The old wooden ceiling brightened under the threads of noon sunlight streaming in through the glass window. Distant sounds softly broke the silence, and birds chirped cheerfully outside.
He opened his eyes, staring blankly as he tried to recall what had happened in front of the Stone Tree. Perhaps it had all been a dream, yet the ache in his muscles and bones confirmed its reality, though his mind struggled to accept it. How could anyone believe the truth of what he'd felt, or the presence of the majestic being he'd witnessed?
A voice broke his thoughts—a familiar, aged voice beside him: "Finally awake, are you? You've slept the whole day and night." But her words barely registered, his mind still caught up in unanswered questions. He raised his hands, comparing their calmness now to the tremors of yesterday.
"They told me they found you by the tree," his grandmother said, her voice tinged with guilt. "It's my fault. How could I send a child to that monstrous tree?" She sighed, adding quietly, "I knew you wouldn't withstand the pressure there, yet I didn't hesitate."
It seemed no one else knew of the dark guardian in the forest. She continued, her voice edged with unease, "I was truly worried when I lost track of your presence. My heart started racing, pounding wildly in my chest, all at once."
The once-bright day seemed to darken with her words. She tried to lift the mood, forcing a smile. "Now, now, enough with that gloomy face. I'm sorry, Glida! And here—your first breakfast after a whole day without a meal. I know you're still tired, but you need to eat or that weak body of yours will give out." Glida looked at her with empty eyes, as if his spirit had stayed behind in the forest. She patted his shoulder, reassuringly. "I have to head to the village market. Eat up, don't worry about the dishes; you have a free day."
She draped a handmade red woolen cloak over her shoulders, then turned back to glance at him. "When you're done, step outside for some fresh air," she added before leaving.
After a moment of inner reflection, Glida rose from his bed, a makeshift pile of blankets atop a large woolen rug. He made his way to the bathroom to freshen up, then tidied his sleeping area, transforming it from a bedroom to a dining space. In the countryside, spaces serve multiple purposes; unlike the nobles like YOU, for whom space and wealth are no concern, villagers make the most of what they have. Heating, too, takes effort, time, and firewood, so they only warm one room.
Following his morning routine, Glida approached the breakfast his grandmother had lovingly prepared. On the table sat fresh bread, butter, warm milk, honey, and a plate filled with freshly picked fruit. "These must be from the family's farm," he thought. His rumbling stomach put his questions on hold as he devoured the meal. With a full belly, his spirits brightened. He gave himself two light slaps on the cheeks, as if to shake off the lingering haze, then decided to venture outside and confirm if the village had indeed remained unscathed by the mysterious beings of the forest.
He took in a deep breath of crisp morning air, then walked toward the farm beside their stone cottage. There he greeted a cluster of animals: the "foolish" chickens, the "angry" geese, and a wise cow with her newborn calf. Grinning, he spoke to them as though they understood him, imagining he was fluent in their language. The morning conversation went as follows:
"Thank you for the eggs!" he said, nodding to the chickens.
The mother hen responded, clucking, "Bukkok, bukbukok kokoook!"
"Yes, yes, I know, but thank you anyway," he replied with a grin.
Turning to the geese, he continued, "Thank you for your… attitude!"
The leader of the goose gang honked furiously, "Honk, Honkonk, HOOONNNKKK!"
"Sorry, sorry. Just kidding, I'll leave you alone," Glida said, retreating with an amused smile.
His spirits lifted with each passing exchange as he thanked the cow for her milk, butter, and yogurt, carefully sidestepping the subject of meat. She responded with a calm "Moooo, AMooo!" while feeding her calf.
Maybe it was all his imagination, or maybe there was some hidden understanding between him and the animals. Besides these useful creatures—except the unruly geese—there were cabbages, carrots, potatoes, and an array of fruit trees, all a result of his grandmother's hard work.
Satisfied, he headed toward the village center. Moments later, he dashed back to close the farm gate after a lively chase with the foolish chickens and a near-deadly encounter with the irritable geese. The cow, being the wise creature she was, gave him no trouble, though her calf proved mischievous. "Oof, Gran would be furious if she found them outside," he muttered, finally securing the gate.
