chapter 8 A village beyond time

Above the sky, unseen by all, the Traveler watched below. He floated, motionless, gazing down upon yet another world in an endless sea of realities. From up here, it looked just like any other—green forests stretching far beyond the horizon, winding rivers cutting through valleys, and villages nestled in the embrace of nature. A quiet, simple world.

But he knew better. Every world, no matter how peaceful it appeared, harbored darkness.

Where there was life, there was intelligence. And where there was intelligence, there was greed, cruelty, and sin. The strong preyed on the weak, power corrupted the noble, and men walked paths drenched in blood. It was inevitable. He had seen it countless times before.

A sigh might have escaped him if he still cared enough to feel burdened.

His gaze drifted downward, toward a small figure darting through a dense forest. Running. Chased. Desperate.

The Traveler shifted his attention. This was where the story began.

Daniel's breath burned in his lungs as he sprinted through the thick undergrowth. The sharp branches of low-hanging trees scraped against his skin, leaving behind thin, stinging cuts. He barely noticed. The only thing that mattered was moving forward.

Behind him, the shouts of police officers echoed through the forest. They were close. Too close.

"Fan out! He couldn't have gone far!"

Flashlights flickered between the trees, sweeping through the darkness, searching for him. Daniel clenched his teeth. If they caught him, it was over.

He didn't regret what he had done. The blood on his hands? Just another consequence of life. Kill or be killed. That was the only law he followed.

The ground beneath him sloped downward. He stumbled but forced himself forward. The trees grew denser, the air heavier. Then, through the gaps in the trees, he saw it—a clearing ahead.

Daniel didn't think. He didn't question. He just ran.

He burst through the last line of trees and into the open—and suddenly, there was silence.

Daniel turned, expecting to see the flashlights of his pursuers, expecting to hear their shouts.

But there was nothing.

The forest was still. No police. No voices. No sound.

His heart pounded as he turned forward again. That's when he noticed it.

The village.

It sat there in the middle of nowhere, as if the forest had hidden it until now. Simple wooden houses lined a dirt road, their designs ancient, almost medieval. No streetlights. No telephone poles. No signs of the modern world. The people moving between the houses wore old-fashioned clothes—tattered tunics, simple dresses, rough-woven cloaks. Their eyes turned toward him, their faces passive but curious.

Daniel frowned. "Where the hell am I?"

A few of the villagers gathered nearby, whispering among themselves. Then, one man stepped forward. He was the chief of the village.

He was old, but not frail. His shoulders were broad, and his gray hair hung loose, framing a strong face lined with deep wrinkles. His eyes were piercing but calm, like a man who had seen many things and feared none.

"You're not from here." The man's voice was deep, steady.

Daniel exhaled, trying to calm himself. His mind was still racing, but he forced himself to speak. He needed shelter. He needed time to think.

"Yeah. I… I got lost in the forest." He made his voice sound weak, tired. "I need a place to stay. Just for the night. I'll leave in the morning."

The old man studied him for a moment before nodding. "You can stay at my home. Come."

Relief washed over Daniel. He didn't know where he was, but at least he had a roof over his head for the night.

The chief's house was larger than the others but still built in the same old-fashioned style—wooden walls, a thatched roof, a stone fireplace flickering with warm light. The scent of freshly cooked meat filled the air.

Daniel stepped inside, his eyes scanning the interior. The house was simple, yet there was something oddly comforting about it. Or maybe it was just the exhaustion settling in.

Then he saw her.

Standing near the fireplace, tending to a pot of stew, was a woman.

And she was beautiful.

Long, midnight-black hair cascaded down her back, framing a face so perfectly sculpted it didn't seem real. Her skin was pale, smooth like untouched porcelain. Her deep amber eyes glowed in the firelight, holding a quiet intensity. She was elegant yet haunting, her beauty almost unnatural.

She turned her gaze to him, her expression unreadable.

"This is my daughter, Elira," the chief said.

Daniel barely heard him. For the first time in a long time, something stirred in him—desire.

She wasn't just beautiful. She was magnetic.

And yet, there was something off about her.

She held his gaze a second too long before lowering her eyes, returning to her work.

Daniel smirked. Interesting.

The chief gestured for him to sit. A wooden bowl of stew was placed in front of him. It smelled good. Safe. He hesitated for just a second before picking up the spoon and eating.

As he ate, he could feel Elira's gaze flickering toward him, just for a moment, before she looked away again.

Later that night, the chief led Daniel to a small room with a simple bed and a wooden chair.

"You can sleep here," the old man said.

Daniel nodded. "Thanks."

The chief lingered for a moment before speaking again. "You'll leave in the morning, yes?"

"Yeah."

The chief studied him, then simply nodded and walked away.

Daniel sat on the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling.

Everything about this place felt strange. It was like stepping back in time, into a world untouched by modern life.

But it was peaceful. And for now, that was enough.

He lay down, his body sinking into the mattress. Tomorrow, he'd figure everything out. Tomorrow, he'd leave.

As his eyes grew heavy, the last thing he remembered was how beautiful Elira was, almost dreamy.

And then—darkness.