Changra stirred at the sound of a knock at his door, his mind groggy from sleep. He blinked against the morning light streaming through the window, the faint hum of village life already filtering through the walls. The knock came again, this time accompanied by hushed voices.
"Alright, alright," he muttered, dragging himself out of bed. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the mess, before trudging to the door. Pulling it open, he froze at the sight before him.
A group of villagers—around eleven in total—stood in the hallway, their silver hair catching the sunlight that spilled through the inn's windows. They ranged in age, from children clutching the hands of adults to an elderly woman leaning on a cane. All of them stared at him with wide eyes, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and awe.
"Uh… morning?" Changra said, his voice uncertain.
One of the younger men, tall and wiry, stepped forward. "Forgive us," he said quickly, his tone apologetic yet eager. "We didn't mean to disturb you, but… Meryn told us about you. We've never seen anyone like you before."
Changra raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Like me?"
The man nodded, his gaze drifting over Changra's face. "Your eyes," he said, almost reverently. "They're… different."
At this, the group murmured in agreement. Changra stiffened slightly, his smirk flickering into place like a shield. "Yeah, well," he said, his tone light, "it's not every day you see someone with one blue eye and one crimson. Guess I'm a bit of a spectacle."
A young girl, no older than ten, peeked out from behind her mother and pointed at him. "They're so shiny!" she said, her voice filled with wonder. "Like gems!"
The mother gently shushed her, though she too couldn't hide her fascination. "We've never seen eyes like yours," she said softly. "In our village, everyone's are gray."
Changra shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, his hand brushing through his hair. "Yeah, well, where I come from, gray eyes would be the rare ones. Guess it's all about perspective."
The elderly woman with the cane stepped forward, her sharp eyes studying him. "Your hair, too," she said, her voice quavering with age but steady with curiosity. "So dark, like the night sky. It's uncommon here."
Changra chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "What can I say? I like to stand out."
The villagers laughed softly, the tension easing slightly. The younger man spoke again, his tone warm. "You're a marvel to us, Kael. Forgive our excitement—it's not every day we meet someone from outside the valley."
Changra nodded, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "No offense taken. It's… nice to meet people who are curious instead of suspicious."
A boy, no older than twelve, tugged at his father's sleeve. "Does he have magic?" he asked eagerly, his eyes wide with anticipation.
The question hung in the air, the villagers' gazes sharpening with interest. Changra hesitated, his smirk faltering. "Uh… not really," he said carefully. "At least, not in the way you'd think."
The group exchanged murmurs, their curiosity undiminished. The younger man stepped forward again, offering a kind smile. "Well, magic or not, you're welcome here. If you need anything, just ask. The village takes care of its own."
Changra nodded, the warmth in the man's voice easing his discomfort. "Thanks. I appreciate that."
As the villagers began to disperse, the little girl lingered for a moment, her wide eyes still fixed on him. "You're really cool," she said shyly before darting away to join her mother.
Changra stood in the doorway for a moment longer, watching them go. The awe and kindness in their expressions lingered in his mind, stirring something he couldn't quite name.
"Cool, huh?" he muttered to himself, closing the door. "That's a first."
A couple of hours passed, and the quiet hum of the village filled the air outside the inn. Changra spent most of the time pacing his room, alternating between staring out the window and trying to piece together his next move. The villagers' fascination with him earlier lingered in his thoughts, a mix of curiosity and unease gnawing at him.
Eventually, the need for fresh air won out. He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder before heading downstairs. The inn was mostly empty now, save for Maela, who gave him a nod as he passed. Outside, the sunlight was warm, and the gentle breeze carried the faint scent of wildflowers.
As Changra stepped into the village square, he noticed two familiar figures near a shaded bench by the fountain. Meryn sat cross-legged on the bench, her silver hair shimmering in the light, while Lysa stood beside her, nervously fidgeting with the hem of her dress. The two were deep in conversation, though Lysa's occasional glances toward the inn betrayed her distraction.
When Lysa caught sight of Changra approaching, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. She quickly turned away, her hands flying up to cover her face. "Oh no," she muttered, her voice muffled.
Meryn glanced at her, an amused smile tugging at her lips. "Lysa," she said teasingly, "you're acting like you've never seen a guy before."
"Not like him!" Lysa whispered back, peeking at Changra through her fingers before ducking behind Meryn.
Changra stopped a few paces away, raising an eyebrow. "Uh… did I miss something?" he asked, his tone laced with mild confusion.
Meryn stood, brushing off her skirt and flashing him a bright smile. "Not at all," she said lightly. "Lysa here is just a little shy."
"I'm not shy!" Lysa protested, though her voice wavered, and her face was still buried in her hands.
Changra smirked, crossing his arms. "Could've fooled me."
Meryn chuckled, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Don't mind her. She'll get used to you eventually. Speaking of which…" She tilted her head, studying him thoughtfully. "I think I have an idea."
Changra narrowed his eyes slightly, his smirk fading into something more cautious. "An idea?"
