“Dear, Mio is staring off into space again,” said the woman, her eyes fixed on her daughter.

  The man looked up from the axe he was sharpening. “It’s normal. Children get distracted by anything.”

  “It’s not a distraction. Look.”

  He followed the baby’s gaze. Little Mio, motionless before the window, was staring at an empty spot on an oak branch.

  “A bird,” said the woman, just as a sparrow landed exactly on the vacant spot the girl had been watching.

  “It must just be a coincidence. I catch myself staring at nothing sometimes too.”

  “But it’s not the first time she’s done this.” The woman retorted. “Dear, come here. I think she wants to say something.”

  The man set the tool aside and approached. Now all three stood still, the air heavy with expectation. Mio’s crimson eyes fixed on the woman.

  “Elnath.” The name came out faint, almost incomprehensible, but it was unmistakably her mother’s.

  A silence followed the child’s words. Elnath, surprised, brought both hands to her mouth, trying to contain her excitement.

  “Try saying mine now. Al-ka-id. Al-ka-id…” The man grew excited, a wide smile spreading across his face. He crouched down to his daughter’s height.

  Mio looked at him for a long moment, her face a serious mask. She opened her mouth, but instead of a name, came a hoarse, urgent whisper:

  “…It’s…going to fall.”

  Before Alkaid could process it, the axe he had left leaning against the workbench toppled over with a dry thud.

  The silence was instant. Both stared at what had just happened. When they turned their eyes back to the girl, another surprise awaited them.

  “Oh, she fell asleep…” said Elnath as she pulled the girl into her arms. The child was fast asleep.

  “Wakes up, says two things, and goes back to sleep… What a lazy little girl.” Alkaid was returning to his work of fixing the hearth, but his gaze remained fixed on his daughter.

  “I’m starting to get worried. She spends most of her time sleeping, and when she wakes up it’s to do this kind of thing.” Elnath added, stroking Mio’s snow-white hair. “Maybe we should take her to a doctor.”

  Elnath adjusted the blanket around little Mio’s shoulders as she slept deeply in her sling. The walk along the village’s dirt road was quiet, punctuated only by birdsong and the distant sound of the stream.

  “Good morning, Elnath!” an elderly voice came from a doorstep further ahead. It was old Mrs. Mirna, as ancient as the river stones, with eyes that seemed to see more than they should.

  “Off to the fields early?”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Mirna. No, it’s to town today. Taking Mio for a check-up.”

  The old woman approached, her sharp gaze hovering over the sleeping child’s face. An uncomfortable silence settled, broken only by her heavy sigh.

  “Such a quiet child…” she remarked, her head tilting like a curious bird. “And so… pale. That hair the color of snow… and such a fiery expression.” Her gnarled fingers stretched out, almost touching a silver lock.

  “Every child is a miracle, Mrs. Mirna,” Elnath replied, her voice firmer than she felt. “And Mio is our greatest gift.”

  Inside the doctor’s office, the air smelled of herbs and quiet. As Elnath laid Mio on the examination table, Alkaid stood a little apart, his arms crossed.

  “So, tell me,” the doctor began, his wise eyes moving from one to the other.

  It was Elnath who spoke, her voice soft but laden with those small oddities: the fixed stare into nothingness, the sudden sleep, the whisper about the axe.

  Alkaid intervened, his tone lighter, trying to rationalize: “Doctor, children have active imaginations. And the tiredness… well, she’s an active child.”

  The doctor neither agreed nor disagreed. He examined Mio with meticulous calm. When his hands stopped over the girl’s forehead, his expression changed. The professional facade gave way to deep concentration, almost admiration.

  “Sir, madam…” he said finally, looking up. “Her body is healthy. But your daughter possesses a mana reserve. It is the source of her tiredness. Her body is constantly processing that energy.”

  Alkaid uncrossed his arms, his posture stiffening. “Mana? That’s the stuff of stories, of nobles in the capital. Our family is of the earth.”

  “Mana doesn’t care about lineages, Alkaid,” the doctor replied, his gaze serious. “It simply is.”

  The air left Elnath’s lungs. She reached for her husband’s hand. His fingers found hers, and the grip was strong, almost desperate.

  “And what does that mean for her?” Alkaid asked, his voice lower, all his practicality evaporating before the revelation.

  “I don’t know. I believe it would be prudent to tell the child in the future. Mages tend to be well regarded in the capital. If you take her to enroll in the magic school, she could learn to control it.”

  The walk back home was made in silence. The doctor’s words hung in the air between them, heavier than any tool Alkaid had ever carried. Magic school. It sounded as distant and impossible as the stars. But there, in Elnath’s arms, slept the living proof that the impossible had taken root in their simple lives.

  Everything happened repeatedly. As if I had already read the next page of a book before even turning it. The clatter of dishes in the kitchen sounded twice—once inside my head, silent and clear, and another time, a muffled echo, in the real world. A smile would form on someone’s face a moment before their lips curved.

  “I’m telling the truth. Why would I make something like this up?”

  “Twice? What do you mean by that, dear?” she asked, placing her hand on my forehead.

  “Hm… you don’t feel warm. Do you have a headache?”

  My father, who was carrying a bundle of firewood through the door, chuckled softly.

  “If you’re so clever you can see the future, you already know you’re going to help me carry this, right?” he said, winking.

  Sometimes I questioned myself if they were hiding something. I mean, once I tried to prove what I was saying by repeating everything my mother was going to say before the words even left her mouth. She insisted I was just playing, even though her expression betrayed something else.

  Perhaps I had unconsciously realized it wasn’t normal. Observing the other people in the village, I saw that no one else had this “habit.”

  The days dragged on, each one a silent repetition of the previous. I had learned to navigate the dual flow of time with the discretion of a thief. My “premonitions” were now just small adjustments: a step to the side to avoid a spilled bucket, a silence maintained while waiting for a question I already knew. The loneliness of my secret was a heavy cloak, but comfortable in its familiarity.

  It was in this monotony that my father brought home a new kind of silence.

  He came home earlier from the tavern, his face lit by a contained smile. In his hands, he carried a package wrapped in rough cloth.

  “For you, Mio,” he said, placing it before me with a rare ceremony. “I know you don’t have many friends in the village, so I looked for something you could enjoy.”

