The forest was dark under the moonlight, and a girl was running. She gasped for air, but she didn't slow down. Her bare feet tore against pebbles and broken branches, already cut and bruised.
The sound of a river grew louder in her ears. Her breath came in ragged bursts as she pushed deeper into the woods, guided only by the full moon and the heavy silence around her.
For a moment, she glanced back. Long black hair fell across her face, partly hiding the brown eyes behind it. Through the strands, she caught a faint glow—flames flickering in the far distance.
Her cheeks were wet, her vision blurred with tears, but she kept running. Then something shifted. She slowed and looked up.
The moon had turned red.
The sight was mesmerizing, but it made her stomach twist. After one deep breath, she forced her legs to move again. Whatever was happening above, she didn't dare look twice. She couldn't afford to.
As she ran, the forest itself felt different. The trees seemed strange, like they were changing around her. Her gut told her something was wrong. Then, without warning, the trees opened into a plain.
She remembered this place being wider, stretching farther. Now it looked smaller, unfamiliar.
The sky was no longer black, no red moon above. Instead, shades of gray and blue spread overhead. Stars still lingered faintly, with slow-moving clouds drifting across. The cold breeze cut into her skin, yet it felt oddly foreign, like the wind came from somewhere far away.
"Everything feels strange," she whispered. Her voice trembled. "My home… What should I do now? Do I even have anything left… Mother?"
Clutching her silk robe to her chest, she walked forward. The strength to run had left her. Grief pressed down on her, heavy and sharp, but she didn't cry. She remembered what her mother had taught her: don't cry, not when you need to stay strong.
The memory came unbidden. She was eight years old, sitting alone at night. Her mother hadn't returned, though the hour was late. When she finally came home, she found her daughter weeping. With gentle hands, she pulled her close, her soft voice calming the tears until the world felt safe again.
Back in the present, the rising sun brushed her cheeks with warmth. She closed her eyes, letting the light soak into her skin. For a brief moment, she almost forgot the chaos she had escaped.
An hour passed as she wandered with no direction. No path, no guide—only grass, forests, drifting clouds, and far-off mountains. Her body was weak, every step heavier than the last.
Then she heard a voice.
"Oi."
She turned. A girl stood there, ashy brown hair framing her face, amber eyes fixed on her.
"Where'd you come from?" the girl asked, looking her over. Her gaze lingered on the dirt-stained clothes—too fine to belong to a traveler.
"You don't look like one. Who are you?" she pressed, her tone sharp but curious.
The black-haired girl hesitated. "I'm… Akeno." Her voice was soft, guarded. She clearly didn't want to say more.
"Your last name?"
"I… I can't say," Akeno stammered.
The girl's eyes narrowed slightly. "So you're a runaway."
Akeno froze. The guess struck too close. For a moment, she considered bolting again, but the other girl only smirked.
"Oi, relax. I'm not gonna hurt you. Don't care much who you are. A runaway, huh? Then you'd better figure out where you're headed."
Her amber eyes swept over Akeno again, sharp and assessing. "Be careful. Plenty out there would bite if they could." Her tone was light, almost teasing, but the warning was real.
Akeno's voice was barely a whisper. "I… I don't have a destination. I'm just wandering. I don't know where to go, or where I'd even find safety."
She looked almost childlike in her lostness. The other girl noticed the faint burn marks on her clothes, the bruises on her feet. This wasn't just some whim. Something worse had happened.
"Fine," the girl said at last. "You can stay with me, if you want." Her amber eyes lingered on Akeno, weighing her carefully.
Akeno blinked in shock. "Wait… really?"
"Yeah. I'm not lying. You don't look like you'll last long out here on your own." Her tone was steady, firm. "So stay. Just don't make it awkward."
"B-but I don't even know you. We just met."
The girl sighed lightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Gracie Alther. That's my name. Your choice. I'm not gonna hurt you. Just don't cause trouble."
Relief flickered across Akeno's face. "Thank you," she whispered, bowing her head. "I'm really grateful for your kindness."
Gracie's brow twitched. Annoyance flashed in her eyes. "You don't need to bow. A simple thank you is enough. I'm not a queen who needs respect."
Startled, Akeno lifted her head, meeting Gracie's steady gaze.
"Come on," Gracie said, already turning away. "Follow me, if you're coming."
Akeno stood there for a moment, then nodded quickly. "Yes… I'm coming."
Gracie walked ahead, her steps smooth and quick. Akeno followed, every step sending pain through her bruised feet. She stayed silent, forcing herself to keep up.
Gracie didn't look back. She didn't need to—she had already noticed the girl's injuries. She knew Akeno was hurting, knew she was falling behind, but she kept her stride steady.
After what felt like an hour of suffering for Akeno, a cottage appeared at the edge of the trees. Old and weathered, it was a bit large.
"Is that your home?" Akeno asked quietly.
"Yes," Gracie replied without hesitation. "That's my home. You'll be living there, as long as I allow it." Her voice was edged, but to Akeno it was a lifeline.
"I won't stay forever," Akeno said quickly. "I'll leave once I can." Gratitude lit her face.
Gracie didn't answer. She kept walking, silent as before.
Soon they reached the cottage. Gracie opened the door and stepped inside, slipping off her shoes without a thought. Akeno lingered at the threshold, her bare feet too sore and dirty to step on the wooden floor.
Without looking back, Gracie tossed her an old pair of slippers. "Wear those. Then wash your feet. Handpump's around the left corner."
Akeno caught them clumsily, blinking at the order, but didn't argue. She stepped outside and circled the cottage until she found it—an iron contraption jutting from the ground.
"This must be the handpump," she whispered to herself. She had never seen one before.
Grasping the cold metal handle, she pulled it up and pushed it down. Nothing. Just a hollow clank. She tried again. Still nothing. On the third try, water finally spilled out.
She flinched at first, surprised to feel a faint warmth in the stream, as though the earth had kept it safe. Against the evening chill, the water almost felt gentle.
Now understanding, she crouched and washed her feet. Relief washed over her as the warmth eased the sting instead of biting at her skin.
She noticed something strange—the bruises looked lighter, fading faster than they should. The air was cold, but the water carried warmth.
When she was done, she slipped on the slippers and returned to the door.
The moment she stepped inside, warmth wrapped around her, like a blanket pulling her close.