The first light of morning painted the world in soft hues of gold and lavender as Nessa and I stepped onto the road. The air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of dew-soaked grass and wildflowers. Birds were just beginning their morning songs, their lilting calls breaking the quiet stillness.
Nessa walked a few paces ahead of me, her wooden bird tucked under one arm, her eager steps kicking up small puffs of dust from the road. She'd been unusually quiet so far, her excitement evident in the way her head turned to take in every detail of the world waking around us.
"You know," she said suddenly, her voice breaking the silence, "I've never been past Willowshade. Not once."
I smiled, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. "Then it sounds like today's the start of something new for you."
She nodded, a spark of determination in her eyes. "A new chapter," she said, almost to herself.
When we reached the edge of the village, the old wooden gate came into view. It wasn't much—just a simple archway draped in ivy, flanked by weathered stone posts. Beyond it, the road stretched out into rolling hills, bathed in the soft glow of dawn.
As we passed beneath the arch, I glanced back instinctively, my eyes lingering on Willowshade.
The village was still and peaceful in the early light, its cobblestone streets glistening faintly with morning dew. Thatched cottages dotted the landscape, their chimneys releasing thin spirals of smoke into the air. The great willow tree that gave the village its name stood at its center, its ancient branches swaying gently in the breeze. Its roots dipped into the well, which reflected the golden sky like a pool of liquid sunlight.
Fields of wildflowers stretched beyond the cottages, their vibrant colors muted in the dawn but no less beautiful. The sounds of daily life were just beginning—doors creaking open, the faint clatter of pots as someone prepared breakfast, and the low murmur of voices from the baker's shop.
But Nessa didn't look back. Her eyes were fixed on the road ahead, her steps resolute, as though she were eager to leave the village behind and take her first real steps into the wider world.
I let my gaze linger a moment longer, then turned to follow her. "No second thoughts, I see," I said, catching up to her.
She glanced at me, her expression firm but with the faintest smile. "Nothing back there for me, Mr. Harith. Only forward from here."
I nodded, her words carrying a weight I didn't expect from someone so young. Together, we walked on, the gate of Willowshade fading into the distance as the road stretched out before us. The journey had begun.
The road stretched before us like a ribbon of earth and stone, bordered by tall trees that swayed gently in the morning breeze. Their leaves, a vibrant green, shimmered with drops of dew, and the occasional ray of sunlight broke through the canopy above, creating patterns of light and shadow on the ground. It was quiet, save for the rhythmic crunch of our footsteps on the dirt path and the occasional chirping of birds from the branches above.
Nessa walked beside me, her wooden bird tucked under her arm, her eyes flitting from one thing to another as though she were trying to soak in every detail of this unfamiliar world.
"My sister says the road's dangerous," she said suddenly, her voice breaking the stillness.
I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Your sister?"
"My oldest sister, Clara," Nessa explained, kicking a small stone off the path. "She works in the Capital City now. As a cleaner. She said there's all sorts of dangers out here—bandits, wild animals, even monsters sometimes. Can you fight, Mr. Harith?"
The question caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but chuckle. "Fight? Me?" I shook my head, smiling. "I've never had a fight in my entire life, Nessa. Never saw the need for it. I've always believed there's a better way to handle things than with violence."
"That's it?" she asked, giving me a skeptical look. "You've never even thrown a punch?"
"Not once," I said, my voice light with amusement. "It's one of the reasons Reina chose me, you know. She always said I was a man of peace, and she liked that better than all the other loud, brawling men who came courting."
Nessa frowned, clearly unconvinced. "That's nice and all, but what if there's a monster out here? You can't just talk it out of eating us, can you?"
Her words gave me pause, and for a moment, my mind wandered. She wasn't wrong. It was one thing to believe in peace and nonviolence—it was another to be completely unprepared for the realities of the road. I'd rarely ventured beyond Willowshade myself, except for the occasional business trip, and those trips had never been longer than a few days. Nothing dangerous had ever crossed my path then, but this journey was different. A month on the road, through unfamiliar lands, was no small undertaking.
I sighed inwardly, acknowledging the truth of her words. I would need to find some way to protect myself and Nessa, should the need arise.
Still, I wasn't about to admit my own doubts to her. "Don't you worry," I said, my tone cheerful. "Animals and monsters always seem to leave me be. Maybe they can sense I'm no threat."
That earned me a laugh—one loud and genuine, her skepticism giving way to amusement. "Oh, sure," she said between giggles. "A monster's going to take one look at you and say, 'Oh, he's harmless, better not eat him.' That's a great plan."