  Inside, there was a book. Its cover was worn leather, titleless, and the pages exuded a sweet smell of mold and time. I opened it. The illustrations weren’t colorful or loud; they were ink sketches, full of movement and shadow. They told the story of a woman with a sword that cut through darkness itself, of creatures made of storm, and of a battle fought not by armies, but by solitary wills.

  “It’s the story of Isla,” my father explained, his voice low and grave, fitting the pages. “The warrior who faced Glacien, the spirit of eternal winter.”

  As he read, his voice filling the cabin, something inside me, which had always lived one step ahead, finally grew quiet. For the first time, I wasn’t anticipating the words. I was absorbing them.

  When the story ended, with Isla’s victory and the thaw that returned spring to the world, I closed the book with a strange and new feeling in my chest. It wasn’t the resignation of someone carrying a secret. It was the sharp pang of a desire.

  But the part I liked the most wasn’t the fight itself; it was what came after, when the beast Glacien was finally defeated. I loved hearing how the village, once gripped by fear and relentless cold, returned to living in peace. How the children could play in the streets without fear, and people could sleep without their hearts clenched by constant threat.

  “I want to be like her,” the phrase came out in a whisper, but it sounded louder than anything I had ever said.

  My father smiled, one of those rare, full smiles that reached his eyes.

  “Then you’ll need a lot of courage, Mio. But I know you have it.”

  That night, lying on my mat, I wasn’t thinking about duplicated sounds or future expressions. How did Isla manage to freeze a monster made of ice? That doesn’t make sense. The book said she controlled ice magic and still managed to defeat Glacien… I really want to know if there were more details.

  The months that followed were tinged with that new dream. The book of Isla became my refuge, its pages a place where my oddness wasn’t a burden, but a seed of something greater. Life in the village flowed in its usual placid rhythm, and I began to believe, perhaps, that this could be my shared silence.

  “Horses?”

  The question came out low, more to myself than to anyone in the house. It was a distant but distinct noise, the metallic sound of armor, the creak of wagon wheels, and the rhythmic beat of hooves on hard earth. Many hooves.

  Elnath appeared at the door, her face marked by the same unease I felt.

  “Mio? What’s that noise?” she asked, interrupting her task and approaching the window.

  “Soldiers,” I replied, my voice strangely calm. “Lots of soldiers.”

  “That’s unusual. The last time the military came was before you were born,” Elnath responded. “I wonder why they’re here.”

  My father approached, curiosity plain on his face.

  “Some traveling merchants said they’re increasing expeditions to the more remote villages.”

  The column of soldiers stopped in the square like a stain of order and steel against the placid disorder of the village. The sound of hooves brought the entire village to their doorsteps, and we were no exception. Following the flow of curious villagers, we found ourselves at the edge of the forming crowd.

  At the center of it all, one man stood out. Tall, with a cloak of blue so dark it seemed to suck in the light, he carried an authority that was almost a visible force.

  “We are seeking information,” his voice cut through the murmur, not by volume, but by a clarity that brooked no interruption. “Precise coordinates on the mountain routes. And reports of unusual activity to the north.”

  My father, with his endless curiosity, got too close to the buzz of soldiers.

  “You know the roads around here well, don’t you?” asked a soldier, his tone somewhere between respect and interrogation.

  “Since before you were born, lad.” My father’s reply came with that dry tone he used to establish his ground.

  A nearly imperceptible smile crossed my lips. This is funny. Every time, no matter that I already know what my father’s going to say.

  My mother followed his steps closer to the soldiers, and I followed hers. I felt the weight of several gazes landing on me. They were quick, discreet, but undeniable. Their attention, somehow, was different from the villagers’.

  While the dialogue about mountain routes continued, my habitual reality kept unfolding. The most immediate future arose in my mind with irritating clarity: the young soldier reaching for a scroll, a gust of wind, the quill slipping from his fingers and being caught a hand’s breadth above the ground. The real scene played out, a perfect, dull echo of the vision.

  It wasn’t impressive anymore. It was just habitual. Like re-reading a page whose ending you already know, forced to turn it anyway.

  And yet, something in the gaze of that man in the blue cape held me longer than it should have.

  He stopped a few steps from us. His gaze swept over the small circle of onlookers that was beginning to form, as if measuring each face’s reactions.

  “We’ve received reports of unusual movements in the northern mountains,” he began, his voice deep but controlled. “Hunters, adventurers, and merchants have spoken of strange sounds at night, tracks that don’t match any known animal, and…” He made a brief pause, his gaze fixed on my father, as if weighing his words. “…a sudden drop in temperature in areas where there shouldn’t be snow at this time of year.”

  My father exchanged a quick glance with my mother. Some neighbors murmured, but the man raised a hand, asking for silence.

  “We are not here to alarm anyone,” he continued. “Our mission is to investigate and ensure it is safe to travel and live along these routes. For that, we need precise information about the passes and about anything you might have seen or heard.”

  As he spoke, I noticed that, even using reassuring words, there was a weight in how each sentence was constructed. He wasn’t just collecting information; he was measuring people, trying to understand if anyone knew more than they were saying.

  The vision kept doubling. I saw the scene half a second before it happened: he would lean slightly forward, narrowing his eyes, as if trying to see through me. And, the next instant, he did exactly that.

  My body stiffened. It wasn’t just curiosity in his gaze; there was something like recognition, even though I was certain I had never seen that man before.

  “You…” he began, with a slight arching of his eyebrows. “It’s like standing before a bonfire in the dead of winter.”

  Bonfire? Winter? What does he mean? — My mind raced for meaning, but the words didn’t fit. Until his next sentence arrived, and with it, an understanding that froze my blood.

  Even though I already knew what the man was going to say, it was hard to formulate an answer to questions I didn’t understand. His next words surprised me.

  “You possess a great quantity of mana,” he continued, his tone not one of praise, but of serious observation. “I’ve never seen anything like it in such a remote village. You could become an exceptional mage if you enrolled in the magic school.”

  The sound of the square seemed to fade away. A figure who had seemed distant invaded my mind, that woman who fought the icy creature. An exceptional mage was the title that accompanied her.

  “Like Isla?” The question escaped before I could contain it.

  My mother squeezed my hand, her fingers trembling. My father moved almost imperceptibly in front of me, a protective gesture I already knew he would make.

  The man in the blue cape furrowed his brow, his gaze assessing every feature of my face.

  “If you maintain the determination your eyes show,” he said slowly, “who knows, you might even surpass that.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he took a step back, deliberately easing the tension. “It’s not a summons. But wasting a talent like that… would be a pity.”

