The Villain's Retirement Plan

The early morning sun filtered through the window, casting golden rays over Harris's modest home. The warmth of the sunlight brought a fleeting sense of comfort, while the faint chirping of birds outside added to the illusion of tranquility.

He stood by the table, inspecting his small collection of supplies for the journey ahead: a worn satchel, a knife more suited for pruning than combat, and a few enchanted stones he kept hidden from prying eyes. The peace of his gardener’s life had been shattered, and now he was about to embark on a mission that would surely threaten it further. He thought of the simple joys of tending to his garden, the quiet mornings in Greenhollow, and the warmth of the villagers' greetings. It was a life he had grown to love, and the thought of losing it made his chest tighten.

"First light, and we're already behind," Harris muttered to himself as he packed a weathered map of the Valebrook region, trying not to think about what awaited them there.

Just as Harris tossed an extra cloak into his bag, a knock echoed from the door. He froze. Only one person knocked on his door with that kind of vigor.

Martha.

With a resigned sigh, Harris opened the door to find Martha standing there, her hands full of... was that a basket of bread? She had probably spent all morning baking, wanting to make sure Harris and Liam were well-provisioned. Despite her brisk attitude, it was clear she cared deeply for Harris, and the thought of him leaving stirred her protective instincts.

“Harris!” she exclaimed, brushing past him into the house without waiting for an invitation. “I heard you and young Liam are off on some journey? Well, you certainly can’t go without proper provisions!” She plunked the basket onto his table with a force that made a few items rattle, the glass jars clinking together while the loaves shifted with a soft rustle. “I baked extra this morning. You know, just in case.”

Harris eyed the basket warily. He was certain it weighed more than it looked, filled to the brim with loaves, some still steaming, and jars of what appeared to be Martha’s infamous pickled vegetables. “Ah... Martha, I appreciate the thought, but we’re only going for a few days. I’m not sure—"

“Nonsense! You need to eat, don’t you?” She looked him up and down as if appraising whether his apparent lack of weight was due to undernourishment. “You’re too thin as it is.”

Harris forced a thin smile. “We’ll... try to find room for it.” As he watched Martha bustle around, a pang of guilt settled in his chest. Her care and kindness made it harder to maintain his distance, and part of him feared how much he was beginning to value her support.

She beamed. “Good! Now, do you need help packing? I can sew up that satchel for you, it looks like it’s about to fall apart!”

“No, it’s fine, really—” But she was already reaching for it.

Before he could stop her, the door creaked open again. Liam stepped inside, his usual stoic demeanor softening at the sight of Martha. “Martha,” he greeted, nodding. “What’s all this?”

“Supplies!” she declared, her tone implying that no argument could possibly be valid against her contribution. “If you boys are going off on some adventure, you’ll need proper food.”

Liam glanced at Harris, an eyebrow raised in silent question. Harris just sighed.

“We leave soon, Martha,” Harris said, trying to gently steer the conversation toward her departure. “We have... preparations to make.”

Martha’s eyes lit up, completely ignoring his attempt to dissuade her. “Well, you’re in luck! I’ve brought everything you need. Look, here’s a wool blanket for those cold nights,” she said, pulling it from under her arm, “and I added a few herbal remedies—just in case.”

Harris stared helplessly at the growing pile of items Martha had produced from seemingly nowhere. She had the skill of a magician, though of a much more benign sort.

As she bustled around, Harris caught Liam’s eye, who looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. Harris gave him a long, meaningful glare. You’re not helping.

Just as Harris opened his mouth to insist, once again, that they were fine without the blanket, another voice cut through the air.

“Busy this morning, aren’t we?”

Harris stiffened. It was Finnian. Martha’s ex-partner and, as of late, the village’s self-appointed watchdog over Harris’s every move.

Finnian sauntered into the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smug grin that made Harris’s skin crawl. “Heard you two are heading off to Valebrook.”

