From the crest of the hill, she looked down upon the settlement once more.
It was small, nestled between the forest's edge and a winding river that shimmered beneath the afternoon sun. Wooden rooftops clustered together like sheltering hands, smoke drifting lazily from chimneys. Dirt roads branched outward from a central square, worn smooth by countless footsteps. It was imperfect. Alive.
Her chest tightened.
Tears welled in her eyes before she realized what was happening. She brought a trembling hand to her face, startled by the warmth spilling down her cheeks.
People.
She wasn't alone.
A quiet, broken sound escaped her lips—half laugh, half sob. The forest behind her had been vast and beautiful, but it had offered no voices, no answers. This place, no matter how small, meant survival. Connection. Hope.
She wiped her eyes quickly, embarrassed even though no one was there to see, and began her descent toward the settlement.
Halfway down the hill, she stopped.
A thought surfaced—slow, uncomfortable, unavoidable.
She had no name.
The realization struck her harder than hunger or fear ever had. She stood still, fingers curling into the fabric of her worn clothes. A name was more than a sound. It was proof of existence. Without one, she felt unfinished, like a story missing its beginning.
She sat on a fallen log near the roadside, staring down at her hands.
A breeze passed through the tall grass, lifting strands of her white hair. Sunlight caught in it, making it glow faintly. She remembered the stream. The reflection. The eyes.
Light.
"…Hikari," she whispered.
The word felt warm. Gentle. It fit the way the forest had reacted to her, the way the sun seemed to linger on her skin.
"Hikari," she said again, more firmly.
It wasn't the truth—but it was something.
She stood, steadier now, and continued toward the town.
As she drew closer, the sounds reached her first—voices, laughter, the clang of metal on metal. She slipped through the outer edge of the settlement quietly, instinctively keeping to the shadows between buildings. The town was surrounded by a low wooden palisade, more symbolic than defensive, with an open gate watched by a single bored guard.
No one stopped her.
The town itself was simple but well-kept. Timber-framed houses lined the roads, their walls painted in faded earth tones. Colorful cloth banners hung from windows and posts, some bearing unfamiliar crests. Market stalls filled the central square—baskets of fruit, bundles of herbs, polished tools, and freshly baked bread whose scent made her stomach ache.
She wandered slowly, taking everything in.
People glanced at her as she passed.
Some stared openly—at her long white hair, at the strange way her eyes reflected the light. Others whispered behind raised hands. No one approached her at first, but no one chased her away either.
A pair of children paused their game to watch her, wide-eyed and curious. An elderly man narrowed his gaze as if trying to remember something he had forgotten. A woman selling flowers smiled hesitantly before looking away.
Hikari hugged her arms close to herself, unsure whether she was welcome or merely tolerated.
Gathering her courage, she approached a fruit stall where a middle-aged woman arranged apples into neat rows. The woman looked up, surprise flickering across her face before softening.
"Excuse me," Hikari said quietly. "Where… where is this place?"
The woman studied her for a moment, then answered, "You're in Lunaris Vale."
The name lingered in Hikari's mind.
"And the country?" she asked.
"The Eastern Empire of Solthea," the woman replied. "You must've come a long way, child."
Hikari nodded, though she wasn't sure where "away" even was.
She thanked the woman and continued on, piecing together fragments of understanding as she listened to conversations around her. Solthea was vast, ruled by an imperial throne far beyond the forests. Lunaris Vale sat on its frontier—safe enough to trade, distant enough to feel forgotten.
That word again.
Forgotten.
She wandered deeper into the town, admiring the stone well at the center of the square and the modest shrine beside it. The shrine's symbol—a crescent intersected by a vertical line—felt oddly familiar, though she couldn't say why.
She turned a corner—
And collided with something solid.
"Oof—!"
She stumbled backward, losing her footing, and fell hard onto the dirt road.
"Watch where you're going!"
The voice was sharp, angry.
Hikari looked up to see a tall man clad in light armor, a sword strapped to his side. His dark hair was pulled back, his expression furious. Behind him stood three others—armed, alert, clearly a warrior's party.
"I—I'm sorry," Hikari said quickly, scrambling to her knees.
The man scowled down at her, then froze.
His eyes locked onto hers.
"…What the hell?" he muttered.
The street around them fell quiet.
People slowed. Turned. Watched.
The warrior's hand tightened on his sword hilt—not drawing it, but not relaxing either.
"Those eyes," he said slowly. "You're not from Solthea."
Hikari swallowed.
"I don't remember where I'm from," she said honestly.
A murmur rippled through the onlookers.
The warrior straightened, gaze hardening.
"Get up," he said. "Carefully."
Hikari did as she was told.
And somewhere far away—
Something ancient stirred.