Бесплатный фрагмент - The Secret of the Forbidden Forest

“The dark waits in silence, trusting time as its ally, while the light races forward, afraid of vanishing.”

PROLOGUE: THE BIRTH OF THE WORLD

Long ago, when the world was still young, two supreme gods stood at the heart of a prophecy written in the stars. Getia, the Goddess of Light, and Morgar, the God of Darkness, faced each other in a battle destined to shake all realms. But this was no ordinary fight for power — it was a war over the very essence of divinity, a struggle to decide who would shape the fate of the universe.

Getia held in her hands the greatest of all artifacts: the Scepter of Life. Forged in the heart of the universe, it was born from the union of earth and sky — a staff that embodied the very essence of light. In her grasp, it radiated pure brilliance — an incarnation of light itself, ready to banish the darkness.

Opposite her, shrouded in the shadow of a crumbling wall, stood Morgar. Tall and unmoving, he wore the darkness like a coat, a silent figure wrapped in night.

Morgar’s power lay in its depth and mystery. It extended beyond the physical world, woven into the fabric of existence itself. He ruled the shadows, commanding the fear that hid in the darkest corners of hearts and souls. His magic was subtle, deceptive, concealed beneath layers of silence. But with each of Getia’s strikes, his strength diminished. The Scepter of Life broke through his enchantments without mercy, its light unstoppable.

The battle between the great gods raged for millennia. At the end of the final day, Getia stood victorious. Morgar was defeated, but in an act of mercy, the Goddess granted him three days to say goodbye to the world he had tried so desperately to consume. Three days — a mere heartbeat to a god.

When the time was up, Getia sealed him in the underworld, a desolate abyss that came to be known as Morgar’s Tomb.

At the height of her triumph, she shattered the Scepter of Life, breaking it into five fragments — five sacred jewels scattered across six newly born worlds. Before departing, Getia made the ultimate sacrifice, transforming herself into a magnificent tree — the Tree of Birth. Its roots dug deep into the earth, while its branches reached out, giving life to every being in the newly born realms. As she faded into eternity, Getia left behind a final gift to the world: the Red Book. Within its pages were the locations of the Scepter of Life’s scattered fragments and the two guardians — chosen to protect and guide the Book’s next bearer.

CHAPTER 1: DREAMS AND REALITY

Tucked away in a secluded valley, hidden among dense forests and rolling hills, lay a small village of no more than a thousand souls. In this quiet corner of the world, time moved slowly, and life flowed in gentle harmony with nature. The villagers’ days followed the rhythm of the season: spring brought the sweet scent of blossoming fields; summer was rich with the aroma of herbs and warm earth; autumn whispered through falling leaves; and winter wrapped the land in a hush, blanketed in soft, white snow. Each morning began with humble tasks — tending to grain and vegetables in the fields, their labor simple yet full of purpose. At the village’s edge, a hidden waterfall whispered softly, its steady murmur adding to the serenity. The homes, tucked neatly among the trees, blended into the landscape as though grown from it, offering quiet refuge from wind and storm.

In one of those quiet homes, nestled beneath the green canopy of the forest, lived a young woman. Her long, slightly tangled brown hair framed a face marked by deep, earth-colored eyes. Her clothes were worn thin — frayed and misshapen by time. Clutched tightly in her hands was a book — a gift from Old William, the village librarian.

Clara had spent her nineteen years in the quiet company of Old William, driven by a love for learning and discovery. In their village, few girls were ever allowed into the library, let alone given an education. Smart women were often seen as suspicious, sometimes called witches or simply labeled as odd. No one understood why a girl would want to explore the world when her future was supposed to follow one clear path: working the fields and raising children. Clara refused to accept such a fate. Her mind burned with curiosity, driven by a deep desire to uncover the world’s mysteries and gain the greatest power of all — knowledge. She stood firm, even when the village chief, with his commanding voice and unyielding authority, decreed that no woman could enter the schoolhouse.

Clara’s father, worn from years of hard labor and constant struggle, carried a quiet dream — a better life for his daughter, one free from the hardships he and his wife had known. He wanted to give her what he had never had: freedom, choice, and the chance to shape her own future. In a moment of hope and desperation, he approached the village librarian, asking him to teach Clara whenever possible, to share the knowledge that might one day unlock her path.

The librarian, a kind old man with a gentle voice, agreed without hesitation. After just one lesson — watching the little girl furrow her brow in concentration as she wrote her name, her tongue sticking out in concentration, and giggling softly as she wrote each letter — he was completely won over. Touched by her innocent determination and endless curiosity, he promised to do everything he could to nurture the bright mind before him.

Seated beside the librarian, Clara devoured the book with eager eyes, soaking in every word as if it were a secret just for her. The old man watched quietly, a wistful smile on his lips. But beneath that smile was a quiet sorrow — the knowing that these bright, carefree moments were soon to end. Despite everything he had taught her, despite all she had learned, the truth hung over them like a shadow: Clara’s fate still seemed bound to the narrow confines of their village. He knew, all too well, that no matter how fiercely she dreamed, the world beyond would remain distant and unforgiving. In the end, like so many before her, she would be expected to conform to tradition and quietly accept her place.

“Clara, please set the book aside.”

Clara lifted her head, her brown eyes full of curiosity, completely focused on him. For a moment, she hesitated, reluctant to leave the page that had captivated her. Slowly, she closed the book.

“What is it, Grandpa?”

He heard the genuine curiosity in her voice, sensing she was waiting for something — perhaps a new book, one he had carefully chosen just for her.

“You haven’t thought about starting a family, have you? After all, you’re at the right age,” the man said, trying to keep his tone light. He knew Clara usually avoided this topic, but it was one that always seemed to linger, no matter how much she tried to sidestep it.

As expected, Clara furrowed her brow and looked away.

“Grandpa…” she sighed, her voice heavy with the weariness of a conversation she didn’t want to have.

She shrugged slightly, as if trying to shield herself from the topic, and turned her gaze to the far corner of the room, silently hoping the conversation would end.

“I get it. You want to explore the world, but you’re not a child anymore. Your parents need your help,” the man said, falling back on the same tired arguments.

Clara paused, biting her lower lip as she shut the book. She had heard it all before — over and over. It was always about marriage, continuing the family line, making her parents proud.

“But I can’t…” she whispered, the words hanging in the air, heavy and unfinished.

The librarian saw how his words had shaken her.

“Clara,” he said gently, his voice softer now. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She kept her eyes on her hands, tracing the smooth cover of the book with restless fingers.

“I know, Grandpa. It’s just.. I’m afraid I won’t ever get out of here.”

He nodded and looked away, unable to bear the sight of her dreams colliding with the life others had laid out for her. The room fell silent. Slowly, the grandfather stood, walked to the shelf by the window, and paused there for a moment. When he returned, something in his expression had shifted.

“Reading old manuscripts again?” the old man asked, his eyes resting on the worn crimson book in Clara’s hands.

“Oh, this…” Clara blinked, a faint smile forming. “I love rereading it. It’s different from all the others. Sometimes I think… it wasn’t written by a human at all.”

“And you’re right,” the old man said, smiling at the surprise that lit up her face.

“What do you mean, Grandpa?”

“This book came from the Forbidden Forest. It’s no surprise you find it hard to understand,” the librarian said, watching Clara’s eyes widen.

“How?” Clara asked, tightening her grip on the book. “Who gave it to us?”

“I never thought I’d be telling you stories like this…” the old man said with a smirk as he settled back into his chair. “But since you’re so curious…”

“Of course, Grandpa!” Clara said, her voice bright with excitement.

“Twenty years ago, a young man came to our village with that very book. Everyone called him a madman and a fugitive.”

“What was his name?”

“Charles Miller,” William said, his voice steady. “He was the fool who dared to enter the Forbidden Forest.” he paused, letting the weight of the words sink in.

He watched as emotions flickered across Clara’s face — confusion, disbelief, wonder. Not everyone is ready to learn the truth, especially when the person they’ve admired from afar turns out to be much closer than they ever imagined.

“My father?” Clara asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, my dear,” the old man said with a gentle smile. “Your father was the one who brought the knowledge of the Forbidden Forest to our village.”

“But what about the ban?” Clara asked, her voice tight with worry.

“Back then, the law didn’t exist yet,” the librarian said gently. “But after others followed his path and vanished without a trace, the village had no choice but to set a strict ban to stop it from happening again.”

Clara froze, her thoughts still reeling when a loud crash broke the silence — the door slammed open, hitting the wall with a thud.

A man stood in the doorway, looking like any other tired laborer. He was breathless, bent slightly as if he’d been running for miles, chest heaving with every gasp.

“Charles broke the ban! They’re sending him to prison!” he blurted out, then turned and ran off without another word.

For a brief second, everything went silent. Then Clara bolted from her chair, sending it skidding back across the floor. She didn’t hesitate — she ran straight for the door, her pulse thundering with panic.

She weaved through the crowd, barely feeling the sting of shoulders and elbows knocking into her. Up ahead, a group of men was forcing her father into a carriage — the kind reserved for criminals. Clara came to a halt, breathless, eyes wide. Her father didn’t resist. He looked at peace, his expression calm, as if this were something he had expected all along.

“Move out!” the man on horseback barked, his voice cold and final. With a swift tug on the reins, the horse surged ahead, jerking the carriage into motion and pulling Clara’s father farther and farther away.

Clara’s breath caught. “Wait!” she cried, breaking into a sprint.

Her voice echoed through the air, raw with desperation. She stretched out her hand, as though sheer willpower could stop the carriage and bring her father back. But before she could get close, a pair of rough arms seized her from behind. Others followed — three, maybe four men — dragging her down. Pain flared in her shoulder as she hit the ground, the weight of their bodies pinning her in place.

The dirt crunched beneath Clara as she kicked, scratched, and fought with everything she had. Her shoes were gone, knees scraped and bleeding, but she didn’t stop. She kept struggling, even as strong, unyielding hands pinned her down, pressing against her chest and robbing her of breath. Somewhere in the crowd, someone swore. Another person laughed.

“She’s even more stubborn than her father.”

“Stand down!” a stern male voice commanded.

The crowd froze. Heads dropped. No one dared to move.

Clara tore herself free from the grip that had held her down, gasping for air as she doubled over, clutching her ribs. After a moment, she straightened, brushing the dirt from her clothes. With a heavy sigh, she lifted her head, locking eyes with Chief Ergus.

He regarded her with an icy, unwavering gaze. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice low and sharp. “Do you not know the rules?”

His small eyes narrowed further as he studied her, waiting for her response as she stood there, head bowed, searching for something — anything — to explain her reckless actions.

“Have you forgotten how to speak to a man?”

Clara stayed silent, her lips pressed tight, eyes fixed on the ground. Behind her, the crowd’s murmurs began to rise. She remained still, letting the whispers swirl around her. Finally, she lifted her head. There was no hint of fear or regret in her expression. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she quickly clenched the hem of her dress, hiding the betraying movement. After a long pause, Clara lowered herself just enough for it to be seen as a reluctant gesture.

“Sorry,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clara’s anger surged — at the chief, at the circumstances, and at herself for not being able to help her father in that moment. She knew that no matter how much she wished it were different, before the chief, they were all nothing but pawns, herself included.

When she lifted her head again, a familiar figure cut through the crowd.

“Mom?” Clara called out, her voice sharp, as she instinctively took a step forward. Without hesitation, she moved through the crowd, ignoring the eyes that followed her.

The woman, her face etched with worry, rushed toward Clara and pulled her into a tight embrace. Her uneven, hurried breaths were a clear sign of just how terrified she was.

“Clara, where’s your father?” her voice trembled as she looked into her daughter’s eyes, full of concern.

Clara didn’t meet her gaze. The silence between them spoke louder than words ever could. Evelina moved past her daughter, pressing on.

“Mom, no! You can’t go there!” Clara cried, grabbing hold on her mother’s dress. But Evelina brushed her aside and kept walking. Clara’s grip tightened, her heart pounding as she realized the danger her mother was walking into. She knew the price of defying the chief. But Evelina didn’t stop. She kept moving forward, her resolve unshaken.

When the chief created the rules forbidding entry into the forest, a few fools chose to defy him and flee the village. In response, Ergus escalated the consequences with cruelty. As punishment, he ordered that the women — wives, sisters, daughters, and mothers — of the offenders be taken and forced into slavery. The freedom the villagers once knew vanished, replaced by an oppressive reality where they were all left powerless, bound by the chief’s will.

Evelina had long accepted the price of her husband’s crimes. She didn’t wait for judgment to descend upon her doorway — instead, she walked willingly into its arms. With unwavering resolve, she made her way to the chief’s lair, determined to face the punishment meant for both herself and her daughter.

The dusty road stretched ahead, each step laden with the weight of what was to come: a life of slavery, stripped of hope, where each day blurred into the nest. Still, she did not falter. Behind her, her daughter’s cries rang out — raw, desperate pleas to stop, to turn back — but Evelina did not look back. She gently pushed the girl aside and stepped into the dim hut where the chief sat in silence, waiting.

Ergus welcomed her with a smirk that never touched his eyes, lounging like a king in a chair draped with a bear pelt — the spoils of his most recent, and no doubt ruthless, hunt. As ever, one leg rested lazily over the other, while his fingers absently toyed with the heavy ring on his hand.

“As I expected,” his voice rasped, filled with mock satisfaction. He rose from his seat, moving with slow, deliberate steps. The fur draped over his shoulders rustled softly as he crossed the room.

Evelina’s hands tightened around the edges of her faded scarf, her fingers trembling. Still, her face remained calm, revealing nothing — only her brown eyes, flickering with unease, hinted at the fear she fought to hide.

The chief halted just a step away, his gaze fierce, eyes drilling into hers.

“Do you understand what you’ve brought upon yourself? You and your daughter stand at the edge of disgrace,” he said, voice thick with mockery. “Disgrace is relentless. Once it touches a family, it never lets go.”

Evelina remained silent, refusing to speak.

Ergus shifted to the side, his tone steeped in scorn. “I might grant you a way out. If your daughter were to marry my son, both of you could be spared the fate your husband had condemned you to.”

“It’s not my place to decide how my daughter’s life should unfold,” she said firmly. “But she will never marry a man who has neither education nor a sense of justice.”

“Then from this day on, you are a slave, and your husband will rot in a dungeon until death takes him,” the chief said, his voice dripping with contempt.

Evelina only nodded, pushing down the surge of anger threatening to break free.

“Your daughter will also work he — ”

“My daughter will not be a slave,” Evelina cut in, her voice sharp.

“You dare defy me?” the chief’s eyes narrowed.

“I will take on her duties. I did not bear a slave.”

Evelina and Charles had raised a daughter who defied every expectation. Clara rejected tradition, spurned the laws she deemed unjust, and was always seeking a way to escape the confines of the village. Yet Ergus was certain that, sooner or later, they would regret everything.

CHAPTER 2: FORBIDDEN AREA

Clara paced anxiously in front of the massive door, circling like a caged bird. Two guards stood motionless, as if carved from stone. She couldn’t shake the image of her father being forced into the carriage — dragged away to some grim place where freedom disappears.

Suddenly, the doors swung open. The chief emerged first, followed by her mother. Chief Ergus cast a cold, disdainful glance at Clara, clearly unimpressed by her boldness.

“From this day on, your mother is my slave. She’s not allowed to leave my house without my permission,” he said, his tone flat and unyielding.

“Isn’t that a bit extreme? Why jump straight to slavery?” Clara asked, forcing her voice to stay calm. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“She already belongs to me,” he replied coldly. “She is my slave.”

Clara’s fists clenched. “She’s not a thing you can own. You don’t get to decide what she is!”

“You can scream all you want,” Ergus said, turning his back to her. “But she answers to me now. Your father made sure of that.”

He disappeared inside, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him. Clara let out a sharp breath, scoffed, and turned away, fury in her steps as she walked off.

***

Clara stood in front of the old house, fists clenched in anger. She didn’t notice the sun slipping behind the hill, its final rays quietly bidding farewell to the village. Night was settling in. The streets were nearly deserted, and a soft breeze stirred — rustling the trees and brushing past the few workers still lingering after a long day in the fields, offering them a moment of cool relief.

With a tired breath, the brunette let the tension melt from her body, her back finally relaxing after a long day of holding herself upright. She stepped inside.

Brown eyes wandered over the familiar walls of the house her father had built with such care — a sanctuary for the family he had cherished above all else. Shelves lined the walls, each one thoughtfully filled with books Clara loved most. This house had seen her joy, held her sorrow and fear, listened to her cries, and echoed with her laughter.

Her brown eyes swept over the worn corners of the dear home, slowly welling with tears until everything blurred. She blinked hard, trying to push back the sudden wave of sorrow. But the moment her eyes closed, a warm line of tears slipped down her cheeks, soaking into the old fabric of her cloth.

The same delicate hands that once turned pages with quiet reverence now dragged across her face, rough and trembling, as if wiping away tears could also erase their cause. But her eyes fell upon the unfinished fabric resting on the table — and in that moment, her composure collapsed. Her vision blurred, and this time, with nothing left to hold them back, the tears came freely.

Clara’s tears fell because her mother — who should have been beside her, resting, sharing quiet moments and stories still waiting to be told — was instead scrubbing the floors of a cruel, selfish man. And she cried because her father, meant to stand at her side and watch each arrow fly straight, sat locked away in a cold, empty cell.

Bit by bit, Clara got her breathing under control. Tears clung to her lashes, catching the last of the light like dew at dusk. Her lips, bitten and raw, stood out red against her pale skin, and even the tip of her nose was flushed. Her head began to clear — and then reality came back, heavy and solid, settling over her like a weight she couldn’t shrug off.

“I won’t leave them,” she whispered, barely audible.

But determination wasn’t enough. She needed a plan. Clara had to get her father out of prison and help her mother get away from the chief’s house.

Without wasting time, she sat down at her small, messy desk, covered in scattered papers — some with quick sketches, others balled up and thrown aside. Taking a deep breath, she focused and started to figure out her plan.