Harris narrowed his eyes. How did he know? He hadn’t told anyone except Varian, and Varian certainly wasn’t the type to gossip. Maybe he had overheard Liam talking to somebody? Harris didn't like Finnian's behavior.

“Yes, we’re... visiting some old friends,” Harris said cautiously. His attempt at a casual tone was ruined by the tension creeping into his voice.

Finnian’s eyes narrowed slightly, his smirk deepening. “Friends, huh? Or perhaps something a bit more... secretive?” His voice carried an edge of jealousy, as if Harris’s mysterious activities threatened not just his standing with the village, but also his connection to Martha and the curiosity of the other villagers. Finnian couldn’t stand the idea of Harris hiding something important, something that gave him an edge over everyone else.

Finnian’s eyes flicked to the table where Martha was still fussing over her basket of supplies. “Friends, huh? Funny how you’ve kept so much of your life a mystery since you arrived here.”

Harris forced a chuckle. “I’m not that interesting, Finnian. I’m just a gardener.”

Finnian didn’t laugh. His eyes, cold and calculating, stayed on Harris a little too long for comfort. “I’m sure you are. But it seems every time something strange happens in Greenhollow, you’re right in the middle of it.”

Liam stepped forward, his jaw tight. “Finnian, we’re not here to discuss Harris’s past.” As he spoke, Liam couldn’t help but feel a pang of curiosity—what exactly was Harris hiding? Despite his loyalty, he couldn’t deny the nagging questions that had begun to surface. He owed Harris his life, but that didn't mean he wasn't wary of the secrets that seemed to follow him.

Finnian raised an eyebrow at Liam’s sudden defense, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Oh, I’m not here to accuse anyone, just... curious.” He pushed off the doorframe and took a step closer to Harris, lowering his voice. “You’ve got secrets, Harris. And I’m going to figure out what they are.”

Before Harris could respond, Martha, oblivious to the tension in the room, piped up, “Oh, Finnian, don’t be so nosy. Harris is a good man! He doesn’t need you prying into his business.” She gave Finnian a dismissive wave, turning back to the pile of supplies.

Finnian shot Harris one last, knowing look before nodding toward the door. “Well, best of luck on your little trip. Hope you come back in one piece.”

With that, he left, leaving behind an air of discomfort that lingered even after the door had closed.

Martha, unfazed, continued packing things Harris didn’t ask for into his bag. “Don’t worry about Finnian, dear,” she said, folding another pair of woolen socks and placing them on top of the already overflowing satchel. “He’s just jealous because he can’t grow tulips like you.”

Harris forced a laugh. If only tulips were the problem.

Later, as Harris and Liam walked toward the edge of the village, the weight of Finnian’s words still hung in the air. Martha had waved them off cheerily with a small crowd of villagers watching their departure, the gossip mill already buzzing.

Harris felt a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. The thought of his past being exposed terrified him—not just for his own safety, but for the peaceful life he had built in Greenhollow. He had tried so hard to bury Malakar, but it seemed like the shadows of his old life were always just a step behind.

“We’re going to need to keep an eye on Finnian,” Harris said under his breath as they passed the last cottage.

“Yeah,” Liam agreed. “He’s getting too close to the truth, isn’t he?”

Harris nodded grimly. “I can handle it for now, but we’ll need to be careful.”

Liam glanced back at the village. “Greenhollow... it feels like it’s becoming more than just a hideaway for you, doesn’t it?”

Harris felt a pang of emotion he couldn’t quite place. He had grown fond of the village, and Liam’s words cut closer to the truth than he wanted to admit. But with the danger that loomed, attachment only made everything more complicated. He feared what might happen if his true identity was discovered, and how that would hurt those he had started to care about.

Harris didn’t answer. He just adjusted the strap of the overstuffed satchel, feeling the weight of Martha’s well-meaning supplies pressing down on him, and stared at the path ahead.

The village was behind them for now. But for how long?

They had a long journey to Valebrook, and Harris had the unsettling feeling that, no matter how far he went, Greenhollow—and his past—would never be far behind.