Her laughter was infectious, and I found myself chuckling along with her, despite my lingering thoughts. The truth was, I didn't have a plan yet. But there was plenty of road ahead to think of one. For now, I let the conversation and the quiet beauty of the path carry us forward.
After a few hours of walking, the road widened slightly, offering a small patch of shade beneath an old oak tree. The sun was climbing higher now, and the air carried the warmth of late morning. It seemed a good place to rest.
We settled ourselves on the soft grass by the roadside, and as I reached into my bag for the bread, the rhythmic sound of footsteps and clinking metal drew our attention.
A group of soldiers marched down the road, their polished armor gleaming in the sunlight, their weapons sheathed but ready. There were a dozen of them, maybe more, their faces bright with determination despite the weight of their task.
I watched them pass, their boots kicking up little clouds of dust as they moved with purpose. Rumors had reached even Willowshade—whispers of demons sweeping across the land, conquering everything in their path. They said the Kingdom was losing ground with each passing day, but looking at these soldiers, you wouldn't know it. There was hope in their eyes, a fire that couldn't be snuffed out, and it was heartening to see.
When they disappeared down the road, I turned back to our small meal, breaking the loaf of bread in half and handing a piece to Nessa.
The bread was simple and hearty, made with coarse-ground flour and a hint of honey. Its crust was firm but not too hard, cracking pleasantly under my fingers as I tore it apart. The inside was soft and dense, the kind of bread that filled your stomach and left you feeling steady for the journey ahead.
Nessa took her half eagerly, biting into it with a satisfied hum. "This is good," she said, her words muffled slightly by the bread in her mouth.
"Glad you think so," I replied, tearing off a piece for myself. "It's from old Bertie's bakery. She's been making bread like this since before you were born."
Nessa leaned back against the tree, chewing thoughtfully. After a moment, her gaze wandered down the road. "What do you think the Capital is like?"
I paused, considering her question. "It's been years since I've been there," I admitted. "But I remember it being big—bigger than anything you can imagine. The streets were full of people, all kinds of people, and the markets stretched on for miles. You could find just about anything there if you knew where to look."
Her eyes lit up with curiosity. "What about the buildings? Were they tall? What did they look like?"
"Oh, tall enough to make your neck ache if you tried to see the tops," I said with a chuckle. "Stone towers and sprawling courtyards, fountains in every square... But that was a long time ago. For all I know, it could be completely different now."
Nessa tilted her head. "Do you think it's prettier than Iverithyn?"
That made me pause, a smile tugging at my lips. "I haven't seen Iverithyn yet," I said. "But from what I've heard, it would be hard for any place to compete with an elven city. Silver trees, glowing streams, palaces that look like they're part of the forest... It sounds like something out of a dream."
She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I want to see all of it," she said quietly. "The Capital, Iverithyn, the Academy... Everything."
I smiled at her, a quiet pride swelling in my chest. "And you will," I said. "This is just the beginning."
We ate the rest of our bread in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the road around us filling the gaps in our conversation. The world felt vast and full of possibility, and for the first time in a long while, I felt ready to face whatever lay ahead.
The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the road as we pressed on. The light turned golden, and the air grew cooler, the promise of nightfall settling over the forest around us. The trees had grown taller and denser, their thick branches forming a canopy that filtered the remaining sunlight into soft, scattered beams.
"We'll need to find a spot to sleep soon," I said, my eyes scanning the woods for a suitable clearing. "It's always better to sleep off the road. Safer."
Nessa nodded, but her curiosity hadn't dimmed with the fading light. She walked beside me, clutching her wooden bird and stealing glances at me as though working up the courage to ask something.
"What's on your mind, Nessa?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.
She hesitated, then blurted, "What does Ellara look like?"
The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. But then I smiled, the thought of my daughter filling my heart. "Ellara," I began, my voice softening, "has hair the color of autumn leaves, a rich auburn that seems to glow when the sun catches it just right. Her eyes... they're sharp and green, like fresh spring grass. And her smile—well, when she smiles, you can't help but feel like the whole world's a little brighter."
Nessa watched me closely as I spoke, her small hands gripping her bird tightly. "You really love her, don't you?" she said after a moment, her voice quiet, almost wondering.
I nodded, the corners of my mouth lifting. "More than anything," I said simply.
She didn't say anything right away, her gaze dropping to the ground as she walked. I could tell she was thinking hard about something, but she didn't share it.
We soon found a clearing tucked away in the trees, just large enough for a small tent and a fire. The forest here felt alive, the air rich with the scent of pine and earth, the sound of distant crickets blending with the rustle of leaves overhead.
