Chapter 12 – A Story for the Unburdened
The morning sun filtered through the wooden slats of the hut, casting warm light across the floor. The scent of fresh earth and distant cooking fires lingered in the air. The village had already come alive—children's laughter echoed outside, accompanied by the rhythmic pounding of grain being ground into flour.
Ymir sat near the window, arms resting on her knees. Across from her, Lifa sat cross-legged, eyes bright with anticipation.
Ember hovered beside Ymir, unseen by the child, his golden eyes flickering with amusement.
"She's waiting," he mused, tilting his head toward Lifa. "Don't leave her in suspense."
Ymir sighed. "What kind of story do you want?"
Lifa grinned. "Something real."
Ymir arched a brow. "Real?"
Lifa nodded enthusiastically. "The elders tell stories, but they all feel the same. Kings and warriors, battles and victories." Her expression turned thoughtful. "None of them feel… true."
Ember chuckled. "Smart kid."
Ymir studied Lifa for a moment. She had expected a request for grand tales—heroes slaying monsters, warriors achieving glory. But this child wanted something different.
Something real.
Ymir exhaled, leaning back slightly.
"There was once a girl who had nothing."
Lifa's smile faded slightly. She hugged her knees, listening intently.
Ymir's voice was steady, but distant. "She was taken from her home, given no name, no family. She was made to work, to obey, to endure."
Ember watched her closely.
Lifa's brows furrowed. "She was a slave?"
"Yes."
Lifa frowned. "What happened to her?"
Ymir's fingers traced an old scar along her arm. "…She was given power."
Lifa's eyes widened. "Like magic?"
Ymir hesitated. "Something like that."
She did not tell the child about the Titans. Not yet.
"She became something greater than she ever imagined," Ymir continued. "Stronger than the ones who once commanded her."
Lifa's expression brightened. "So she was free?"
Ymir stilled.
"…No."
Lifa's face fell.
Ymir's voice was quieter now. "She had all the strength in the world. And yet… she remained bound."
The room fell into silence.
Lifa fidgeted slightly, her young mind trying to understand. "But why?"
Ember leaned against the air, arms crossed. "Good question."
Ymir didn't answer immediately.
She thought back to those long years—endless battles, silent suffering. She had never broken her chains, even when no one held them.
She finally looked at Lifa. "Because power alone doesn't make you free."
The child seemed to ponder that. Her small fingers tugged at a loose thread on her tunic. "Then… what happened to her?"
Ymir hesitated, then chose her words carefully.
"She wandered."
Lifa blinked. "Where?"
Ymir glanced toward the open window, where the village stretched beyond. "To places she had never seen before. She met people she never knew existed."
Lifa's face lit up with curiosity. "And what did she do?"
Ymir considered the question.
What was she doing?
She had no master, no war, no grand purpose.
And yet, here she was, speaking to a child, telling a story not even the Eldian kings had heard.
"…She learned."
Lifa tilted her head. "Learned what?"
Ymir gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "That the world is much bigger than the one she left behind."
Lifa's grin returned. "I like this story."
Ember smirked. "I do too."
Ymir shook her head but didn't argue.
For the first time in a long while, she wasn't just remembering the past.
She was telling it.
And somehow, that felt different.
Lifa leaned forward, her excitement palpable. "So what happened next? Did she ever find freedom?"
Ymir hesitated. That was the question, wasn't it? Had she found freedom? Or was she still searching?
"…She's still looking."
Lifa frowned. "But she's powerful, right? Can't she just go anywhere?"
"Power isn't the same as freedom," Ymir said, her voice softer. "She's strong, but the past still follows her. Even when no one else remembers, she does."
Lifa looked down, absorbing her words. After a moment, she asked, "Do you think she'll find it?"
Ymir wasn't sure how to answer.
Ember floated beside her, arms crossed. "She might be getting closer."
Ymir glanced at him. He wasn't smirking this time—just watching her with something almost like quiet encouragement.
She turned back to Lifa. "Maybe."
Lifa smiled, seemingly satisfied. Then she reached for a small wooden carving on the floor—a bird with outstretched wings. She turned it over in her hands before holding it out to Ymir.
"This is for you," she said.
Ymir blinked. "Why?"
Lifa grinned. "Because I think the girl in your story should have a bird. That way, she'll remember to keep looking up."
Ymir took the small carving, running her fingers over its rough edges.
"…Thank you."
Lifa's face lit up, then she stood. "I should go. My grandmother will want me to help with the herbs."
Ymir nodded, watching as the child hurried toward the door. Before she left, Lifa paused and looked back. "Can you tell me another story tomorrow?"
Ymir hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
Lifa beamed before dashing outside, leaving Ymir alone with Ember.
For a while, they sat in silence.
Then Ember chuckled. "You do realize what just happened, don't you?"
Ymir frowned. "What?"
Ember grinned. "You've officially become a village storyteller."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the wooden bird.
For the first time in centuries, someone had asked for her story.
And for the first time… she had told it.