"Yes," Meryn said, stepping closer. "You said you're a traveler, right? And that you don't exactly… blend in?"
"Something like that," he admitted.
"Well," she continued, gesturing to the village around them, "this place might be small, but we have ways of helping people… adapt. New clothes, a few cosmetic changes—it's amazing what a difference a little effort can make."
Changra raised an eyebrow. "You're saying you can make me look less… me?"
Meryn nodded, her smile widening. "Exactly. Silver hair, gray eyes, and a fresh set of clothes—you'd fit right in."
He glanced at Lysa, who had finally lowered her hands enough to peek at him again. Her blush deepened when their eyes met, and she quickly looked away. "You really think that'll work?" he asked, returning his attention to Meryn.
"It's worth a try," she said. "Unless you like being the center of attention."
Changra let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, not really my thing."
"Then it's settled," Meryn said decisively. "We'll head to the weaver's cottage this afternoon. I'll introduce you to Nora—she's the best at what she does."
"Great," Changra said, his smirk returning faintly. "Can't wait to see what I look like as a silver-haired villager."
Meryn laughed, the sound light and genuine. "You'll be surprised how much it suits you."
As she started walking toward the edge of the square, Lysa hesitated for a moment before trailing after her. Changra followed, the idea of blending in sparking a mix of relief and curiosity.
Meryn led Changra through the winding paths of the village, the soft chatter of its inhabitants fading as they approached a secluded clearing on the outskirts. The clearing was peaceful, bordered by tall, shimmering trees with leaves that seemed to glow faintly in the sunlight. A gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers, and the air felt charged with something almost magical.
"This is one of my favorite spots," Meryn said as they stepped into the clearing. "It's quiet, away from the bustle. Perfect for what I want to show you."
Changra followed her, his gaze drifting over the space. "Not bad," he muttered, his tone casual, though he couldn't deny the strange beauty of the place.
Lysa trailed behind them, her footsteps light and hesitant. As they reached the center of the clearing, a group of children and young teens called out to her from the other side, waving enthusiastically.
"Lysa! Come on!" one of them shouted, their laughter carrying through the air.
Lysa glanced at Meryn, who gave her a knowing smile and a gentle nod. "Go on," Meryn said softly. "We'll be fine here."
With a shy smile, Lysa darted off to join her friends, her silver hair catching the light as she ran. The group quickly folded her into their games, their laughter ringing through the clearing like music.
Changra watched them for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Seems like a nice life," he said finally, his voice quieter.
Meryn glanced at him, her smile softening. "It is," she said. "But I know it's not what you're used to."
He didn't respond, his gaze dropping to the grass beneath his boots. After a moment, Meryn reached into the satchel slung over her shoulder, drawing his attention.
"What's that?" Changra asked, nodding toward the items she pulled out.
Meryn knelt on the grass, spreading out several small objects on a woven cloth. Each artifact was unique—a delicate comb inlaid with silver, a smooth stone that shimmered faintly, and a pendant shaped like a crescent moon. Their surfaces seemed to pulse gently, as if alive with latent energy.
"These are artifacts crafted by the village's weavers," Meryn explained. "Each one holds a different enchantment. The comb can change the color of your hair. The pendant adjusts eye color. And the stone… well, it's a little more complicated. It can subtly alter facial features to make someone less recognizable."
Changra crouched beside her, his curiosity piqued. "And they just… work? No strings attached?"
Meryn smiled. "They're meant to help people, not harm them. The magic is temporary—it fades after a few months unless reapplied. But for someone like you, it's perfect."
He reached out hesitantly, brushing his fingers against the comb. It was cool to the touch, its silver inlays catching the light. "So, just use these, and I'll look like one of you?"
"Exactly," Meryn said. "Silver hair, gray eyes, and no one will give you a second glance."
Changra picked up the pendant, holding it up to the light. "You sure this is worth it? I mean, I don't exactly have the best track record with magic."
Meryn chuckled. "It's harmless, I promise. Besides, it's not about hiding who you are—it's about giving you a chance to start fresh."
Her words hung in the air, carrying a weight that made Changra pause. He glanced back toward the group of laughing villagers in the distance, then back at the artifacts.
"Alright," he said finally, his voice steady. "Let's do this."
Changra held the pendant in his hand, its crescent moon shape glinting faintly in the sunlight. Meryn watched him expectantly, her encouraging smile steady as he took a deep breath and raised it to his chest.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered.
The moment the pendant touched his skin, a wave of warmth coursed through him. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant, like stepping into sunlight after a cold night. His vision blurred, the world around him dissolving into a swirl of light and shadow.
And then everything went white.
Changra blinked, disoriented as the clearing vanished. The air around him was still and heavy, the infinite expanse of the white room stretching endlessly in all directions. His heart sank as a chill ran through him—it had been months since he'd last been here, and he'd hoped never to return.
"Not again," he muttered under his breath, his voice echoing in the emptiness.
