Living in the village while healing brought a different kind of peace, one that felt earned and grounded, unlike the carefully maintained tranquility of the Silvaria estate. Back there, maids and butlers flitted through polished halls, ensuring every need was met before it even formed. Comfort came effortlessly, wrapped in silk and silver, but it felt distant, detached. Here, the peace was raw, woven through the coarse fabric of daily life. It came with the ache of muscles after carrying water from the river, the sunburned skin after helping mend roofs, and the simple joy of laughter shared by the fire, embers dancing in the twilight as stories were swapped in hushed voices.
True, the living conditions were far from luxurious. The wooden huts were small and drafty, their frames creaking with the weight of the wind. The scent of smoke and earth clung to everything, a reminder of the relentless pulse of nature that surrounded the village. But there was a satisfaction in the simplicity, a feeling that each day's survival was a shared victory. It was a different sort of living, one that held its own reward—a kind of triumph that could not be found within marble halls and polished corridors.
The children were a constant source of that joy, their bright eyes and boundless energy pulling me into games and mischief that made me laugh in a way I hadn't since I was a boy myself. Their small hands would tug at my sleeves, leading me on mad dashes through the village until I was breathless, the laughter of youth ringing out behind me like music. And then there was Evelyn, who always watched from a distance, half-amused, half-exasperated, her lips quirked in that rare, fleeting smile whenever she caught me racing past with a handful of giggling children in tow.
Yet, there was an undercurrent I couldn't ignore. The adults, for all their polite nods and occasional smiles, held a wary distance. Their eyes lingered a moment too long when I passed, their conversations quieted when they thought I wasn't listening. It wasn't outright hostility, but there was a guardedness that spoke of a village unaccustomed to strangers, a place that had learned to protect its own secrets. I could hardly blame them. This place was tucked away from the world, a secret kept by the forest's deep shadows and the song of the waterfall that never seemed to stop its gentle hymn.
Still, I was content. Their wariness was not mine to fix; it was simply part of being an outsider. The air of mystery only deepened my sense of isolation, but it did not break me. After all, I had come here with my own secrets, my own burdens that no amount of village warmth could soothe.
Evelyn, however, was different. Despite her role as the village's only healer, she moved through the streets like a ghost—acknowledged but never truly embraced. The respect she commanded was steeped in a subtle isolation. She was a figure apart, someone essential but somehow separate from the fabric of their lives. I had never seen her speak with warmth to the adults or join the others in evening gatherings unless summoned. It was clear she had no family here, no deep roots tying her to the village. Yet, she had reached the Green stage before her fifteenth year—a feat that spoke of talent far beyond what this secluded place could foster.
'It's a shame for her to be here,' I found myself thinking more than once, watching her as she worked or sat quietly by the river's edge, her fingers skimming over the water's surface as if seeking answers it could not give. With her skills, she could flourish in the world beyond these woods, become an invaluable support mage, a healer respected in more than whispers and glances. That was why I'd revealed my true identity to her, half-hoping she might take it as an invitation to leave, to step into the larger world and all its possibilities.
But she hadn't. Evelyn's reaction had been as composed as ever, her dark eyes searching mine for reasons I couldn't begin to guess. And so, I left the choice with her, as it should be. Before we parted ways that night, I pressed one of my family's insignias into her palm, the silver crest of the Grand Duchy of Silvaria. A token, a promise that if she ever decided to venture beyond this hidden village, she would find help waiting.
In the days that followed, life returned to a steady rhythm. My wounds, once raw and aching, healed under Evelyn's meticulous care. I felt strength returning with every strike of my spear. The crisp, clear air of the village rang with the sharp whistle of practice, the spear cutting through the space in swift, deliberate arcs. Each movement brought me closer to the resonance I'd been chasing, that elusive harmony that would mark my path to the Indigo stage. The feel of the weapon in my hands, the tension and release of each strike, spoke of purpose. It whispered of progress.
The village bustled on around me, the rhythms of daily life carrying on in their familiar, comforting cadence. I watched as people went about their chores, some casting glances my way, their expressions unreadable. Yet the children still came to play, their laughter a bright counterpoint to the murmurs of the adults. Evelyn, when not tending to her duties, would sometimes linger by the tree line, eyes fixed on the horizon as if searching for something unseen.
The morning started like any other, dew clinging to the leaves and the sky painted in soft hues of blue and gray. I had finished my drills and was leaning against a tree, catching my breath, when it happened. A shiver ran through the air, subtle at first, brushing against my senses like the distant hum of a storm yet to break. It was a presence—powerful and fierce, foreign to the gentle hum of mana that usually flowed through the village. My pulse quickened, the familiar weight of my spear settling into my grip as I scanned the woods.
Something—or someone—was coming.