  My father maintained his rigid posture, but I already saw the most immediate future: he would take a step forward, placing himself between me and the man in the blue cape.

  “My daughter is not some auctioned merchandise,” his voice came out rougher than usual, laden with a protective instinct I knew well.

  “Of course not,” he agreed, with a more pronounced nod this time. His eyes softened when they turned to my father. “I apologize if I sounded intrusive. I also have a daughter, just a little older than yours. If a stranger came to me talking about unknown places, my reaction would be the same as yours.”

  He turned to me, and his eyes now showed only a gentle curiosity.

  “When my Katia was little, she also loved the tales of Isla,” he commented, as if sharing a secret. “She still dreams of being like her.”

  My father seemed surprised by the admission. His shoulders, once tensed for a fight, relaxed by an almost imperceptible degree.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so rude,” my father said. “After all, if you also have a daughter, you must know by the look in her eyes when she’s being serious.”

  “Exactly,” said the captain. “But we didn’t come here for this, so continuing the explanation…”

  My mother let out a more relieved sigh beside me, her fingers relaxing a little on my shoulder.

  When the captain moved away to resume his duties, the air in the square seemed lighter. My parents exchanged a loaded look.

  “Don’t worry about it, Mio,” my mother began, placing her hand on top of my head. “It’s written all over your face that you want to go for a walk and think about this. You can go.”

  I’m sure my expression remained the same… My mother is a bit scary sometimes.

  The narrow village streets were quieter than usual. Perhaps because everyone was still at the square, or because the weight of the military presence hung over the place. I headed towards the more distant fields, feeling the cold wind on my face.

  Mage, great quantity of mana, magic school…

  The captain’s words echoed in my mind, mingling with the images from my father’s book illustrations. The woman of imposing posture facing the ice beast, her sword cutting the freezing air. And now a stranger said I could be like her. Or even more.

  I leaned my hand against the rough trunk of an oak tree at the edge of the path, feeling the familiar texture of the bark. Everything here was known, each stone, each curve, each sound.

  “It’s hard to imagine something like that…” I said, kicking a small stone on the path.

  “The idea of leaving gives me butterflies. And yet, I kind of want to see… What I need now is…”

  The thought died in the air when my vision split.

  For a fraction of a second, I saw: a blue flash erupting from the bridge, the river freezing into ice crystals, a figure turning to stare at me. The image faded as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the familiar tingling in my temples.

  And then, like an obedient echo of the future, it happened.

  A bluish glow exploded ahead, so intense it made me blink. There, in the middle of the bridge, a lavender-haired girl was now facing me, her hand extended over the waters. The river, which just seconds before had flowed freely, began to ice over with a crystalline crackle that made the air shiver.

  “Wow,” the word escaped in a whisper.

  Her eyes, reflecting the color of her hair, met mine. A curiously challenging smile appeared on her face.

  “Did I scare you?” her voice was clearer than I expected, charged with an energy that seemed to make the air vibrate.

  Thousands of times in the pages of a book. None like this, alive and breathing before me.

  “So this is magic,” I said, more to myself than to her. My hand touched the icy railing, feeling the pulsating energy still lingering in the air. “You’re doing this?”

  “Yes, it’s no big deal.” Her voice was calm, almost amused. “You’ve never seen anything like this before?”

  “No,” I replied, and for the first time, I felt the weight of how much that simple word contained.

  “It’s truly amazing. But why did you freeze the river? We use it to water the crops.”

  The contortions on the girl’s face as she desperately tried to thaw the river seemed as surprising as the magic.

  “Did you learn by yourself?” I asked, watching the river return to its normal course.

  She made a face, still visibly embarrassed. “I learned a bit from my father, but I still mess up sometimes.”

  “That man in the blue cape?” I asked as I approached.

  “Yes…” The girl replied with an almost blank expression.

  I noticed she didn’t seem happy when the conversation turned toward her father. A quick change of subject was needed.

  “How does this work?” I asked, pointing to where the ice was still melting. “You just… think, and it happens?”

  She seemed relieved by the change of topic.

  “Not exactly…”She frowned, concentrating. “My father said each person visualizes it differently, after all there are various types of magic. In a way you’re right, but besides thinking you have to imagine your mana taking a form.”

  I was intrigued. My father’s book spoke of spells that froze mountains and altered the horizon.

  “And how do you know if you’re doing it right?”

  “In the beginning, you don’t!” She laughed, a looser sound now. “I froze half our garden the first time. My mother almost killed me.”

  So there isn’t a defined formula. She said there are several types of magic…

  “What do you mean by several types of magic?” I continued observing the river, now completely fluid again.

  “Hm, each person is born with a defined elemental affinity,” she began, counting on her fingers. “Fire, earth, water, electricity, ice, or pure mana control. Do you know what yours is?”

  Elemental affinity? No mention about seeing things in advance.

  “I don’t really know,” I replied, choosing my words carefully. “It’s the first time I’ve heard the word mana in my life. Are there only these elemental affinities?”

  The girl brought a finger to her chin, as if pulling something from her memory.

  “No, there are more types, but they’re rarer. There are people who can manipulate light, or sound, or even stranger things…” she shrugged. “But I don’t remember them all off the top of my head.”

  No answer down that path…

  “Leaving magic aside for a bit…”I said, feeling it was the right moment. “Do you know Isla?”

  The girl changed her expression again, this time widening her eyes as if she’d heard something incredible. In the blink of an eye, her hands were on my shoulders.

  “Know her?!” she almost shouted, before lowering her voice, embarrassed.

  “I mean… yes. That tale about her battle against Glacien is amazing. I feel blessed to have been born with ice magic. Maybe I can be like her. Currently, she is the headmistress at a magic school in the northern region. Icy Regent, Frost Sovereign, Northern Guardian, Mistress of Snows…” she recited the titles with almost ceremonial reverence.

  I, who had only limited myself to the book my father had at home, had just heard information that turned the legend into something tangible. I couldn’t hide my astonishment.

  As if with a feline reflex, I brought my face close to hers, already firing off a series of questions:

  “Icy Regent? She’s real? And there’s a school… just for magic?”

  The girl let out a series of small giggles, as if she had been expecting these questions.

  “Not just one, there are six of them!” her eyes shone with contagious enthusiasm.