Clara pulled out a clean sheet of paper and a pencil. Biting her lip, she started sketching light outlines. Slowly, the scribbles took shape — her home here, the prison there, and the chief’s house a little farther away.

“Okay,” she sighed, putting the pencil down and clenching her fists. “First, I have to get Dad out. They’re watching Mom like a hawk,” she said, staring out the foggy window as twilight deepened. The room was quiet except for the soft tapping of her pencil on the paper. Outside, the streets were already fading into darkness. Clara’s eyes caught a guard disappearing around the corner, and suddenly it hit her.

“Of course!” she whispered, eyes bright with excitement. “At night! No one will see me if I go then!” her voice grew a little louder.

Without hesitation, she leaned back over the paper and quickly drew a line from her house to the prison.

The next night, Clara slipped quietly toward the prison. She pulled the hood of her worn cloak down low, hiding her face, and pressed close to the shadows, careful to stay unseen. When she reached the heavy door, she paused and rested her hand on the cold metal. Her fingers inched toward the iron handle, feeling its icy chill — when suddenly, the door creaked open. Clara gasped, her body jolting. She ducked behind the corner and vanished from sight.

“See you “round,” one man said, voice rough but tired.

“You on nights tonight?” the other asked.

“Yeah, watching the old man — Charles,” the first chuckled.

“That nutcase? Why bother guarding him? You think he’s gonna run off to the Forest again?”

“Nah, it’s his daughter they’re worried about. The chief’s convinced she’ll come get him.”

“She’s just a kid, though. Relax, it’ll be fine. I’m outta here.”

“Later.”

One of the men slowly headed home, while the other slipped back inside, closing the door with a sharp click. Clara stayed hidden in the shadows, silent and tense. She lowered her head, crossed her arms, and muttered a curse under her breath at chief.

I need a new plan, she thought as she made her way back home.

Going out at night was too risky now. If Ergus suspected Clara was planning something, the guards had surely doubled, and their watchfulness sharpened. Trying to get near the prison or the chief’s house after dark could end in disaster.

Clara sighed deeply, staring at her now useless sketches. Her hand trembled as the pencil dragged a jagged line across the paper. She leaned back and rubbed her temples.

“So, nights are out,” she muttered. “But during the day… there must be some weak spots. I’ll have to check with Mom. First thing in the morning, I’ll find out.”

But luck wasn’t on her side.

After a few knocks, the door swung open — and there stood Travis, the chief’s son. He was about Clara’s age and known for his arrogance and terrible manners.

“What do you want?” Travis asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Clara took a step back — not out of fear, but to avoid his breath.

“I’m here to see my mom,” she said, calm and steady, hiding any sign of emotion.

“You mom?” Travis smirked, tilting his head. “Do slaves get visitors?”

“Just call her,” Clara said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“What if I don’t?” His grin grew wider. “What’re you gonna do? Complain? Cry about how unfair it is? Dream about how things’ll be if you were in charge?”

“I’m not complaining. I just won’t accept it.”

“Oh,” Travis said, shaking his head like he was impressed. “So brave.” He crossed his arms. “You’re not one to keep quiet and pretend all’s fine, huh?”

Clara swallowed her irritation. Sharp as it was, she held it tight.

“I’m not here to argue, Travis. I just want to see my mom.”

“Right, your mom,” he said, scratching his neck. “Busy woman… Why would she come out for a daughter who clearly forgot her place?” He gave her a slow, mocking once-over. “Don’t be naive, “he added before turning away. “She’s not coming.”

Clara gritted her teeth, feeling a surge of helpless anger. Her fists clenched tightly, knuckles white, her heart pounding in her ears. She pressed her lips together, lifted her chin, and walked away.

I should’ve just slapped him, she thought bitterly as she headed toward the Western Forest.

Morning light filtered through the trees of the Western Forest, casting shifting patches of shade on the ground. The air smelled of damp earth and wild herbs, crisp and clean.

Clara’s house stood where the trees began, their branches brushing against the roof. She liked this quiet spot — it felt like a refuge from the world. She stepped softly, the snap of twigs underfoot the only sound. Pausing, she leaned against the rough bark of an old oak. The coolness seeped through her dress, offering a small comfort. She exhaled slowly and looked up, watching the leaves sway in the gentle morning breeze.

A sudden movement caught Clara’s eye — two women weaving carefully between the trees, struggling with a heavy basket that pressed harshly into their pale, aching hands. The strain showed clearly on their faces.

Clara stood up from the grass, brushing stray leaves off her worn cloth, and hurried over.

“Here, let me help,” she said, lifting one side of the basket.

A soft smile curved Clara’s lips. The women nodded silently, but their eyes showed no gratitude — one flickered with irritation, the other kept a cautious watch on Clara’s every move. Silence stretched between them as they walked along the winding path.

When the trail opened to the edge of the clearing, the women let out a shared breath of relief. The basket thudded down beside a pile of others — worn woven containers brimming with the forest’s bounty. Clara rubbed her palms, brushing away tiny bits of bark, and met the women’s steady gazer.

“Tomorrow’s Mr. Travis’s birthday,” one of them said, wiping sweat from her brow, her eyes locked on Clara.

“I know,” Clara replied with a tight smile, ready to move on.

“He’s quite the handsome one. Shame he keeps everyone at arm’s length.”

Clara fought the urge to roll her eyes. She was about to walk away when the second woman, standing slightly apart, narrowed her eyes and spoke with a sly smirk:

“Your mother’s working there, isn’t she?” she said, crossing her arms.

Clara froze, her eyes sharp, a faint crease forming on her brow.

“What do you mean?” she asked, keeping her voice steady but feeling a tightening inside.

“She belongs there,” the first woman said, reading an eyebrow as her eyes flickered from the basket back to Clara. “She was warned — no use coming out for the runaway.”

“Don’t even say it,” the second muttered, snorting softly. “Nothing but trouble with those Millers.”

“True enough,” the first went on, savoring each word like a secret. “A runaway, a slave… that family sure knows how to find trouble.”

“Oh, do you remember how her grandma ran off with the blacksmith?” the second whispered, covering her mouth like she was sharing a juicy story.

“Ah yes, of course! Guess some things run in the blood. Blood’s thicker than water, after all.”

Clara rolled her eyes and pivoted sharply, too tired of their pointless chatter to linger. She quickened her steps, turning out their voices fading behind her.

“Yeah… I hope the girl’s smarter,” the second woman muttered, watching Clara’s retreating figure. “Though, honestly, I doubt it.”

Clara followed the narrow path, putting distance between herself and the forest’s fruits — and the prying eyes that came with them. Twilight thickened, turning the tree trunks into looming shadows. She kept her gaze low, then suddenly froze.

Up ahead, where the path split, two guards sat side by side. One stretched lazily, the other idly poked the dirt with a stick. Clara quickly slipped behind a thick tree trunk, pressing herself into the shadows.

“You dozing off again?” a lazy voice drawled. “How many times now?”

“Come on, man, I’ve been on watch three nights straight,” the other groaned, still half-asleep. “That grass from the field knocked me out cold. What’s it called… valerian or something? Old Ella mixed it in the tea, and bam – I was out like a stone all night.”

“Ha! And you bragged you wouldn’t nod off, even in a storm.”

“Try it yourself! I’m telling you, that stuff’s no joke.”

Clara stayed frozen, a sudden thought snapping into place. Quietly, she stepped back and took a different path, careful to stay out of sight.

Back in her room, she hurried to the old shelf and grabbed a worn book. The scent of dust and aged paper filled the air. It was a guide to the plants and herbs of the Western Forest.

“Not it,” she muttered, flipping through page after page.

Her fingers traced faint marks on the smooth pages as her eyes skimmed quickly over the text, not lingering anywhere. At last, she stopped, having found the passage she was looking for. Clara let out a quiet breath, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“So that’s you,” she whispered.

Her eyes scanned the lines again, and she read aloud, barely a murmur:

“Valerian.”

Clara clutched the book more tightly and stepped closer to the window, where the last of the light still lingered. The lines on the page were faint, delicate, and growing harder to see as dusk crept in. Clouds gathered quickly, swallowing the sun, and a cool breeze tapped at the glass, sending a faint shiver through the room. But Clara barely noticed — her focus stayed locked on the pages in her hands.

“Extracts from valerian root can cause a deep, relaxing sleep,*” she murmured, her teeth lightly pressing her lower lip. (*It’s not true).

Turning the page she continued:

“Valerian can grow in forests, though it’s more often found in damp meadows, along rivers, in marshy areas, or at the edges of woods. It prefers moisty, shady places.”

She closed the book slowly, her brow knitting in thought. A vivid image rose in her mind — a quiet river winding through dense greenery, its gentle current whispering beneath low-hanging branches.

“So along the river… Clara whispered, eyes drifting toward the shadowed landscape outside the window.

***

Clara fastened the pouch carefully, making sure everything inside was well hidden. She pulled the hood of her father’s old cloak low over her face, her fingers brushing the worn, faded fabric. Beneath it, a rough caftan in earthy tones wrapped around her — uncomfortable, but reliable. The sleeves hung past her wrists, frayed at the elbows, and her patched gray trousers were tucked into scuffed boots. She adjusted the small bag on her shoulder, drew a steadying breath, and tried to calm the restless pulse pounding through her veins.

The door creaked open just wide enough for Clara to peer out. In the dim light, tired workers moved past in silence, their steps heavy, their voices low. A few led a saddled horse down the quiet street, its hooves soft against the dirt.

Keeping her head low, Clara slipped outside. The evening air nipped at her cheeks, sharp and cold. Her hood slipped slightly, and she quickly caught it, pulling it close around her face.

In this village, there were many rules and customs that Clara always found absurd and unjust. One of the harshest was that prisoners were not given food — they were punished with hunger, under the belief that food must be earned. The cruelty felt completely foreign to Clara. This rule weighed heavily on her heart, and now, secretly carrying two red apples — her father’s favorite fruit — she was about to defy the law. She knew that if she were caught, punishment was inevitable. But nothing could stop her.

When Clara arrived at the prison, she stopped for a moment, holding her breath. The place looked more like an old, crumbling barn than anything meant to hold prisoners. She adjusted the strap of her bag, the coarse fabric scraping against her palm.

“Come on,” she whispered to herself, then raised her hand and gave two firm knocks on the door.

After a few minutes, the door slowly opened, and a tall man with a stern face appeared. His dark eyes stared directly at Clara, and lines on his forehead made him look even tougher. Clara felt her confidence slip for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, cleared her throat, and lowered her eyes, nodding respectfully.

“I’m here to see my father,” she said calmly, though her lips twitched with irritation. Luckily, the guard didn’t catch it.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at her, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to find a reason to say no. Clara felt a cold knot in her stomach. She opened her mouth to ask again, but the man suddenly snorted.

“Now?” he asked, glancing away. “Isn’t that a little late?”

Clara tensed but nodded, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Just for a minute. He’s my dad. I won’t take long.”

The man chuckled, as if deciding whether it was worth the trouble. Then he scratched the back of his head and reluctantly stepped aside, moving away from the door.

“You’ve got five minutes,” he said in a rough voice. “Try not to stay any longer,” he added with a frown before walking off and slamming the door behind him.

Clara closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. When she opened them, a dark, dreary room stretched out before her. Four cells stood in a row, their bars rusted and worn. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and metal, and thin cobwebs clung to the ceiling. Only one cell held someone. In the corner, slouched on a rough wooden bench, sat her father. His shoulders were slumped, and tangled gray strands fell across his face.

“Dad…” Clara whispered, her voice unsteady. She stepped closer and gripped the cold metal bars, looking into the familiar face.

Charles opened his eyes and froze, staring at Clara’s frightened face. For a moment, he seemed unable to believe what he was seeing. He blinked once, twice, but she didn’t disappear. Then, gathering himself, Charles hurried to the bars.

“I missed you so much, dad,” Clara whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Charles reached through the bars and gently touched her cheek. His rough, calloused hand brushed softly over her skin. Clara closed her eyes at the touch and her tears fell even faster.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry, don’t cry, my dear,” Charles said with a gentle smile, wiping her tears away. His voice was low and comforting. “It’s okay now. It’s all over.”

Hearing her father’s words, Clara shook her head, making her dark hair sway gently.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” she said firmly, taking Charles cold hands in hers and squeezing them. “And I’ll get mom out too. We’re going to escape and finally be free.”

Charles gave a sad smile, his eyes filled with love — and a quiet sorrow. There was something in his gaze, a knowing acceptance of a harsh truth Clara either couldn’t see or refused to face. He gently squeezed her hands, holding on to both her warmth and the fierce resolve she carried.

“It’s not worth it,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “Things might not work out like you hope, Clara. You have to get out – save yourself. Then you — ”

“No,” Clara interrupted firmly. “I’m not leaving you behind. We’re going to leave together. We’ll build a better life. I’m not going to abandon you to this place.”

She pulled a small pouch from her bag, glancing nervously around as if someone might catch her. After checking that no one was watching, she offered a small, resolute smile and passed it to her father.

Charles took it gently, his fingers brushing over the coarse fabric as he loosened the knotted rope.

“Clara…” he said quietly, his tone low but firm when he saw what was inside — two ripe apples resting at the bottom. He looked up at her, eyes filled with both worry and a silent warning. “You shouldn’t be risking like this.”

“Is starving to death better?” she replied sharply, lifting her chin with fierce resolve. “You need strength if we’re ever going to get out. So just eat.”

Charles gave a faint smile, grabbed an apple, and with his rough hands split it in half. He held out the bigger piece to Clara.

“Come on. Share a simple dinner with me,” he said gently.

Clara smiled back and took the slice.

“To freedom,” she said, lifting her apple like a toast.

Her father raised his own piece, his voice above a whisper.

“To yours.”

The crunch of apples was the only sound echoing in the cold room.

“Remember when you used to hide apples in your blouse as a kid?” Charles said suddenly, a soft smile on his face. “You never ate them — you’d just sneak them off to my workshop.”

Clara laughed quietly, warmth spreading in her eyes.

“And you always acted like you didn’t notice.”

He smiled, a little amused. “Had to play along, or you’d have stopped bringing them.”

Clara froze without meaning to, the half-eaten apple still in her hands. Her eyes drifted away, lost in thought. Charles noticed. He wiped the apple’s juice from his lips and, watching her, asked with a gentle smile:

“What are you thinking about?”

“What?”

Dad gave a smirk, nodding at the apple in her hand.

“Yeah, I get it – geniuses get lost in their own head. But, you know, dinner’s not gonna eat itself.”

She shrugged, still chewing slowly, eyes somewhere else. “Sure, yeah… probably…”

Clara looked up at him, suddenly more serious. “They only let me stay for five minutes…”

Her voice softened as Charles reached through the bars, his hand gently threading through her long hair. He leaned in a little, voice low but steady.

“Clara… you don’t have to – like, put yourself in danger for us. We’ve been through enough already. You can just walk away. You don’t have to carry all th — ”

“No!” she cut him off, voice sharp. “I’ve made up my mind. I’ve got a plan, okay? I’ve got.. One…”

“What plan?” Charles squinted, eyes locked on her. “Clara, don’t even go there. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

She bit her lip, not meeting his gaze.

“It’s not reckless, dad. I’ve — I’ve thought it through, I swear. I just wanna help.”

“Help?” his voice went sharp, almost bitter. “This isn’t help, Clara. You don’t know those people. They’re monst — They’re pretending to be human, but they’re not. They’ll crush you before you even open your mouth.”

Clara’s face was calm, but her lips shook.

“T-Tell me what you’re thinking? What is your plan?”

Clara let out a slow breath, still looking anywhere but at him.

“I’m… I’m gonna go to the woods. Get valerian. Make some… kind of extract. It’ll knock the guards out… at least for a little while. That’s all we need to get out.”

Charles’s face twisted, and before she knew it, he grabbed her shoulders hard.

“You think it’s that easy? That they won’t catch you? This isn’t some game, Clara! They’ll kill you. You hear me?!”

She jerked away, eyes flashing fire.

“So what? You’re so scared of losing me you’d rather stuck here forever? Locked up like a damn prisoner?!” her voice cracked, but she kept looking at him, straight in the eyes. “I can’t. I just can’t keep watching you and mom suffer. You don’t deserve this crap.”

Charles let out a rough sigh, voice shaking a little.

“I’m not scared for me, Clara… I’m scared for you. You’re my only daughter. If you… if you just… vanish… If anything happens — » he stopped, jaw tight, like he couldn’t finish. “I won’t survive that, okay? I can’t lose my only daughter…”

The words hit her hard. Clara bit her lip, eyes dark and tight.

“You still think I’m a kid,” she said, voice rough. “But I’m not. I have to do this. I have to try. No matter what.”

Charles pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes fixed on his daughter — the girl so fiercely set on saving what was left of their family. His gaze was heavy with worry; he knew too well how steep the cost of her choices could be.

“Clara, sweetheart, it’s not worth it. You should use this time and — » he began, but he didn’t get the chance to finish. The door creaked open with a harsh, dragging sound, and a sudden gust of wind swept through the room.

The groan of the hinges echoed against the stone walls, and in the doorway stood the shadowy figure of a guard. Clara flinched, quickly tucking the rest of the apple into her pouch and pulling her cloak over it.

“Time’s up. Leave,” the guard said flatly, not even glancing at them.

Clara looked at him, voice quiet, careful. “Can I… can I leave him my cloak? Please?”

The guard glanced at Charles, his face unreadable. A heavy silence settled in the room. He tightened his jaw, faced the door — but stayed put.

“Leave it and go,” he finally muttered, the permission forced from him. “Just be quick.”

“Thank you,” Clara whispered, relief soft in her voice. She slipped off her worn cloak and, hiding the small pouch inside, passed it to her father through the bars.

Charles held her hand tightly, fingers trembling, his face etched with worry. He shook his head.

“You don’t have to do this… Please just don’t…” he said, voice breaking.

Clara gave a sad little smile, squeezing his hand tight.

“I know you’re trying to protect me. But if I don’t do something… how could I ever live with myself?”

