Chapter 103
Written by Bayzo Albion
Emerging from the archives, the chill of the basement gave way to the stuffy warmth of the main hall. The gold no longer jingled, safely ensconced in the bag's enchanted depths, yet I imagined every passerby could hear its phantom echo in my racing heartbeat.
I ascended the stairs slowly, my legs quivering—not from fatigue alone, but from the strange burden settling over me: I was wealthy now, but that wealth could easily become a noose around my neck.
In the upper hall, an unnatural hush reigned. As I stepped from the archway, dozens of eyes swiveled toward me. Adventurers hunched over maps, mugs, and plates, but all activity had frozen, their pretense of normalcy cracking under the weight of curiosity.
No one spoke. Even the distant scratch of quills fell silent.
I took a step forward, and that's when the whispers began—muted, like leaves rustling in a storm.
"It's him..."
"Seven thousand gold... from one run..."
"Watch yourself. He's got the Forest Queen's mark. Don't mess with him."
The words were clipped, laced with fear, as if uttering them aloud might summon my wrath. But I heard every syllable, each one piercing like a needle.
I felt their stares boring into me—a cocktail of envy, admiration, dread, greed, and reluctant reverence. Yet no one dared block my path.
I traversed the hall with a neutral expression, suppressing any flicker of triumph, pride, or anxiety. Inside, a grin threatened to break free—after all, I was rich beyond measure. But I clung to that ironclad rule: Wealth loves silence.
So I walked as if nothing extraordinary had transpired, merely adjusting the strap of my satchel, which concealed not just gold and armors, but the very secrets that defined me.
Wealth changes people. I'd witnessed it in my previous life among the living—in opulent palaces and humble merchant stalls alike. But I never imagined it would grip me so swiftly.
Merely tallying the sum in my bag sparked vivid temptations in my mind.
*Why rush?* a sly inner voice cooed. *You can afford real respite. Rent the finest suite not for a week, but a month. Summon feasts, fine wines, musicians, companions... Stop risking your neck; live comfortably. The gold's already yours.*
Strolling the bustling streets, that voice grew insistent. Every shop window, every signboard, every waft of sizzling meat seemed to bellow: *Spend! Indulge! Haven't you earned it?*
And perhaps I would have succumbed. My body was small, my spirit weary from blood, tears, agony, and terror. The allure of sinking into plush sheets and forgetting the world was intoxicating.
But then her image flashed before me: those piercing green eyes, claws hovering at my throat, her icy whisper echoing in my soul. The Forest Queen. She hadn't slain me—she'd marked me. To dissolve into luxury now would betray not just my mother's legacy and the bracelet's power, but the very miracle of my survival.
I halted in the middle of the square, oblivious to the jostling crowd haggling over fish prices and laughing at street performers. Clenching my fists, I felt the precipice: yield now, and I'd never climb back. Wealth would soften me, render me helpless.
No.
I pivoted sharply and marched toward the city gates, away from taverns and temptations, straight into the wilderness.
The seductive murmurs trailed me—promises of velvet wines, silken linens, alluring company. But as civilization faded behind, the voice dwindled to a whisper, then silence.
I fled as one escapes a blaze, knowing the true inferno raged not in the city or forest, but within my own heart.
Deeper and deeper I ventured until the familiar thicket embraced me with its chill hush. There it was—the glade I'd marked earlier: firm ground underfoot, a babbling brook nearby, towering trees standing sentinel like ancient guardians. No urban clamor here, only the wind sighing through branches and distant birdsong.
I paused, exhaling deeply. This place had been waiting for me.
A home… In paradise, I'd conjured them effortlessly—stone towers under eternal suns, grand halls born from whims. Creation had been as easy as breathing. Now, trapped in a child's body with only a skillet and a few knives, my ambitions were reduced to sticks, mud, and leaves.
I got to work. I drove long branches into the soil, tied crossbeams with tough grasses, packed mud into gaps, pressed moss into seams, and layered broad leaves for a roof.
Sweat stung my eyes, splinters bit into my hands, and my clothes tore at the knees. Still, I kept going.
By sunset, my "dwelling" stood finished: walls tilting, roof sagging, cracks everywhere. A downpour would drown it; a wolf could knock it over.
But it was mine.
