The soil was wet with mist, and the air damp with dew.
Droplets of water rolled down the leaves of trees, dropping to the ground and forming small puddles of water.
Fallen leaves were crumpled under Micah's feet as she walked through the forest.
The morning was young, the sky still heavy with the pale hush of dawn.
Dew clung to every leaf and blade of grass, shimmering faintly as the first fingers of sunlight began to pierce through the canopy.
The forest was alive, yet quiet—a symphony of subtle sounds: the rustle of branches, the distant trill of a bird greeting the morning, and the soft whisper of wind weaving through the leaves.
Micah moved slowly through the pathless wood, her cloak trailing lightly against the damp earth.
The hem was already darkened by moisture, but she did not seem to mind. Her steps were graceful and deliberate—the kind of stride one took not out of haste, but reflection.
Around her neck hung a thin silver chain, the pendant glinting faintly each time the light caught it.
Her breath rose in small clouds, dissolving into the cold air. She drew the hood of her cloak tighter, though the chill did not truly bother her; she had known far greater discomforts in her life.
This solitude, this quiet, was something she sought.
Birds darted from tree to tree above, their wings flashing in fragments of color.
A doe, startled by the sound of her footsteps, lifted its head from a cluster of ferns. Micah paused, her gaze meeting the creature's large, unafraid eyes.
Then the doe turned and vanished into the mist, leaving behind a soft crackle of leaves.
She exhaled slowly, lowering her eyes. The forest had always reminded her of her childhood—before the crown, before the endless duties and the weight of expectation.
She remembered running barefoot through woods much like these, her laughter echoing against the trees. Now, that laughter lived only in her memory, replaced by quiet sighs and careful words spoken in courts filled with cunning faces.
She continued walking, her hand brushing against the rough bark of tall trees.
Somewhere in the distance, the sound of rushing water could be heard faintly.
She turned toward the sound, parting the tall grass as she walked. The water gleamed in broken light, clear as glass, running over smooth stones.
She knelt by the edge, her reflection wavering on the surface—the faint lines of fatigue beneath her eyes, the silver threads in her dark hair. For a moment, she studied her reflection in the water.
She dipped her fingers into the cold stream, feeling the rush of water flow around them. It was grounding—real. She smiled faintly, a small, wistful curve of her lips.
Then, lifting her head, she watched as sunlight began to spill more boldly through the forest.
Inhaling sharply, she slowly rose to her feet; grains of sand clung briefly to her dress before crumbling away.
Then, her gaze caught something in the distance. A fallen tree lay across her path, its once-proud trunk stretched along the ground, its roots still gripping the earth with desperate resolve. The sight halted her steps.
She stood there for a moment, staring. The image stirred something within—faint, but unmistakable. Her breath caught as recognition flickered through her eyes.
"This place…" she whispered under her breath.
Memories crept back—
From the fallen tree, she could finally see it….a narrow path winding through the forest, half-hidden by overgrown roots and wild grass. But she knew it. The sight struck her like a whisper from the past.
Her heart began to race.
That path led home.
For two long days, she had wandered through the wilderness, lost among towering pines and endless silence, believing she was far from everything she'd ever known.
Yet all along, her weary steps had been leading her back home.
A trembling breath escaped her lips. She hesitated, her fingers curling around the fabric of her dress as the wind stirred the trees. Was it fate… or mockery?
Still, she moved forward. Each step along the familiar trail quickened her pulse. She could almost see the outlines of the past—where the sun used to filter through the branches, where she once walked as a little girl, hand in hand with her father.
Soon, faint voices reached her ears, distant at first, like echoes carried by the wind.
She stopped, straining to listen. Laughter. The high, untroubled laughter of children.
For a moment, she thought it was a trick of her weary mind. But as she moved forward, the sound grew clearer, more alive.
The forest began to thin, the trees parting to reveal a wide, sunlit clearing.
Before her stretched a small village, humble and battered by time. Children ran barefoot through the dust, their laughter spilling into the air. Some chased after hens, while others crouched beside their fathers, scattering grain or stacking bundles of wood.
Smoke curled lazily from cracked chimneys. The scent of burning straw mingled with the sweetness of cooking herbs.
The village was small—almost like a secret community tucked away from the world.
Very few in Decreash even knew it existed. Hidden deep in the outskirts of town, it lay buried beneath layers of trees and time, forgotten by nobles and untouched by war.