Clara set her jaw, eyes firm and unyielding — there was no persuading her otherwise. Once she decided to help her family, nothing could stop her. Charles felt a tight knot of fear coil in his chest, silently wishing his daughter would stay safe.

A dark night blanketed the small village. Inside their homes, tired villagers slept soundly, gathering strength for the work ahead. But three among them would find no rest that night.

In a damp cell that reeked of mildew, the father sat still, eyes locked on the guard beyond the bars. But his thoughts were far from the prison. He whispered silent prayers, pleading with fate to keep his daughter out of harm’s way. Elsewhere in the village, the mother sat curled in the corner of a narrow, overcrowded room, surrounded by the slow breaths of sleeping women. Candlelight flickered on the walls, casting unsteady shadows that danced across her worn face. Evelina did not sleep. Her thoughts wandered restlessly, tangled in the silence — dwelling on the man imprisoned and the daughter now left to brave the world alone.

At that hour, the daughter slipped through the doorway of their humble home, careful not to stir a sound. The night met her with a chill, and she welcomed it in silence. In her arms she held a basket. A knife lay inside, coiled rope beside it. Her father’s bow crossed her shoulder, and from her back hung a quiver of three arrows, their steel tips whispering against one another as she walked into the dark. Her hair was wound tightly in a thick strip of cloth, not a single strand left free. In one hand, Clara carried a small lantern, its flame trembling in the breeze. She cast a wary glance around, ensuring the street lay empty, then turned the key in the door with practiced care, not letting it utter a sound. A heartbeat later, she was running toward the Western Forest.

Leaves whispered beneath her feet, shattering the night’s stillness, while ragged breaths rose in warm clouds before her. She had never dared to venture into the forest alone — especially not under the cloak of darkness. Yet now, she crossed the familiar edge, stepping beyond what was known. Fear gripped her deeply, but beneath it flickered an unfamiliar hope.

“Al’ for the family,” Clara breathed out, the cold biting at her lips. “All for them.”

The brunette shivered, suddenly aware how foolish she’d been to wear so lightly. The white dress offered little defense against the chill of night.

She pressed on carefully, aiming to reach the river before dawn’s first light crept over the horizon. Yet Clara hadn’t imagined the journey would stretch beyond two hours.

Her legs felt like lead, each step heavier than the last. A dull ache pulsed in her head, and her eyelids drooped relentlessly, forcing Clara to jerk herself awake time and again to keep moving. The candle inside her lantern burned low, its fragile flame trembling faintly beneath her cupped hand, struggling against the night breeze.

Yet the instant Clara caught the distant, muffled roar of the waterfall, she surged forward, breaking into a run — ignoring the ache in her knees and the numbness in her toes cramped inside worn boots.

When she finally made it to the waterfall and the river, Clara stopped, panting hard. Her chest heaved, and the cold air stung her lungs. Every inch of her felt chilled and exhausted, but a small, determined smile stayed on her face. A little way down by the riverbank, she noticed a small cluster of valerian.

Clara knelt in front of the plants, slipped the quiver of arrows off her shoulder, and set it down beside her. She took the knife from her basket and started carefully digging up the roots, making sure not to damage them.

Thank goodness it’s autumn, she thought as she pulled another root free, a quiet smile playing on her lips. The smile was simple — autumn was when valerian roots were at their strongest, soaking up all the good stuff she needed for her plan.

Clara worked her way through the soil, taking care not to break the thin roots as she pulled them free. Dirt covered her hands and got under her nails, but didn’t really care. She smiled, dropping each plant gently into the basket. When the basket was almost full, she grabbed a bit of rope and started tying the valerian into small, neat bundles, and set them carefully on top.

“Perfect,” she said with a satisfied grin, slinging her quiver of arrows over her shoulder.

A sudden gust of wind came whistling through the trees and killed the lantern’s weak flame, leaving Clara in pitch blackness. She paused, feeling a wave of confusion, and let out a slow, frustrated sigh. Then a sound — a soft rustle — caught her ear. Her heart jumped. She straightened up fast, and the basket slipped from her hands, landing with a soft thud on the damp ground. Her fingers went straight for the quiver, and in a second, she had an arrow in place and the bow drawn, the string biting at her fingertips.

“Who’s there?” she called, her voice calm, though she hoped no one would answer.

The forest held her question for a moment before a clear, confident male voice replied:

“The future chief.”

Clara frowned, tightening her hold on the arrow. Moonlight slipped through the branches, casting light on a man’s figure drawing near. Travis emerged from the bushes, weapon gripped firmly in his hands. She didn’t lower her bow but took a step back, keeping the basket close behind her.

“What are you doing here?” Clara frowned, stepping in front of the basket like a shield.

The young man smirked, raising his rifle just a little. “Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing. This is a forbidden area. Didn’t know?”

Clara said nothing, eyes flickering around, looking for a way out.

“Trying to run?” Travis squinted, taking a step forward. The ground cracked under his boot.

Clara took a shaky step back, heart racing.

“What were you gathering?” Travis nodded toward the basket.

“Just some herbs,” Clara’s voice dropped low. “I wanted to make tea… for my parents.” She kept her hands low but didn’t drop the arrow.

“Tea?” Travis frowned, disbelief clear. “You don’t even have the right to see them, let alone send them stuff.”

“I just wanted… something…” Clara’s voice cracked. “If you’re starving them, at least let it be this.”

Travis scowled, irritation creeping in.

“Teaching me how to handle criminals now?” His voice got cold as he stepped closer. “You seriously expect me to believe some story about tea?”

Clara didn’t say a word. Her face was calm, but inside, she was falling apart.

“Maybe I should just search you right here,” he hissed, staring into her eyes — those brown eyes, full of fear but no hint of giving in. “See what you’re really hiding? Or hand you over to the chief and let him deal with it?” Travis reached for her shoulder, but Clara snapped.

“Don’t you dare.”

For a second, he froze, then slowly pulled his hand back.

“Consider yourself lucky today. But if I catch you here again, don’t expect me to be so nice.”

Clara bent down fast, without looking away.

“Go,” Travis barked. “Before I changed my mind.”

Clara’s fists tightened as she grabbed the basket and slipped into the trees’ shadows. Her footsteps faded fast, only the leaves whispering behind her. Travis watched, a quiet smile playing on his lips. Then his eyes landed on the uprooted herbs scattered on the ground.

“Lying ain’t right,” he muttered, a short chuckle breaking free.

***

Clara ran ahead, her fear nearly outpacing her steps. With one hand, she clutched the roots tightly in her basket, worried they’d slip out; with the other, she brushed away branches snagging at her clothes. The night’s encounter with Travis had only made her more anxious.

What the hell’s this idiot doing out here so late? Clara thought irritably, slowing to a steady jog, exhausted by sudden fatigue. Shit… is he following me? God, please no.

She suddenly glanced over her shoulder, but all she saw was pitch-black darkness — empty and terrifying. A shiver ran through her, and she pressed her palm to her chest, trying to steady her pounding heart.

“It’s nothing… really, nothing,” Clara whispered, barely above a breath. “I’ll be home soon. Very soon. And everything’ll be fine. Everything will be fine…” She kept saying it like a mantra, trying to calm the shake in her voice.

She stepped forward carefully, then suddenly her foot snapped a branch — the sharp crack cutting through the stillness. The sound jolted her, and panic rushed in like a flood. Ignoring the ache in her limbs, Clara broke into a run. Her feet barely touched the ground, her senses alive with fear. Before long, she found herself at the door of her house. She yanked the handle — nothing. Her chest tightened until she realized it was locked. Her fingers shook as she dug into her pocket for an old key, turning it over a few times before sliding it into the lock. The door finally creaked open. She slipped inside and closed it quickly behind her. Leaning back against the cool wood, she closed her eyes and let the tension roll off, slowly easing away.

Her heart still fluttered wildly in her chest, and thoughts in her mind jumbled chaotically, making it hard to focus. Covering her face with her hands, Clara took several slow breaths, trying to regain her calm. She was home. Everything was all right.

A minute passed. The trembling faded from her body, the fear softened, and she straightened up, moving into the small room. She set the basket on the wooden table, careful not to spill its contents.

“God, I’m so tired,” Clara mumbled, blinking hard to stay awake. Her eyes felt like lead. With a long sigh, she ran her hand through her hair and made her way to her room. “All right,” she whispered, trying to focus. “I have to make the extract. Gotta save Mom and Dad.”

Reaching for her textbook again, Clara lit a tall candle and set it on the windowsill by the closed window. She sat down at the table, beside the basket of roots, and gently opened the book to the right page, flattening it in front of her.

“All right… let’s do this,” she murmured, tying a thick cloth around her forehead to keep her hair out of the way.

“First you need to dry the valerian roots,” Clara read aloud with a sigh.

She checked the roots she’d gathered and felt the dampness on her hands. Like this, they’d be useless.

“I’ll have to wait…” she muttered.

Sitting at the table, Clara wiped the roots clean and arranged them on three broad boards that stretched across the table’s surface. The edges overlapped a little, but the boards were sturdy enough to hold the roots.

It’s time to rest,” she murmured, pushing herself up and dragging herself to the small bed. She sank into the thin pillows and fell asleep right away, still in her dirty clothes.

CHAPTER 3: RUNAWAY

Sleep refused to let go, leaving Clara torn between two urges: staying nestled in her warm bed or finally answering the steady knocking at the door. With effort, she pushed herself upright and blinked groggily, trying to remember where she was. One eye opened — just enough to spot the wooden table and the boards where neatly arranged roots lay. Another knock sounded, sharper this time, and Clara startled. She sprang from the bed and rushed to the door.

When Clara opened the door, she blinked in surprise at the unexpected guest.

“Grandpa William? What are you doing here this early?”

“Early?” The old man raised an eyebrow and scratched at his thick mustache with a chuckle. “It’s already noon, kiddo. You’ve been holed up here forever… I wanted to see how you’re holding up.”

“Noon?” Clara’s brow furrowed as she glanced at the sunlight streaming in. “Ugh, I’m never gonna finish in time!”

Without bothering to close the door, she rushed to the table to check the roots. They were still damp. A wave of panic rose in her chest as she began pacing, trying to figure out how to make them dry faster.

Meanwhile, William stepped over the threshold, watching her confusion with a concerned gaze.

“Something wrong?” he asked, eyes scanning the valerian roots on the table. His worn finger lightly brushed one of them. “Where’d you find all this, Clara?”

She sighed and dragged an old wooden chair closer to him, the legs scraping across the floor.

“Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks,” the old man said, settling into the chair with a soft groan and rubbing his knee. “Where’d you find this?” the librarian asked, nodding at the roots.

Clara hesitated, skirting around the question. She wasn’t ready to share the truth.

“They were in our storage,” she said quietly.

“They look really fresh. You sure you found them there?”

Clara pressed her lips together and nodded, settling into the nearest chair while deliberately avoiding his eyes.

“I did,” she said softly. “But… It’s too late now. They’re useless.”

The old man studied her closely, gently setting the valerian roots aside.

“Hmm,” he said softly. “You never cared about herbs before. What’s changed?”

Clara forced a small smile. “I figured I’d try making something useful… for winter. Might come in handy.”

“For winter,” William repeated, looking over his glasses. “But today’s a holiday, and it’s only mid-autumn. Aren’t you jumping the gun a little?”

The brunette turned away, suddenly distracted by a chip in the wooden shelf.

“I was thinking… maybe someone might have trouble sleeping,” she muttered. “You know, it’s better to be ready for anything.”

William tilted his head, smiling softly.

“And who exactly were you hoping to help, hmm?”

“Just my parents. They’ve been having trouble… trouble sleeping lately… that’s why,” she said quickly.

The old man grew quiet for a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he fixed his gaze on the brunette.

“Clara.. I’ve known you a long time,” he said with a knowing smile, locking eyes with her. “You’re planning to knock everyone out during the celebration so you can slip away, right?”

“Grandpa… how did you —?”

“Clara,” he said gently, slowly getting up from his chair, “I’ve been around you for years. I taught you how to spot the healing plants. And I’m not so old that I can’t see when someone is planning to bolt.”

Clara looked away, shoulders tightening, guilt written all over her.

“But it’s too late now,” Clara sighed. “The celebration’s tonight. I won’t have the extract ready.”

“You don’t have to,” he said calmly, shaking his head when he saw her stress.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve got some extra.”

“Yours?” Clara raised an eyebrow, then smiled faintly. “Grandpa, that’s your medicine. You barely get by without it.”

“One sleepless night won’t kill me,” William said softly. “If it helps your family get away, I’m fine with it.”

“Grandpa…” Her voice shook.

“It’s time to be honest with yourself, Clara,” he said quietly, taking her hand in his rough palms. “This place? It’s not where your future is. You’re stuck here, just like your dad was. Don’t let this chance pass you by.”

“But what about you, Grandpa?” Clara whispered, worry heavy in her voice.

“I’ve lived my life,” he said steady and calm. “You don’t need to worry about me. What matters is you and your family getting out of here.”

“Grandpa…” Her voice broke as she stood and hugged him tightly. He gave her a gentle pat on the back, a warm smile softening his features.

“Come by later. I’ll give you everything I have.”

Clara nodded quietly, hugging the librarian once more before stepping back inside. Outside, the old man paused at the door and looked back at her standing there. His hand trembled slightly as he raised it in a slow farewell wave.

William knew all too well what lay ahead. That night, he skipped his medicine and sat by the window, watching the brunette disappear silently into the forest.

***

“That’s not clean,” Travis scoffed, giving the bucket a kick with his boot.

Dirty water spilled across the newly scrubbed floor, leaving ugly streaks on the pale wood. The woman, still on her knees, watched in silence as the chieftain’s son ruined her work with a single, thoughtless move. Her eyes filled with sadness and disappointment, and her shoulders drooped with quiet resignation.

Travis gave a derisive laugh and stalked off without a backward glance.

“Make sure it’s spotless by tonight,” he called over his shoulder, climbing the stairs.

Evelina exhaled deeply, pushing herself off the floor. She trudged to the supply room, gathering the cleaning tools to start over once more.

She pressed a hand to her back, the ache of her labor settling deep into every bone. Tonight, the entire village would gather at the chief’s house to celebrate his son’s birth. For Evelina and the other servants, it meant a night of constant running, tending to every whim of the guests.

Lost in her chores, she hardly noticed as evening fell and the sounds of the village rose: voices, laughter, and footsteps toward the celebration.

“Auntie, please, sit down and rest,” came a soft yet sure voice.

Evelina turned to see a young woman standing nearby, her face open and kind, eyes alight with both shyness and determination. She was about Clara’s age.

“I’ll handle everything for you,” the girl said gently. “You’ve worked so hard already; you must be tired.”

Evelina sighed, the exhaustion of her work weighing on her shoulders. She managed a small, grateful smile and nodded, sinking onto the low stool the girl had offered. With her eyes closed, she took slow, steady breaths, each exhale reminding her just how worn-out she truly was.

“Would you like some water?” the girl asked softly, her eyes full of care. When Evelina whispered a quiet yes, she swiftly grabbed a clean glass, filled it with water, and handed it over.

“What’s your name?” Evelina asked, taking the glass with a tired smile, her voice soft.

“Emily. I’m Emily,” the young woman said, tilting her head a bit.

“How long have you been here?”

“Just over a month.” Emely’s eyes flicked away for a second. “My older brother… he couldn’t pay off the debt our dad owed to Mr. Travis.”

Evelina sighed softly, tuning in to the noise beyond the wall. Then, with a sharp bang, the door swung wide — the guests had arrived.

“Auntie, do you think your daughter’s coming?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, she’s never been into this stuff.” She shook her head, frowning.

Emily nodded silently, and without another word, they both stood. The slaves drifted to their posts, focused on the tasks ahead, as the long-awaited celebration stirred to life inside the chief’s house.

As evening drew near and the day slowly gave way to night, Clara finally emerged from the small stable where she had spent the entire day — loading the cart and tending to their faithful, aging horse. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden light across the fields. She paused to run her fingers gently through the horse’s thick mane, lingering a moment in silent gratitude. Then, after securing the stable door, Clara turned and made her way down the path toward the chieftain’s house.

Clara hovered near the house, her fingers, sometimes, twisting the hem of her beige dress, sometimes, teeth gnawing at her nails. In her other hand, she clutched a small bottle of potion hidden deep in the folds of her tattered bag.

“What’s on your mind?” a voice suddenly whispered at her ear.

Clara jerked around, her heart pounding. There, leaning against the wall she’d just been hiding behind, was Travis — watching her with that familiar, mocking grin.

“What are you doing?” Clara demanded, hiding both hands behind her back. Her fingers clenched into fists, though she tried to stay calm. “Your celebration’s starting.”

Travis smirked, crossing his arms.

“Speak for yourself. Why aren’t you inside?”

“What?” Clara blinked, taken aback. “Are you… Are you mocking me again?”

He let out a low laugh, stepping closer before pulling back, leaning against the wall.

“Why would I mock you? Just surprised to find you hanging around my house.”

“What do you want?” she asked sharply, and glared wary.

Travis didn’t answer. He stepped closer, invading her space. Clara took a step back, unwilling to let him get any closer.

“Maybe we should go inside together,” he said, voice casual, like they were old friends. “You wouldn’t want to miss the good part.”

“That’s crossing a line,” Clara snapped, moving aside, her shoulders stiff. “Your teasing gone way too far.”

“Clara…” His tone softened. “You’re acting weird. You always have, but what are you really up to?”

A shiver ran down her spine.

“You have no right to ask. Step back.”

“Why are you shaking? Scared?” He cocked his head, smirking.

“No,” she frowned. “I just don’t like being bothered. Just finish your little show and leave.”

Travis didn’t bother listening to her protests. His smug grin stayed in place as he grabbed her forearms firmly, pulling her closer without hesitation.

“I insist,” he said smoothly, his tone playful but sure, stepping forward as if her resistance was meaningless.

“I can walk on my own. Let go!” Clara snapped, trying to wriggle free.

He didn’t reply. Just with that same confident swagger, he walked right into the spacious house.