  “And each one with stories more incredible than you can imagine. It’s full of mages who do things you can’t even imagine… But it’s not just training, you know? There you learn to control your mana, to protect people, to truly understand magic. Each school has a unique way of teaching magic and its concepts.”

  Again, a wave of bombastic information invaded my mind. Six magic schools? Isla wasn’t just real, but led one of them? The world suddenly seemed to have expanded beyond the mountains that had always bounded my horizon.

  And then came the question I most feared, and least knew how to answer.

  “And you?” the girl tilted her head, her expression still cheerful, but now with a spark of genuine curiosity. “What type of magic do you have?”

  “I don’t know…”the answer came out more like an admission than I would have liked.

  “Really?” her eyes widened for an instant before she corrected herself. “I mean, I’m not as talented as my father, but I can feel the amount of mana you have is… huge. Have you never tried to shoot fire from your hand, or create water from nothing?”

  “No, it’s really the first time I’ve heard about all this,” I replied, regaining my enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t have had a way to discover my elemental affinity, since I didn’t even know it existed.”

  “Maybe if you enroll in school you could find out.”

  Going to school seemed unthinkable to me. My parents would surely tie me to the cows if I told them that.

  “Really, which part of the Isla tales do you like the most?” The girl asked.

  Another interesting topic. I think she really likes Isla.

  From there, we talked for a few hours. With each new sentence from the girl, a totally unknown world opened up in my imagination. She spoke of towers reaching to the clouds, libraries with books that read themselves, classrooms where reality could be shaped. I wanted to see with my own eyes, touch with my own hands—something that until then had only existed in my thoughts.

  The sun had completely hidden itself, surrendering the sky to the cold silver of the moon. Its rays illuminated the wooden benches where we sat.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “It’s getting late, I think I need to go,” said the girl, standing up with a yawn that seemed more theatrical than genuine.

  “You’re right,” I agreed, hopping down from the parapet I was sitting on. “I don’t want you to get lost in the dark.”

  She took a few determined steps towards the bridge.

  “Wait, where are you going?” I asked. “That way there’s only the forest and some moody boars.”

  She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in an expression so comical it almost made me laugh.

  “Yeah…I don’t exactly know how to get back,” she admitted, blushing slightly.

  Seeing her reaction twice just makes me want to laugh even more…

  “Then I think you’re going to need a guide,” I offered, extending my hand.

  She blinked, surprised, but a quick smile lit up her face as she accepted my gesture.

  “You’d do that?” she asked, with a tone mixing distrust and amusement.

  “Of course,” I replied, taking a step forward. “You don’t meet someone who nearly freezes the whole river every day.”

  A thought suddenly struck me—we had talked about magic, legends, and dreams, but not about the simplest things. “Wait. How old are you, anyway?”

  She turned, a playful grin on her face. “Seventeen. And you?”

  “Sixteen,” I replied.

  She nodded, as if filing away an important piece of information. “Good. Now I know I’m officially your elder. You have to respect me.” Her tone was so solemn it was impossible to take seriously.

  As we walked, I noticed how different the village seemed at dusk: the long shadows of the stone houses, the smell of damp earth and wood burning in hearths, everything seemed calmer, quieter, as if waiting for something important to happen that night.

  Perhaps it was just the girl’s stories echoing in my mind, but for the first time, the world around me seemed to… expand.

  We didn’t need to walk far before we spotted the lights of the military camp ahead. Even from a distance, I could make out the imposing figure at the center—and the rigid posture that betrayed his concern.

  As we approached, the captain stepped forward, his eyes scanning his daughter from head to toe before landing on me.

  “Well, I see the perceptive girl found my lost daughter,” he said, his voice a mix of genuine relief and contained humor.

  The girl let go of my hand and ran to him, murmuring softly: “Father…”

  His gaze then fixed on me, assessing but not hostile. “Your name is?…” The question died in the air as his eyes landed on mine—red like embers—and then on my silver hair that glowed under the torchlight.

  “Mio” I replied, maintaining a firm posture.

  He nodded slowly, as if deciphering a puzzle. “I see my daughter found someone equal to her… energy.” His lips curved slightly.

  “Coincidentally, the same person who piqued my interest earlier. And you…” his voice lowered almost imperceptibly, “have something remarkably unusual about you, don’t you?”

  I shook my head, the answer stuck in my throat. The girl, sensitive to the tension, stepped forward and gently pulled my arm:

  “Father, stop staring! She won’t bite!”

  The man let out a low, genuine laugh before turning to us.

  “Very well. I’m relieved you’re safe,” he said, his gaze softening as it landed on his daughter.

  “But now it’s time for us to go. Mio, thank you for the company, but you don’t need to accompany us. And be careful in the dark streets.”

  I nodded, feeling a strange weight in my chest. The night seemed to have transformed—every shadow now hid possibilities, every whisper of the wind murmured secrets I was only beginning to intuit.

  “See you tomorrow!” The girl winked at me before running towards her father.

  I stood still, watching their silhouettes merge with the shadows among the tents. The night wind played with my silver hair, and a deep certainty settled in my chest: something grand was about to begin.

  It was then I realized the gap in our conversation—hours of talking, and we still lacked the essential.

  “Wait” I called, my voice echoing in the quiet.

  The girl turned, her lavender eyes catching the torchlight like living gems.

  “What’s your name?”

  Her smile illuminated her face more than any flame. Under the silver light of the crescent moon that now dominated the sky, she declared:

  “Katia…”she said, and the name sounded like a solemn promise. “Katia Icehart.”

  The silence that followed was brief, but eloquent. Her father raised his eyebrows slightly, an expression of genuine surprise crossing his face before he could recompose his usual posture. His eyes rested on me for a moment longer, and this time, the look was different—no longer assessing, but a new recognition.

  The name echoed within me with a weight I didn’t fully understand, but that I felt in the captain’s reaction. Katia had given me more than a name.

  And there, under the night sky and the cold wind that played with my silver hair, I walked back home as if something inside me had awakened, a curiosity that could not be ignored.

  A few days passed since that night on the bridge, but the village I knew had vanished. In its place, a tense, vigilant version persisted—constant patrols, conversations that ceased when I approached, and a loaded silence that hung over our fields of work.

  While helping my father pull up stubborn roots, my ears caught fragments of conversations not meant for me.

  “Hey, did you see? One of the guards said they found ‘claw marks bigger than a human hand.’ It’s no wonder there are so many guards,” commented one of the villagers.

  “It can’t be a coincidence…” Another replied. “Something must be happening.”

