You in the Ruins

Sage 2

Sage finished her morning chores in a rush, youth giving her legs the extra speed that age sometimes stole from the others. At seventeen—eighteen in just a couple of days—she still had that boundless energy, the kind that made hauling buckets and mucking stalls feel almost like play instead of work.

Great-Gran used to talk about turning eighteen like it was some magical doorway: back in her day, you became an adult, packed a bag, and ventured out into the wide world on your own. Sage couldn’t wrap her head around it. Nobody left Home now unless they were banished—and that was only for the worst offenses. Steal from the communal stores or take a life, and you got to test your luck alone beyond the walls. Most didn’t last long; the wilds were unforgiving, full of predators that saw a lone human as an easy meal. The few who survived usually limped toward The City, trading freedom for the gangs’ protection—or worse, volunteering to be branded as slaves if the streets proved too brutal.

But Home was different. Sage’s family bred horses, donkeys, mules, and the fiercest guardians anyone could ask for: wolf hybrids crossed with Great Pyrenees and Belgian Malinois. Those dogs were massive, loyal to a fault, and patrolled the perimeter like shadows with teeth. The livestock themselves doubled as sentinels—horses, donkeys, and mules stamped and brayed at the first whiff of trouble, giving the dogs and people time to respond. Every soul in the village, down to the youngest who could hold a practice bow, trained relentlessly: archery, sword work, hand-to-hand. They were ready to fight to the last breath to keep what was theirs.

The village—simply called Home—ran like clockwork (if clocks still ticked in a world without batteries). Everyone had a role, and everyone pulled their weight.

And then there was Jase, the blacksmith. Big, handsome, built like the anvil he hammered on: tan skin glowing from forge heat, arms thick as young trees, chest rippling under his worn shirt. Ten years her senior, but that had never dimmed Sage’s hopeless crush. She’d caught herself staring more times than she cared to admit.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, a sudden clank behind her made her jump.

“Good morning, Sage.”

She spun, wiping hastily at her face—still smudged from yesterday—and inwardly cursed the missed river bath. “Good morning, Jase! You startled me.”

He chuckled, low and warm, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “Fixed the ring and buckle on Titan’s halter. Hopefully this one holds longer than the last.” He held it out, the leather gleaming with fresh oil.

Sage reached for it, her fingers brushing his—brief, accidental, electric. Butterflies erupted in her stomach like they’d been waiting for an excuse. “Thanks,” she managed.

Jase’s grin widened. “Got your birthday present too, if you want it early.”

“Present?” Her voice pitched up in surprise.

“Yeah. Harvest is coming fast, and I won’t have much free time until everything’s stored and winterized.” He leaned against the fence post, casual, but the way his muscles shifted under his shirt nearly short-circuited her brain.

Sage swallowed. “You’ll at least come by for Ma’s honey lemon bread? She’s using our last jar of lemon juice just for my birthday.”

He tilted his head, considering. “I don’t think I can swing it this year. Honestly, I need an assistant for deliveries. Came by to ask about your brother—think Will might want to apprentice as a blacksmith?”

Disappointment flickered through her, but she hid it. “I can ask him and Ma. She’s been nudging him to find proper work anyway. Says he’ll never find a wife if he stays glued to her baking forever.”

Jase nodded, then pulled something long and cloth-wrapped from behind him. “Been working on this a while. Had to get Frank’s help for the shaping.”

Sage unwrapped it slowly, breath catching. A bow—her bow—the most exquisite thing she’d ever held. Smooth, balanced yew wood, polished to a soft glow, with her name carved along the limb in elegant script, delicate butterfly wings framing the letters like they might take flight.

“Jase… this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t even know what to say.”

He smirked, eyes twinkling. “You clearly haven’t looked in a mirror lately, then.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. Flirting? From Jase? She wasn’t used to this—the only boy her age in Home was her brother, so… yeah, she was as inexperienced as they came.

“Aw, Sage, it’s adorable when you get flustered. So I take it you like it?”

She nodded so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. “It’s the most beautiful gift anyone’s ever given—or received, probably.”

“Good. Figured you’d want to break it in soon. I’ll leave some beeswax with your Ma for the string, and extra honey for the bread.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She didn’t deserve this kindness, did she? After so long feeling invisible… “I don’t know how to thank you. I’m just… so…”

Jase stepped closer, gently catching her chin and tilting her face up. Those amber eyes locked onto her bright green ones, steady and serious. “I want you to know something. Since you’ve grown into a woman, it’s been damn hard staying away—from those eyes, that wild hair spilling everywhere. I waited until you were of age before saying anything, but… I’m interested, Sage. If you’ll let me court you after your birthday.”