Clara felt awful. Her heart raced, chest tightening as if the air had thickened around her. She quickly covered her face with her hand, hoping to hide just for a moment, to steady herself. But Travis wasn’t about to give her that break.

“There’s you dear mother,” he said loudly, yanking her hand away. Clara flinched, then froze, locking eyes with her mother’s surprised look.

“Mom… I…” Her voice shook, words faltering like a child caught in trouble.

“Enjoy the party,” Travis said with a grin, turning away, holding the small bottle tightly. Meanwhile, mother and daughter stayed frozen, silently staring at each other.

The woman moved forward quickly, her weathered yet tender hands gripping Clara’s shoulders firmly, pulling her close with the fierce strength only a mother separated for so long could summon.

“My dear…” Evelina whispered, gently brushing Clara’s dark hair. Her voice trembled, filled with endless love.

Tears broke free from brown eyes, blurring her sight. Her throat constricted so sharply breathing became a struggle. She found no words, only the warmth of her mother’s shoulder as she buried her face, seeking comfort in that familiar embrace.

Travis turned and headed for his usual seat, the small bottle of valerian gripped tightly in his large hand. He caught the eye of a maidservant and, with a flick of his wrist, summoned her over. The middle-aged woman bowed respectfully and stepped closer.

_Pour this into the wine and serve it to all the elders and women,” Travis instructed.

She nodded silently, took the beetle and walked off. Travis settled into his chair, surrounded by five young men and his guards.

“Listen up,” he said, calm but commanding. Instantly, the group fell silent, all eyes on him. “No one drinks tonight. Don’t even touch the wine. Make sure the other guards know.”

The men exchanged sighs of frustration, but Travis just leaned back in his chair.

“Sn one more thing,” he added. “When I give the sign, pretend to be asleep.”

***

“Did you see your father?” Evelina asked as they found a quiet corner to talk.

The noise outside made it hard to talk, so she had guided them into the servants’ quarters for privacy.

“Yeah,” Clara nodded with a small smile. “I brought him some apples. They hardly feed him there.”

“And you’re not eating yourself,” her mother chided gently.

“I couldn’t eat a thing,” Clara sighed. “But let’s not talk about that now. I’ve got a plan to get us out.” Clara said, meeting her mother’s gaze with a faint smile.

“What?”

“I brought valerian,” Clara whispered, eyes bright as she reached into her bag. “If I mix it into the wine, everyone will fall asleep for a few hours. Then we can — Wait… Where is it?” She jumped up, eyes darting around the floor, patting her dress pockets.

“Dear, what is it?” Evelina asked, concerned.

“It was right here in my bag,” Clara was nearly in tears, pacing in a frantic search.

Evelina watched her daughter, worry growing with each frantic movement Clara made.

“Clara, breath,” she said softly but firmly, grasping her daughter’s wrist to stop her. “Tell me everything, one step a time.”

“It was with me,” Clara said, her breath ragged. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to remember where the bottle could have gone. “The valerian tincture. I took it from grandpa, on purpose, so that we — ”

Then it hit here.

Travis.

His smirk. The way he’d grabbed her bag — just before yanking her hand from her face.

“He… took it,” Clara whispered, shock flooding her as a chill ran down her spine.

“Who?” Evelina asked, tension tightening her voice as she studied her daughter’s face.

“Travis…”

A wave of anger and fear coursed through Clara. She flung the door open. The halfway was unsettlingly quiet. Everyone — wherever they were — had fallen asleep: some standing, some sitting, others in the most unlikely positions. At the table’s center, Travis sprawled with his head tilted back, snoring.

“What is this?” Clara muttered, disbelief painting her features as she stepped forward. Her mother lingered in the shadows.

As she moved further, Clara spotted the valerian bottle on the floor — completely empty. She crouched down, picked it up, and glanced around, confusion clouding her mind.

“Did he really pour it into the wine?” she murmured, frowning at the sight of the sleeping Travis.

With her lips pressed tight, Clara surveyed the room again. Everyone was indeed fast asleep. Satisfied, she rushed back to the servants’ quarter, where her mother waited.

“Mom, they’re all asleep,” Clara said urgently, clutching her mother’s wrist. “We have to go now, while we still can.”

“Clara, it’s too dangerous,” Evelina protested, fear freezing her in place.

“Mom, this is our only chance!” Clara pleaded, stepping closer and gripping old hands tightly. “I can’t spend the rest of my life in that old shack while you and dad suffer. Please, just this once… take a risk. I promise you won’t regret it!”

Evelina hesitated, her lips pressed tight with worry, but seeing the fierce determination in her daughter’s eyes, she finally nodded. Clara beamed and squeezed her mother’s hands. Together, they slipped out of the chief’s house.

Gradually, they made their way to the prison building, the cool night air heavy with dampness.

“Clara,” Evelina said, gripping her daughter’s hand even tighter as the brunette confidently reached for the door handle.

“Don’t worry,” Clara whispered, her eyes bright with resolve. “The guard is asleep.”

And sure enough, the guards were fast asleep. Before joining her mother, Clara had visited her father. When the guard stepped outside, leaving them alone, she quietly slipped the valerian tincture into the jug of water. Now, that same guard sat slumped over a small table, head bowed, his steady breathing the only sign of his deep sleep.

“Dad!” Clara cried out.

But then, time seemed to halt. The guard frowned, muttering something in his sleep, and for a tense moment, it felt as if he might wake. Clara’s heart skipped a beat, then the man sighed deeply and slipped back in silence.

All three exhaled together.

“Darling…” Charles whispered, without taking his eyes off his wife, who pressed her trembling hands to her chest.

The lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open.

Charles stepped out, and Evelina immediately rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her fingers gripped his shirt tightly, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps — emotions long held back finally spilling over. Charles pulled her close, resting his face against her hair.

Clara watched them, a soft smile brushing her lips. It had all been worth it. Moments like this — seeing the true joy in those she loved — made every risk worthwhile. Yet beneath that happiness, she longed for a quiet, peaceful place where they could live without fear.

“Let’s leave as soon as we can,” she whispered gently.

Clara stepped closer, her hands lightly resting on her parents’ shoulders, gently tracing comforting circles along their backs.

“You’ll have plenty of time to hold each other soon enough,”

Charles smiled softly, leaning in with eyes full of pride.

“I’m so proud to have you as my daughter,” he murmured, fingers tenderly sweeping a loose strand from her face before weaving through her long hair.

Clara returned the smile, but the tight knot of worry inside her chest didn’t ease. She knew their time was fragile, and every second counted.

CHAPTER 4: SWEET DREAMS

The parents lay nestled among the sacks, their forms barely visible beneath the cloak Clara had draped over them. From afar, they resembled nothing more than a bundle of goods, safely hidden from curious eyes. Yet Evelina’s unease lingered, her anxious gaze locked on her daughter.

“Mom, get into the cart and cover yourselves with Dad,” Clara said quietly, steadying her voice despite the fear she saw in her mother’s eyes. “It’s going to be a long ride, but I’ll let you know when we’re far enough from the village.”

Her parents nodded silently and, careful to keep quiet, wrapped themselves in the cloak inside the wagon. Clara’s fingers brushed softly through the horse’s coarse mane, calming the animal — and herself. Her eyes stayed on the fading shapes of the village, the weight of leaving the only place she’d ever known pressing down on her. It had been her home, yet she’d always felt like an outsider, never truly part of this world.

Clara pulled her hood over her head and faced the forest — the familiar hunting grounds of the villagers. With steady resolve and chin raised, she tightened her grip on the reins.

“Clara,” her father’s voice broke the silence unexpectedly.

Startled, she paused mid-movement, eyes searching his face. He peeled out from beneath his worn cloak.

“Dad, hide,” she whispered urgently, glancing around nervously.

He stayed still, reaching out a hand, silently urging her closer. Clara pressed her lips tight and, with a reluctant breath, let go of the reins and stepped toward him.

“What is it?”

Her father extended his nearly new shoes, offering them to her.

“Dad, you shouldn’t. You need them yourself. The nights are cold,” Clara objected, brows knitting in worry.

But without replying, he shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around Evelina’s thin shoulders instead.

“What are you doing?!” Clara hissed, glancing nervously at the shadows around them. “Someone might see us.”

“Take them. No arguments.” he said, his voice firm but kind.

With a reluctant sigh, Clara crouched, quickly pulling on the light brown shoes. Charles watched her, a quiet pride softening his lined face, his eyes lingering on her.

“Cover yourself well,” he murmured.

Clara wrapped the cloak around her parents, tucking every edge carefully, determined not to let even a stray wind expose what — or who — she was hiding.

Her brown eyes settled on the new shoes, their clean leather a stark contrast to the rough, muddy ground. A wry smile played at her lips — brand new. She knew how dearly her father had paid for them, not just in coins but in sweat and long hours at the forge. The soles bounced lightly with each step, a reminder that they were made for feet more calloused than her own. They were a little too big, her toes sliding forward with each movement, but what did that matter now?

“Oh, Dad…” she whispered, her voice catching on the edge of a sigh.

Clara approached the horse and paused, her hand gliding through its thick, tangled mane, savoring the comfort of the familiar touch. The animal snorted softly, its breath warm against her palm, and she let a small smile bloom across her lips. She swung one leg over the saddle, adjusting her beige dress so it wouldn’t catch. With a gentle tug on the reins, she straightened her posture and took a deep breath, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

***

The forest had become a world of shadows and whispers, the night deepening with each mile they covered. Moonlight spilled in silvery patches, barely enough to light the rough trail that snaked through the trees. For more than an hour, the cart creaked and swayed along the path, its wheels occasionally snagging on roots and rocks. In the back, her parents slept soundly, pressed close together beneath the tattered cloak. Their soft, even breathing was a quiet comfort to Clara, but she dared not relax. She gripped the reins more firmly, blinking hard to fight the pull of sleep. Every rustle of leaves, every sigh of the wind seemed to echo in the heavy silence around her. The darkness felt endless, but she refused to let herself slip under. Leaning forward slightly, she scanned the path ahead — a barely-there thread of lighter earth winding deeper into the forest’s heart. Her jaw tightened as she urged the old horse on, each step drawing them closer to freedom.

Clara glanced back at her parents, relieved to see them deep in a peaceful sleep.

“Sweet dreams,” she whispered, careful not to wake them, then turned her eyes forward again.

The horse, also wearied from the long journey, snorted in irritation, showing its desire to stop and rest. Clara glanced at her companion with concern.

“You’re tired too, aren’t you, my dear?” she asked softly, stroking his neck affectionately. The horse snorted again, as is to confirm her guess.

“I think we could use a little rest,” Clara suggested, a touch of uncertainty in her voice. She found a spot near a large, spreading tree and carefully dismounted. The brunette knew that in the nighttime forest, one had to stay alert; darkness concealed not only them, but any potential dangers as well.

Deciding to keep watch, Clara settled by the tree’s roots, her eyes cautiously scanning the shadows. She was determined to stay awake all night, guarding her family until her father could take over at dawn. The weary horse rested its muzzle on the soft grass, eyes closed as it savored the quiet at last, while Clara stayed alert, watching the darkness with care.

Yet even the strongest resolve can falter. At last, Clara, who had fought sleep with every fiber of her being, surrendered. She leaned her cheek against the rough bark of the ancient tree, its coarse texture grounding her as her eyelids grew heavy. Her deep brown eyes fluttered shut, the world softening around her until drowsiness cradled her gently, pulling her into a quiet, undisturbed slumber — a brief refuge from the turmoil that awaited.

In the embrace of her dreams, Clara’s smile softened into a look of pure contentment. A warm, glowing sun bathed the landscape in light, painting her family’s new home in gentle hues of gold. Tall, white curtains fluttered at the windows, catching the morning breeze like dancers at dawn. Her mother stood on the porch, a bouquet of daisies in her hand. The laughter in her eyes erased the memory of worry. A few steps away, beneath the boughs of a wide apple tree heavy with bright crimson fruit, Clara’s father leaned over an old horse, his calloused hands brushing the animals’ mane with quiet affection. His smile radiated a simple pride and peace that had once seemed impossible. Overhead, the sky spread out like an endless canvas of blue, free of any shadows. Clara felt the warmth of that light on her skin, the embrace of a world where no one judged them, where freedom finally belonged to them. Her heart swelled with the hope that his dream might one day be their reality.

Suddenly, the world around Clara dissolved into shadows. She frowned and tossed her head, trying to push away the vision. Her parents appeared before her, their faces contorted in terror, only to be swallowed by a raging fire. A scream — her mother’s — rang out, chilling her to the bone. Panic seized her, but she couldn’t wake. The nightmare’s grip held tight, forcing Clara to watch as her parents vanished in the flames. She cried out, powerless to save them, her voice lost in the darkness.

A chorus of unfamiliar voices sliced through the silence, pulling Clara from her sleep with a start. Groggy and disoriented, she blinked against the blur of her surroundings. But soon her gaze sharpened, and she spotted Travis, his hand wrapped around the horse’s reins, yanking it close. The poor animal strained away, only to be met with a swift, stinging strike from a thin, whiplike rod.

“What are you doing?” Clara’s voice came out rough, still thick with sleep. She scrambled to her feet, eyes darting wildly until they settled on the empty cart — and her heart tightened seeing her parents held by Travis’s guards.

“And what do you think it looks like?” Travis sneered, shoving the tired horse toward the guards. “Take this one to the slaughterhouse, and drag those two off.”

The guard immediately headed for the village, and panic slammed into Clara.

“Wait!” she shouted, lunging forward, but Travis yanked her wrist hard, his grip bruising and cruel. Pain shot through her arm as she struggled.

“Quit struggling!” he barked, fingers digging into her skin. “You’re only making it worse.”

Tears welled up in Clara’s brown eyes, but she fought to keep them from falling, biting her lip to hold back the sobs.

“What do you want? Just leave us alone!” she said, voice shaking but defiant.

“Leave you?” the young man sneered, pulling her closer with a cruel grip. “They tried to run. Now they’re gonna pay for it. Rules are rules — no one gets a pass. They deserve every damn bit of it!”

“I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” Clara’s voice cracked, tears welling up. “I’m just trying to help my parents. I can’t watch them suffer like this and do nothing.”

But Travis didn’t falter. He kept walking steadily toward the village, holding Clara close to make sure she couldn’t slip away. Panic rose in her chest like a heavy, suffocating fog, snuffing out every hopeful thought. She looked at her parents — helpless, humiliated — and felt her heart crack. They didn’t deserve this.

She shot Travis a desperate look, hoping for even a flicker of mercy. But his eyes were cold and his smirk made her skin crawl.

Then Travis halted in the middle of the square, while his guards bound her parents to the posts.

“These people have broken the law!” he declared, his voice carrying through the air as a small crowd began to gather.

Clara’s heart dropped as she heard the hushed voices, the cruel things they were saying about her parents. Her eyes met the librarian’s — his face was full of regret, and it made her heart ache. She couldn’t stand the shame, the judgment. Summoning every ounce of strength, she swung her fist at Travis’s face. Then she ran, placing herself between her parents and the guards, shielding them with her trembling body.

“Please, don’t hurt them! We just want to leave, please! My parents haven’t done anything wrong,” Clara pleaded, her voice thin and shaky as tears pricked her eyes.

But before she could say another word, pain shot through her wrist — Travis’s hand clamped down hard, bruising her skin.

“How dare you put a hand on me!” he growled, his face dark with rage. His breath came in harsh, uneven gasps, and the cords in his neck bulged, throbbing with anger.

The villagers, drawn by the noise, gathered in a tight circle around them. Soft whispers spread like poison — blaming Clara for the trouble that had fallen on the Millers. Quiet murmurs floated through the crowd, full of spite: Charles — the reckless fool — and Evelina, whose choice had doomed them both.

Travis’s grip snapped tighter. In one swift motion, he yanked Clara down. The air whooshed out of her lungs as she crashed onto the hard ground. Her palms stung, scraped raw by the rough dirt and jagged stones biting into her skin.

Clara gasped sharply, biting back a cry as she lifted her head, her blurred vision swimming with tears. Before she could react, rough hands seized her elbows, their grip firm and unyielding, biting into her skin. The guards yanked her up harshly and forced her down onto her knees.

Travis’s lips curled into a cold, cruel smile as he slowly unsheathed his sword. The blade shimmered in the moonlight, sharp and threatening. With slow, purposeful steps, he moved closer to Clara’s parents, his menace clear in every motion. The night pressed down with a heavy, suffocating silence, fear clinging to every shadow in Clara’s mind. Her heart thudded dull and hollow, breath ragged and shallow, swallowed by a rising wave of panic. She reached out, desperate to move forward — but the guards held her tight.

“No! Stop!” Her voice cracked, raw and desperate, but Travis didn’t even hesitate.

The villagers stood in stunned silence, their faces pale and eyes wide with disbelief. Some shook their heads slowly, murmuring that Clara’s desperate cries were pointless, while others looked away, unable to bear the sight of impending tragedy. Ignoring the sorrow pressing down on the crowd, Travis dragged Evelina roughly toward the center. The woman’s fragile frame trembled violently, her fingers digging into the dirt as if trying to hold herself together.

“Her death,” he hissed, his voice cold as the sword’s tip traced a chilling line along Evelina’s throat, “will stain your conscience forever.”

Clara’s voice broke like a fragile thread, barely audible through her sobs:

“Please… don’t… let them go…”

Tears slipped steadily down Clara’s cheeks, falling onto the cracked, thirsty ground. She swallowed hard, biting her lip to choke back a sob. The ache in her chest twisted deep, but it was the sight of Travis’s hand that stole her breath.

The blade hesitated, trembling for a heartbeat — then a sharp, bloody line seared across Evelina’s pale skin.

Evelina stifled a quiet scream as her body gave out, collapsing onto the ground. Blood gushed from the deep slash on her neck, dark and relentless, soaking through her worn-out clothes. Crimson beads slid down her pale skin, marking the ragged fabric with sharp stains. A few drops splattered onto the dry earth, spreading over the parched grass and pooling in a small, sticky patch. Clara’s cry tore through the night — filled with anguish.