A faint rustling sound behind him made him turn, and there it was—the shadowy figure of his younger self. The child stood a few paces away, its form still partially obscured by swirling darkness. This time, its eyes glowed—one crimson, the other blue—and its mouth was faintly visible, a thin line etched into the shadows.
"You," Changra said, his voice low, the single word laced with unease.
The child tilted its head, the movement unnervingly fluid. "Changing your face won't change who you are," it said, its voice high-pitched and lilting, echoing unnaturally in the stillness.
Changra clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "I don't need this right now."
"You're trying to hide," the child continued, stepping closer. Its silhouette flickered, the shadows swirling like smoke. "Silver hair, gray eyes—what's the point? You think looking like them makes you one of them?"
"I'm just trying to survive," Changra shot back, his voice edged with frustration. "You wouldn't understand."
"Oh, I understand," the child said, its mouth curving into a faint, eerie smile. "But you're still you. A murderer. A failure. No amount of magic can wash the blood off your hands."
Changra's chest tightened, the words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. He took a step back, shaking his head. "That's not who I am anymore."
The child's laughter rang out, sharp and mocking. "Isn't it? You're just pretending, Kael. Or should I call you Changra? Does it even matter? You can change your name, your face, your eyes… but it doesn't change what you've done."
The shadows around the child seemed to deepen, its form growing sharper. "And what about them?" it asked, its tone turning cold. "Jane. Thorne. Aria. They've already forgotten you."
"Shut up," Changra snapped, his voice trembling.
"They're moving on without you," the child pressed, taking another step forward. "Laughing, smiling, living. Do you really think they're still thinking about you? That they care?"
"Shut up!" Changra shouted, his voice echoing through the white room. His fists trembled at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. "You don't know anything!"
The child's smile widened, its eyes glowing brighter. "Don't I? You saw how easy it was for them to vote you away. To let you go. You're nothing to them, Changra. Just a burden they were glad to get rid of."
Changra stumbled back, his breathing ragged. The child's words felt like knives, each one striking with unrelenting precision. The pendant around his neck grew heavier, its warmth now a dull weight pressing against his chest.
"You'll never escape," the child said, its voice dropping to a whisper. "No matter how far you run, no matter what you look like. You'll always be you. And you'll always be alone."
The words echoed in the silence, reverberating in Changra's mind like a cruel mantra. He closed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists as he fought to steady his breathing.
When he opened his eyes again, the white room was gone.
Changra blinked as the world around him snapped back into focus. The clearing reappeared, bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. Meryn was kneeling nearby, carefully arranging the remaining artifacts on the cloth.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint sense of unease lingering at the edges of his mind. It was like waking from a dream he couldn't quite remember, the details slipping away the harder he tried to grasp them.
"Alright," Meryn said, her voice pulling him back to the moment. "Let's finish this up. You're doing great so far."
Changra nodded, though the heaviness in his chest hadn't entirely faded. He picked up the silver comb, running it through his dark hair as Meryn instructed. A faint tingle spread across his scalp, and when he set the comb down, strands of silver glinted in the sunlight.
"Not bad," he muttered, inspecting a lock of his hair. "Guess I really am going for the local look."
Meryn smiled warmly. "You're almost there. Try the stone next."
Changra picked up the smooth, shimmering stone, its surface cool to the touch. He pressed it against his forehead, and a soft pulse of energy rippled through him. The sensation was strange but fleeting, leaving no trace behind.
Meryn stood, her eyes lighting up as she studied him. "Perfect," she said, her tone filled with approval. "Come on—I'll show you."
She led him to a small stream that ran along the edge of the clearing. The water was clear and still, reflecting the sky like a mirror. Changra hesitated for a moment before leaning over to look at his reflection.
The face staring back at him was familiar, yet not entirely his own. His hair was now a striking silver, blending seamlessly with the gray eyes that had replaced his mismatched ones. The subtle changes to his features were almost imperceptible, but they softened the sharp edges of his face, giving him a look that blended effortlessly with the villagers.
"Well," he said, straightening and running a hand through his hair. "Guess I could get used to this."
Meryn grinned. "You look like you've lived here your whole life."
"Let's hope everyone else thinks so," he said, his smirk returning faintly. "What now? Do I just… blend in and call it a day?"
"Not exactly," Meryn replied. "We're a small village, and everyone contributes in some way. I was thinking… maybe you could help out at the forge."
Changra raised an eyebrow. "The forge? You mean with Bren? The guy who looks like he could snap me in half with one hand?"
Meryn laughed, shaking her head. "He's not as intimidating as he looks. And you won't be doing anything too strenuous—just basic tasks to help out. It's a good way to get to know the village and earn your keep."
Changra considered her words, his gaze drifting back to his reflection in the stream. "Alright," he said after a moment. "I'll give it a shot. But if Bren tries to kill me, I'm holding you personally responsible."
Meryn chuckled. "Deal. Come on—I'll introduce you."
As they walked back toward the village, Changra couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, the faint unease from earlier still lingering. But with each step, it faded further into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of his new life beginning to take shape.