  Yesterday Katia mentioned that marble tower that reaches the clouds… How is something like that even possible? What’s marble to begin with?

  “How much longer will they stay here?” the conversation continued in the background. “At least they could tell us what’s happening.”

  Maybe there’s some book that explains how to use mana? Perhaps I should tell her about the double vision… No, after my mother’s reaction I never want to do that again. I guess it’s no use thinking about this, better go get to the root of it.

  “Father,” I said, while he pulled at roots. “can I go to the camp? I want to see if Katia is okay.”

  He hesitated, his eyes scanning the horizon. “Just don’t wander off from the guards. And be back before dusk.”

  My father agreed with an ease that surprised me. Perhaps he was proud or excited about the first friend I had made.

  The path to the camp was more guarded than ever, with soldiers positioned every few meters. As I approached the entrance, two guards exchanged a glance, but recognized me and allowed me passage with a nod.

  It was then I heard—voices coming from the command tent, laden with an urgency that made the air feel colder.

  “We’ve located the source!” a younger soldier announced, his face pale under dirt and sweat. “They’re not wolves… not like any we’ve seen.”

  The captain emerged from his tent, and silence fell like a blade.

  “Report,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the tense air.

  “They’re bigger, captain,” the soldier continued, panting. “Faster. And their eyes…” He swallowed dryly. “It’s not hunger that guides those eyes. It’s as if… someone is looking through them.”

  Another soldier, with a bloody bandage on his arm, intervened:

  “Their fur has spots that glow in the dark, as if burned from the inside. And when they attack…” His eyes met mine for an instant before looking away. “It’s not for food. It’s pure killing instinct.”

  A palpable tension spread through the camp, but the captain was already moving.

  “Positions!” his voice echoed among the tents, bringing instant order. “Triple the guard at all access points. Immediate curfew—all children and civilians indoors until further notice.”

  I found Katia near the well, filling a bucket with water. Unlike usual, there was no trace of her relaxed smile.

  Maybe now isn’t the best time for questions about the capital.

  “Hey, Mio…” she began, tilting her head in a gesture that unsuccessfully tried to mask her worry. “Are wolves common around here?”

  “No.” I replied quickly, propping my foot on the stone parapet. “They usually stay deep in the forest, far from the village. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one here.”

  She bit her lip, thoughtful. “That’s what I thought… So something must have drawn them close.”

  “Something… or someone,” I finished, remembering the soldiers’ words about those strange eyes.

  For a moment, her expression closed off, but soon returned to her usual manner, almost laughing.

  “Hey, no need to make that face! My father is super strong. He’s faced much worse things than some wolves.”

  “You say that with a dangerous confidence,” I remarked, crossing my arms.

  “Because it’s true,” she retorted, pointing her finger at me with that animated sparkle in her lavender eyes. “Besides… if anything goes wrong, I have my ice magic. And you… well, you seem good at getting in the middle of things too.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “That’s not exactly a compliment.”

  She shrugged, laughing. “To me, it is.”

  Wolves… If they come this close, maybe they’re fleeing from something even worse. I’m sure Katia is thinking the same thing.

  Another day passed, and early in the morning the camp buzzed with a different energy. Men polished armor, sharpened blades, and checked equipment with an urgency that made the air vibrate. It was clear they were preparing to depart.

  The captain—Katia’s father—emerged from his tent and climbed onto a supply crate, his blue cape rippling in the cold wind. His gaze made everyone, soldiers and the few civilians gathering at the edges of the camp, fall silent.

  “Men!” his voice cut through the morning air. “For the past few days, an abnormal wolf pack has been prowling these lands. They are larger, faster, and bolder than any wolves we know.”

  He paused, his gaze sweeping each face.

  “We don’t know what brought them here, but we know our duty: to ensure they pose no danger to this village. Our patrol will proceed to their den and eliminate them.”

  Turning to the soldiers in formation, his tone hardened:

  “Maintain formation. They hunt in packs and exploit gaps. One mistake will cost lives.”

  His gaze then found Katia’s for an instant before concluding:

  “We will fulfill our duty and return victorious.”

  As the troop organized for departure, I found Katia watching her father with an expression trying to be proud, but unable to completely hide her apprehension. She disguised it well, but I had learned to read past her facade—it wasn’t fear of the wolves that worried her… it was what might have brought them here.

  The forest ahead seemed unnaturally quiet.

  From the camp entrance, I could see the troop advance in precise formation. It didn’t take long for the first howl to echo, followed by others—sharp, far too close. In seconds, gray shadows emerged from among the trees, moving with supernatural speed.

  Then, the first howl tore through the air, not a distant call, but a war cry mere meters away. From the tangled shadows, gray forms exploded. They were wolves, but drawn from a nightmare: larger, with muscles bulging under skin, and eyes that glowed with an empty amber light.

  “Formation!” His voice was a clean cut through the chaos.

  The impact was brutal. Steel against fangs, a dry, bony sound. The soldiers, well-trained, held the line, their spears finding flesh with deadly efficiency. One by one, the wolves fell. In minutes, the last of them lay on the carpet of dry leaves, and silence returned, now heavy with the smell of iron and sweat.

  “Area clear,” the captain announced, his sword still dripping. “Advance.”

  It was then that the air changed.

  It wasn’t a sound, but a sensation—a sudden drop in pressure that made my ears pop. The sunlight filtering through the canopy distorted, shimmering as if seen through heated glass.

  Behind a rotting tree trunk, the air solidified.

  It wasn’t a creature of flesh and bone. It was… geometry. A form of perfect angles and flat faces, carved from a crystal so dark it seemed to absorb light. It pulsed softly, its color shifting from deep blue to metallic gold, then to opaque black, like a heart beating in a spectrum of colors.

  There were no eyes, but all the soldiers felt its gaze. Their most primitive instinct screamed danger.

  “Combat formation!” the captain roared, and his order sounded less like a command and more like a desperate warning.

  The crystalline creature leaned forward, a fluid and impossible movement. With a sharp crack that didn’t echo, one of its faces blazed with the intensity of a miniature sun. A beam of pure energy, as thin as a needle and brighter than day, shot forth.

  There was no boom. Just the muffled sound of metal being struck by a divine force. The shield of the vanguard soldier—a solid piece of oak and iron—simply disintegrated. The man was thrown back like a ragdoll, flying ten meters before colliding with a tree with a horrible, wet thud.

