The rusted chain creaks, then swings forward again. Creak. Pause. Creak.
I'm small. Maybe five? Maybe younger. I can't remember anymore.
The playground is full of life. Kids shouting, laughing, running through the dusty air with candy-colored sneakers and untied shoelaces. A boy with glasses zooms down the slide. A girl in pink leggings twirls in circles until she falls over laughing.
I step forward, clutching the sleeves of my thin hoodie. My shoes are torn at the sides. There's a hole in my left sock.
I look at the group playing by the jungle gym. "H-hey…" I say, voice too soft. I try again, louder. "Can I play too?" One boy turns. He doesn't say anything.
But before he can answer, a woman rushes up. His mother. She grabs his shoulder fast and hard like she's yanking him from a fire. "Stay away from him," she says sharply, her eyes flicking down at me like I'm something she stepped in. "Come on, let's go. You know what I told you."
"But—" the boy starts, confused. "No buts," she snaps. "Don't talk to that boy. He's not… for you." Another mother does the same. Then another. Like I'm a storm cloud and they're pulling their children inside before the lightning hits.
Within seconds, the group scatters. I stand there alone. The sun dips low in the sky. Orange and gold rays stretch across the sand pit. The swing keeps moving even though no one's on it. Back and forth. Back and forth.
I stare at it. The only sound left is the wind… and that swing.
Creak. Pause. Creak.
. . .
It's been about a month since I woke up in Willowmere. I should be close to two years old by now.
Two years in this new world. Most of it spent starving, bleeding, running, and hiding. But now…
Now I have new clothes. Soft cotton shirts. Wool socks that actually match. I have a bed that doesn't scratch or smell like shit. Three meals a day. Water whenever I'm thirsty. Even soap that smells like mint.
Sometimes, it feels fake. Too soft. Too quiet. I sit on the edge of the windowsill in my room, elbows on the ledge, chin in my hand.
Outside, I see them—kids playing. Real kids. Laughing. Throwing little stones into a wooden bucket. A girl runs past with a flower crown sliding down her head. A boy rolls a wheel down the road with a stick and cheers when it hits a barrel.
It's peaceful. More peaceful than anything I've ever known.
I watch them from behind the glass. Like I'm still outside it all. Still on the other side of the fence.
I remember the swing from my old life. The empty one from before. The one that never stopped. I never got to play like that. Not in my old life. Not even before I died. Not once.
I never had someone calling me in for dinner, or laughing when I tripped, or dragging me by the hand to chase after a butterfly. I never got to just be a kid. Not really. Now I sit here, watching other kids live that life like it's the most normal thing in the world.
A bitter thought crosses my mind. Would they pull their kids away from me too, if they knew who I really was?
Then I feel it. Someone's behind me. Fast. I spin without thinking, my muscles acting on their own. I push off the window and lunge straight at whoever it is.
Strong hands catch me mid-air. "Whoa there!" the young man laughs, holding me by the shoulders and gently setting me back down. "Easy, kid. It's just me."
My heart's pounding. I breathe hard, ready to bolt again. "What do you want?" I snap. My voice isn't loud, but it's sharp. He puts his hands up in surrender. "Just checking on you, that's all."
I don't say anything.
He looks toward the window, then back at me. "You were watching the kids play, huh?" I tense up. He smiles gently. "Wanna go outside and try?"
"No," I say immediately, too fast. "I mean—I don't—I don't care." But halfway through the lie, something cracks. My voice dies mid-sentence. I clench my hands. "I do. I… I wanna try."
He doesn't say anything. Just waits. I lower my eyes. "I'm just… scared of what they'll think of me." Then I pause, bite my lip, and look back up at him.
"…Sorry. For trying to hit you." He chuckles. "My fault for sneaking up like that." He gives my hair a gentle ruffle—just once—and then walks over to the kitchen doorway.
"Lina," he calls out casually, "I think it's time we introduce him to the rest of the village." Lina—his wife—looks up from kneading dough.
She wipes her hands on her apron and walks over with a bright smile. "That's a good idea," she says. "He's looking healthier. A little quiet still, but healthy."
I shrink back a step. She notices, and her smile softens. "Don't worry, sweetheart. You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to. Just walking a bit will be enough."
My feet stay where they are, rooted like they've turned into stone. She walks up slowly, bends down, and reaches for my hand.
