Chapter 28: The Farmhouse Door

　　The storm raged with a fury that seemed personal. The wind screamed across the plains, tearing at their soaked clothes, the rain a stinging, icy barrage that erased the world beyond a few feet. Huddled behind the scrub brush, their bodies wracked with violent shivers, the choice was no longer between stealth and risk; it was between a desperate gamble and a slow, frozen death.

　　Violet’s words hung in the air, a stark ultimatum. Half a mile. In the blinding dark and howling wind, it might as well have been a hundred. But it was their only chance.

　　“We go,” Xaden said, his voice a raw scrape. There was no debate. Survival was the only strategy now.

　　They linked hands, forming a chain to avoid being separated in the maelstrom. Xaden led, his siphon’s senses straining to find a path through the chaos. Caden was in the middle, his mind a whirl of fear and a desperate, clinging hope. The ley-line’s signal was a distant, muffled hum beneath the storm’s roar, useless now. They were navigating by Violet’s memory of a single, distant light.

　　The half-mile was an eternity. They stumbled through sucking mud, their feet numb, their faces lashed by the rain. Every shadow seemed like a patrol, every gust of wind a shouted challenge. Caden’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror. He was an archivist, a man of quiet rooms and soft lamplight. This raw, elemental struggle felt like the end of the world.

　　Then, through the sheets of rain, a darker shape emerged. A low, sprawling building. A barn. And beyond it, the faint, golden glow of a window. The farmhouse.

　　They crouched in the lee of the barn, the relative silence beneath its eaves a shocking relief. The smell of hay and animals was a tangible, comforting presence.

　　“Now what?” Garrick whispered, his teeth chattering. “We can’t just knock.”

　　“We have to,” Violet said, her face a pale, determined oval in the gloom. “We have no choice.” She looked at their ragged, mud-spattered forms, at their weapons. “We look like bandits. Or deserters.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll go. Alone. A girl. It’s less threatening.”

　　“No,” Xaden and Caden said in unison.

　　“It’s the only way,” she insisted, her voice firm. “All of us will look like an attack.” Before anyone could argue further, she stepped out from the shelter of the barn and walked towards the farmhouse door.

　　Caden’s breath caught in his throat. He watched her, this small, drenched figure, approach the simple wooden door as if it were the gates of the General’s headquarters. She was risking everything on the decency of a stranger.

　　She raised a hand and knocked, the sound swallowed by the storm.

　　A long, agonizing moment passed. Then, the door creaked open a few inches, a sliver of warm, firelit air spilling out. A man’s face, weathered and suspicious, peered out. Caden saw his eyes widen as he took in Violet’s uniform, her bedraggled state.

　　“What do you want?” the man’s voice was rough, wary.

　　“Shelter,” Violet said, her voice clear and steady, carrying over the wind. “We’re cadets from Basgiath. Our patrol was caught in the storm. We’re lost.” The lie was smooth, plausible. She was using the system’s own rules as a shield.

　　The man’s gaze swept past her, into the darkness where the others were hidden. He was no fool. He knew there were more. He hesitated, a internal battle playing out on his face. Hospitality versus caution. The code of the plains against the fear of the unknown.

　　Then, a woman’s voice came from inside. “For Malek’s sake, Kaelen, let the child in before she freezes to death!”

　　The man, Kaelen, sighed, a sound of resigned practicality. He opened the door wider. “Get in. All of you. Quickly.”

　　They scrambled from their hiding place, a sodden, shivering mess, and stumbled into the warmth of the farmhouse. The change was overwhelming. The heat from a large stone fireplace washed over them, the smell of baking bread and stew making their empty stomachs cramp with painful longing. The room was simple but clean, filled with the evidence of a hard-working life.

　　The woman, stout and kind-faced, her hands covered in flour, gasped when she saw them. “Gods above, you’re half-drowned! Get those wet things off by the fire. I’ll fetch blankets.” She bustled away, issuing orders to a wide-eyed teenage boy who peered at them from a doorway.

　　Kaelen bolted the door, his eyes never leaving them, his hand resting near a hunting knife on his belt. “Basgiath cadets, you say?” he said, his tone neutral. “A long way from the college.”

　　“War Games,” Violet said, the lie still holding. “A navigation error.” She met his gaze without flinching, but Caden saw the tension in her shoulders.

　　The woman returned with an armful of thick wool blankets. “I’m Elara. This is my husband, Kaelen. Our son, Finn.” She shooed them towards the fire. “Don’t just stand there dripping. Get warm. Finn, fetch the stew from the larder.”

　　For the next hour, they were caught in a surreal bubble of normalcy. They huddled by the fire, wrapped in scratchy but blessedly dry blankets, spooning hot, savory stew into their mouths. It was the first real warmth, the first proper meal, they had known in weeks. The simple human kindness was almost more disorienting than the storm outside.

　　But the tension never fully dissipated. Kaelen watched them, his silence more telling than any interrogation. He saw the way Xaden moved, the predatory stillness beneath the exhaustion. He saw the intelligence in Violet’s eyes, far beyond a lost cadet. He saw Caden, too old and out of place. He saw Garrick’s bandaged arm.

　　As Elara fussed over them, offering more bread, Kaelen finally spoke, his voice low.

　　“The General’s been looking for some cadets,” he said, not looking at anyone in particular. “Put out a bulletin. Said they’re dangerous. Deserters.” He took a slow sip from a clay mug. “Offered a hefty reward for information.”

　　The room went still. The crackle of the fire was deafening.

　　Violet slowly put down her spoon. She looked at Kaelen, then at Elara, who had stopped her bustling, her face pale.

　　“We’re not deserters,” Violet said, her voice quiet but firm. “We’re seekers of the truth.”

　　Kaelen’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Caden. “And you? You’re no cadet.”

　　Caden met his gaze. The time for lies was over. They were at the mercy of this man’s conscience. “I am a keeper of records,” he said. “And the records at Basgiath are lies.”

　　A long, heavy silence filled the room. The fate of their entire journey hung in the balance, resting on the decision of a simple farmer and his wife. The fallen knight and his company had escaped the storm, only to find themselves at a different, more perilous crossroads.

　　Chapter 28 - End