Cottage House I

As soon as I stepped into the farmhouse, the intense smell of manure filled my nose. The heavy scent, a blend of earth, animals, and time itself, seemed like a silent echo telling the story of this place's thousands of years of history. I held my breath as I felt the weight of the odor, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the thick air. Arwa noticed the discomfort on my face, but she continued walking without saying a word. For her, this smell was just an ordinary part of time; it must have been the same for everyone living here.

As we slowly moved forward, my eyes caught a child working in the corner of the barn. He was about eight or nine years old. His small hands were busy cleaning the straw and filth from the rough stone floor. It was more appropriate to call this a living space than a barn. It was a shelter for tired animals, a place where foggy breaths rose in the mornings and worn-out feet dragged across in the evenings. But for me, it felt like a foreign land; farm life seemed like a distant, ancient world from the stories.

The child was dressed in ragged clothes, his face covered in dirt. His pale skin clearly indicated he wasn't well-fed; his cheeks were hollow, and his eyes carried an unusual weariness for his age. He had become part of the misery. It was obvious he had been like this for a long time; a child accustomed to hopelessness, carrying the burden of life on his shoulders.

A deep sadness filled me. Child labor was an ordinary thing in this world. Life here was harsh and merciless; children had to leave their childhoods behind in order to survive. When Arwa noticed my sorrow, a look of slight surprise crossed her face. For her, this was a normal sight, but for me, it was still shocking. Perhaps that's why she was surprised; I wasn't yet fully accustomed to the realities of this world.

Here, poverty was as inevitable as the cold winds that pierced the night. Except for a few privileged ones, everyone shared the same fate. Even my memory loss couldn't explain the reaction inside me. But now wasn't the time to think about these things. We had come here for a sick person; we couldn't keep them waiting any longer.

Arwa called out to the child in a soft yet firm voice:

"My child, where is your mother? We've come a long way to help your sister."

The child paused for a moment in confusion, then his eyes lit up and, with excitement, he stuttered:

"R-really? Hm hm, I'll be right back. I'll go find my mom!"

There was both hope and astonishment in his voice. Without waiting for a reply, he dashed toward the house. As his small feet echoed on the stone floor, I realized for a moment that he was still a child, still carrying within him an innocent excitement, beyond everything else.

I looked around. There wasn't much to examine in the farmhouse. Worn stone walls, a wooden roof weathered by time, and a heavy door bearing the weight of years… I just wanted to get this over with and leave. I didn't want to stay any longer in the midst of this poverty. To ease my discomfort, I directed my thoughts toward a distant, familiar place—the forest.

Why was the forest so important? Why didn't the trees outside this place emit those strange spiral mists? In the stories Arwa had told, it was called the Forest of the Gods. Could it really be a place where gods ruled? This thought didn't make sense to me. If gods truly existed, why would they choose to live here, in this darkness and uncertainty? Why hadn't they built themselves grand palaces? Or was the Forest of the Gods just a legend? Maybe that name had an older meaning, hiding a secret long forgotten over the ages.

No matter how much I thought, I couldn't find the answer. But there was a strange feeling inside me; as if the answers to these questions would reveal themselves to me when the time was right.

"Alek… Alek, are you alright?"

Arwa's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. She had her hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me.

"I'm fine, Arwa. Why are you shaking me?" I asked, a little confused.

The woman looked at me with a slight smile.

"My child, you've spaced out. No matter how much I called, you didn't hear me. Or were you thinking about the girl I mentioned earlier?" she teased.

I frowned. "Arwa, how many times do I need to tell you that I'm not ready for marriage? Also, I was thinking about something else," I said.

She didn't seem to believe what I said.

At that moment, a woman descended the stone stairs of the house with heavy steps. She looked to be about 35-40 years old, stocky, and strong. She wore a brown flower-patterned apron, a white tunic, and a tightly tied scarf around her head. The harsh lines on her face betrayed the weariness time had added to her.

"Welcome, Arwa Ana. May the gods always keep your cup full. You've traveled a long way. You must be thirsty and tired. Our house is old and worn, but it will keep you warm and shield you from the rain. Come inside."

The woman's voice was hoarse and commanding. Arwa, showing her clear dislike of the woman, nodded slightly as a greeting but didn't say much. She turned to me and softly warned:

"My child, be careful when you go up the stairs. They're slippery, and I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Just as I was trying to fully understand her words, my foot slipped. In an instant, I lost my balance and tumbled down the stairs. Everything around me seemed to spin.

The basket I was holding flew through the air, and its contents scattered everywhere. When I hit the muddy ground, a cold, sticky wetness enveloped me. My hair, my clothes, everything was covered in mud. I felt like I couldn't escape my bad luck.

Arwa quickly rushed to my side, a concerned expression on her face.

"Oh, my dear, are you alright? Didn't I tell you to be careful on the stairs? Anyway, put your hand on my shoulder, and I'll help you up."

Arwa's strong arms lifted me out of the mud. The coldness from my heavy, damp clothes seeped into me. At that moment, I realized how long and muddy the journey here had been, and how it had only just begun.