Leaving the forest was not a moment of victory.
There was no music in my head, no sense of achievement, not even real relief. Just… a transition. As if I had crossed an invisible boundary and stepped into a place that was supposed to feel familiar—yet no longer did.
The trees behind me were still dense, their shadows interwoven, as though they were watching me until my very last step. Ahead, the land gradually opened up, and the outlines of the village began to form: a relatively wide dirt road, low stone houses, wooden roofs, and thin smoke rising from scattered chimneys.
A village.
A place where people lived.
I stopped for a moment at the edge.
My body didn't hurt as much as I had expected. The injuries that should have killed me yesterday had become… manageable. They hadn't disappeared, but they no longer screamed. As if something had decided to grant me a little extra margin—without explaining why.
The sword was at my side.
I didn't raise it. I didn't inspect it. I simply felt its presence—steady, silent, as though it were part of this body now.
I stepped forward.
The ground beneath my feet was different. Solid. Compacted by countless footsteps. No treacherous roots. No leaves hiding danger. And yet, I felt uneasy.
As if I had left a place that knew me… and entered one that didn't know what to do with me.
When I reached the first row of houses, they noticed me.
That wasn't surprising.
Torn clothes. Dried bloodstains. Heavy steps. And the sword.
Brief conversations stopped. Some doors closed quietly. Others simply stared—no open hostility, but no welcome either.
A child standing near a well looked at me without obvious fear. Before our eyes could meet, a woman pulled him back quickly, whispering something I couldn't hear.
I didn't feel insulted.
And I didn't feel angry.
I simply… understood.
I walked past them without slowing much. The sounds were louder than I was used to—footsteps, murmurs, wood scraping against stone, distant laughter. Everything felt chaotic, unregulated, as though the world was moving faster than it should.
The forest had been simpler.
One mistake—and you died.
Here… mistakes piled up.
My breathing was steady, but inside, it wasn't. There were no clear thoughts—just a strange sense of detachment, as if I were watching the scene from a step behind myself.
I was here… but no longer part of the rhythm.
A man approached me near the edge of the road. His features were rough, a simple spear in his hand, a wooden emblem on his chest. A guard, most likely.
He stopped two steps away, glanced at me, then at the sword.
"Where did you come from?"
His voice wasn't hostile. Just cautious.
"The forest." The word came out short, without explanation.
He looked past me, toward the trees. He didn't ask more. Just nodded slowly.
"Don't stay long on the main road."
It wasn't a threat. A warning.
I kept walking.
At the center of the village stood a small inn. Its sign was worn, but still hanging. I hesitated for a second, then went inside.
The air was warm. The smell of simple food. A heavy silence fell the moment eyes landed on me.
I said nothing.
I sat at a table near the wall, placing the sword beside me—not in front of me. A deliberate motion, though not entirely conscious.
A middle-aged man approached, his face tired, his eyes assessing. He set a cup of water in front of me without asking.
I drank it in one go.
The water grounded me—mentally, not just physically. As if the noise dropped by a level.
"The forest doesn't let anyone leave the way they entered." He said it quietly as he walked away.
I didn't reply.
There was no need to.
I sat there for a while. I stopped counting time. I simply breathed. Being surrounded by people brought a delayed weight down on me, as if my body suddenly remembered it had been moving on willpower alone.
A faint tremor started in my hand. I ignored it. Then in my leg. I straightened, planted my feet firmly on the ground.
I didn't collapse.
But I understood… if I had stayed standing on the road for one more minute, I would have.
I looked at my hand.
There was no fresh blood on it. Just faint stains—more like memories than reality. I tried to remember when exactly I crossed the line… when killing became an action executed, not a thought debated.
No clear image came.
Just a feeling.
A sense that the forest hadn't been just a place.
It had been a test.
Not of strength… but of limits.
I rested my hand on the sword for a moment. I didn't tighten my grip. I didn't ask for anything. I simply confirmed it was there.
Silent.
As it always had been.
After a while, I stood up, placed a few coins I found in my pocket on the table without counting. No one questioned me. No one stopped me.
I left.
The sun was higher now. The village felt less tense. People had returned to their lives. And I… continued toward the far end of the road.
At its edge, I stopped.
Behind me: the forest.
Ahead of me: the world.
I didn't feel like I had survived.
Nor like I had lost.
I simply realized that something had ended, and something else had begun—without asking whether I was ready.
I took a deep breath.
Then I kept walking.
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