Charles, still fastened to the post, wept uncontrollably. Guilt weighed heavy on him, blaming his own frailty for their downfall and the broken law. His shoulders trembled violently, his limp frame hanging helplessly against the ropes.

“You’re a heartless beast!” Clara hissed, her voice trembling with anger and pain. Aiming to cut Travis as sharply as he had hurt her.

But he only sneered, stepping closer with eyes full of cruel amusement.

“You think words like scare me? You’re nothing but a weak girl clinging to foolish hope.”

Clara curled her lip in disgust and caught sight of the guards closing to her father. Her brown eyes grew wide with fear as her father’s desperate cries for mercy reached her ears. The guards roughly tossed a cloak over Charles’s head and dragged him toward the waiting carriage.

“He wanted so badly to get into the Forbidden Forest, so he went and broke the rules. Guess I just made sure he got exactly what he wished for,” Travis said, nodding to the men who hoisted Charles and threw him into the carriage.

Clara stood rooted in shock, horror freezing her as the guards climbed abroad. The carriage groaned to life and swallowed her father into the night.

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice trembled and caught in her dry throat.

Her tear-blurred brown eyes locked onto Travis’s cold, unreadable face. Her chest rose and fell in uneven gasps, each breath heavy with despair.

“What are you trying to prove?!” she shouted, voice cracking into a broken sob.

Travis sneered, curling his lip.

“You’re just a pain,” he said, turning away without a second thought.

Clara wasn’t surprised. Her shoulders sagged, and a shaky breath escaped before she finally let the tears fall. A numbness spread through her, dulling even the weight of the harsh stares around her.

“Get rid of it,” Travis said casually, nodding toward Evelina’s dead body.

The guards acted quickly, lifting the still figure and slipping into the shadows. The crowd began to scatter. Some threw Clara soft, sorrowful glances, while most looked away, unable to face the grim scene lingering in the air.

Tears traced quiet paths down her face, blending with the dust on her pale cheeks. Her heart throbbed with a sorrow so deep it felt endless. Still, Clara’s gaze lingered on the dark blood seeping into the dry earth beneath her. If not for the elderly librarian — who’d been gently but firmly pulling her back to the present for the past few minutes — Clara might have stayed there, rooted beside the cold, dark stain.

“Come on, dear… stand up…” the old man urged softly, rubbing her shoulders.

The brunette’s eyes shimmered with tears, her lip quivering as a wave of panic threatened to spill over. The old man’s heart softened, and sensing she needed room to break down, he pulled her close in a steady embrace, offering his shoulder as a refuge for her grief.

Clara clung to him, her sobs erupting like those of a frightened child.

“I… I only… wanted to do what was right…” she whispered, voice trembling as she searched for an explanation.

The old man gently brushed her hair back, his touch slow and comforting, silently acknowledging the weight she bore. He said nothing — knowing no words could soften the ache within her. Clara shook with sobs, overwhelmed by the tide of her feelings. Her tender heart, still untouched by harsh realities, struggled beneath the unbearable heaviness — a burden she could no longer escape.

***

Brooding clouds smothered the village, leaving it in perpetual dusk for two long days. The sky, heavy and oppressive, seemed unwilling to yield even a glimmer of light. Rain fell with an unrelenting rhythm, drumming on rooftops and rattling old panes, each drop deepening the village’s gloom. Under this wearying downpour, the villagers muttered and complained, unable to lift themselves from the sodden darkness that clung to every corner.

It felt as though the sky itself had chosen to share Clara’s sorrow, shedding tears for her when she could no longer weep. Beyond the window, rain lashed against the glass in relentless sheets, while inside, a heavy, aching stillness filled. Clara sat hunched at the small wooden table in the narrow kitchen, her brown eyes red and puffy from crying, staring at nothing at all. She seemed suspended in time, disconnected from the world around her. Her thoughts were a hollow echo, mirroring the emptiness in her stomach — a stomach that hadn’t known even a crumb to soothe its ache.

Clara’s thoughts tangled like thorns around the image of that final moment, refusing to fade. It had become a stain on her soul — her mother’s eyes wide with pain, a deep red wound marking the end of everything. Even now, the phantom scent of iron filled her nose, and she found herself reaching for a hand that would never reach back. And her father — taken like a sack of grain, tossed into the carriage with no ceremony, no goodbye. The world had stolen them both, leaving her to pick up the pieces of a life that no longer made sense.

The door creaked open, a faint sliver of light slipping through the crack. In the doorway stood the elderly librarian, his eyes filled with worry. With a trembling hand, he knocked twice on the squeaky wooden door, hoping to rouse Clara from her daze.

“Clara?” he called, his voice hoarse.

At the sound of her name, Clara blinked slowly and let out a heavy sigh.

The old man frowned, his thick gray eyebrows pulling together. He eased into the room, the floorboards creaking quietly under his steps. Sitting down beside Clara, he leaned in, trying to make sense of her tear-streaked face.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked softly, then sat back straight.

He slowly took in the room — a thick silence hung everywhere, mixed with the smell of old dust. It felt like the walls had soaked up too much pain, and even the dim light outside couldn’t push it away.

At his question, Clara lifted her haunted eyes to him.

“I went to Travis. I begged him for my mother’s body…” Her voice cracked, the last words barely a whisper. Her lower lip trembled slightly.

A single tear traced down Clara’s cheek, but she wiped it away quickly with the back of her hand, avoiding his gaze.

“He said… he’ll burn her…” she whispered, barely audible. “He said my mother doesn’t deserve a funeral…” She broke down again, sobs shaking her body.

William rose quietly and stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Clara gasped, trembling as she fought to hold back the flood of tears — but they kept falling, burning her skin. And her heart… her heart shattered, bleeding silently inside.

In this village, only the chief held the power to decide what happened to the dead. If he deemed someone unworthy of memory, their body was simply thrown into the fire. Clara could still remember that night — how she had begged Travis to give her her mother’s body back. But he refused without a word, and right before her eyes, he commanded the body to be burned with rest on the day of the luck hunt.

“You have to get out of here,” the voice came softly but with steady resolve. “They could come for you any minute. Pull yourself together and go. There’s a town at the far edge of the Western Forest.”

“A town?” she whispered, voice cracked.

“Yes,” the old man said gently, offering a small, warm smile. “There, you can start over. The town has a library, more books than even I have. You’ll be free to study, find work, and live on your own terms.”

Clara sat, shoulders slumped, her thin fingers clenched tightly in her lap, trembling.

“You could really be happy there,” he added quietly, almost like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

“Leave?” Clara’s frown deepened as she pulled away. “Grandpa, do you really think I can just walk away? Be happy after everything that’s happened?”

“Clara…” he began, but she cut him off.

“What if dad’s still alive? What if he’s waiting for me?”

“You don’t have anything left here,” he said firmly.

Her brown eyes, sharp with confusion and defiance, met the librarian’s steady gaze.

“My father is still alive,” Clara said firmly, refusing to look away. “He’s alive — he didn’t die!” she repeated, clenching her fists tight.

“Clara, he’s in the Forbidden Forest. The chances he made it out are zero.”

“Don’t say that,” she snapped, struggling to keep her voice calm. “You weren’t there. You don’t know.”

“But what if you don’t come back?” William’s voice cracked with worry. “What if you die out there, and neither of you return?”

“I won’t know unless I try.”

The old man sighed, shoulders heavy with weariness. He knew there was no changing her mind. Clara would do anything for her family, even if hope was slim. Her father was all she had left.

“Alright,” he said, stepping closer. “Promise me you’ll come back. And take only what you need.”

Clara’s eyes softened, a small smile curving her lips. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I promise, Grandpa…” she whispered. “I’ll come back safe… and I’ll bring Dad with me. But…” She pulled back, her face serious. “I’m only coming back to say goodbye. I can’t stay here.”

The old man held her gaze, then nodded.

“I know,” he said quietly. “And I understand.”

The old librarian turned and walked away, the door creaking shut behind him. Clara stood still, watching as the rain swallowed him from sight.

“Well,” she muttered, glancing around the room. “No point in waiting till night. I’m leaving now.”

Clara didn’t plan on taking much — every extra ounce could slow her down, and the journey ahead was dangerous enough.

She counted her arrows carefully — only twenty left. The bow seemed sturdy, so she slung it over shoulder. A few minutes later, she stood at the table, double-checking her gear.

“Quiver, arrows, bow,” she murmured, her eyes scanning each item. “Rope, apples — one, two, three. All here. Cloak, water jug…” She opened the lid to make sure it was full. “Looks like that’s everything,” she whispered, giving her belongings one last look.

Shouts and curses exploded beyond the door, and Clara rushed to the window, trying to make sense of the chaos. Villagers streamed toward her house, their faces contorted with anger and suspicion.

Her brown eyes darted anxiously from one face to another, panic rising. She snatched her bag and swept everything from the table into it, hands unsteady but quick. There was no time to waste.

“Witch!” a voice thundered from the street, like a death sentence.

Clara slung her quiver and bag over one shoulder, grabbed her cloak, and dashed up the stairs to her room, skipping steps in her hurry. At the window, she threw it open and leaned out, her eyes sweeping the ground below.

The drop didn’t seem too high. Taking a steadying breath, she swung herself onto the still and leapt. She didn’t land gracefully — her knees hit the earth hard, sending a sharp sting through her legs. The hem of her beige dress caught on a rock and ripped.

“Damn it,” she muttered, brushing dirt from her palms and smudging her clothes.

Clara wrapped the long edge of her cloak tightly around her bag, then carefully slipped off her quiver and bow. Pulling the cloak over her head, she let the fabric fall across her face, casting it in shadow. She then slung the quiver and bow back over the cloak.

“Where is the witch?” a harsh voice demanded.

The villagers crowded at the doorstep, their faces tense, eyes searching. Clara crouched low in the shadows, heart pounding, holding her breath — desperate not to be seen.

Travis pulled the door handle silently, surprised at how easily it yielded. He stepped into the small room, frowning as his eyes swept across the sparse space.

“The witch got away?” a voice called from the doorway.

“Find her!” Travis barked, striding briskly out of the modest house.

As Travis and his men closed in behind, Clara stood trembling at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles ached, and she bit her lower lip to quiet the anxious knot twisting in her chest. She had never dared to enter the forest — her knowledge of it came only from the librarian’s wary stories.

At the edge of the village, fog rolled in like a thick, ghostly wall, wrapping the ground and trees in cold, clammy grip. A strange chill crawled down Clara’s spine, prickling her skin with goosebumps.

“All right,” she whispered, taking a breath. “For dad,” she added, easing the tension from her shoulders.

Closing her eyes, Clara summoned her courage and stepped into the unknown, though the unease still clung to her like a shadow. Unseen, Travis and the villagers lingered behind, watching in silence.

“Should we follow her?” a young man asked quietly, stepping closer to Travis.

Shaking his head, Travis answered calmly. “The witch is exactly where she belongs. No need to worry. She won’t be back.”

CHAPTER 5: LEFT OR RIGHT?

Clara’s eyelids fluttered open, her head throbbing with a pain she couldn’t name. A low groan slipped from her lips as she pressed her fingers to her temples, hoping to ease the relentless pounding. Slowly, the sharp ache dulled to a persistent throb at the base of her skull she drew a steadying breath, opened her eyes fully — and her worries dissolved. Before her stretched a wondrous, unfamiliar world, unlike anything she had ever seen.

The path beneath Clara’s feet wasn’t the familiar green she knew — it gleamed with a dazzling emerald light, sparkling like a bed of precious jewels. She squinted against the radiant glow. Looking up, towering crimson roses arched overhead, their fiery petals stretching like flames licking the sky. The sight was both mesmerizing and overwhelming. To her left, a vast field of daisies spread wide — each snowy white petal and golden center emitting a soft, gentle light that brightened the entire landscape.

Clara couldn’t believe her eyes. Her lips parted in silent awe, her heart pounding fiercely as blood rushed through her veins like never before. She stood frozen, captivated by the magical sight, struggling to trust what she saw.

A soft crackle broke the forest’s stillness, making Clara spin around. Before her stood a deer unlike any she’d seen — its coat shimmering icy blue, glowing with ethereal light. Tiny, nearly invisible stars flickered around its body. Its antlers, deep blue and curved like ancient crowns, held her gaze. Its eyes, dark as night, reflected fear and curiosity — mirroring her own. The creature stood frozen, wary but brave.

“Hey…” Clara whispered, barely daring to breathe as she edged closer, drawn by wonder.

But the deer trembled and vanished, slipping away so fast Clara wondered if she’d imagined it.

“All right…” Clara sighed, tightening her grip on the bow. “It’s not so scary here… just a… magical forest…”

But as she stepped forward, a strange, haunting sound drifted to her ears, sending a chill down her spine.

No matter how beautiful, the melody carried a deep sadness Clara couldn’t ignore. Drawn by an irresistible urge, she sought the source behind it. With each passing moment, the music tightened its grip on her mind, pushing everything else aside. Slowly, Clara deeper into the forest, chasing the haunting tune. After a few moments, Clara spotted a figure among the towering crimson roses — a woman seated at a transparent piano that shimmered with every shade of winter’s light. Her icy blue fingers barely brushed the keys, wrists moving with effortless grace. Lost in her music, the woman’s skin was pale blue like ice, sparkling like fresh snow. Her royal blue hair was pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, revealing a slender neck and fragile shoulders. She wore a long, pristine white gown that flowed elegantly — sleeveless, with an open back, emphasizing her ethereal grace.

Mesmerized, Clara couldn’t look away as the stranger’s tears fell onto the glassy piano keys, each drop coaxing gentle, sorrowful notes.

Suddenly, the moment shattered. Clara stepped on a small bush and jumped back as a tiny blue creature darted from the leaves. The rustle of emerald grass broke the ice maiden’s melody, and she froze, eyes sharp and watchful on Clara.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Clara said softly, stepping forward with a quiet apology.

But the woman sprang up and vanished swiftly, slipping away in the opposite direction.

Unwilling to let the enigmatic woman vanish without a trace, Clara dashed after her. The stranger gripping the hem of her white gown, raced ahead, her movements a blur of ethereal grace. She halted abruptly, confronted by a magnificent deer crowned with regal blue antlers. With the fluidity, the woman mounted the creature, casting a final look at Clara. Her delicate hand caressed the deer’s mane before they both melted into the shadows of the forest.

Clara stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief. The clearing now felt emptier than ever, the air heavy with the lingering echoes of the mystery that had just unfolded. She ran a trembling hand through her tangled hair, her heart pounding like a war drum.

“Did I imagine that?” she whispered, half-laughing to hide the tremor in her voice. She fidgeted with the hem of her cloak, scanning the otherworldly forest that felt both too quiet and too alive.

Clara crept closer to the towering rose, her breath caught in her throat. With a trembling hand, she traced her fingers along its thick, thorny stem. But the instant her skin brushed the plant, its enormous leaves shuddered, then whipped out and struck her arm with a sudden, sharp blow. Clara recoiled, wincing as crimson scratches bloomed across her skin.

“Are you of the human kind?” a sharp female voice demanded.

Panic surged through Clara’s chest, making her stumble backward. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she lifted her gaze — and froze. Before her, towering above the forest floor, was an unimaginable sight: a massive rose, its petals thick and velvet-smooth, parting to reveal a human-like face emerging from its core. The blend of plant and person was so surreal, so eerily beautiful, that Clara’s mind struggled to accept it.

“Lost your tongue?” the Rose demanded, its voice a sharp, thorny whisper tinged with impatience.

Clara shook her head quickly, her voice caught in her throat, unable to form even a single word. The Rose let out a dismissive huff, giving her a long, appraising look before slowly adjusting its stern. Clara exhaled shakily, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She opened her mouth to speak—

— but an irritable voice sliced through the air from the other side.

“Must you be so loud?”

Startled, the brunette flinched and turned toward the sound. A towering white daisy loomed before her, its face hidden deep within its golden center.

“Me?” Clara asked uncertainly, pointing a finger at herself. But as she squinted, she realized the Daisy wasn’t even looking at her — its eyes were locked on the Rose, narrowed in anger.

“Say that to yourself!” the Rose snapped, its petals trembling with fury. “You probably lured the human here, and now there’s an outsider in our territory!”

“Human?” The Daisy’s head drooped as if stunned. Only then did she turn her gaze to Clara. “Is this a human?”

Steeling herself, Clara managed a small measured smile. She cleared her throat and spoke softly but firmly, her voice slicing through the sudden hush among the flowers.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” she said evenly. “I’m Clara Miller.”

With grace, she lifted the hem of her dress and dipped into a polite curtsy.

Clara’s mind raced — Am I actually talking to magical flowers? The thrill was real, but so was the knot tightening in her chest over her missing father. Taking a breath, she softened her voice and called out, “Lady Rose?”

The Rose bent slightly, and Clara took a cautious step back and hurried on, “My father’s gone missing. The village guards brought him here. I need to find him. Do you — Oh!”

Before she could finish, something light brushed against her ankle. She gasped and looked down. Two tiny creatures peered up at her, eyes bright and unblinking.

Before Clara stood two diminutive beings with disproportionately large heads perched atop their slight bodies. Their limbs were short and fine, and around their torsos fluttered gossamer fins, so delicate they resembled the wings of a dream. Small, curling horns — like a fragile diadem unraveling into soft spirals — adorned their heads. Their ears. Reminiscent of butterfly wings, framed faces whose eyes — dark as a starless night — glistened with an inquisitive glow as they gazed upon the girl. One of the creatures was the color of summer sky, its skin peppered with tiny, rounded bumps. The other glowed a gentle pink, adorned with graceful white markings. Both shimmered faintly, their hues shifting like living gemstones in the light.

“What are you?” the brunette asked, inclining her head slightly, her smile warm and inviting.

The creature mirrored her gesture, then darted behind the stem of a rose with swift grace.

“So, what was it you wanted to ask us?” the Rose prompted, her petals curling in curiosity.

“Oh, right,” Clara stammed, suddenly remembering. “I wanted to know if any of you have seen my father.”

