Dariyus Lamanya sat in the rear wagon, watching the road behind. Dari had signed on as a guard with Master Charvis when Brother Balasar deemed him ready to face the world outside the village.

Yarjerit Balasar, Vater’s clan brother, raised Dari in the male-dominated clan after Vater died in battle. Brother Balasar recognized Dari’s divine connection and supported his growth in healing and empathy.

“Dari,” said Brother Balasar, late one afternoon. “You have little holding you here…”

“But, Brother Balasar…”

“Listen to me, youngling. You have few friends, none close. I think I have taught you all I am able. You have lived more than a quarter your life through. It is time for you travel the world before it is too late to be of any use.”

Dari stared at his teacher. True, he wasn’t getting any younger, but still. Leave the village? Who would tend the sick and injured? Who would teach the younglings their first cantrips? Brother Balasar, that’s who, just like he had before Dari had come along and grew into his power.

With some trepidation, Dari gathered the suggested adventuring gear and left the comfort and safety of his old life. Master Charvis trained him to use a crossbow, a weapon a peasant could train to use. Dari practiced often, his aim improving each day.

The wagons rumbled south along the coast to Cheerwater, where the caravan master planned to deliver his load, then turn back north. Dari had agreed to guard to Cheerwater. Then, who knew what the fates would bring? New experiences awaited, whether or not he thought he was ready for them.