  For an instant that seemed an eternity, no one moved. The crystal creature pulsed again, realigning its facets with a sound like polished glass. The captain broke the spell of terror.

  “Disperse!” his voice was no longer a roar, but a sharp, precise command. “It’s pure mana! Shields are useless!”

  The soldiers reacted, scattering among the trees. The next energy beam struck where the formation had been, charring the soil and sending earth and leaves into the air.

  The captain did not retreat. He planted his feet on the ground, and the air around him began to tremble. A white frost sprouted from his boots, crawling across the ground and enveloping his arms. The cold was so intense it could be felt even at a distance.

  “I will contain this,” he said, his voice now echoing with a supernatural resonance. “Fall back and protect the village. That’s where the wolves will run.”

  As if his words were a prophecy, a new wave of howls exploded from the forest—not of attack, but of pure panic. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of wolves burst from the woods, their bodies crushing bushes, their eyes mad and blind with terror. They did not look at the soldiers. They simply fled, a river of fur and fear, running straight toward the unprepared village.

  The crystalline creature ignored the stampede. Its attention was fixed on the only source of power that rivaled its own.

  “I think this is going to be a tough fight,” said the captain with a smile on his face.

  While something unknown propagated through the forest roots, Katia and I talked near the camp.

  “Chocolate? What’s that?” Katia seemed to have difficulty describing its taste, perhaps from lack of reference.

  “What’s the sweetest thing you eat here in the village?” Katia asked, bringing a finger to her mouth while making a confused expression.

  “Potatoes,” I replied without hesitation.

  She let out a frustrated sigh, shaking her head.

  “Potatoes aren’t sweet! I guess I won’t be able to explain… Maybe if you ate some honey…”

  I didn’t hear the rest. Without explanation, I stood up. My eyes fixed on a specific point on the horizon, over the dense line of the forest. A pressure began to form behind my eyes, as if the air itself were being squeezed in a giant, invisible fist.

  Katia followed my gaze. Her face lost its relaxed expression.

  “Mio?”

  The glow came before the sound—first a pale blue flash that made the shadows dance, then an explosion of colors that refracted in my red eyes, exalting a polychromy of reddish and bluish hues.

  Then the sky split.

  Beyond the trees, the sky split. A structure of deep blue ice, a nightmare tower studded with shards like raw diamonds, erupted from the forest canopy and pierced the clouds. It was so colossal that for a moment it seemed closer to the moon than to us.

  Katia’s gaze met mine. The paralysis broke, replaced by instant and terrifying understanding. The conversation about sweets hadn’t just ended; it seemed to belong to another life, distant and naive.

  “What’s the fastest way there?” Katia asked while running.

  “If we follow the dirt road it’ll be more efficient,” I replied, already running alongside her.

  Beside me, Katia ran with the razor-sharp precision of someone trained for conflict, her feet finding the unstable terrain with a grace that dazzled me. But it was in her breathing, a rapid rhythm moistened by effort, that I heard the same ice climbing my veins.

  And then, the future spat its shadow over the present.

  “Left!” I shouted, more an instinctive command than a warning.

  A dark, swift mass burst from the vegetation, its claws scraping the air where Katia had been an instant before. She threw herself to the side with a sharp gasp, her eyes wide not at the beast, but at me. There was no time for questions.

  Without giving time for questions, actions, or plans, the animal made its next move.

  Fangs… Neck… One and a half seconds. — The world seemed to slow down within my thoughts. The colors became more vivid, the red of blood, the green of grass, everything seemed to happen in slow motion, except my own movements.

  The wolf leaped. A lance of muscle and fury aimed straight for my neck.

  My feet left the ground at the exact moment its muzzle passed beneath me. Instead of panic, a gelid calm guided me: my hand landed on its head, not with force, but with precision—a quick touch to reposition myself. I applied slight weight to redirect its momentum downward while my body continued the arc of the leap.

  I landed with a light, balanced step behind it, while the wolf, confused, completed its attack into empty air.

  Something materialized in Katia’s hands, a structure of translucent ice, elegant and deadly. A cord of icy energy tensed between the curved ends. A regular arrow appeared in her other hand as an instant response to the danger.

  No time… The arrow doesn’t have enough force.

  As the bowstring stretched back, I was already moving, three quick steps that placed me directly between Katia and the wolf. My movement was calculated enough to draw attention, insufficient to seem a threat.

  I turned my neck slightly, just enough for my gaze to meet Katia’s for a fraction of a second.

  The wolf, attracted by the movement, reacted exactly as predicted—a low leap straight at my chest, its mouth open for the fatal blow.

  At the same instant, I crouched.

  My body bent forward, creating a perfect window between my shoulder and the nape of my neck. Through this gap, Katia’s arrow passed, not where the wolf was, but where its forehead would be.

  The crack was dry and final. The arrowhead met the frontal bone at the exact point my position had dictated, penetrating with a force only possible at the perfect angle.

  My feet were already pivoting on the ground before the animal’s last tremor ceased. I heard Katia’s steps behind me, heavy but determined, as we ran toward the heart of the chaos, leaving behind the first test overcome and the omen of much greater battles.

  Katia seemed to be saying something, but her voice seemed too distant for me to hear.

  My thoughts are coming in fragments. Did I see twenty? No, thirty situations at the same time? That was the most efficient… I don’t have time to think about this, I have to run to the village.

  The curve in the road revealed not chaos, but a scene of contained war.

  At the edge of the forest, a line of soldiers maintained formation, their shields forming a barrier against the wolves’ charges. Crossbows twanged in steady rhythm, arrows finding their targets with deadly efficiency. It was an organized barrier, a dike holding back the river of panic trying to invade the village.

  Behind them, huddled under the awnings of the nearest houses, the villagers watched. Pale faces, wide eyes, but safe enough to observe.

  Katia stopped beside me, panting.

  “You finally stopped running,” she exclaimed while sighing. “What was that back there? The situation doesn’t seem bad… but the wolves seem out of control, as if they want to flee from something.”

  “I don’t know either,” I replied, trying to disguise it. “Things just happened.”

  The feeling of safety lasted less than a breath.

  Watch out. Two of them broke through the formation. Can’t let them reach the villagers. — The soldier’s voice echoed in my mind.

  When the wolf began running toward the village, the multiple visions didn’t cease, but this time a familiar silhouette stood out among them—my father, pushing others behind him, arms spread as if that would stop the claws.

