Part - 1"Hmm!"It was almost four months since Marco's discovery of her mother's souvenir, attached with a not-so-appealing artifact. His initial thoughts were to burn the finger and leave no traces behind, until when he found the stone was detachable. That meant, it was hiding something underneath. However, he never really had the opportunity to take a closer look as something or the other would often pop in his way.Today was a fine morning. Mrs. Adam had just gone from his house after checking up on his health."Good that old hag is gone. Finally!!!"Carefully taking out the box in which he had wrapped the finger, which to his surprise, hadn't decayed at all. The blood had dried up, sure. But the finger seemed it was cut fresh yesterday.The ring was stuck though, which prompted Marco to bring in a knife. He was able to detach the ring quite easily; his killing experience with the knife coming in handy. (Quite ironic isn't it?) "Now, let's see what this has been hiding for so long."After taking out the stone from the socket, Marco saw there was a piece of paper folded crinkily. However, the paper when unfolded, did seem too big for that portion of socket size. Although Marco was unfazed by this. He carefully placed the stone back in the hole, straightened the paper a bit and before he would proceed to do anything, first ensured the door of his room was locked shut.After spending about two hours trying to make heads and tails of the note, Marco finally came to a conclusion: "I need to make for the neighbouring provinces as soon as possible. I cannot waste my life in Hallstatt without knowing what's really in there."Part - 2Marco could instantly recognize that handwriting; it was John's. Marco held the yellowed, brittle paper delicately between his fingers, the edges crumbling slightly with age. The letter was worn, with countless creases and folds that suggested it had been read many times before. The ink had faded over the years, but the words were still legible, though not without effort.John's handwriting was rough, rugged, and uneven, as if each letter had been etched with a trembling hand. The letters leaned awkwardly, some large and sprawling, others small and cramped, as if his father had struggled to contain the emotions that surged through him as he wrote. The strokes of the pen were heavy and deliberate, with the ink pooling in places where the pen had lingered too long, leaving dark, blotchy spots that bled slightly into the surrounding fibers of the paper.The words themselves, though simple, carried a weight that pressed heavily on Marco's heart. There were smudges where John's hand had rested, perhaps from a moment of hesitation, or from sleepiness that had blurred the ink. The paper, once white, had taken on a sepia tone, a testament to its age and the passage of time.As Marco read the letter, he could almost feel his father's presence, the roughness of his hands mirrored in the rugged script, the strength of his emotions etched into every stroke of the pen. It was as though John had poured his soul into that letter, leaving a piece of himself behind for Marco to find, even after all this time. And for the first time in his life, he felt the absence of a guiding figure alongside him."Dear Marco, if you are reading this letter, that means I am already dead. Damn!! I never thought my life would be over so soon. Don't worry dear child, you will always find your mother or me beside you whenever you stray away from your path or feel helpless. You always made me feel purpose in my life. I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday. You were so tiny, so fragile, yet the moment I held you in my arms, I knew my life had changed forever. You were a ray of light in our simple, quiet world. Trina and I would watch you sleep, and sometimes we'd catch each other's eyes, both of us silently acknowledging the incredible gift we had been given. Your mother...she was so proud of you. You were her everything.I remember the way you used to run through the fields as a little boy, your laughter filling the air, so full of life and wonder. I'd be working, the sweat pouring down my face, but the moment I'd hear you, all my tiredness would fade away. You'd come running to me, your little legs moving as fast as they could, and you'd jump into my arms, your tiny hands wrapping around my neck. Those were the moments, Marco, the moments when I felt like the luckiest man alive.Your mother, Trina, she adored you in ways I can't even put into words. She'd sit by your bed at night, long after you'd fallen asleep, just watching you breathe. She used to tell me how she would dream of all the things you would do, the man you would become. She believed in you more than anyone, Marco. Even in my final moments, I know she would hold onto that belief. I know she's beside you now, reading this letter as gracefully as you are."Marco choked up a bit at this. As Marco read those words, a deep sense of remorse and regret washed over him, the weight of his actions pressing heavily on his chest. His heart ached with the unbearable truth that his mother would never have the chance to read this letter or see the man he had become. The love and forgiveness in his father's words only deepened the pain, leaving him lost in a sea of guilt and sorrow."I know things weren't always easy for you, and I regret the times I couldn't shield you from the harshness of the world. But, son, you were stronger than I ever was. I watched you grow, face your fears, and though life dealt you some cruel blows, you never gave up. But I need you to know, Marco, that neither your mother nor I would ever want you to live in darkness because of what you endured that night. We both loved you, and still love you, with all our hearts, and nothing you could ever do would change that.Remember the harvests, Marco? How we'd wake before dawn, the sky still painted in shades of purple and pink, and head out to the fields together? Those were some of the best times of my life. We'd work side by side, the sun rising higher and higher, the earth beneath our feet warm and alive. I'd teach you everything I knew, and you'd listen not-so-intently, but eager to learn. And when the day was done, we'd sit together, looking out over the land we had worked so hard on, feeling that deep satisfaction that comes from honest labor. Those were the moments that defined us, Marco. They shaped who we were and who you are.As I write this, I feel the weight of everything I never said, the things I wish I had told you. I'm sorry if I ever let you down, if there were times when you needed me and I wasn't there. But know this: you were my pride, my joy, my everything. You gave my life meaning, and for that, I am eternally grateful.Marco, life will continue to throw challenges your way, and there will be times when you'll feel lost, like you're straying from the path. But I want you to remember that you carry both your mother and me with you, in your heart, in your soul. We are part of you, just as much as you were part of us. And no matter what happens, you are never truly alone.Be strong, my son. Live the life you deserve, not the one you think you're bound to. Make choices that bring you peace, and don't be afraid to start over if you need to. You have a resilience in you that can move mountains, and a heart that is capable of so much love.Take care of yourself, Marco. And when you look out over the fields, or when you hear the wind rustling through the trees, think of us. We'll be there, in every breeze, in every whisper of the earth.I love you, son. I always have, and I always will.With all my heart,John Augustine."Marco never realized it was already evening, when suddenly he noticed something unusual. The stone was peeping open. With extreme precision, he managed to open the stone, which revealed another piece of paper."This isn't that old though. Let's see what it unfolds.""Marco, you need to find a way to leave Hallstatt and head for the deserted lands. You yourself will get to know the secret behind them. Everyone eventually does. And don't worry; I am pretty sure your mom will allow you too after reading this piece of letter. Good luck my boy!"