CHAPTER 161: A REQUEST FROM THE VILLAGERS

"We’re just passing through," Inigo said.

The elder nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on the Apache for a moment before returning to his face. "Passing through or not... you saved our children. Our future. That’s not something we forget."

Around them, the village had begun to hum with cautious life again. The fires had been put out, smoke rising in thin trails from blackened rooftops. Neighbors helped each other rebuild fences, douse embers, and gather the wounded. But the air wasn’t heavy with mourning—it was threaded with relief, even joy.

The people of this village had seen death and lived.

By twilight, the town square was lit with lanterns—some salvaged, some hastily hung from wooden beams and rope poles. What little food they could spare was brought forth: roasted carrots and potatoes, flatbread warmed over hot stones, and spiced meat likely hunted from the nearby forest. It wasn’t much, but it was shared with reverence.

Inigo sat on a long bench made from old cart wood, his plate balanced on his knee. He watched as a small group of children chased each other around the base of the Apache, laughing and pointing every time they got near the cockpit. A few braver ones even touched the skids, treating it like the claw of a sleeping beast.

Lyra returned from helping the cooks serve stew, brushing her hair back as she took her seat beside him. Her hands were stained with onion and smoke, and she had flour on her cheek.

"You helped them cook?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I offered," she said simply. "It’s the least we can do. They’re feeding us with what little they have left."

He gave a nod, appreciating that. Lyra had always carried herself like a warrior, but here she was, ladling stew into bowls and helping set tables. Maybe it wasn’t just her who was learning from him—maybe he was learning from her too.

A group of villagers raised their mugs toward the center of the square. Someone tapped a wooden spoon against a pot.

The elder stood once again, leaning on her cane. "Tonight, we do not mourn. We give thanks," she said, her voice strong despite her age. "To the gods, to fate—and to our two protectors, who answered our cries from the sky."

A cheer rose up, scattered and uneven, but full of genuine feeling. Someone shouted, "To the sky riders!" and another repeated it, louder.

Inigo nearly choked on his bread.

Lyra snorted. "Sky riders?"

"I’m not correcting them," he said, holding up his hands.

An elderly man walked up next, bearing a bundle wrapped in cloth. He bowed, then extended it to Inigo with both hands. "This was made for my grandson. But he’s gone now. Take it."

Inigo hesitated, then unwrapped the cloth to reveal a finely carved dagger—iron blade, horn handle, etched with what looked like protective runes. Simple, but masterfully made.

"I can’t accept this—"

"You must," the old man said. "If you saved my grandson, I would have nothing to offer. But because you didn’t get here in time for him... I must give something anyway."

There was no bitterness in his voice. Only solemn truth.

Inigo accepted it with a nod and tucked the blade carefully into his belt.

Other villagers stepped forward with humble gifts—dried herbs, spare tools, a warm cloak stitched with the village’s crest. A small girl gave Lyra a bracelet made of tiny river stones.

Lyra held it in her palm like it was made of silver.

Inigo leaned in. "You’re not crying, are you?"

"I’m sweating through my eyes," she muttered.

More laughter. More warmth.

As night blanketed the valley, a fire was lit in the center of the square. Someone brought out a battered old lute, and a younger woman began to sing. Her voice was light, weaving a story of forest spirits and night wolves, of lost kings and brave hunters. The melody floated through the air like wind over water.

Inigo sat back and let the moment sink in.

He’d seen war. He’d seen cities burn. He’d held friends as they died in his arms. But here, in this little nowhere village on a continent he couldn’t name, a people who barely knew him had offered their last bowls of soup and blankets.

The world didn’t need high-tech weapons or drones or orbital satellites.

Sometimes, it just needed a man with fire and a heart still willing to care.

"I could get used to this," he murmured.

Lyra turned toward him. "Used to what?"

"Being the good guy."

She smiled, genuine and soft. "You were always good. Just needed somewhere to show it."

He didn’t reply. Just watched the stars for a while.

Eventually, the village elder returned, flanked by two men wearing patched armor and makeshift swords. Her expression had shifted—not grief or gratitude now, but something graver. Purposeful.

Inigo stood as she approached. Lyra followed his lead.

The elder bowed once more, but this time it was more formal. "Forgive me for speaking of business after celebration... but there is something else."

Inigo raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

She motioned to the armored men beside her. One of them stepped forward and spoke. "The goblins that attacked today... they were only a raiding party. Scouts, maybe. There’s a nest to the north. Deep in the forest, near the Blackroot Ravine. We’ve known about it for years, but we couldn’t do anything. Every time we tried, we lost people."

"After today," the second man added, "we believe you might be able to finish what we could not."

The elder looked up. "We don’t ask lightly. But if you could destroy that nest... we would sleep without fear for the first time in seasons."

Lyra glanced to Inigo, her expression unreadable.

Inigo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re asking for a full strike."

"We’re asking for a miracle," the elder said. "But you’ve already delivered one today."

He looked at the villagers. At the kids still playing near the Apache. At the women tending the wounded with whatever herbs and rags they could find.

Then he looked at the stone bracelet on Lyra’s wrist.

"...We’ll do it," he said.

Lyra smiled faintly. "We were planning to move north anyway."

The elder bowed so low her knees almost gave out. "Thank you. We will prepare a guide at dawn. They know the paths. The nest is dangerous... and large."

Inigo nodded. "Dangerous is what we’re good at."

As the elder turned and left with her guards, the fire behind them crackled, casting long shadows across the stone and wood.

Lyra folded her arms. "You sure about this?"

"Yeah," Inigo said. "If we leave it, another village dies. Probably with no one flying overhead next time."

She nodded. "Then tomorrow... we burn a nest."

He grinned. "And we bring hell from the sky."

The stars overhead twinkled like distant watchers.

Tomorrow, the hunt would begin.