“Your father?” the flowers echoed, leaning in as one.

“Yes. my dad,” Clara said, raising her hand to show his approximate height. “He’s a little taller than me.”

“Does he have short petals?” the Daisy asked.

“Petals?” Clara blinked. “You mean… hair?” she clarified with a half-smile. “Yes, his hair is short.”

“And what color is it?” the Rose leaned in closer, eyes bright.

“Um… well, human color,” Clara faltered. “Dark brown mostly, but turning white in places.”

“Oooh!” the Daisy squeaked, her petals quivering with excitement. “Dark brown! So rare!”

The Rose leaned in, narrowing her eyes. “And what does he smell like?”

“Smell?” Clara’s brow furrowed. “Um… soap, sometimes coffee.”

“Coffee flower!” the Daisy clapped her leaves. “So exotic!”

“And his… leaves — uh, arms? Arms,” another daisy piped up. “Are they… long or short?”

“Normal human arms,” the brunette said, exasperated.

“And how many stems does he have?” the Rose asked, determined.

“Stems?” Clara nearly groaned. She raked a hand through her hair. “One! Just one stem! I mean — One body!”

The Daisy gave a disappointed sigh. “How boring…”

Clara let out a frustrated breath. “Okay, that’s enough… Please, just answer my question… Have any of you seen him or not?”

The flowers seemed to pause in quiet contemplation, exchanging silent glances as if weighing their thoughts. Amid the gentle stillness, two tiny creatures suddenly darted back to Clara, twirling joyfully around her. She bent down tenderly, and they responded with soft affection — nuzzling her hand and brushing their delicate bodies gently against her skin.

“I wonder what kind of creatures you truly are…” Clara whispered, her lips curved in curious wonder.

She stroked the pink one with a light touch while the blue creature continued its graceful dance nearby.

“Did you see him, or not?” Clara asked, her eyes lifting with hopeful anticipation.

Without waiting for a reply, she sank fully to her knees, feeling the cool, velvet grass beneath her.

“Did you see him, or not?” she repeated, leaning in.

The Daisy was the first to giggle.

“It depends on who you’re talking about.”

“My father,” Clara said hesitantly.

The Rose let out a sigh, leaning forward as if to address a particularly clueless child. “My dear, you’re asking the wrong question.”

“Exactly, exactly!” the Daisy chimed in, bouncing excitedly. “The question should be: Were we even looking in the right direction at the right time when a man who could be called a father happened to pass by?”

“..What?” Clara blinked, trying to keep up.

“You’re too straightforward,” the Rose scolded, shaking her petals disapprovingly.

“Okay, hold on,” Clara said, raising a hand to pause the conversation that was spiraling out of control. “Just tell me this: did you see a tall man, with short… petals?“she added, grimacing a bit as she forced the word out.

“Oh, we saw lots of men,” the Daisy said with a mischievous twinkle.

“Too many,” the Rose sighed, as if remembering something particularly tragic.

“One wore a magnificent green robe,” the Daisy continued, voice dreamy.

“And another had a hat so ridiculous I nearly withered from the horror,” the Rose added dramatically.

“And there was one who tried to speak in poetry, but his rhymes were so awful I thought I’d drop dead on the spot,” the Daisy put in with a theatrical shudder.

Clara let out a long sign rubbing her temples.

“All right, let’s try this again — just a yes or no: did you see a man who looked like the one I described?”

The Rose and Daisy exchanged puzzled looks.

“Well, let’s see…” Daisy began.

“Maybe,” Rose said thoughtfully.

“Then again, maybe not…”

“It’s hard to say.”

“But, one of the lumistars might have seen him,” Daisy added suddenly, brightening.

Clara set aside the growing urge to hit herself with something.

“Lumi… what?”

“Lumistars,” Daisy exclaimed. “Those little cuties twirling around you!”

Clara glanced at the two tiny creatures that had been by her side the whole time.

“So, that’s what they’re called,” she murmured, rising from the emerald grass.

“You’re lucky they’ve taken a liking to you,” the Rose said with a knowing nod.

“They’re choosy,” the Daisy added.

Clara sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

“You know what,” she said abruptly, cutting off any more of their banter, “I think I’d better just go and find my dad myself.” She straightened her posture, steeling herself for the search ahead. “No offense, but I don’t have time to waste.”

“Where are you doing?” the Rose asked, curiosity glinting in her voice.

“Forward, I suppose,” Clara shrugged. “I hardly have a choice but to keep moving.”

“But there is no path forward,” Rose said softly, her calm tone catching Clara off guard.

“What do you mean, there is no path?” Clara turned to her, brows furrowed. “There’s always a way forward.”

“You really don’t know where you are, do you?” Rose’s petals trembled as she regarded the brunette closely.

“I think I know where I am, but…” she hesitated, her voice faltering. “Could you just — explain it to me?”

“You’re in the Garden of Lumirona,” Daisy called out from a cluster of blossoms.

“The what garden?”

“The Garden of Lumirona,” Rose echoed.

“Oh God…” Clara muttered, dragging her hands down her face. “So I’m not in the Forbidden Forest? Or is this… is this part of it? Where am I supposed to go now?”

“Oh, why worry?” Daisy chirped, her petals rustling with excitement. “You can go right or left. Or left and then right! Or right and left! So many choices!”

Clara stared at her. “What? Are you mocking me? How can I go both right and left at the same time?”

“Well,” Daisy said, swaying slightly, “you could go left first, and then if you change your mind, nothing stops you from going right after. It’s so freeing!”

“Freeing?” Clara groaned, exasperated. “I need to find my father, not wander in circles.”

“Then go wherever your heart leads you~” Daisy sang. “If you go left but decide to go right — ”

“I got it!” Clara cut her off sharply. She let out a heavy sigh and fixed a hard stare at the flowers. “Look. This is my first time here. I don’t know the rules. I just want to find my dad. If you’ve seen him, tell me where he is, and if not — just help me figure out how to start looking for him.”

The flowers bent toward one another, murmuring among themselves. A hush fell.

“You can always go right, if you’re tired of left,” Daisy mused, twirling a petal.

“Usually, fathers head left in this garden.” Rose gave a solemn nod.

Clara’s shoulders slumped, her head heavy with frustration. These flowers are useless, she thought, gritting her teeth. Absolutely useless.

She clenched her fists, ready to push forward on her own. “I can’t waste any more time.”

As the flowers shifted from gentle murmurs to heated arguments, Clara seized the moment to search for her father. But where could she go? No path lay open to her except the one leading back to the village — a place she had no desire to return to.

Lost in thoughts, she made up her mind, trusting her instincts, and set her course toward the field of daisies.

Daisies seem less treacherous than roses, she thought, as if to reassure herself.

Clara walked slowly, her eyes tracing every daisy she passed. She noticed something strange — the flowers seemed to get smaller the farther she went, almost as if they were shrinking step by step. After what felt like hours, she finally found herself standing among daisies that looked just like ones back home, familiar in their size.

“This place is starting to scare me,” she whispered, casting a quick glance over her shoulder, and looked forward.

The emerald path in front of her had vanished, swallowed up by an endless stretch of wild grass. The blades were bright and fresh, but not a single flower dared to bloom. Far off in the distance, towering columns rose, and as Clara edged closer, a weathered wooden sign came into view.

“The Garden of Lumirona,” she read aloud.

Clara wished she had her notebook with her. She wanted to write everything down — call it The journey of Clara Miller. She held her bag tighter, a little thrill mixed with the nervousness in her chest.

Then she smiled, just a little. Maybe this place is too special to tell anyone about, she thought, her smile fading as she moved on.

The tall grass reached her waist, rustling with each step. She moved through the field, arms slightly outstretched, feeling the space around her. A light breeze tangled in her hair, carrying the scent of fresh grass. The ground under her boots was firm but gave just enough to remind her it was alive. Each step felt like stepping into a different life — one without the constant noise of her village. Here, silence wrapped around her, steady and calm. She never thought freedom could feel this real. The cool air sent a shiver through her, but Clara didn’t hurry to shield herself. This moment was too precious to miss.

“If only mom and dad could see this…” she whispered. Her voice barely carried the silence.

Suddenly, she felt something soft brush her leg. It was the blue lumistar.

“Have you been following me like a shadow?” Clara laughed, crouching down to pet it.

A second lumistar, the pink one, floated in from behind.

She looked at them both, an idea sparkling. “Do you want to come with me?” she asked, even though she didn’t really expect an answer.

To her surprise, they both nodded, hopping in place and flicking their butterfly-like ears.

“Oh!” she gasped, grinning. “Well then, I guess I should give you names.”

Clara turned to the blue one first. “You’ll be Zoey.” Then she pointed at the pink one “And you’ll be Lily. That way, I can talk to you properly.” She paused, smiling at the two creatures. “By the way, I’m Clara.”

The little creatures watched her quietly, their butterfly-like ears twitching now and then.

“Well, you’re not exactly chatterboxes,” Clara said with a soft laugh, standing up.

“Alright then,” she said, hands on her hips, voice a little brighter. “Let’s figure out what to do next, and how to find my dad.”

She scanned the endless field ahead.

“Any ideas on how to get out of here?” she asked, but only the wind answered.

Clara smiled to herself and glanced at the lumistars. “Okay, let’s just keep moving forward. The field had to end eventually.” And with that, she stepped ahead.

A wide field stretched out before them, fading into the bluish haze of the horizon. Silence surrounded them, broken only by the soft sway of grass in a gentle breeze. Clara’s footsteps were the only other sound.

Time lost meaning as they kept walking. Slowly, Zoey and Lily began to lag behind.

“Don’t worry, we’ll reach… something soon,” Clara said, trying to encourage them, though their tired eyes begged for a break.

Hours passed, slow and unchanging. Now Clara carried Lily in her arms.

“We’re almost there,” she whispered to herself. “No one said this would be easy.”

Another hour went by. Zoey now rested on her back, the extra weight pulling at every part of her.

“I’m so… tired…” she murmured, feeling her strength slip away.

She stopped and took a deep breath, closing her eyes, hoping a moment’s rest might help.

“Get down, you’re too heavy,” she sighed, still eyes closed.

The lumistars jumped down quietly as Clara sank to her knees, worn out.

“It feels like we’ve been walking forever,” she whispered.

“Yeah, it does feel that way,” came a voice behind her, making her freeze.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her trembling.

“I’m the Guardian,” replied a soft, calm voice — a woman’s voice.

Clara turned slowly, rising to face the speaker.

Standing before her was a girl who looked like a living statue, every feature sculpted with impossible precision. She radiated a presence both divine and fragile — a goddess carved in marble. Yet cracks ran along her body, some so deep they had opened into gaps, from which small, glowing yellow flowers bloomed.

The Guardian regarded Clara with eyes that revealed nothing.

“And who are you?” she asked, her voice so quiet that Clara had to lean in to catch her words.

“I… I’m Clara,” she replied, still dazed. “You said you’re a Guardian?”

“Yes,” the girl answered simply. “I am the Guardian of this field.”

“Is this place… magical, too?” Clara asked, astonished.

“This is the Field of Frozen Time,” the Guardian explained. “It’s also a portal to other worlds.”

“And that’s why I can’t leave?” the brunette pressed, desperation creeping into her voice.

“It’s impossible. No matter where you walk, you’ll always return to the same place.”

Clara glanced around, letting the words sink in. Her eyes landed on the sign that read “The Garden of Lumirona.”

“All this time… I’ve just been standing still?” she asked, her voice trembling in disbelief.

“Yes,” the Guardian confirmed/

Clara blinked, struggling to process it.

“So… I’m stuck here? Forever?”

“Maybe.”

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Clara let out a sigh and drooped her shoulders. She looked around: the endless field, the sky without a sun, the grass still in the wind.

She turned back to the Guardian and took a deep breath. “Will you help me get out of here?”

“That depends on where you want to go,” the Guardian said, her head tilting slightly.

“I don’t know exactly,” Clara admitted. “I just want to find my dad.”

“Then I can’t help you.”

“Why not?”

“How can I help you if you don’t know where you need to go?”

Clara frowned and stepped closer. “I need to find him. I want to find him.”

“Then go to your father,” the Guardian replied.

“But I don’t know where he is,” Clara insisted.

“Neither do I.”

Clara’s hands clenched at her sides. She forced herself to breathe, to stay calm. After a moment she looked up and asked, “Can you at least find out where he is?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on…” Clara started pacing, frustration bubbling up. “There has to be a way. If this is a portal, then I should be able to go somewhere, right?”

“Yes,” the Guardian said simply.

“Then open a portal to wherever my dad is.”

“You don’t know where he is.”

“So what?”

“If you don’t know where he is, how can I open a portal there?”

Clara ran her fingers through her hair and kept pacing, her boots scuffing the ground.

No, this won’t do. At this rate, I’ll never find my father, she thought. The brunette glanced at the Guardian, then straightened, raising her hand.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she said firmly, pointing at the girl. Then she turned to Zoey and Lily. “Come with me.”

The hem of her dress brushed the grass as she ran toward the sign. The air thickened with the scent of daisies, and Clara found herself surrounded by white petals once more. She slowed as she reached the mist from which she’d first arrived.

“This is where I started,” she murmured, glancing around.

She stared at the tall, drooping roses, then shut her eyes. Her shoulders trembled. After a moment, she took a deep breath.

“How can I get out of here?” she called, her voice echoing.

The flowers stood utterly still — no rustle, not the faintest stir. Clara frowned, her lashes flattering as she blinked rapidly.

A moment ago they were chattering nonstop, and now they’re silent…

“What am I supposed to do now?” Clara muttered, glancing at the lumistars. Doubt gnawed at her.

She scanned the surroundings, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

“If there’s nothing there, then there’s nothing to fear,” she whispered, more to herself than to Zoey and Lily, who walked beside her.

The farther Clara went, the darker the path became. The air turned stale; colors dulled, and the flowers thinned until they vanished completely.

“I don’t like this…” she muttered, coming to a halt.

Ahead, the ground lay scorched and dry, lifeless as if rain hadn’t touched it for years. A foul, rotting stench drifted from the shadows.

“Oh God…” Clara grimaced, raising her hand to cover her nose.

The smell was thick and musty, clinging to everything, turning each breath into a struggle. Clara hated what she saw — and what she smelled.

“I hope you’re alive, Dad…” she whispered, stepping cautiously forward.

The stench grew heavier with every step, a dull ache rising behind her eyes.

Just hope there aren’t any beasts here… The thought flickered uneasily in her mind.

Only then did the full weight of it settle on Clara: she was deep within the heart of Forbidden Forest — steeped in dark legends, a place from which no one who entered ever returned. How had she never considered the wild beasts lurking in the shadows? What if the same fate awaited her? What if the forest hid something far worse — something too terrible to name? The foul stench was the first warning.

“But I can’t turn back,” she whispered, panic rising like a swelling tide. “Dad is still here…”

Despite the rising panic, Clara pressed onward. Her heart thudded faintly, as if desperate to break free and flee. Anything to escape the suffocating silence ahead. The air hung dry and still. Then, before her, a narrow crevice appeared — the mouth of a cave, its depths swallowed by impenetrable darkness. Clara swallowed hard, tightening her grip on her bag and the leather strap of her quiver.

“Dad..?” she whispered, voice trembling.

No sound answered her. Only Zoey’s and Lily’s eyes turned toward Clara, wide with silent confusion. They couldn’t understand why she would step into that soul-frightening abyss when every instinct screamed to run. Closing her eyes, Clara took a steadying breath, willing the trembling to subside. She slipped her bag from her shoulders, setting it gently on the dry earth: an unnecessary weight if she needed to flee. Gripping her bow tighter, she nocked an arrow and pulled back the string with practiced ease.

“Well,” she whispered, staring into the impenetrable shadow ahead. “Let’s go.”

One step. Then another. Though the crevice still lay some distance away, unease crawled through her veins, and goosebumps prickled her skin.

The lumistars, who had watched with wary eyes until then, suddenly bolted away. Their footsteps faded into the eerie silence of the forest — if it could even be called that. Clara tensed. If even these creatures fled, she knew she was about to face a true danger. And with all her heart, she wished to meet nothing — no one — there.

Clara took a deep breath and stepped forward. A few cautious steps brought her to the entrance. Squinting, she spotted a narrow stone staircase winding down into darkness. The top steps caught faint light; beyond that, only shadow.

“I hope this isn’t the road to the underworld…” she murmured, bracing herself to enter.

Clara barely had time to react before a sudden tug on her cloak yanked her backward. The breath was knocked from her lungs, and a sharp pain tightened around her throat. She crashed to the ground with a dull thud that echoed through the silence. Her face contorted in a grimace as she clutched her aching back, teeth drenched tight.

“Damn it…”

Before she could push herself up, a small weight landed on her knees. She looked down to see Lily, the pink lumistar, blinking up at her with innocent eyes.

“Lily..?” Clara frowned. “Did you push me?” She hardly expected a response, but Lily nodded cheerfully, a spark of pride in her mischief. Zoey quickly joined them, casting a worried glance toward Clara.

The girl rose slowly, brushing dust from her palms, her eyes shifting between the lumistars, the ominous cave entrance, and the bow lying a few feet away.

“You don’t want me to go in there?” she asked softly, pointing a tentative finger toward the dark maw.

The lumistars shook their heads in unison, their butterfly-like ears twitching as if to emphasize their silent warning.

“But what if my father is in there?” Clara squinted, arching a brow with a touch of disbelief. “Have you thought about that?”

The little creatures exchanged uncertain glances and shook their heads once more.

“So… you haven’t thought about it? Or are you sure he’s not there?” The brunette’s lips curled into a faint, rueful smile. “Honestly, I don’t understand you.”

Clara let out a tired breath and stooped to grab her bow, her hand trembling just a bit. She kept her gaze on the ground, her voice barely a whisper. “I guess I still have to check,” she said, mostly to herself.

Before she could even straighten up, Zoey and Lily perked up, their small bodies tense with worry. They darted around her legs, their faint flow flickering like anxious fireflies.

