Elder Thryssa folded her hands over one another and finally spoke.
"My name is Thryssa," she said calmly. "I am one of the elders of this place."
Her voice wasn't loud, yet it filled the room with an odd sense of authority. I found myself sitting straighter without realizing it. Charlie stood just behind me, silent, his presence steady like always.
"This village," Thryssa continued, "is hidden from the world. Buried deep within the Silent Forest. Only a handful of people from the nation know we exist."
She glanced around the room as she spoke, as if reaffirming the truth of her words.
"We do not interact with outsiders. We do not trade. We do not involve ourselves in the affairs of the world beyond these trees."
I listened carefully, afraid to miss even a single word.
"The forest itself is our shield," she went on. "And also our prison."
Her gaze shifted to me then—direct, unblinking.
"This forest is dangerous even for us. So tell me… why did you come here?"
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't accuse.
But the question struck deeper than any shout.
My chest tightened. Images flashed through my mind—blood, screams, my home burning, my parents' final moments. I swallowed hard, unable to answer.
Thryssa watched me in silence.
Two long seconds passed—slow, deliberate, heavy with something I couldn't name. Her eyes didn't judge, didn't rush. They simply observed, as if she were weighing something far deeper than my words.
Then she spoke again, her tone softening.
"You haven't introduced yourself yet."
I blinked, the weight of her gaze finally breaking my stillness. Only then did I realize how long I had been silent, how tightly my hands were clenched in my lap.
"Ah—" I cleared my throat, my voice coming out rougher than I expected. "M-my name is Arthur. And… this is Charlie."
Charlie inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, his expression calm and unreadable, offering no more than that.
Thryssa nodded once, slow and measured, as if she had merely confirmed something she already knew.
"So, Arthur," she said, her voice calm yet carrying a quiet weight, "I do not know the reason you entered this forest."
She paused, her eyes never leaving mine.
Then she leaned forward slightly, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the lines of her face.
"But I do know this—"
My breath caught without my permission.
"The reason you were brought into our village…" she continued slowly, "…a place hidden from the world, a place where no outsider has ever been invited before…"
The room felt suddenly smaller. The air heavier.
"…is because you are special."
Special...
It echoed in my ears, ringing again and again, as if the walls themselves had repeated it back to me.
"Special?" I asked before I could stop myself. The word slipped out, raw and disbelieving. "Me?"
Thryssa's lips curved into a gentle smile, not mocking—almost reassuring. She nodded once, firm and certain.
"Yes," she said simply. "You."
My head swam. My heart pounded unevenly, and for a moment I felt unsteady, like the ground beneath me had shifted. Of all the things I had expected to hear, this was the last.
Me—special?
For a moment, even Charlie's expression shifted—just barely. His eyes sharpened, something unreadable flickering across his face before he masked it again.
"I think you're mistaken," I said quickly. "I'm not special. I didn't even know about this world until recently. I don't understand abilities or cultivation or anything—"
Thryssa raised a hand, stopping me gently.
"Do you know that mystical abilities exist in this world?" she asked.
I nodded slowly. After everything I had seen—the fire, the serpent, the shield—I couldn't deny it even if I wanted to.
"Then this will be easier to explain," she said.
She leaned back in her chair, the wood creaking softly beneath her, candlelight dancing across the tattoos on her arms. For a moment, she looked less like an elder and more like someone carrying the weight of countless stories.
"Every person," she began, "is born with potential. An ability that sleeps deep within them from the moment they are born."
Her fingers tapped lightly against the armrest.
"For most, that potential awakens when they reach eighteen. It stirs naturally, responding to the body and the soul finally becoming ready to contain it."
I listened without blinking, afraid that even a single breath might make me miss something important.
"But not everyone succeeds," she continued, her voice turning quieter. "Many fail."
She looked at me then—directly, unflinchingly.
"Some never awaken anything at all. Their potential remains dormant forever, and they go on to live ordinary lives. No power. No calling. No destiny."
A strange tightness formed in my chest.
Ordinary.
Back then, being ordinary had felt safe.
Now… standing here, hearing these words, feeling the weight of everything that had happened, I realized how far that life already was.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure whether I still belonged in it.
Her eyes darkened slightly.
"And among the countless abilities in this world… there exist a few that cannot be measured by strength or destruction."