It was a place where life moved quietly, where the people seemed to live outside the reach of the crown or the chaos beyond the forest.
It should have been a comforting sight—life, simple and unbroken—but her gaze was fixed on a single house at the edge of the village.
It stood apart from the rest, its walls darkened by years of neglect, its thatched roof sagging low as though it carried the weight of sorrow itself.
Among the small, weary homes, it was the most broken, the most forgotten—and yet something in her heart clenched as she looked at it.
She knew that house.
It was home.
As if moved by an invisible force, she began to walk—slow, unsteady steps dragging against the earth. Her breath hitched, her body heavy with something she could not name.
It felt as though the forest itself had faded away, leaving only her and the house that loomed ahead.
Her eyes, already clouding with tears, stayed fixed on it, that broken house, standing like a shadow of her past.
Each step brought a deeper ache to her chest, and though her mind screamed to stop, her body moved on.
At last, she reached the door.
Her hand trembled as she reached out, her fingers hovering over the rough, splintered wood. For a heartbeat, she hesitated—afraid of what waited beyond, afraid of what she might remember.
Then, slowly, she pushed it open.
The hinges groaned in protest, and the door creaked inward. It wasn't locked. The air that escaped was stale, carrying the faint scent of dust and forgotten years.
When she finally stepped inside, the silence pressed in on her. She paused, taking in everything around her.
Dust lay thick over the broken furniture, turning the room into a grave of forgotten years. The air was heavy with the scent of damp wood and decay.
Her gaze drifted upward—and there it was.
The familiar hole in the ceiling.
It stared back at her like a wound, wider now, its edges darkened and frayed, eroded by years of rain. Through it, a weak shaft of light spilled into the room, illuminating floating specks of dust that shimmered like ghosts in the air.
Then she lowered her head, her gaze drifting to the narrow door that led to the kitchen. For a moment she stood still, her hand brushing against the edge of the doorway, before she slowly began to move toward it.
The air grew heavier as she entered. The walls of the kitchen were blackened with soot, the ceiling scarred by years of smoke from fires long extinguished.
Dust-coated pots hung crookedly from rusted hooks, and a few pieces of cutlery lay scattered on the wooden counter—untouched, just as they had been left.
She trailed her fingers along the surface of the old table, leaving faint lines through the dust. Every detail, every shadow, carried the weight of what once was—meals cooked, voices that once filled the silence, laughter that now lived only in her memory.
In a sudden rush—a desperate need to see more, to remember more—she turned from the kitchen and scurried down the narrow passageway. Her steps echoed softly as she pushed open another door and slipped into a small, cramped room.
Her breath caught.
Her father's room.
The air here was colder.
Her eyes fell instantly on the bed, the old bamboo frame where her father had once lain for years, too weak to rise. The sheets were gone, but the imprint of his presence still lingered.
She took a hesitant step forward, then another, until she stood beside the bed.
Her throat tightened. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, trembling on the edge of release.
Hesitantly she crouched down and reached out for something under the bed; her hand traced the wooden floor under the baboon bed until it landed on something.
She slowly dragged it out, her hands struggling to have a firm grip. It was her father's cutlass. The blades were rusted and covered with dust.
Micah swallowed hard, a lump bubbling down her throat. She blinked her eyes rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to spill, but it was hopeless.
Just staring at the cutlass her father always took along with him whenever he wanted to go to the farm gave her so much pain. He was no more, and what was worse than that?
He died saving that ruthless man, who has caged her in the castle for more than a year now.
Her knees became weak, and she collapsed on the floor, still holding the cutlass with both her hands.
Life used to be so perfect, so predictable.
Yes! They were poor, nothing but petty farmers, but at least they were free and could make their own choices.
They didn't starve; when her father became bedridden, she took it upon herself. She toiled under the scorching sun, tilling the soil from sunrise to sunset.
Life was slowly becoming meaningful again, and then he came, that monster…Ragaleon Von Clegane.
His men brought down her father's farm to ruins!
Destroyed everything she had worked for before her very eyes, locked her up in the dungeon when she tried to beg him to release the farm.
Micah broke down, her body shaking as tears profusely trickled down her cheeks. She screamed, crying her heart out, her chest rising and falling.
If only she could turn the hands of time, maybe things would be different, but she couldn't.
What was left to do?
Give in to fate.
She will go somewhere far away and start her life all over.