“Hey, what’s — » Clara started, but her words caught in her throat as Zoey sprang at her, paws pressing hard on her.

“Zoey, what are you…”

Lily darted in from the side, her small teeth catching the hem of Clara’s dress.

“Hey, hey, hold on!” the brunette exhaled, staring at the little ones in surprise.

The lumistars didn’t let up. Zoey pushed against her, steady and insistent, while Lily scrambled up her leg, grabbing at the wristband of Clara’s dress to haul herself into her arms.

“Oh, God…” Clara breathed out, struggling to keep her balance under the sudden weight.

Lily wrapped her tiny paws around Clara’s shoulders and pressed close, her little teeth tugging on a stray strand of hair, pulling it down just enough to make Clara wince.

“Seriously, you’re like a sack of bricks,” Clara muttered through clenched teeth, sinking to her knees to keep from dropping Lily.

Her back ached beneath the weight of the small creature, but Clara pressed a gentle palm against its fragile spine. With her other hand, she quietly untangled the tiny paws caught in her hair.

“All right, that’s enough. I’m not going in there — happy now?” Clara snapped, casting Zoey a sharp glance as she carefully set Lily down.

She sighed heavily, bending to retrieve her bag and quiver from the dusty ground. The soft click of arrows brushing together broke the silence. Then, resolute yet weary, she stepped away from the dry path. The lumistars, clearly pleased with themselves, bounced happily alongside Clara, exchanging quick glances and soft chirps. Clara rolled her eyes, but the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

These little ones are surprisingly entertaining… Maybe I should keep them close.

With that thought, she stepped onto the wide emerald path where it had all begun.

Now that the tight grip of anxiety had loosened, Clara’s eyes swept over her surroundings with fresh clarity. Nestled among the towering flowers were musical instruments — each crafted from ice or some other delicate, shimmering material that caught the soft light.

A guitar lay nearby, its strings as fine and fragile as spider silk. Close by, a harp stretched skyward, its frame etched with golden patterns that glowed faintly. Further along, a harpsichord radiated a gentle, ethereal light, while a frost-covered flute shimmered with a tender blue glow. Resting on a small stone was a lithophone, its smooth plates gleaming like polished ice.

They must love music here… Clara thought, a flicker of curiosity stirring within her. The memory of a girl playing a sorrowful melody on a beautiful piano echoed faintly in her mind.

Clara lifted her head, her eyes flickering first to the Daisies, then shifting to the Roses. The flowers stayed silent, still and unmoving as before, and for a moment, Clara wondered if the whole strange conversation had been nothing more than a trick of her mind.

“Let’s not waste time,” she whispered to herself, stepping toward the Roses.

I hope there’s something useful here…

But how wrong she was, moments later finding herself once again in an endless field.

“What kind of infinite loop is this?!” Clara exclaimed, frustration tightening her voice.

“It is an endless field,” the Guardian appeared suddenly.

“Yeah, I kind of guessed that.”

“Very well.”

Clara let out a sharp, convulsive sigh, threw her hands up toward the sky, and groaned in defeat.

“That’s it. I give up. I’ll just build myself a hut out of grass and stay here forever.”

“That is possible.”

“I was being sarcastic!”

She dropped to the ground, exhaustion pressing down on her like a weight.

“So… what now?” she murmured, almost too quietly to be heard.

The Guardian’s voice came gently but clearly. “Decide where you want to go.”

Without hesitation, Clara’s reply was firm. “Somewhere with water.”

“Very well.”

The Guardian closed her eyes, and the yellow flowers began to glow with a radiant light, their soft luminescence swirling gently on the breeze. In an instant, a majestic circle of golden light blossomed around Clara, encasing her in a warm, shimmering embrace.

“Good luck,” she said softly as Clara felt herself falling, the world slipping away beneath her.

Her bag slipped from her shoulder, landing with a dull thud on the ground.

CHAPTER 6: FAIRIES

Clara tumbled into the abyss, her entire body seized by a cold, paralyzing terror. A scream tore from her throat, shattering the silence and ricocheting off unseen walls as she plunged endlessly downward. Wind clawed at her hair, its icy fingers whipping her face. Her heart slammed so hard in her chest she thought it might burst, each frantic beat echoing like a drum of despair. Two lumistars circled her, their bodies aglow in the half-light. Slowly, her scream ebbed into a hoarse whisper. Confusion crept in — she wasn’t shattering on the ground; she was just… falling. The panic began to melt away, leaving a gnawing sense of wonder. Tentatively, Clara forced her eyes open.

Golden and blue hues shimmered on the walls around her, weaving a tapestry of light that danced and shifted with an otherworldly grace. It was breathtakingly beautiful — and impossibly strange.

This shouldn’t feel so calm, she thought, her mind swirling with questions.

“Are we falling endlessly?” Surprise flickered in her eyes, her voice edged with a wry humor that only half-masked the anxiety beneath. “How much longer do we — ”

Suddenly, her breath caught. A cold shock slammed through her body — a brutal impact with water. The liquid enveloped her in an instant, dragging her under with a violent splash that ripped the air from her lungs. Terror blazed anew as she struggled to hold her breath, but the water forced its way in, bitter and sharp, searing her chest with burning pain. Every cell in her body fought to expel the invasive fluid, but the instinct to breathe only intensified, like a vice around her ribs. She thrashed blindly, her limbs flailing in the murky depths, gasping for something solid. Waves buffeted her from every direction, disorienting and spinning her in a darkness that pressed like an iron weight. She was utterly adrift, powerless.

She was drowning.

Her head spun, her eyelids heavy and fluttering from exhaustion, only to snap open again with a desperate will to survive. She strained to catch even the faintest glimmer of light — any sign of salvation. Her body convulsed in a panicked, clumsy fight against the relentless water, but every movement felt sluggish, every muscle uncoordinated. The water pressed in from all sides, a merciless force that offered no chance to breathe, no mercy to her desperation.

A wave seized her nearly unconscious body, lifting her in a series of unsteady, desperate thrusts. Clara felt the water pressing against her, urging her upward — a slow, disoriented realization breaking through the fog of confusion: she was rising. She forced her eyes open, her vision blurring as murky shadows and flashes of light danced before her. The waves grew stronger, their force undeniable, pushing her higher and higher. Then, with a gasp — raw and ragged with pain and relief — Clara burst through the surface. Water streamed from her face, her hair plastered in heavy strands against her skin. She gulped at the air, coughing and retching the liquid from her throat. Her lungs burned, but at last, blessed oxygen filled them, driving the panic back, if only for a moment.

“Who are you?!” demanded a voice — authoritative and unyielding, cutting through the ragged rhythm of Clara’s breathing.

It was a woman’s voice, harsh and unfamiliar, yet already wearing on Clara’s nerves.

“Whoever I am,” she rasped, between coughs that racked her chest and spatters of water from her lips, “just let me catch my breath — then ask whatever you want…” She rolled her eyes, eyelids heavy with exhaustion, and let them fall shut.

The ground beneath her was unyielding, jagged stones pressing into her back, their sharp edges biting cruelly into her skin. Each breath felt like it scraped against her ribs, but at least she was breathing.

“Don’t you dare to be rude!” the stranger snapped, her voice sharp and cutting.

Clara groaned, irritation surging through her like a wave.

“Just leave me alone,” she muttered, her voice low and rough. “I’ve had enough of this magical world already.”

She hadn’t expected the reaction that followed. Gasps of disbelief rose around her, followed by a chorus of reproachful whispers.

“You’re one of the Banshees?!”

“Who?!” Clara asked, blinking in confusion.

The brunette rolled over and pushed herself up to her knees, ignoring the pain from the sharp rocks pressing into her skin. Her eyes widened as she took in her surroundings: a cavern vast and majestic, its walls adorned with patterns of sea-foam green that shifted and shimmered. High above, a round opening let in a single shaft of sunlight that bathed the chamber in a pale glow. Beneath her, jagged black stones jutted from the ground, forming a rough path that led toward a brilliant, snow-white temple.

Clusters of figures — neither fully human nor entirely other — gathered near the temple’s entrance.

“Who are you?” the brunette asked softly, her voice trembling with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Before her stood water fairies — soldiers of this world. They encircled the temple, gripping battle spears, eyes sharp with distrust. The nearest fairy stepped forward, closing the distance to the still-stunned Clara.

The fairy was breathtaking — her skin a soft, ocean-washed blue, as if kissed by the waves themselves. Her black hair, braided intricately, tumbled down her back, woven through with delicate silver threads that caught the light with every subtle movement. Her eyes shone like golden treasures hidden beneath the sea’s depths. Graceful, wave-like patterns traced from her shoulders down to her arms, flowing seamlessly across her skin. Around her wrists, thin bracelets made of tiny seashells glimmered faintly. She wore a garment light as a seafoam, strands of seaweed woven through airy layers that draped gently over her form. In her hands, she held a long battle spear, glowing with a golden light — as if carved from pure sunlit gold.

Leaning forward, spear poised, she repeated her question, voice firm and unyielding:

“Who are you?”

“I…” Clara began, but the words caught in her throat, hesitation freezing her in place.

This new world seemed far more beautiful than the Garden of Lumirona, but its charm had all but vanished in the face of danger.

“If you don’t answer, I’ll kill you,” the fairy warned, her voice calm yet sharp as a blade. The spear’s tip glinted coldly in the soft light, close enough that Clara felt the brush of its power on her skin.

A tremor ran down her spine: her life hung by a thread. Panic threatened to seize her tongue, but she fought to steady herself. Rising unsteadily to her feet, she felt the stones crunch beneath her boots, every sound painfully loud.

“I’m Clara,” she began, brushing wet strands of hair from her face. “I’m from a village nearby, and — ”

“You’re sure you’re not one of the Banshees?” the fairy interrupted, her eyes narrowing.

“I – I don’t even know what that is!” Clara stammered, the fear thick in her chest. “I just need to find my father. I’ll leave as soon as I do, I swear!”

Around her, other fairies emerged — ethereal yet watchful. The beauty of the world blurred with the threat that loomed from every side, and Clara felt fear and awe twisting within her, every breath a fragile truce between life and death.

“Who are you?” Clara asked quietly.

“We are water fairies of Mirissia,” replied the fairy nearest to her, her golden eyes gleaming beneath delicate braids of black and silver.

“Water… fairies..?” Clara echoed in surprise. “I… I always imagined fairies differently…”

But the confused almost suspicious expressions that fitted across their faces made her heart skip a beat. Hastily, she added, her voice brightening with forced cheer:

“I mean — » she fumbled, “you’re far more beautiful than I ever thought fairies could be.” A nervous smile played on her lips.

Best not to anger them, she thought, hoping her compliment might ease the tension that crackled in the air.

The fairies began to close in around Clara, their graceful movements as fluid and silent as the sea.

“Come with us,” ordered the one who had first spoken, her golden eyes cold and unyielding.

Clara obeyed without hesitation, though every step felt like treading on thin ice. A chill emanated from these beings — unseen yet tangible, a cold that sank deep into her bones. She knew, with a certainty that turned her blood to ice, that they could destroy her with a single breath if she dared to resist.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, weak in the heavy silence that surrounded them.

In response, the lead fairy cast her a cold stare that cut deeper than any blade.

These fairies are scarier that Travis’s guards, Clara thought, tension tighter and tighter inside her.

When they reached the white temple, Clara’s focus was drawn — almost against her will — to the walls, where grotesque grimaces of fear were carved into the stone. Shadows danced among the twisted faces, and for a moment, she felt as though the very air in the temple breathed dread.

Grim

“Stand here,” ordered one of the fairies, her voice sharp and cold. She pointed to the center of the hall, and Clara moved to obey, planting herself in the center of the vast black circle etched into the floor, every step echoing ominously in the silence.

A sudden flash memory surged — a similar circle, like the one the Garden had conjured. A cold fear gripped her chest. What if this was another trap? What if she was dragged underwater again or thrown into an even darker, more terrifying realm?

Fairies were unpredictable, and Clara wasn’t prepared for any more surprises.

“Wait!” the brunette called out, eyes locked on the fairies as they began closing the circle around her. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. Please — I just need to get out of here and find my father. I swear, I’ll leave after that. You won’t have to see me again.”

The silence was broken by a sharp voice.

“And why should we believe a word you say?”

Clara’s breath caught in her throat as she stepped back — only to bump into something she couldn’t see. Panic flared, the fairies stared at her, their eyes unfeeling.

“I… I don’t know how to prove it,” she said, voice trembling. “I swear, I don’t want anything from you. Please…” She struggled to find the right words. “I just want to find my father. I didn’t mean to come here.”

“There are no accidents,” one of the fairies said, her voice low and mocking.

“W – wait!”

Before Clara could react, the fairies slammed their arrows to the ground. A low hum filled the air, and darkness blurred the edges of her vision until she felt herself falling — like sinking into an icy sea.

***

“She’s been sleeping for quite some time. You didn’t kill her, did you?”

“No, Commander.”

The water fairy watched as her Commander studied Clara with a cold, unwavering stare. The brunette lay on the damp dungeon floor, her body tense, struggling to piece her sense together.

“You may go,” the Fairy Commander said, just as Clara’s eyelids fluttered open.

The water fairy bowed and departed in silence, leaving the two of them alone.

“Who are you?” Clara asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Everything around her seemed to sway and blur.

Her body was too weak to lift her head, the hunger and exhaustion making her limbs heavy and her mind slow.

“You may call me Tora,” the stranger replied calmly.

She stood completely still, her long black hair cascading her shoulders. Behind her, silvery, half-transparent wings shimmered faintly. Her eyes — black as a moonless night, so different from the amber of fairies — watched the brunette without blinking.

Clara squeezed her eyes shut, shivering on the cold, damp floor. The air hung with moisture, wrapping her in a clammy chill. Yet somewhere beneath that cold, a curious warmth spread through her, as if she were submerged underwater, still somehow able to breath.

Everything felt unreal, but Clara’s exhaustion dulled her and scattered her thoughts.

“Where am I?” she whispered, voice shaking.

“You’re in the underwater prison, Clara,” Tora said, a faint smile playing on her lips. “You should eat something first. You won’t find your father on an empty stomach.”

Dizziness spun in Clara’s head, but she pushed herself up.

“How do you know?”

“In the underwater prison, everything about you is known,” Tora replied softly.

“And even that time you hit a boy when you were a kid,” a sudden voice echoed.

Clara’s eyes darted around, panic rising — there was no one else in sight. Only Tora stood across the bars, watching her quietly.

“Who said that?” she asked, her voice unsteady, eyes locked on the fairy. “How do you know?”

“The souls of the other dead prisoners,” Tora replied calmly. “They see everything.”

“What?”

“Just by being here, they see through you. Every memory, even the ones you thought were lost. They remember things you’ve tried to forget. There’s no point in hiding anything.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Clara brows furrowed.

“Here, eat this,” Tora said, sliding a strip of seaweed through the small gap in the bars.

“You’re trying to poison me, aren’t you?” Clara stepped back, suspicion tightening her voice.

Tora tilted her head slightly, studying her with that same unreadable expression, as though Clara were an unusual insect rather than a person.

“If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing here talking.”

Clara froze. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes,” Tora said simply, extending the seaweed again.

Clara frowned, shifting her gaze from the fairy to the strange, dark green mass in her hands.

“I don’t eat…” She made a face. “…wet grass.”

“It’s not grass.”

“Oh, great, that makes me feel so much better.”

Tora blinked, clearly missing the sarcasm.

“These seaweeds will keep you nourished even without human food.”

“How’s that supposed to work?”

“Your body absorbs the energy from them. It’s an ancient gift from the depths.”

Clara eyes the stuff warily.

“Do they at least taste okay?”

“No,” Tora sighed, rolling her eyes.

Clara let out a heavy sigh and buried her face in her hands.

“Okay, okay. Hand it over. But if I eat this, you’ll let me go.”

Tora calmly smiled and held the seaweed out through the bars. Clara took it hesitantly, sniffed it — and instantly recoiled.

“Oh, no, no way. I can’t eat this. It smells like… like…”

“Seaweed,” Tora said, her tone flat.

Clara let out a sharp breath and pinched her nose.

“I’m gonna die, not from hunger, but from the smell.”

“Eat faster.”

Clara took a shaky breath and tore off a piece of the seaweed. The bitterness hit her tongue, and nausea rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back. She reminded herself that this was necessary — she had to be strong, for the one she needed to save. She forced herself to chew, eyes squeezed shut, the taste like salt and decay. When she finally managed to swallow, it felt like a stone sliding down her throat.

“Quit the drama,” the fairy said, rolling her eyes as she watched her.

“Easy for you to say,” Clara sighed, still feeling disgusted but noticing the dizziness fade. “Oh! I actually feel better now.” She looked at Tora more confidently. “You can let me go.”

“Let you go? No, I won’t,” Tora crossed her arms, eyes narrowing.

“But you promised,” Clara frowned, confused.

“Did I?” Tora smirked and stepped closer. “Or maybe you imagined that. I never said a word about letting you go. And I’m not releasing you until you explain why you came to Mirissia.”

“What?!” Clara exclaimed, shocked.

“Clara Miller,” the fairy began, “you said you just ‘accidentally’ stumbled into our world, looking for your father. You tried to act all innocent, but you brought weapons.” She tossed a quiver and a bow to the ground. A few arrows spilled out. “My fairies think you might be a banshe, but you have no shadow mark.”

Clara stared at her, stunned.

“Banshe? Who are they supposed to be?”

Tora didn’t answer right away. She tilted her head, studying Clara.

“You’re dodging the question,” the fairy said.

“Because I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Clara burst out, then quickly remembered that yelling at someone who had her locked in a cage wasn’t the best idea. “Look, I don’t know who these banshees are, or… whatever you want from… I’m just telling the truth: all I want is to find my dad.”

“You — » Tora began, but she was cut off by a sudden, loud ringing.

“What’s that sound?” Clara asked, lifting her gaze toward where the noise had come from.

Above them was water, and the brunette could see, though just barely, a watery, magical world.

