Unfamiliar Melody by the Stream

A gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the crisp scent of damp earth and fresh water. The sound of flowing water hummed softly in the background, lulling the forest into a serene morning stillness. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling the ground with golden patches that shimmered against the rich green of the moss-covered earth.

Claire stirred. Her body ached, the remnants of exhaustion clinging to her limbs like a heavy fog. As her mind drifted toward wakefulness, the first thing she felt was the coolness of the ground beneath her, the rough texture of soil and leaves against her torn dress.

She inhaled sharply, her eyes fluttering open.

A stream.

The gentle flow of water stretched beside her, its surface glinting under the morning sun. Tiny ripples danced along the rocks, as if nature itself was whispering in hushed tones. The trees stood tall around her, their trunks gnarled and ancient, their branches weaving together like silent guardians of this hidden sanctuary.

Her bedroll was neatly laid out.

The realization struck her slowly, confusion threading through her thoughts. She hadn't set this up. The blankets were smooth, placed with care, as if someone had prepared the spot for her to rest.

She pushed herself upright, wincing as a dull sting ran through her arm. Her eyes darted down. A clean bandage was wrapped snugly around her forearm, covering a cut she didn't even remember getting. The fabric was secured with surprising precision—whoever had done this had taken the time to ensure it was properly tended to.

Her dress, however, was a different story. The once-elegant gown was now a ruined mess—mud-streaked, torn at the hem, and stiff with dried sweat and dirt. The remnants of last night clung to her like ghosts, but her mind was an empty void.

What happened?

She tried to recall. She remembered the whispers. The panic. The weight of her own guilt pressing down on her like an unforgiving tide. She remembered running. But after that—

Nothing.

A rustling sound broke her thoughts.

"Ah! You're awake!"

Claire's head snapped up.

Standing a few feet away, at the edge of the stream, was a boy—not more than twelve—his features bright with a beaming smile that seemed to rival the morning sun.

His messy brown hair looked unkempt, strands falling into his face, but what stood out was the short braid resting against his shoulder, slightly uneven as though woven in a hurry. His eyes, the same warm brown as his hair, held a quiet glow—something earthy and steady, like the heart of the forest itself.

In one hand, he held a fishing rod, the other gripped a small wooden bucket, presumably for his catch. His clothes were simple, slightly oversized, worn in a way that suggested they had been through their fair share of rough days. Yet, there was an energy about him—untamed, unshaken, and strangely comforting.

Claire blinked, still groggy. "Where… am I?" Her voice was hoarse, rough from sleep. "Who are you?"

The boy tilted his head, grinning.

"I don't know!" he answered cheerfully. "When I found you, you were already unconscious. For a second, I thought you were dead!"

He let out a laugh—carefree, unbothered, as if discovering an unconscious stranger in the woods was the most amusing thing in the world.

Claire stared, caught between bewilderment and exhaustion.

"You had me panicked," he added, still chuckling.

She hesitated before muttering, "Sorry…"

He waved it off with a broad smile. "Don't worry! I already took care of the cut on your arm." He gestured proudly toward her bandage, as if expecting praise for his work.

Claire glanced at it again. It was… well-done.

"You must be hungry," the boy continued, completely undisturbed by the oddity of the situation. "I know I am."

Then, with a casual shrug, he added, "I was already camping here last night. Imagine my surprise when I woke up and saw you just lying there."

Claire's breath hitched slightly. He had been here. The whole time.

He lifted his bucket. "Shall we eat first?"

Claire exhaled slowly, taking everything in. The peaceful stream. The untouched morning air. The boy's effortless warmth.

For the first time since she ran, the suffocating weight in her chest lessened—just a little.

___

Back at Valen Estate

The grand hall of House Valen was steeped in an oppressive silence.

Elise stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the polished marble floor beneath her feet. The world around her blurred, sounds fading into a distant hum.

She knew the guards were speaking—explaining what had happened, recounting every detail of the attack, every decision made. Yet, their voices were nothing but muffled echoes, lost in the static of her own disbelief.

Claire is gone.

The words rattled inside her skull, refusing to settle. Her hands trembled at her sides, clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms.

She should have been there. She should have protected her.

A sharp voice cut through the fog.

"Elise!"

The call jolted her back to reality. She blinked rapidly, her vision snapping into focus. The guard beside her had spoken—his expression firm, but not unkind. Around them, the hall was still, all eyes fixed on the man seated before them.

Lord Aldric Valen.

His presence was always formidable, his posture rigid with authority. But tonight, beneath the weight of his anger and worry, he seemed heavier—his fingers steepled tightly together, his jaw clenched.

The guard in charge took a step forward, bowing deeply. "My Lord, I take full responsibility for what transpired. The attack was unexpected—we had no intelligence suggesting such a threat." He paused, his voice steady yet laced with regret. "Lady Claire fled in the chaos. We pursued, but by the time we reached her horse, she was already gone."

Lord Valen's hands tightened against the arms of his chair. His expression remained unreadable, but the flicker of something dark—something close to fury—passed through his eyes.

His daughter. His only daughter.

Gone.

The air grew thick with tension, the weight of his unspoken rage pressing into the room like a brewing storm. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but it carried the force of thunder.

"I want every available guard searching for her."

He stood abruptly, his towering frame commanding attention. "Not just where she was last seen—everywhere. I don't care how long it takes, how far you must go—bring her back."

The order was both a command and a plea.

"Yes, my Lord!" The guards saluted, bowing before turning to leave, their movements swift and precise.

The doors shut behind them.

Silence remained.

Elise, still frozen in place, felt the world tilt around her. It was unbearable.

Her knees buckled.

She dropped to the floor, bowing so deeply that her forehead nearly touched the cold marble. Her voice cracked as the words tumbled from her lips, raw and broken.

"This is my fault…"

Her body trembled, her hands pressing into the ground as if the weight of her guilt might crush her entirely.

"I was careless. I shouldn't have left her alone. I should have stayed." A choked sob escaped her. "Please forgive me, my Lord… I have failed you. I have failed her."

She didn't expect an answer. Didn't expect mercy.

But the response she received was not anger.

"Stand up."

Lord Valen's voice was quieter now. No longer sharp with command, but heavy with something else.

Elise hesitated, her shoulders shaking.

"You are not at fault here," he continued, his tone firm yet lacking its earlier fury. "If there is anyone to blame, it is me."

She looked up, stunned.

"I should have known this was coming."

He clenched his jaw. "I will find my daughter. No harm will come to her." His voice softened, almost to himself. "She is a Valen. She will endure."

But as the silence stretched, Elise realized—

He was not consoling her.

He was consoling himself.