I slumped at the entrance, wiped my brow, and stared at it—feeling a tight mix of bitter amusement and quiet sorrow.
"In paradise, I could've built palaces," I muttered aloud. "Here? A heap of mud and twigs."
Laughter bubbled up, raw and genuine, though edged with pain.
Yet something clicked within me. I wasn't lounging in urban splendor or illusory grandeur. I was in the wild, with a ramshackle shelter that was wholly my own. And that was enough to defy temptation's pull.
Rising, I brushed the bracelet on my wrist. Its glow responded with a faint tremor, warm against my skin.
"We start here," I whispered. "Small, but it's the first step."
I lingered at the threshold of my lopsided shack as the sun sank, the sky deepening to twilight indigo. Branches creaked softly, the leaf-thatched roof rustling in the breeze. Inside, the air was damp but offered a fragile sense of security.
"In paradise, palaces," I repeated with a wry chuckle. "Here, dirt and sticks."
The laugh faded abruptly, leaving a hollow quiet in my chest. Then, a single cold drop plummeted from the heavens, tracing a path down my cheek. I wiped it away absently.
But more followed—hundreds, then thousands.
Heavy and relentless, they pelted my face, shoulders, back. It felt as if the sky itself conspired to hammer home my isolation: *You are alone. Utterly alone.*
I tilted my head back, eyes closed, letting the rain cascade over me unchecked.
"Baroness... Siesta... Iris..." My voice cracked, dissolving into the downpour's roar. "I'll find my home too... don't worry about me... and forgive me."
The storm intensified, lashing like whips, seeping through clothes to chill my bones, drowning out breath and thought. With each torrent, it washed away not just grime and sweat, but the fading warmth of cherished memories. What remained was emptiness, cold, and an echoing silence.
I perched on a fallen log beside the shack, rain streaming down my face in rivulets. Time blurred—minutes bleeding into hours—as the forest murmured, whispered, dripped around me, distant and muffled, like sounds heard through thick glass.
My home loomed nearby—a sorry pile of branches, yet undeniably mine. As the deluge soaked me through, a quiet melancholy settled in, seeping slowly like water into parched soil.
Head bowed, I let the water flow unchecked, eyelids heavy, thoughts fragmenting, body numb to the chill and damp. The rain's steady rhythm lulled me, a forest lullaby, infinite and soothing.
Then—a faint stir.
Something brushed my shoulder from behind. Light, tentative... yet unmistakably foreign.
My heart plummeted. I froze, breath caught in my throat. A slender, icy hand—woven from shadow itself—reached forward, fingers curling into the fabric at my shoulder.
I didn't turn.
In that instant, the rain seemed to hush, the world contracting to that single, eerie touch.
A soft touch grazed my shoulder, warm and unexpected amid the icy downpour. I flinched, my body tensing instinctively, but then I froze. Slowly, I lifted my gaze.
There she stood—the Forest Queen. Her hair cascaded like woven leaves drenched in rain, flowing over her shoulders in shimmering waves. In her emerald eyes, I saw my own reflection: weary, adrift, utterly alone.
Words escaped me. She chose the moment for us.
She didn't speak at first. Instead, she lowered herself gracefully beside me and wrapped her arms around my trembling form, drawing me close. Her embrace was firm yet gentle, like branches shielding a fragile sapling from the storm's fury and prying eyes.
I buried my forehead against her shoulder, only then realizing how violently I was shaking.
"Shh..." Her voice was softer than a whisper, warmer than any flickering hearth. "Don't hold it in any longer."
I wanted to protest, to push back against the vulnerability, but the words dissolved before they could form. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I let go. Tears came unbidden—not from physical pain or terror, but from the gnawing void that had hollowed me out inside, from the crushing sense that I was too small, too insignificant for this vast, unforgiving world.
The rain pounded relentlessly on the makeshift roof of my pitiful shelter, but now it felt less like an adversary and more like a veil, muffling our presence from the outside. The Forest Queen stroked my back in slow, rhythmic motions, her touch wordless yet profoundly soothing, as if she were coaxing peace into an ancient, battle-scarred soul finally granted a moment's respite.
"Why... why did you come?" I rasped, once my breathing steadied enough to speak. "I thought you didn't care. You tried to kill me."