“The banshees are here!” Tora shrieked, panic flashing across her face. With a burst of her transparent wings, she shot upward and vanished into the water.

“Hey! Wait! What about me?!” Clara called after her, but the fairy was already gone.

Panic clawed at Clara’s chest. “What am I supposed to do now?” she whispered, her mind racing. She froze as a sound — no, a series of heavy leaps — echoed closer with each beat of her heart.

“F-fairies? Is that you?” she called out, her voice trembling as her eyes darted around the cramped cell. But there was nothing — just damp air and rusty bars.

The leaps grew louder, thudding closer with a relentless rhythm, and Clara’s heart slammed in her chest. Two large shadows stretched across the wall, monstrous in their size.

That’s it. It’s all over. I’ll be dead soon, she thought, eyes squeezed shut, if it was the banshees — she’d heard enough to know she wouldn’t stand a chance.

Suddenly, something metallic clattered to the floor, ringing out with a sharp, clear chime. Clara blinked in confusion and opened her eyes.

“You?!” she breathed, hardly daring to believe what she saw. Two lumistars sat before her, tongues playfully sticking out, their bright eyes fixed on her.

“I almost forgot about you,” Clara said softly, a guilty smile tugging at her lips. Then her gaze fell on the silvery key resting in front of Zoey, and she let out a surprised sigh. “You’re incredible, little ones,” she murmured warmly, watching as the lumistars gently nudged the key toward her.

Leaning down, Clara took the key and began searching for the lock that would free her from the dungeon. She found it quickly and slipped her hand through the bars, working to unlock it as quietly as she could.

“You’re going to have trouble!” a loud voice thundered from the shadows, making her start.

“If you’d just shut up, there’d be no trouble,” she shot back, defiant.

“The Banshees will find you! They’ll ki — ”

“Let them!” Clara snapped, a fierce spark in her eyes as the lock clicked open.

Tugging at the rusty bars, Clara winced as the cell door squealed open with an unpleasant screech. Wasting no time, she quickly scooped up the fallen arrows and stuffed them into her quiver before grabbing her bow. Stepping into the corridor, she first looked to the right, where a soft light glowed. Then she turned to the left, where thick darkness loomed.

“Now what?” she muttered, glancing around.

Suddenly, Lily tugged at the hem of her dress, pointing toward the dark side — a direction that didn’t exactly inspire trust. But gathering her courage, Clara decided to follow the lumistars and headed that way, where the light slowly faded and the surroundings grew more and more ominous.

She tried not to rush so she wouldn’t lose sight of the little creatures, but soon everything went quiet, and darkness closed in around her. Clara could barely see a thing, and the faint glow didn’t reach her brown eyes, sending a shiver down her spine. She wandered in a place where every sound might mean something terrible.

“Lily, Zoey, where are you?” Clara whispered, her voice trembling at the thought of running into someone — or something — else.

The darkness thickened around her, pressing in like a living thing. But then the lumistars appeared, radiating a gentle glow that pierced the gloom. Zoey shone with a soft blue light, while Lily glowed a warm pink.

“I’m so glad you’re glowing,” Clara sighed with relief, feeling her anxiety begin to ease.

Her steps quickened, each one steadier than the last. The only source of light were Lily and Zoey, their glow illuminating the path ahead. But the air around her seemed to thin, slipping away like water through fingers. Clara’s breath grew ragged, her chest heaving painfully.

“There’s… not enough… air…” she rasped, her voice cracking as panic clawed at her throat. “Are… Are you… okay?” Her words were barely a whisper.

The lumistars stayed silent, their faces marked with confusion.

“I… I ate those… seaweeds…” Clara whispered, suddenly stopping.

Her gaze darted around, struggling to focus on the lumistars. But they had blurred into two faint points of light, swallowed by the encroaching void. Strength drained from her limbs, and her lungs felt unbearably heavy, as if filled with lead. Weak and trembling, she sank to the cold floor, her legs losing their last trace of willpower.

“Wait…” she whispered, unaware that the lumistars had already stopped, watching her with growing concern.

“I… I can’t breathe…” Clara managed to gasp, her eyelids fluttering as darkness crept over her vision.

Her body utterly drained of strength, finally gave way, and Clara began to fall. The gentle touches of Lily and Zoey, reaching out to support her, were barely felt. Around her, there was only dampness, cold moisture, and the suffocating absence of air. Her weakened form slumped against the damp wall, clutching desperately as her brown eyes fluttered shut. Ragged breaths struggled to escape through her cracked, half-open lips.

“Tora… call her…” the brunette whispered with her last fragile breath.

Eyes closed completely, and the girl slipped into unconsciousness, surrendering to the silent embrace of darkness.

***

Diving into the water, Tora scanned her surrounding, watching her fellow fairies dart

Swiftly through the depths, passing battle spears between them with practiced ease.

“Commander Tora!” one fairy called out, swimming up to her. “The banshees have attacked. There aren’t many, but three fairies are already wounded.”

The warning sent a jolt through Tora’s spine. Her eyes locked on the approaching creatures — hum bodies twisted with monstrous grimaces — closing in fast.

“Mia, watch out!” Tora shouted, sharply pushing the fairy aside. With a powerful strike, she landed a solid blow to one banshe’s face.

These banshees were nature’s cruelest mockery incarnate. Their grotesque faces twisted in expressions of torment and malice, inspiring horror and revulsion in all who dared meet their gaze. Their bodies, armored with jagged spikes like those of a venomous rose, harbored a deadly poison that repelled any creature foolish enough to come near. Their mottled gray skin, grimy and cracked, was a harsh affront to the eyes, as if the very earth had cursed them to walk in blight.

Banshees were impossible to defeat — fast, agile, and brutal. Merciless and emotionless, they knew every trick, closing in swiftly and never leaving their prey’s side for a single moment until their deadly purpose was fulfilled. Their immense size, skillful swimming, and mastery of lethal combat made them fearsome adversaries in the underwater realm.

Among vibrant corals, water fairies weaved gracefully, their movements fluid as they fought against the banshees — creatures whose shadowy forms melded seamlessly with the dark depths. Battle spears sliced through the water, their whistles composing a haunting, deadly melody that echoed through the submerged battlefield.

Tora moved quickly through the fairies, helping anyone who needed it. Her arrow flew straight and struck one of the banshees in the shoulder. The dark creature let out a fierce roar, but Tora was already rushing toward another fairy caught in trouble.

The battle raged on multiple fronts, the fairies fighting in coordinated groups. While one darted to dodge an attack, another aimed carefully and sent a spear, piercing an enemy’s heart at the perfect moment. Mirissia echoed with splashes, dull thuds, and banshees’ roars, the air thick with the fierce pulse of struggle. In one corner of the reef, a small band of fairies found themselves cut off, surrounded by dark, merciless creatures. Yet they fought with fearless resolve. A golden spear found its mark in a banshe’s eye, unleashing a blood-curdling scream that reverberated through the water. Tora surged forward toward the trapped group. Spotting a fairy cornered by the enemy, she lunged without hesitation. Her spear flew fast and true, plunging deep into the heart of darkness. But another banshe blocked her path, teeth clenched tight, Tora caught the thrown spear mid-air and, with savage swing, tore through the creature’s grotesque face.

Using her wings, Tora soared toward the majestic castle crafted from shimmering sea pearls. This enchanted stronghold belonged to Lord Evander, the sovereign ruler of Mirissia. Towering structures stretched skyward, guarded by countless sentinels — mermaids with long trails and tridents sharp enough to pierce any flesh with ease.

Yet, armed with the courage and determination of a true warrior, Tora slipped past the imposing gates and swam into the vast grand hall.

“Lord Evander!” she called out, her voice urgent as she rushed toward the tall, solemn figure who turned to face her.

Lord Evander was an imposing figure, his long hair shimmering with iridescent hues of pearl. His tail, tipped with fins of deep royal blue, gave him an air of regal authority. His muscular frame bore the scars of countless battles — each mark a testament to the endless struggles waged to protect his kingdom.

“Your Majesty, the banshees have attacked again,” Tora reported urgently. “Three of our fairies are wounded, and they won; t hold out much longer.”

The lord’s hoarse voice was heavy with concern as his gaze fixed on the window. “These creatures come more often than we feared. There must be something here they want.”

Beyond the glass, the battle raged — a brutal clash of banshees and fairies, chaos and fury tearing through the underwater realm.

“They’ve clearly found something… or someone,” Lord Evander murmured, his brow furrowing deeply.

A shiver ran through Tora as the thought struck her sharply: Clara might have escaped. Whatever she had done, it had drawn the banshees’ relentless hunt. The fairy nervously fluttered her wings, unsettled by the dark possibilities.

“Don’t worry, Tora,” the Lord said, sensing her tension. “Whatever happens, these banshees won’t linger here long. We’ll send them back to the shadows where they belong.”

“Still no word from the Princess?” Tora asked, her lips tightening as she searched his serious face.

“Nothing yet,” Lord Evander replied gravely. “The banshees might be attacking her more and more often.”

With a flick of his powerful tail, he crossed the throne room and paused before a large crystal that glowed softly beneath a thick glass shield.

“You’re going to use the crystal, aren’t you?” Tora asked, her voice heavy with dread as she watched him reach for the triangular stone.

Lord Evander’s sigh was low and burdened. “If Princess Delara doesn’t reclaim her rightful throne, we’re all doomed. This is the only way to hold the banshees off long enough to buy her a chance.” He turned toward the castle’s massive gates, the weight of his kingdom resting heavily on his broad shoulders.

Tora gazed sorrowfully through the enormous windows, her heart heavy as she watched the wounded fairies struggle desperately against the unending onslaught of banshees. The monsters’ numbers seemed to multiply without end, while the fairies’s resolve and strength ebbed away with every passing moment.

Lord Evander moved swiftly into the heart of the battlefield. Raising the crystal high above his head, he unleashed its ancient magic — a brilliant, searing light that repelled the banshees. The creatures recoiled in terror, their soulless eyes squeezed shut, forced to retreat into the darkness.

But even as the crystal’s light blazed, Tora could see it begin to wane. Its glow faded, and an anxious shiver passed through the ranks of fairies and mermaids alike.

“The crystal can’t keep up with these constant battles,” Tora whispered as she watched Lord Evander through the window.

Suddenly, the fairy heard footsteps echo behind her and spun sharply, her wings poised to strike.

“Guards?” Tora called out, her voice firm. But silence, et her ears. Her eyes narrowed, and she sank into a defensive stance, scanning the empty corridor for any sign of a banshe.

“Whoever you are, show yourself!” she demanded, her tone unyielding, every muscle tensed for battle.

But instead of the monstrous foes she’d expected, two small creatures darted into view.

Tora blinked in surprise, her brows knitting together.

“And who might you be?” she asked, her voice softening slightly as she studied the unfamiliar beings.

Curiosity overcame suspicion, and she crouched low, examining them closely. “Can you breathe underwater?” she inquired, tilting her head. The little ones simply stared up at her with wide, fascinated eyes.

“Do you understand me?” Tora continued, her tone gentle but watchful.

The throne room doors burst open with a thunderous crash, and the little ones instantly darted behind Tora.

“Commander Tora!” a mermaid’s firm voice cut through the air as she swam toward her. “Lord Evander had commanded you to search the area for intruders.”

“Understood,” Tora replied gravely, nodding before the mermaid turned and swam away.

Hidden behind a towering statue, the lumistars exchanged knowing glances. As soon as the mermaid departed, they hurried over, tugging at Tora’s wings.

“Don’t touch my wings!” Tora scolded sharply, eyeing the tiny creatures. “I don’t have time for games. I need to find that wretched girl!”

At her words, the lumistars nodded enthusiastically. Tora paused, scrutinizing them carefully.

“You know Clara?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. When they nodded again, she flapped her wings urgently. “Where is she?”

CHAPTER 7: STAY AWAY FROM DARKNESS

When Tora reached the dungeon, she was horrified to see the bars hanging open. A damp, seaweed-scented air hit her face.

“Where’d she run off to?” she muttered anxiously, scanning the lumistars, but they just drifted silently down the narrow, twisting corridor.

Scooping the little one into her arms, Tora gave a powerful flap of her wings and shot forward. The darkness grew thicker around her, and worry gnawed at her. Then, up ahead, she spotted Clara lying unconscious on the damp stone floor. Tiny fairies, their wings glimmering in the half-light, flitted around her like curious fireflies. They hovered, staring at the girl with wide-eyed wonder.

These little creatures were notorious for their gossip — if they found anything interesting, they’d spread it across the entire underwater realm in no time.

“Perfect,” Tora muttered under her breath, swatting them away. “Scram! And don’t you dare tell anyone about this,” she warned.

With startled squeaks, the fairies scattered in every direction.

“Clara?” Tora crouched down and laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.

No response. Clara lay still, her face pale and slack.

Tora let out a slow, tense breath, her eyes scanning the shadowy corridor for any sign of help — or way out. Nothing. Gritting her teeth, she carefully turned Clara onto her back, then gathered her into her arms, feeling the girl’s cold weight settle against her chest.

“Light the way,” she murmured, lifting her gaze to the lumistars that drifted overhead, their faint glow guiding her through the darkness.

Tora glanced down at the girl in her arms, her brow furrowing. “If I get in trouble for this, it’s all your fault,” she muttered. “And don’t you dare die on me. I’m not exactly great at hiding bodies, especially human ones.”

Her wings flexed as she moved down the corridor, the echo of her footsteps sharp against the damp stone. The darkness felt close, pressing in on her, but the path ahead turned out to be short. Soon enough, a faint glow signaled the exit, growing brighter with every step.

Beyond the exit, the vast underwater world of Mirissia stretched out in all directions, a kingdom of shifting blues and greens. Thora’s heart clenched as the truth hit her: Clara had collapsed because there was no air here. She’d suffocated.

Stepping through the exit, Tora slipped between the swaying corals, keeping to the shadows where the light couldn’t find her. Rumors traveled faster than currents down here — soon everyone would know about Clara. But right now, she had to avoid any accidental run-ins. The last thing she needed was to spark panic or chaos before she understood what was really going on.

Clara couldn’t be seen as just another threat like the banshees. Tora refused to let that happen. She wouldn’t jump to conclusions or act on guesswork. First, she needed answers — what was happening inside that girl’s mind — and only then would she decide what to do, guided by her own sense of what was right.

But deep down, Thora had already made up her mind — she would let Clara go. What she’d seen while the girl was unconscious shook her, stirring a mix of shock and pity. For the first time in ages, she felt a real respect for human determination — the kind of courage it took to step into the unknown just to save their only parent.

So, if even the smallest piece of her suspicion proved true, she’d set Clara free without hesitation.

The fairy broke the surface and rose smoothly into the air, her wings beating with steady rhythm as she glided over the jagged rocks. She made her way toward the white temple standing tall on the shore, but stopped before entering. Instead, Tora carefully set Clara down at the edge of the stone walkway, steadying her to keep her from slipping.

Once she was sure no one was near, the fairy delicately snipped a small fragment from her own wing. Zoey and Lily exchanged puzzled glances, silently trying to grasp what she was doing.

Tora cupped the tiny clipped fragment in her palm, watching as it slowly crumbled into a fine, shimmering dust. Concentrating, she loosened her fingers, letting the sparkling particles drift down onto Clara’s face. The dust flickered the instant it touched the girl’s skin, then melted in. Tora took a step back just as Clara gasped sharply, her eyes snapping open as if she’d been pulled free from a deep darkness.

“Where am I?” Clara’s voice cracked, eyes flicking up nervously to meet Tora’s sharp look.

“Cut the theatrics,” Tora snapped, a hint of impatience in her voice.

Clara blinked, swallowing hard, then looked around again, uncertain.

“I’m not… still in that prison, right?”

Tora crossed her arms, clearly annoyed. “No. You got out, then passed out. And now you’re just rambling.” She glanced at the brunette’s soaked clothes. “Look at yourself.”

Clara didn’t say anything. Tora just turned and walked toward the temple, leaving her sitting there with the lumistars around her.

Clara leaned closer to the creatures and whispered,

“Did you bring her to me?”

They all nodded together.

“What are they?” Tora asked, returning with a small bottle filled with milky liquid.

“Lumistars. The Daisy told me about them,” Clara said.

Tora glanced at the bottle, then passed it to her with a cool, detached expression. “Drink this.”

Clara hesitated. “What is it?” she asked, catching the faint annoyance in Tora’s sigh.

“Just drink it. It won’t kill you.”

Clara hesitated for a second, then took the glass vial with the milky liquid sloshing inside. She drew in a breath and drank it down in one quick gulp, emptying it. It tasted like nothing at all — no flavor, no smell, just a slight chill.

“That’s… weird,” she muttered, glancing at Tora. “I don’t feel any different.”

“Not yet,” the fairy said, her tone calm. “Give it a minute. You’ll feel stronger soon.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “Oh!” She stood up, looking at her now-dry clothes. “Hey, my clothes are dry!” She turned around to show off.

“That’s not the potion,” Tora said, lowering herself onto the jagged rocks and letting her legs dangle in the water. “Your clothes were soaked with Mirissia’s water. It just… returned where it came from.”

“The water left on its own?”

Tora just nodded.

Clara slowly edged closer, picking her way over the damp, jagged rocks. She settled down beside Tora, tucking her legs under her and smoothing the folds of her simple white dress.

“Alright,” Tora said, a smirk playing on her lips as she turned to face Clara. “I can see you’re itching to say something. Spit it out.”

Clara gave a small, hesitant smile, then exhaled deeply, as if releasing a weight from her chest.

“I… I need your help,” she said quietly.

Tora’s eyes narrowed, studying her. “Depends on what kind of help you’re talking about.”

“It’s about my father,” Clara went on. “I need to find him.”

Tora’s brow furrowed. “What’s he even doing here? Humans can’t survive in our world.”

Clara shrugged helplessly. “Some idiot dumped him here. Or maybe it wasn’t even here — I’m not sure. All I know is that I don’t know where to start. And that’s why I’m asking you.”

Tora pressed her lips together, her back stiffening as she let out a sigh that felt heavy.