I flinch. But she doesn't pull or grab. She just waits.
Her hand stays open, warm and patient. My fingers twitch. Then move. Finally, I place my hand in hers.
She closes her fingers around mine. Gently. Not tightly. Not like the slavers who always gripped hard, like they were scared I'd run even if I couldn't stand.
This is different. This is… safe. "I'll be right next to you," she says. The man—Rennan, I think his name was—nods. "Both of us will."
I look between them. Then toward the door. I swallow. And take a step forward. The door creaks as Lina opens it. A beam of sunlight spills across the wooden floor, brighter than I expected. I blink, shielding my eyes. Then we walk out.
The light hits me fully. It's almost too much. Warm. Golden. Real. When my eyes adjust, I see it. Willowmere.
The village is alive with quiet life. Farmers walk down the path with wheelbarrows full of turnips and green onions. Young women carry baskets and chat near the well, laughing softly. One of them waves to Lina and tosses her a fresh loaf of bread. An old woman rocks in a wooden chair outside a small house, her knitting needles tapping together like a steady drumbeat. Children dart between buildings, weaving past carts and chickens. One girl rides a goat like it's a noble steed, shrieking with joy as it trots in circles.
Everything is simple. But beautiful.
I tighten my grip on Lina's hand. Then a voice. "Hello there." I turn my head and hide behind Lina.
A woman is walking toward us. Her dress is faded blue, and her hair is tied back with a ribbon. She kneels in front of me, her hands resting lightly on her knees.
"Welcome to Willowmere. I'm Sera," she says with a kind smile. "What's your name?"
I hesitate. Open my mouth. Close it again. She nods. "That's okay. You don't have to say anything yet." Then she stands and waves at Lina before walking off toward a garden patch.
Before I can process it, someone else approaches. A man this time, with tan skin and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He squats down, grinning. "You're the boy from the forest, huh? I'm Jorin. If you like fishing, I can teach you sometime." I blink. Fishing?
I look down at my feet. "…Maybe," I whisper, barely audible.
He chuckles and pats my shoulder before heading back toward a shed.
Then—a blur of color passes in front of me. Kids. A group of them race down the path, chasing each other with sticks and cloth flags.
But one girl stops. She turns. She has short brown hair and a toothy smile. "Hi," she says, hands behind her back. "I'm Nella."
I freeze. She leans forward. "Wanna play with us?" My throat tightens. I can't speak. I just stare. She doesn't wait long. She nods cheerfully. "That's okay. Maybe next time?"
Then she waves and runs to catch up with the others. I watch her go. The flag flaps behind her like a tiny red wing.
Rennan chuckles softly beside me. Lina leans down again and whispers, "You did great." I don't answer. But I don't let go of her hand either.
We walk further along the path. Every step feels strange. Not bad. Just… unfamiliar. Like walking with shoes on for the first time after spending years barefoot. Like I'm not sure if the ground will stay solid under me.
I stay close to Lina. Closer than I probably need to. Rennan stays just behind us, giving space but not too much.
I hear birds in the trees. I smell fresh bread and damp earth. Children are laughing somewhere nearby, and for once, I don't feel like it's aimed at me.
Then I see him. A man with broad shoulders, a gray-streaked beard, and a wooden walking stick. He stands near a small communal garden with a warm smile and tired eyes. His clothes are simple, but there's a heavy pendant hanging from his neck—a carving of a willow tree.
Rennan nudges me gently. "That's Erdric," he says. "He's the village leader." I stop walking. Lina notices right away and doesn't pull. The man—Erdric—walks toward us slowly. No rush. No threat.
"Ah," he says, voice like gravel soaked in honey. "So you must be the boy I've been hearing about."
I shrink back. My hand tightens in Lina's. She doesn't let go. Erdric stops a few steps away and crouches slowly, his knees popping softly. "No need to be scared," he says gently. "You've been through more than most grown men. You don't have to say anything. Just wanted to meet the newest soul in Willowmere."
I peek at him from behind Lina's skirt. He doesn't look cruel. He doesn't smell like fear or lies. He just looks… tired. Like someone who's seen a lot and decided to be kind anyway.
Rennan clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry, he's still… adjusting." Erdric waves it off. "Of course. I wouldn't expect anything less."
