CHAPTER 163: TRIP TO HOME

The sun was nearing its zenith when the Apache roared over the ridge and began its descent toward the village. From above, the fields looked calmer now—no smoke, no fire, just rows of tilled land and tiny figures that turned skyward as the shadow of the helicopter loomed over them.

Lyra leaned forward in her seat, her braid blown slightly by the wind seeping in from the slightly ajar cockpit window. She watched as villagers emerged from their homes and the fields, pointing toward the sky, their hands shielding their eyes from the glare.

Inigo brought the Apache into a gentle hover, then slowly lowered it onto the same grassy clearing they’d departed from that morning. The landing skids touched earth with a soft jolt, and the thrum of the rotors began to wind down. Dust curled up around the chopper, prompting a few villagers to step back before cautiously approaching.

The elder was the first to arrive, supported by a young woman on one arm and a cane in the other. Her eyes scanned both of them, then the scorched tips of Lyra’s arrows and the tired but firm look in Inigo’s eyes.

"You’re back," she said with a mix of awe and relief. "And whole."

Inigo nodded as he stepped down from the cockpit, helping Lyra dismount as well. "Mission’s done. The goblin nest won’t be bothering anyone anymore."

A murmur ran through the gathering villagers—half disbelief, half overwhelming joy.

"They were hiding in a ravine east of here," Lyra added, brushing soot from her cloak. "We collapsed the tunnels. We saw no survivors."

The elder’s eyes welled. She bowed low, trembling slightly. "You’ve saved us again. Truly, we... we owe you more than we can ever repay."

A round of cheers erupted from the crowd. Children ran up, stopping just short of the giant helicopter, while men and women clapped or bowed in respect. Some wept. Others simply placed their hands over their hearts, mouths whispering blessings.

"We don’t need a reward," Inigo said, raising a hand. "Just knowing this village will sleep safely tonight is enough."

The elder smiled. "Even so, you must rest. Eat. You will not leave without one last meal under our roof."

Inigo glanced toward Lyra, who gave him a small, exhausted nod. "We’ll stay till morning. Then we head back to Elandra."

The village feast was smaller this time, less celebratory and more a quiet, grateful gathering. Long tables were laid out in the square again, with baskets of flatbread, grilled root vegetables, and meat broth passed along between the people. A gentle fire crackled at the center, and woven lanterns swung from thin poles, their soft glow dancing across the faces of those gathered.

Inigo sat with a wooden bowl in hand, the scent of lamb stew rich and spiced. His rifle lay beside his seat, and Lyra sat across from him, her expression soft, almost serene.

"Funny," she said, breaking a piece of bread. "When I was a child, I used to think of adventurers as loud, boisterous folk who drank too much mead and swung swords at anything that moved."

"And now?" Inigo raised a brow, sipping from a clay mug.

"Now I think they’re tired people with too much weight on their shoulders... and too little sleep."

Inigo chuckled. "That’s fair."

Children whispered from the edges, sneaking glances at them before darting away. A few brave ones pointed at the Apache, still parked like a sleeping beast in the clearing.

One boy approached with a tiny wooden carving in hand. It was crude, blocky, but it bore a striking resemblance to the Apache—complete with thin sticks glued on as rotor blades.

He held it out to Inigo with both hands. "For you," he said shyly. "I made it."

Inigo accepted it, heart unexpectedly stirred. "Thank you," he said softly, studying the child’s handiwork. "I’ll keep it safe."

The boy beamed, then ran back toward his friends.

As the night wore on, the villagers began to retreat to their homes, one by one. The elder remained seated beside the fire, watching the flames with a tired, satisfied look.

"You’ve done more than we ever could," she said. "We’ll finish the rebuilding. And from now on, we’ll keep our watches sharper. But... do you think more will come?"

Lyra shook her head. "That nest was too large for it to be one of many. Goblins breed fast, but not without food and territory. That one was it."

"And if others do show up," Inigo added, "you’ll have time to prepare. And allies in Elandra."

The elder nodded, satisfied. "Safe travels tomorrow. May the wind guide you."

The next morning dawned clear, the sky a soft canvas of pink and gold. The Apache stood ready, rotors still, dew clinging to its paint. Villagers gathered again to bid them farewell—quietly this time, with handshakes and heartfelt thanks.

As Inigo climbed into the cockpit, Lyra lingered a moment longer with a group of young girls, accepting a bundle of dried herbs and a woven bracelet.

"You’d make a fine village guardian," one of them said.

Lyra smiled. "I’ve got someone to watch over already."

She jogged toward the Apache and strapped in behind Inigo. "Ready."

The engines came alive. The blades spun, faster and faster, until the familiar thrum returned and the chopper rose slowly into the morning air.

Below them, the village faded into a patchwork of rooftops and waving hands. Then the fields. Then the ridges.

Elandra lay to the west.

The flight back was long but peaceful. The forests below stretched for miles, wild and free. Occasionally, deer darted through the underbrush, and rivers shimmered like silver snakes in the sun.

Lyra spent most of the trip leaning against her seat, eyes closed in contentment. Inigo kept the Apache steady, scanning the terrain more out of habit than concern. For the first time in days, the sky felt calm.

"Back to the city," Lyra murmured after a while.

"Back to normal," Inigo replied.

But neither of them truly believed it.

They had seen what lay in the wilderness—goblins, monsters, ruins—and they knew their journey was only beginning.

As the towers and bridges of Elandra finally came into view beyond the cliffs, Inigo exhaled.

Home—for now.