[At the Village Center]
The village center opened up before him, a lively plaza filled with a symphony of sounds and movement. This was the only market in the village, and people bustled about, some displaying their wares on the ground, while others sold goods from small shops. People haggled, argued, and sometimes even clashed, though laughter was scarce—this wasn't the place for merriment.
A river with clear, cold water flowed into the plaza from the eastern edge, originating from the southern mountains, threading its way through the forest before arriving here.
Navigating through the vibrant marketplace, Glida found his mood lightening. He loved visiting the center now and then, soaking in the busy, chaotic energy. He searched for his grandmother and soon spotted her engaged in conversation with a group of women, likely discussing one of her trades. Not wanting to interrupt, he left her to her business.
As Glida wandered along the riverbank, its gentle flow brought back flashes of the vision he'd seen at the Stone Tree. Suddenly, a familiar voice boomed, "Glida! Glida! Come here!" Recognizing the voice, he turned to see the candy shop owner—a plump, jovial man he knew well. "I have no money today," Glida warned with a sheepish smile as he approached.
The shopkeeper laughed heartily, his voice rich with warmth. "My boy, my boy, don't worry. I'm just checking up on you. I heard what happened yesterday."
The candy man's face was round and beaming, his eyes almost hidden in his smile. His large, rotund body testified to his love for sweets, and a curious blue line, like a tattoo, marked the right side of his mouth, luminating as he spoke. It was his unique [Seal], different from the circular pattern Glida's grandmother bore on the back of her left hand. Everyone's Seal was distinct, not always beautiful, but unmistakable.
Glida found himself staring at the blue line, unable to get used to it no matter how many times he saw the man. The shopkeeper, noticing, leaned in and chuckled, "Hello, anyone in there?"
The boy snapped out of his daze, embarrassed. "Oh! Sorry, sir."
The candy man laughed again. "So, how's the young man who dared to go near the Stone Tree? They say only the strong-willed can even approach it, and only the luckiest make it back."
Glida hesitated, trying not to reveal too much. "Let's just say I used up a lifetime of luck out there."
The shopkeeper's tone softened, but his voice remained loud enough for half the market to hear. "Lucky for you, The Ghosts were nearby and brought you back. Everyone in the village felt the tremor and saw the flames."
Piecing things together, Glida reasoned that perhaps the fleeing deer had sparked a fire in the forest, while the tremor could have been the intense presence of the dark guardian. Curious, he asked, "What do you mean by The Ghosts?"
"They're the finest hunters here, the only ones who venture deep into the forest and return alive," the candy man declared proudly. "They're highly respected in the village, but we rarely see them, always off in the wilderness. You were really lucky, boy. Even I've only spotted them once or twice in my entire life." The man punctuated his words with a heavy slap on Glida's shoulder.
"I'll remember that. Thanks," Glida replied, wincing as he held his aching shoulder, waving as he took off at a run.
"Come back soon!" the shopkeeper called after him, but Glida only muttered to himself, "Does he think I'm made of stone? Even Gran is gentler than that…" A memory of his grandmother's stern discipline made him reconsider. "No, no! I'd take his slaps all day over her switch. I still feel the last one," he groaned, rubbing his shoulder.
He wandered down the wide, stone-paved alleys, though he kept his distance from the forest. His encounter there still haunted him, and he knew it would take time before he felt ready to return. After an hour of following the river and witnessing the village's bustling life, he turned back toward home, still friendless and deep in thought.
[At the Dinner Table]
"I never thought you'd reach the tree. Even for an adult, it's a daunting trial. I'm sorry I put you through it," Glida's grandmother said, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. She took a slow sip of her tea before continuing, "Honestly, I never wanted you to leave the village. So, I created this challenge to keep you here. But you've proven yourself. I believe you now know where you must go."
"Yes," Glida replied, his voice steady and calm.
"Another thing," she said, her tone turning serious, "the secret you've earned from the tree is yours and yours alone. You must not speak of it to anyone—not even me. There's a strict taboo surrounding the forest's entrance and exit. No one may share or even ask about it unless they've earned the right to know."
"I understand," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "I haven't told anyone, and I won't."
"Good," she nodded approvingly. "Now, rest. Take all the time you need."