Six years had passed since the day I was born in Fernstead Village.
The rice fields were golden again, the air was calm, and life had found its quiet rhythm.
But even peace, like the wind, can carry whispers that never fade.
After the fight with Edwin, things were never the same again.
I stopped talking much. I stopped laughing.
It was as if part of me had stayed behind in that rice field where we fought.
The scar on my face was nothing compared to the silence inside me.
The First Day of Village School
When I turned six, my parents told me I could finally attend the village school a small wooden house near the path that led toward the city.
It wasn't a big school like the one in Render City. Ours was simple: we learned how to read, write, and farm the things every child in Fernstead needed to know to survive.
The morning sun painted the rice fields gold as we walked together.
Anna was smiling brightly, holding Goru's hand.
Jack, Edwin, and Twilight ran ahead, laughing and shouting like they always did.
They all looked so happy.
And me?
I walked behind them quietly, dragging my feet in the dust.
Even when Anna turned and waved at me, I just smiled faintly and looked away.
At school, I sat by the window.
The teacher's words drifted past me like soft wind I heard, but didn't listen.
Anna tried to talk to me, whispering jokes and nudging my shoulder, but I didn't respond.
It wasn't that I didn't like them anymore.
I just didn't know how to fit into their laughter anymore.
When school ended, everyone ran together toward the fields, playing and shouting.
I went the other way back home.
I greeted no one. I said nothing.
Just went into my room, closed the door, and stared at the wall until sleep came.
The others kept living like nothing had changed.
But inside me, something had.
A Village Still Breathing
Seasons passed.
The rains came and went, washing the fields clean.
The rice grew tall again. The elders held their meetings, and people smiled in the streets.
Fernstead lived on peacefully or at least, it looked that way.
But peace can hide a lot of things.
And sometimes, the cracks in quiet places grow deeper when no one is looking.
The Talk at Night
One quiet evening, I heard my father's voice through the thin wall of our house.
He was talking to my mother again, his tone serious.
"The boy is six now," he said. "Why don't we have another child?"
At first, it was just words.
Then the voices rose, one after another.
My mother's voice trembled, my father's voice grew sharper.
The sound of dishes shaking. The floorboards creaking.
I curled up in my bed, pressing my hands over my ears.
Their voices scared me, even though I didn't understand all of it.
But soon, like always, it went quiet again.
And when I peeked out, I saw my mother crying and my father sitting beside her, apologizing softly.
He held her hand and laughed quietly.
I didn't know why, but the sound of that laugh felt strange like something I shouldn't have heard.
That night, their laughter grew louder behind the closed door.
I didn't understand what was happening. I only knew they said they wanted to make another baby.
So I just smiled and whispered,
"I hope it's a girl."
Two Mothers, Two Secrets
Months passed, and news spread fast:
My mother was pregnant.
So was Mrs. Gareth.
My father celebrated proudly, drinking and laughing with the other men in the village.
But not everyone was happy.
In the Gareth house, shouts and screams echoed through the night.
Mr. Gareth's voice thundered,
"You're pregnant? Every time I touch you, you turn away so tell me, who's the father?"
The whole village gathered outside their home.
Children clung to their mothers. The men stood quietly, unsure of what to do.
Mr. Gareth's face was red with anger, Mrs. Gareth was crying, clutching her stomach.
Then suddenly, he stopped shouting and turned toward the crowd.
"It's nothing!" he said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just a misunderstanding!"
He waved everyone away, but no one really believed him.
From that day on, something in the Gareth house changed.
Something none of us could understand but all of us could feel.
The Whisper in Fernstead
That night, as the wind moved through the rice fields, I stood outside and watched the fireflies rise over the water.
The village was quiet again, but it didn't feel peaceful anymore.
Even as a child, I could sense it
something heavy, something unseen, moving beneath the calm.
And though I didn't know it yet…
That night was the beginning of everything that would one day break Fernstead apart.