"This'll do," I said, setting my bag down and gesturing for Nessa to help me. Together, we cleared away the underbrush and smoothed out the ground. I set up the tent while she arranged a circle of stones for the fire.
By the time the tent was pitched and the fire crackled warmly, night had fully settled over the forest. Stars dotted the sky above the treetops, their light faint but steady. I pulled out the small pot I'd packed and set it over the fire, adding water and a handful of dried vegetables and herbs from my bag.
As the soup began to simmer, the rich, earthy aroma filled the clearing, mingling with the smoky scent of the fire. When it was ready, I ladled the steaming broth into two wooden bowls and handed one to Nessa. She cradled it in her hands, the warmth bringing a soft smile to her face.
The soup was simple—potatoes, carrots, and a touch of rosemary—but it was hearty and comforting, the kind of meal that filled you with warmth from the inside out. We ate quietly for a while, the sounds of the forest around us creating a peaceful backdrop.
Nessa set her bowl down and picked up her chisel, resuming work on her wooden bird. The firelight flickered over her face as she carved, her small hands steady and focused.
I watched her for a moment, the sight of her working bringing a quiet satisfaction. She was determined, that much was clear. And though she hadn't spoken about her earlier thoughts, I could see them lingering in her expression, a mix of curiosity and something deeper—something I recognized but didn't want to press.
"You'll finish that bird before we reach the Capital at this rate," I said lightly, breaking the silence.
She looked up, her lips curving into a small smile. "I hope so," she said, then returned to her work.
The fire crackled softly, and the night settled around us, a cocoon of warmth and calm. It was the first of many nights on the road, but in that moment, it felt like a world of its own—a small, quiet haven carved out of the vast unknown ahead.
As we settled into the tent, the quiet of the forest wrapped around us like a thick blanket. The faint crackle of the dying fire outside was the only sound, the world otherwise hushed in the stillness of night. Nessa lay next to me, her small frame bundled tightly in her blanket, the wooden bird she'd been carving earlier tucked carefully by her side.
For a while, neither of us said anything, and I thought she might have already drifted off to sleep. But then, her voice came softly, almost hesitant.
"Do you think my dad loves me?"
The question lingered in the air, heavy and unanswerable. I didn't know what to say, and for a moment, I let the silence hang between us.
Finally, I exhaled and spoke, my voice low and measured. "Nessa," I began, "I think most parents in the world love their children. It's just... some parents don't show it the way you'd expect. Or maybe they show it in ways that are hard to recognize."
She turned her head toward me, her eyes catching the faint moonlight that seeped through the tent's opening. "You really think so?" she asked, her voice tinged with doubt.
"I do," I said. "But I also know there are some parents who... don't love their children. Or maybe they've forgotten how to show it. And that's not the child's fault."
She fell quiet again, thinking. I could see the question lingering on her face, the weight of it pressing down on her small shoulders.
"Like my own father," I said softly, surprising even myself by sharing. "When I was your age, he used to beat me. Not because he hated me, but because he thought it was the only way to make me strong. He'd say, 'A man has to be tough, Harith. The world won't go easy on you.' But I didn't want to be tough. I wanted to be left alone, to read or carve, to live in peace. And I hated him for it."
Nessa's eyes widened slightly. "Did you ever forgive him?"
I nodded, my expression wistful. "It took time. It wasn't until I got older—about the same age he was when he passed—that I realized what he was trying to do. He didn't know any other way to prepare me for the world. In his own way, he meant well. I might not agree with it, but I understand it now."
She shifted slightly, her blanket rustling as she turned the thought over in her mind. "So... maybe my parents love me too, but they're just... bad at showing it?"
"Maybe," I said. "I don't know your parents well enough to say for sure. But people have strange ways of showing love sometimes. Given a different chance, or a different time, they might show it in ways you don't expect."
Nessa looked up at the tent ceiling, her brow furrowed in thought. "I hope so," she said quietly.
I didn't reply, letting her words hang in the soft dark. After a while, her breathing grew steady, and I knew she'd fallen asleep.
Lying there, I stared into the shadows of the tent, my own thoughts turning. Parents. Children. The things we do out of love, the ways we fail despite our best intentions. I pulled the blanket tighter around myself, the forest outside humming with the quiet life of the night, and allowed myself to drift into sleep.
The stillness of the night was broken by faint noises—murmurs and the crunch of footsteps on dry leaves just outside the tent. My eyes snapped open, heart suddenly pounding in my chest. I lay frozen for a moment, listening, every nerve on edge.
To be continued...