The door creaked open, sunlight spilling inside.

  That dining table.

  That kitchen.

  That hearth.

  The house felt… too big.

  And yet—

  there was nowhere left to stand.

  “Just take the essentials, Harlyn!”

  Jukig’s voice echoed from behind, breaking the suffocating silence.

  Dragging a sack, Harlyn slowly entered the house and headed for her bedroom.

  Without hesitation—

  she picked up the spellbook her mother had given her and carefully placed it inside.

  She turned to the bed, reaching for the duvet.

  Her hand froze midair.

  Suddenly, Harlyn turned around and pulled the sack back out.

  ***

  The bedroom door creaked open.

  Harlyn stepped into her parents’ room.

  Her gaze drifted slowly, as if the room itself were a work of art.

  She stopped in front of the bed.

  …

  Thump.

  Harlyn threw herself onto it.

  That scent.

  That warmth.

  That memory.

  She hugged the pillow tightly, burying her face into it.

  ***

  Harlyn shuffled out of the room, the sack now full.

  In the kitchen, Jukig was rummaging through the shelves.

  With a grunt, he pulled out several sacks.

  “Finished? Then go to the carriage first.”

  “Hggnh!” He tugged out another sack.

  “I’ll be out in a bit…”

  Harlyn heard him, then walked wearily toward the door.

  Just as she was about to step outside—

  “Harlyn—about the house…”

  Jukig’s words stopped her.

  Before he could continue—

  “You can sell it,” Harlyn said quietly.

  She walked past him.

  Jukig turned in surprise.

  “No— I’m sorry—”

  He hurried after her, dragging the sacks behind him.

  “I was childish.”

  He knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hale and Meryl worked so hard for this house. I have no right to sell it.”

  Harlyn kept her gaze fixed on the carriage.

  No reply.

  “Harlyn… the house. It’s yours.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  She only nodded faintly and continued walking.

  Jukig watched her small back as she loaded the sacks onto the carriage.

  He pressed his lips together, then carried the rest to the cart.

  ***

  The carriage slowly pulled away, leaving the house behind.

  In the withered garden—

  where only dead trees and dry leaves remained—

  beneath the soil,

  a vibrant green sapling stood.

  The same spot where Harlyn had once buried the fruit.

  ***

  The horse’s hooves beat a slow rhythm along the village road.

  Jukig rode at the front.

  Harlyn sat huddled in the cart behind.

  The morning sky stretched wide and blue.

  Fern was unchanged.

  Children’s laughter echoed from the hills.

  A mother scolded as she tugged her child’s ear.

  Iron rang steadily from the blacksmith’s forge.

  That warmth…

  felt strangely distant.

  ***

  Beyond the village, the world opened wide.

  The road stretched endlessly through green fields.

  Birds flew in flocks overhead.

  The forest in the distance no longer felt so large.

  Another carriage passed from the opposite direction.

  Laughter spilled from it—playful, boisterous.

  So different from Harlyn’s.

  ***

  By late afternoon, the sky glowed orange.

  But the warmth never reached Harlyn’s face.

  “Alright!”

  The carriage stopped.

  Jukig turned back to her.

  “Tired?”

  Harlyn shook her head slightly.

  Jukig smiled. “Even so, we should rest.”

  “There are bandits at night…”

  “So—”

  Thump.

  He jumped down from the horse and walked to the back of the cart.

  “It’s not wise to travel now.”

  He grabbed a hammer, rope, and nails.

  “Harlyn, come down. I’ll lead the horse.”

  Harlyn slowly climbed out.

  “Oh—right. Help Uncle find some dry firewood.”

  ***

  Night crept in.

  Clack.

  Clack.

  They crouched by the firewood pile, Jukig struggling to start a flame.

  He glanced at Harlyn, who sat listlessly beside him.

  “What’s wrong?” he smiled, nudging her shoulder.

  “Bewitched by the Lone Sluker?”

  Harlyn looked up at him.

  Then—like a chubby penguin—

  she slowly turned away.

  Jukig blinked, left staring at her back.

  ***

  Clack.

  Clack.

  Clack.

  Jukig sighed, looking up at the sky.

  “If a mage girl could make fire right now, that’d be great…”

  He peeked at Harlyn from the corner of his eye.

  She hadn’t moved.

  Her hair fluttered gently in the breeze.

  Still turned away.

  Disappointed, Jukig turned back to the wood.

  Clack.

  …

  A small flame flickered to life.

  ***

  Night settled fully, moon and scattered stars lighting the sky.

  The two lay on the ground, staring upward in silence.

  “Harlyn… you know,”

  Jukig said quietly, turning to her.

  “Your mother wrote me so many letters about you.”

  He chuckled softly.

  “She always bragged you were the best mage in the world.”

  “I wanted to see the magic of the best mage too.”

  Harlyn glanced at him.

  “She lied.”

  Then she turned away.

  Jukig rolled onto his back as well, staring at the stars.

  The fire popped beside them.

  The night sky dimmed.