You in the Ruins

Sage 3

Sage woke with the first light filtering through the cracks in the shutters, the familiar sounds of the barn stirring her from dreams of starry skies and strong arms. The horses, of course—they were always first. She slipped out of bed, pulling on her worn tunic, and headed to the stalls, humming that same half-remembered tune from Ma's bread-kneading days. Titan greeted her with a soft nicker, his massive Percheron-Friesian frame filling the stall like a living shadow, his black coat gleaming even in the dim morning.

But today felt different—charged with a fizz of excitement that made her steps lighter. Eighteen. A real adult, with all the promises that came with it. As she dumped grain into the troughs, Will appeared, yawning and ruffling his curly blond hair.

"Happy birthday, sis," he said with a grin. "Go on, I've got the chores today. Ma's orders—you're to pamper yourself. Bath in the stream, put on that new dress she slaved over."

Sage blinked, touched. "You sure? Titan's a handful, and the mules—"

"I've got it. Consider it my gift. Besides, can't have the birthday girl smelling like hay all day." He winked, those bright blue eyes twinkling.

She laughed, hugging him quick. "Thanks, Will. You're the best brother a girl could ask for."

As she gathered her things and headed to the stream, the joy bubbled up, but so did a pang of sadness. Pa. This was her first birthday without him—the man who'd found her as a bloody newborn in the woods, her real mother dying, and brought her home to Ma and their new baby Will. He'd held her and loved her instantly, never treating her as anything but his own. "My little warrior," he'd call her, teaching her to shoot and ride. The ache hit hard by the water's edge, tears mixing with the stream as she scrubbed clean. He'd have loved this day, she thought, seeing me all grown, maybe even courting... She pushed the thought of Jase aside for now, focusing on the cool water reviving her skin, her thick dark hair cascading wet and wild.

Back home, Ma helped her into the new dress—a simple but beautiful thing of soft homespun fabric, dyed a deep earth-toned green that made her eyes pop like emeralds. It fit perfectly, hugging her figure in a way that felt grown-up, feminine.

The afternoon blurred into preparations, the scent of honey lemon bread wafting from the kitchen, mingling with roasting meats and fresh-picked herbs. By evening, the whole village had gathered in the central square—Frank the carpenter with his easy laugh, sharing tales of the bow he'd helped shape; a handful of neighbors and friends, their faces lit by lanterns; Ma beaming proudly; Will sneaking extra mead. Even old Bill the traveling merchant had rolled in with his creaky wagon, laden with trinkets from afar—spices, tools, stories of the wider world.

The party kicked off with cheers and toasts, a small band of fiddles and drums striking up lively tunes. People danced in circles around the bonfire, skirts swirling, boots stomping, the air thick with laughter and the sweet bite of mead. Sage spun with friends, her dress flaring, heart light despite the earlier sadness.

But as the night deepened, Bill gathered a crowd by the fire, his weathered voice dropping low for one of his infamous tales. "Heard this just last week, from survivors limping toward The City. Neighboring village—good folks like us—got hit hard. Raiders swarmed in at dawn, torched the homes, piled the dead and burned 'em to ash. Livestock driven off, every last head. Women dragged away for breeding stock, children for the mines and fields. Grim business."

Murmurs rippled through the group, faces paling in the firelight. A quick meeting formed—ideas tossed about reinforcing walls, doubling patrols, training the young harder. But with harvest looming, they agreed: celebrate tonight, plan solid after the crops were in. No sense borrowing trouble before it knocked.

The music swelled again, pulling everyone back to the dance. Sage lost herself in the rhythm, until a strong hand caught hers—Jase, his amber eyes warm, that smirk playing on his lips. "Care for a ride, birthday girl? Got Titan and General saddled."

Her pulse quickened. General was his pride—a stunning liver chestnut quarter horse, sleek and powerful, with crisp white stockings on all four legs and a bold white blaze streaking down his face like a comet.

They slipped away from the party, mounting up and trotting into the dark fields. The air was cool, stars blanketing the sky like scattered diamonds. They rode in comfortable silence at first, then talked easy—about the bow, the village, her dreams. At a quiet hilltop, they dismounted, horses grazing nearby.

Jase turned to her, serious now. "Sage, about what I said before... I meant it. Will you let me court you? Properly, now that you're of age?"

Her heart soared. "Yes, Jase. Yes."

He stepped closer, cupping her face gently, and leaned in. Their lips met—soft, tentative at first, then deepening into something magical, electric. Her first kiss, under the endless stars, with the man who'd filled her thoughts for so long. It was everything: warmth spreading through her like sunlight, his arms pulling her close, the world fading to just them. Time stretched, sparks dancing behind her closed eyes, a promise of futures unfolding.

He pulled back, smiling, and went in for another—but screams shattered the night. Terror-filled cries from the village, the baying of dogs turning to snarls and yelps. In the distance, dozens of torches bobbed like angry fireflies, pouring over the hills on horseback, straight for Home.

Jase's face hardened. "Raiders. We have to get back—now!"

But even as they mounted, Sage's stomach twisted with dread. The party, her family, the village... it was all unraveling in flames.