  The slowness invaded my thoughts again. Three seconds. The wolf leaps from the left. My father steps forward. The fangs find his neck before the soldier’s spear reaches it.

  My feet found the axe handle at the same instant the wolf broke through the shield line. The world compressed again into the familiar tunnel, the animal, my father, and the space between them I had to close.

  The wolf didn’t aim for me. Its eyes, empty and fixed, were locked on my father’s back, who was advancing to protect a boy who had stumbled behind him. The beast crouched, a movement I’d already seen in my mind, and lunged.

  My body reacted without consulting reason. I didn’t think about strength, didn’t think about technique. I only thought about interrupting that straight line of death that only I could see.

  I twisted my torso, feeling the weight of the blade as an extension of my arm, and placed the steel edge exactly where the wolf’s neck would be.

  The impact was dry and absolute. A jolt ran up my arm, but the blade didn’t falter. It lodged with surgical precision, interrupting the leap at its apex. The wolf fell at my father’s feet like dead weight, the growl still echoing in the empty air.

  The silence that followed was louder than any scream.

  Wait, the soldier said there were two wolves? — I thought, already turning toward the other villagers.

  Katia was in front of the villagers, acting as a barrier, her bow aimed at the other wolf that had passed through the formation. The animal advanced, completely ignoring the arrows embedding in its back.

  Even if I start running now, I won’t make it in time. Throw the axe? I don’t have enough accuracy or strength. The guards are delayed. There’s nothing I can—

  My thoughts were interrupted by silence.

  A deafening roar split the air, the same sound as when thunder cleaved the sky. An ice sword larger than a man shattered against the wolf, not just killing it, but pulverizing it against the earth. Fragments of ice and bone flew like shrapnel as a shockwave swept the square, making everyone grab onto something solid.

  For an instant, everyone froze—soldiers, villagers, even the remaining wolves.

  Then came the second impact. And the third.

  More giant ice swords fell from the sky, each one crushing a wolf with enough force to open craters in the ground. In seconds, all the animals that had broken through the formation were nothing but red stains under mounds of blue-turquoise ice.

  When the last echo died, only the tinkling of fine ice crystals falling like snow remained. And at the forest’s edge, from where the storm had come, the captain’s figure emerged, his hand still raised, his cold eyes sweeping the now silent battlefield.

  Katia lowered her bow, her eyes showing relief. Her head was turned toward the forest, following the man emerging from the trees.

  “Lower your weapons,” his voice cut the silence, firm and calm. “Our priority now is to check for injured villagers. Our mission will only be successful in that case.”

  As the soldiers began to move, the captain eyes met mine through the icy dust still hanging in the air.

  “Mio…are you okay?” My father asked. His hand landed on my shoulder, firm, as if wanting to feel I was really there.

  My mother pushed her way through the crowd almost brusquely, shoving aside anyone in her path. She stopped before me, her face a mask of worry so intense it bordered on fury. No words were necessary; I could feel the contained storm in her silence.

  A warm sensation had taken over my body, a hug, laden with various intentions. Even if it seemed an act of affection, it was heavy with meaning.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the ground, knowing no apology would be enough to erase the terror I had planted in their hearts.

  “You could have died!” My father raised his voice unintentionally, attracting more looks. “Why did you run at that thing?”

  “Because if I hadn’t, it would have been you,” I replied, looking directly into his eyes.

  The captain’s voice cut through the loaded silence between us, firm but contained:

  “I apologize for my failure.”

  He stood a few steps away, his posture erect, but his gaze genuinely remorseful. His eyes moved from me to my father, acknowledging paternal authority in the moment.

  “A commander should not allow danger to get so close to civilians. Much less that a young girl would have to do the job that was mine.”

  He then turned directly to me, and his tone changed slightly, becoming more personal:

  “And to you, Mio, I also apologize. No young girl should be placed in a position where she needed to do what you did.”

  As the soldiers began collecting the wolf corpses and the crowd slowly dispersed, I noticed some were still watching me. It wasn’t the look given to a heroine; it was the look of someone seeing something they don’t understand.

  The sky was already tinged with purplish hues, and the village lanterns were gaining strength against the encroaching darkness. The courtyard was calmer, though some villagers still spoke in low voices about the attack.

  How did she move like that? — I wondered, remembering Mio facing the wolf. It wasn’t like the trained movements of my father, or Aunt Bella. It was something raw, instinctive. As if she already knew exactly what she had to do.

  “You’re pensive,” my father said, stopping beside me. “Let me guess, it’s about the white-haired girl? Mio, if I’m not mistaken.”

  He sat beside me on the stone parapet, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

  “There was a dead wolf body in the middle of the village, with an ice arrow in its forehead,” He continued. “Am I to assume that it was you two?”

  Hm, how do I explain this without sounding crazy?

  “I’m telling you…She predicted the wolf’s attack and told me to move before it leaped, and then dodged a super-fast attack like it was nothing.”

  “I’m not necessarily doubting you,” His eyes turned to me. “The girl’s magical signature speaks for itself. I’m sure in that movement to kill the wolf she used mana amplification without intention, otherwise the axe wouldn’t have pierced the wolf’s neck.”

  That wasn’t the only strange thing she did — I thought, but since Mio chose not to explain, I thought I shouldn’t tell my father about when she looked at the horizon before the ice pillar rose.

  I took a deep breath, sensing the right moment.

  “Father…when I go to the Magic School, I want Mio to come with me.”

  He turned his face slowly, one eyebrow arched.

  “Katia…”

  “No, listen!” I interrupted, grabbing his arm. “You just said it yourself! She uses mana amplification without even knowing what mana is! Imagine what she could be with proper training!”

  “Natural talents exist, Katia,” he said, his tone more serious. “But throwing an unprepared girl into this world…”

  “That’s exactly why she needs to go!”I insisted, my voice laden with urgency. “And it’s not without preparation, you and Aunt Bella can train her. Here she’ll never learn to control it. She’ll keep using magic by accident, putting herself in danger. At least at school she’d have guidance!”

  “And what if she doesn’t want to go?” he finally asked.

  “She does,” I replied with conviction. “I saw it in her eyes when I talked about Isla and the school.”

  “That’s undeniable. When I spoke with her I could see her determination through her eyes.”

  He stood up and let out a long sigh. “I’ll talk to her parents tomorrow. But the final decision will be theirs.”

  “That means yes!” I said, hopping off the parapet with a victorious smile.