She paused.
"Prophecy."
My heart skipped.
"Some call it foresight. Some call it destiny-sight. We call it being a Seer."
The word echoed in my mind.
Seer.
"I am one," Thryssa said plainly.
The room went still.
"With my ability," she said slowly, "I can glimpse fragments of the future. Not in full clarity. Not as fixed truths. Only… fleeting shadows of what might come."
Her gaze settled on me—steady, unwavering.
"And last night," she continued, "one such vision came to me."
My heartbeat quickened, each thud echoing in my ears.
"In that vision," she said softly, every word deliberate, "you were standing at the center of a turning fate—something vast and unfolding, far beyond your own life. Your existence will become a blessing to this village… and to the greater world outside it."
Silence swallowed the room.
I could only stare at her.
Words refused to come. My mind felt frozen, caught between disbelief and something heavier—something I couldn't name.
Beside me, Vaela—who had remained composed through bloodshed and battle—looked at me openly now, shock clear in her eyes. And even Charlie… even Charlie's usual calm fractured, if only for a heartbeat.
"I don't know how," Thryssa said gently. "I don't know when. And I don't know why."
She shook her head once, slowly.
"But I know what I saw."
The room fell silent.
No one moved. No one breathed too loudly. Even the candles seemed to waver in hesitation.
At last, Thryssa broke the stillness.
"Don't try to understand it now," she said softly.
"Fate does not reveal itself all at once."
She turned her gaze to Vaela.
"Take them to the empty house near the pond."
Vaela blinked, the shock lingering on her face for a brief heartbeat. Then she inhaled sharply, pushed the surprise aside, and straightened her posture, all traces of hesitation vanishing.
"Yes, Elder," she said firmly.
Thryssa's eyes returned to me, their weight gentler now, almost reassuring.
"Go," she said. "Rest. You've endured enough for one day. If you need anything at all, speak to Vaela directly."
I hesitated, then looked back at Charlie. He met my gaze calmly and gave a small, steady nod—silent reassurance.
We rose to our feet.
Just as we reached the doorway, something in my chest tightened. I slowed… then turned back.
"Elder," I asked carefully, my voice low, uncertain, "what if… what if you're mistaken? What if the one you saw—the important one—is Charlie, not me?"
Thryssa's gaze never wavered. Not even for a heartbeat.
"No," she replied calmly. "In my vision, I saw only you."
A chill ran down my spine.
I turned again, then stopped once more.
"One more thing," I said. "You speak the same language as us. But others here speak… differently."
Thryssa smiled faintly.
"There are a few of us who can speak the tongue of the outside world," she said. "And don't worry—you will be able to clearly understand their language soon enough. It is closer to yours than you think."
I nodded, unsettled.
We stepped outside.
The village greeted us the same way it always had—curious stares following our every movement, hushed murmurs rippling quietly from one group to another. No hostility. No warmth either. Just the silent interest reserved for things that didn't belong.
Vaela walked ahead without looking back. After a short distance, she slowed and stopped, pointing forward.
"Skra-house. Rest here."
I followed her gesture.
The house stood unlike any I had ever seen—a wooden structure built around a massive tree rather than replacing it. Thick roots burst through the floorboards and climbed the walls, while the trunk rose straight through the roof as if the house had grown around it instead of the other way around. Beside it lay a small pond, its surface smooth and dark, reflecting the faint glow.
Vaela pointed again, this time toward another house nearby.
"Skra-house mine. Skra-anything want—come."
I nodded, unsure of what to say. She studied me for a moment longer, her sharp eyes lingering with a strange mix of curiosity and assessment—then turned away without another word.
Charlie and I entered the house slowly.
Inside, it was quiet. Bare. Simple.
A single room and a small adjoining hall. No decorations. No excess. The tree stood at the center, alive and unmoving, its bark rough beneath my fingertips as its branches pierced the ceiling and vanished into the sky.
My legs finally gave out.
I lowered myself to the floor, exhaustion crashing over me all at once, deeper than any pain from my wounds. My body ached. My mind felt heavier still.
What is actually happening to my life…?
The question echoed weakly in my mind, growing fainter with every breath.
And before I realized it—
Sleep crept in, soft and unavoidable, pulling me under as darkness gently claimed my thoughts.