the next storm comes.”
And as they stood together beneath the mountain sky, a new kind of fire sparked quietly between them:
Not one of destruction—but of purpose.
End of Heartstone Chapter 13. Continue reading Chapter 14 or return to Heartstone book page.