  The twilight entered faintly through the window, painting long shadows on our exhausted faces. My father closed the door, and the click of the latch sounded like a final punctuation mark on the day’s chaos.

  Inside the house, the silence was heavier than any word. My mother leaned against the table, her fingers drumming lightly on the wood.

  “When I saw you running toward that beast…” My father began, his voice a hoarse thread. “…my heart stopped, Mio.”

  “You could have died,” my mother finished, but her voice carried no accusation, only a tremor of retrospective terror.

  There was effectively nothing I could say to justify my actions. I understood perfectly the reason for their anguish. What made me jump in front of the wolf was exactly what they were feeling now.

  “Sorry for what I did,” I murmured, bowing my head. “Sorry, truly.”

  My father crossed the room in two steps, his heavy, familiar hand landing on my shoulder.

  “No…we’re the ones who should apologize,” he said, his voice softer now. “We got scared, and fear sometimes speaks louder than reason.”

  My mother approached, her eyes moist.

  “Thank you, daughter,” she whispered, pulling me into a hug that smelled of earth and home. “For trying to protect your father.”

  That night, we ate in silence, but their hands didn’t let go of me. And when we settled to sleep together like in the old days, I understood that some bonds don’t break—they only transform.

  The next morning, the first knock on the door echoed like a portent. My father opened it, and over his shoulder I saw the silhouette of the captain against the sunrise, his face laden with a solemn purpose that would make our placid life crumble forever.

  “Good morning,” said the captain, with a more pronounced nod than usual. “Before anything, I apologize. My failure as a commander put your family in danger, and that is a weight I will carry.”

  My father studied his face for a moment before gesturing inside.

  “The danger has passed,” said my father, but his voice was cautious.

  He stopped before my parents, his hands crossed behind his back in a posture that was both respectful and imposing.

  “I will take what happened yesterday as a lesson,” the captain replied, his eyes meeting mine. “What your daughter demonstrated yesterday… is not common. It is a rare talent, the kind that appears once in a generation.” His words were measured, avoiding technical terminology. “There is a place where your daughter could, if she wishes, explore more about herself and the world.”

  My mother clenched her apron between her fingers.

  “What kind of place?” she asked, her voice softer than intended.

  “There is a school in the capital,” he said, and the word seemed to expand in the small room’s air, “where young people with gifts like hers don’t need to hold back. Where they can learn not to change who they are, but to become the best version of themselves.”

  My mother clenched her apron between her fingers, her white knuckles betraying the tension.

  “A school…so far away?” her voice wavered, laden with the weight of all the dangers a mother can imagine.

  It was then that my father placed his large, calloused hand over hers, calming her tremor.

  “Elnath,” he said softly, his gaze moving from me to her, “we both know how much our daughter dreams of something greater.”

  My mother looked at me, and in her eyes I saw no resistance anymore, but a painful surrender to the inevitable. She saw the same spark my father did, that brilliance I always tried to hide whenever we spoke of worlds beyond the mountains.

  My father smiled, one of those rare smiles he saved for the most precious memories.

  “Remember when she was just two years old?” he said, his voice softening. “The first time she spoke wasn’t ‘mommy’ or ‘daddy.’ It was ‘why?’. And since then, she’s never stopped asking.”

  My mother looked at me, and I saw her eyes moisten as she relived those moments.

  “She took apart the mantel clock when she was three,” she murmured, a sad smile touching her lips. “And examined every piece as if the secret of the universe were there.”

  “We can’t take that away from her,” My father concluded while looking at me. “Mio, the decision is yours.”

  The air stopped. All eyes were on me, my parents’ apprehension, the captain’s calm expectation. My throat tightened. How could I choose between the only home I knew and the whole world whispering my name?

  The door opened suddenly, without warning.

  “Let’s go!” Katia’s voice echoed through the room before we even saw her completely.

  She didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t ask for permission, simply launched herself at me, wrapping me in a hug so strong it almost knocked me over.

  “It’ll be amazing! The two of us together at school! We’ll learn everything, see everything. You’ll love the library! And the towers! And the flight lessons! And…” she made a dramatic pause, her eyes shining.

  My parents watched, first surprised, then gradually surrendering to the smile that Katia’s excitement forced onto their faces. Even the captain lost a bit of his rigid posture, shaking his head with an expression of resigned affection.

  The captain then made a more comprehensive offer, his gaze including my parents in his invitation.

  “Your entire family would be welcome in the capital. I have more than enough space, and you wouldn’t need to be separated.”

  My father smiled but shook his head with a quiet certainty.

  “We thank you, captain. But this village is our life,” he said, his hand making a gentle gesture encompassing our simple home, the garden, the view of the mountains. “We will care for this place so that, whenever our Mio needs to return, she has a home to come back to.”

  My mother agreed, her gaze soft but firm.

  “Someone needs to keep the roots strong so our sprouts can fly without fear.”

  The captain inclined his head in deep respect.

  “That is rare wisdom. May your roots always remain strong.”

  Katia squeezed my hand, and I understood that she, too, comprehended—some bonds don’t break, and aren't transplanted. They simply stretch, embracing both the new home and the old.

  The next morning, the village breathed relief. The sun gilded the stone rooftops, and the aroma of fresh bread mingled with the scent of dew and damp earth. The military organized their wagons, preparing the departure that would return peace to our village.

  My parents waited at the door, their faces a silent battle between pride and anticipated longing. The captain approached, adjusting his sword’s scabbard.

  “Mio will be under my protection until the exam,” he said, his gaze shifting between my parents. “My home is your home, and she will have all the necessary preparation.”

  Katia couldn’t contain herself. She pulled me by the hand toward the carriage, her lavender eyes shining.

  Get in. The world shrank to the carriage window. The village—every mossy roof, every crooked wooden fence, every known face—diminished as we moved away. I fixed in my memory the smell of earth after rain, the sound of the stream, the rough texture of our hearthstone.

  My parents stood before our house, two solid, diminishing figures, waving. My father with a raised hand, my mother with fingers pressed to her lips.

  The captain mounted his horse, giving a final, respectful nod to those who entrusted their only daughter to his care.

  “Are you ready?” Katia whispered beside me, her excitement now contained in reverence for the moment.

  The carriage gained speed, and the road serpentined ahead.

  I watched the direction where the village lay until it vanished on the horizon, carrying me from a life that had ended to another that had barely begun.