He stands again with a grunt and taps his cane once. "Well, nothing exciting ever happens here," he says with a half-smile. "So having a new face around is a blessing in disguise."
He gives me one more look. Not sharp. Not pushing. Then he nods. "I hope you find peace here, little one." And with that, he walks away. Just like that. No questions. No pressure. Just… welcome.
We head back home not long after. The sun's starting to dip lower in the sky. The air's cooler now. Everything's quiet again, but it's not the same kind of quiet I used to know.
Not the silence of a cage or the hush before a beating. This is a calm quiet. A peaceful quiet.
Lina hums a little as we walk. Her thumb brushes over the back of my hand in slow circles. I don't pull away.
When we reach the door, Rennan opens it for us. "You did good, kid," he says. Lina smiles. "We're so proud of you."
I blink. Those words echo somewhere deep inside me.
We're so proud of you. I don't know what to say. My mouth doesn't move, but my chest feels warm in a way that makes my eyes sting. They don't say anything else. They just guide me back in, and the door shuts behind us.
. . .
Dinner is simple.
Stew with potatoes and beans. Bread with butter. A small cup of something sweet that Lina says is berry tea.
We sit at the table. No one talks too much. But it doesn't feel awkward. It feels like… a family.
I glance across the table. Rennan is chewing slowly, eyes half-closed. Lina is slicing more bread, humming softly under her breath.
And me? I'm just sitting there. Eating. Existing. And for once, not hurting.
Afterward, I help clear the table. Not because they asked—but because I wanted to.
I dry the bowls while Lina washes. Rennan puts the leftovers into jars for the pantry.
It's slow. It's quiet. It's nice.
After dinner, I go back to the bedroom. The sun is almost gone now. The sky outside the window is streaked with pink and purple, slowly fading into gray. I press my forehead against the glass and look out.
And there it is. The swing. It's tied between two wooden posts not far from the edge of the vegetable garden. It's simple—just a plank of wood and two ropes—but it sways gently in the breeze. But this time… It's not empty.
A boy is pushing a smaller girl while she giggles. Another kid sits cross-legged in the grass nearby, fiddling with some pebbles. Someone else runs past with a stick, pretending it's a sword. The swing squeaks every now and then, but it's not lonely. Not anymore.
I don't realize I'm holding my breath until my chest starts to ache.
I close my eyes and think back. That day in the old world—standing alone while mothers pulled their children away from me like I was some disease. The sting in my chest. The heat behind my eyes. The sound of the wind and the swing, the only one that didn't leave me.
And now… This place. This quiet little village with its sun-warmed soil and its kind strangers and its soft bread. This couple—Rennan and Lina—who never once raised their voices at me. Who never pulled away. Who never looked at me like I was a burden, or a curse.
And these people. The girl who smiled and said "maybe next time." The man who offered to teach me how to fish. The village leader who didn't demand anything. Who just said welcome. It doesn't erase what happened before. Nothing ever will.
Elaria is still gone. My real mother in this world. The only one who showed me what love looked like before the world tore her away. But…
She's not entirely gone. Not if I still carry the things she gave me. Not if I still remember her voice and her warmth and the way her eyes lit up when I smiled.
She told me to live. And now—for the first time—I think I might understand what that really means.
Not just surviving. Not just fighting monsters and eating roots and trying not to die. But living. Living like this. Slow. Quiet. Real.
I press my hand against the window. My fingers leave smudges on the glass. Below, the children are being called back in. Mothers wave from doorways. Fathers scoop kids up in their arms, spinning them in lazy circles. Lanterns start flickering to life along the fences and doorways.
The village settles. But the swing still moves, swaying softly in the breeze. This time, I'm not the one watching it from the outside, alone. Not anymore.
Because I'm here. I'm still here. And for tonight… that's enough.
[Current Status]
Name: Albus
Age: 1
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Class: Slave(Former)
Occupation: None
Location: Willowmere
Strength: 6/Toughness: 6/Stamina: 6/Dexterity: 6/Perception: 9/Charisma: 2
Titles: Soul Migrator/ Blood Moon Curse
Skills/Traits: Minor Healing(Lvl. 2)/ Poison Resistance(Lvl. 1)/ Combat Instinct - Basic(Lvl. 2)/ One Handed Weapons(Lvl. 3)