Her mouth fell open, bow clutched tight in one hand, the other drifting to her cheek where his thumb had brushed. He leaned in, pressed the softest, most respectful kiss to that same spot, then stepped back with a wink.

“Think about it. Give me your answer then.”

He turned and walked away, leaving her rooted in place—heart hammering, cheek tingling, the weight of the most perfect bow in her hands and the promise of something new blooming in her chest.

Sage wandered back toward the house in a daze, the bow clutched to her chest like a secret talisman, her free hand still pressed to the spot on her cheek where Jase's lips had brushed. It was warm there, or maybe that was just the flush creeping up her neck. Jase. The name echoed in her mind like a bell, clear and insistent. For years, she'd stolen glances at him across the village square, watching the play of muscles in his back as he swung the hammer, the way sweat darkened his shirt and made his tan skin glisten. She'd imagined conversations that never happened, daydreamed about what it might feel like to have those strong arms around her. And now... this. A gift carved with care, words that made her heart stutter, a kiss that promised more.

By the time she pushed open the door to the kitchen, Ma was already elbow-deep in flour, kneading dough with the rhythmic push-pull that always reminded Sage of Great-Gran's stories. Will lounged nearby, sneaking pinches of the sweet batter, his curly blond hair dusted white like an early frost.

"Sage? You look like you've seen a ghost—or kissed one," Ma teased, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes, the same bright blue as Will's, sparkled with curiosity.

Sage's face heated again. "Ma! It's... Jase. He fixed Titan's halter and... gave me this." She unwrapped the bow just enough to show it off, careful not to let flour dust mar the wood.

Will whistled low. "That's some craftsmanship. Frank must've picked the perfect yew for that grain. What's the occasion?"

"Early birthday gift," Sage mumbled, but her grin gave her away. "And he... asked about you apprenticing with him."

Will straightened, interest piqued. "Blacksmithing? Ma's been after me to get out from underfoot anyway."

Ma laughed. "About time you learned a trade that doesn't involve licking spoons. But Sage, honey, that bow's a beauty. Jase has an eye for detail—and apparently for you, if that blush is any sign."

The rest of the day blurred into chores and chatter, but Sage's thoughts kept drifting back to Jase. That devilish smirk, those amber eyes holding hers like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing. I'm interested, if you'll let me court you. The words replayed on a loop, making her stomach flip each time. What would courting even look like? Stolen moments by the forge? Walks along the river where she could finally bathe without rushing? She imagined his hand in hers—rough from work, but gentle, like how he handled the village's youngest foals. Ten years older, sure, but he carried it like wisdom, not distance. And those arms... gods, she could lose herself thinking about them wrapping around her, pulling her close.

That night, as she lay in bed, the bow propped safely beside her, sleep came slow. Her mind painted pictures: Jase laughing at her flustered attempts at flirting, teaching her to fletch arrows that matched the bow's elegance, maybe even stealing a real kiss under the harvest moon. Two days until eighteen. Two days until she could say yes and see where this spark led. For the first time in a long while, the shadows of the world outside—the raiders, the ruins—felt far away. Home was safe, Jase was waiting, and tomorrow promised more than just survival.

The next morning dawned crisp, the air humming with pre-harvest energy. Sage rose early, slipping down to the river for that long-overdue bath. The water was cold but invigorating, washing away the dirt and leaving her skin tingling. She braided her dark hair loosely, letting it spill over her shoulders the way Jase had mentioned—messy, wild, his words making it sound like a compliment. Breakfast was simple: fresh bread slathered with the last of the honey, shared with Ma and Will. They talked about Pa, the ache of his absence softer today, woven with fond memories. "He'd have loved seeing you with that bow," Ma said softly. "Always said you had a warrior's spirit."

Afternoon brought training: Sage strung the new bow with the beeswax Jase had left, the string humming taut under her fingers. Arrows flew true, thunking into targets with satisfying precision. Will sparred with her, his blue eyes laughing as she dodged his practice sword. "You're getting too good, sis. Save some skill for the rest of us." But her mind wandered to Jase again—would he watch her shoot someday? Admire her form the way she admired his?

As evening fell, the village gathered for a quiet pre-birthday meal. Jase was there, across the fire, his gaze finding hers amid the chatter. He raised a mug in silent toast, that smirk promising patience. Sage's heart raced. One more day. She fell asleep that night dreaming of amber eyes and strong hands, the bow under her pillow like a vow.