Chapter 56: The Child Who Asked for Nothing
The child arrived on a clear morning.
No clouds.
No path.
No sorrow trailing behind her.
Just small footsteps in soft dirt and a pebble clutched in one hand.
She wore a red vest too big for her shoulders and a cap tilted slightly to the side. No Pokémon. No satchel. No map. Her hair curled behind her ears like the pages of a book no one had yet opened.
Kael was sweeping the edges of the Listening Room when she walked up.
She didn't introduce herself.
Didn't ask where she was.
She simply pointed at the sign by the fire:
You may begin again.
And asked:
"Can I start from nothing?"
Kael knelt to her level.
"You don't have anything you need to start over from?"
She shook her head.
"No. I haven't started yet."
Echo walked over, curious.
The girl looked at her, eyes wide.
"She's beautiful," she said.
"She is," Kael agreed.
The girl pointed again, this time at herself.
"I want a story. Can I get one here?"
Kael smiled — not amused, not patronizing.
Just awed.
"Most people come here trying to finish something," he said.
The girl shrugged. "I just want to begin."
Her name was Maie.
She was eight.
She didn't explain how she found the field.
She only said, "I kept walking until the world stopped being noisy."
When Tama asked where her parents were, Maie said:
"They're not ready to walk a story yet. I am."
Sera took her to the edge of the archive and helped her build a small shelf.
Maie called it:
"To Be Decided."
And placed her pebble on it with great care.
Kael watched her that evening.
She played by herself under the glyph-sapling, tracing spirals in the dirt.
Then asked Echo:
"How do I know what kind of story I want?"
Echo answered gently:
"Start with a feeling."
"Then follow it."
That night, Maie knocked on Kael's door with a paper folded six times.
She handed it to him without a word.
Inside:
Dear Kael,
I want to learn how to begin a story without needing something sad to carry. Is that allowed?
Everyone talks like you need to lose something first. What if I haven't lost anything yet? What if I'm just new?
Can I still be important?
Love, Maie
Kael sat with it for a long time.
Then walked outside to find her lying on her back, watching the stars.
He sat beside her.
"You're already important," he said. "Because you arrived."
Maie looked over.
"But what if I don't do anything amazing?"
Kael smiled softly.
"Being kind is amazing."
"So is listening."
"So is asking a good question."
"You already did all three today."
Maie grinned.
"Then I guess I'm a chapter already."
They gave her a trail the next day.
Short.
Curving.
Woven between wildflowers and old buttons.
The sign at the start read:
Maie's Way – Story Begins Here
She skipped along it for hours.
Stopping occasionally to bury a coin, name a bug, or whisper to the breeze.
When Kael passed by, she said:
"I've made up seven stories so far."
"Only one of them is true."
Kael asked, "Which one?"
She grinned. "I don't know yet."
That night, Kael wrote:
Today a child asked if beginning was enough to matter.
We told her yes.
And in doing so, we reminded ourselves too.
By the end of the week, Maie had built a "library" of flat stones stacked like a book tower.
Each one had a drawing etched into it:
A girl with wings
A Pokémon with a heart-shaped eye
A spiral staircase that didn't go up or down — only around
A field with the words "Not-yet" floating above it
She invited everyone to a "Reading."
It was a ten-minute show where she picked stones at random and told stories no one had written down.
Everyone clapped.
Kael said it was the best reading he'd ever been to.
Before bed that night, Maie told Echo:
"I think this is the best beginning I'll ever have."
Echo tucked her tail around the girl.
"That's because you walked in asking for nothing."
"And ended up belonging."
Kael added a plaque beside her trail the next morning:
You don't need to be lost to look for something.
You can start with wonder instead.