003: Suroyo’s Women

The woman before me was a stranger, yet there was something about her that soothed me, despite the dull ache radiating through my body. She was old, the wrinkles on her face and hands a testament to the years she had lived, but time had not stripped her of her beauty. Her silver-white hair framed a face with deep green eyes, a long, slim nose, and dark brown lips. She was small, delicate even, and there was an air of serenity about her that made it impossible not to feel at ease.

The moment I opened my eyes, hers sparkled with an emotion I couldn't quite place—relief, happiness, or perhaps something else entirely. I didn't dwell on it. She was a stranger, after all. A stranger in a place I did not recognize.

I didn't waste energy asking how I got here. I already knew.

The memories of my fall were vivid, the sharp pain as my body collided with the rough earth, the way my limbs had refused to move afterward. I had been conscious through it all, barely clinging to awareness. The damp, grassy ground beneath me had been unforgiving, its cold tendrils wrapping around my skin like a cruel embrace. Night had come and gone, the world shifting around me while I remained motionless, trapped in a state between life and death.

Then, a miracle.

The sun's warmth stirred me, and not long after, voices broke through the eerie silence. Footsteps—multiple—grew louder, each one sending a jolt of awareness through me. My breath hitched. Had my captors returned to finish what they started? My instincts screamed for me to run, but my body betrayed me. All I could do was lie there and wait. For salvation. Or for death.

Instead, I found myself looking up at a group of women, their expressions painted with concern and curiosity.

"There! There's someone here!" one of them called, drawing the others closer.

I counted seven. Their features were distinct, yet there was an uncanny resemblance among them, as though they were different variations of the same mold. The youngest, a mere child, couldn't have been more than twelve, while the eldest looked to be in her eighties.

"What is a girl doing in this forest?" a woman in her thirties murmured, suspicion laced in her voice.

"Is she alive?" two younger women asked in unison.

I forced myself to blink, sluggish but deliberate. The small motion sent a ripple of realization through them.

The second oldest woman stepped forward, her gaze wary. "Mother, we should leave her. She looks like trouble."

The words stung more than I expected. My heart raced as silent prayers tumbled through my mind. They were my only hope, and I was hanging by a thread. Their eyes flickered to the eldest woman, waiting for her verdict.

Her deep green eyes locked onto mine. I tried to speak, to plead for my life, but my voice had abandoned me. My lips parted, forming a soundless "please," a single tear slipping down my cheek.

"Grandma, we can't get involved," the woman in her thirties urged. "Look at her wounds. She's connected to the mafia. If we help her, we put ourselves in danger."

My stomach twisted. They were going to leave me.

"No." The old woman's voice was firm, unwavering. "That is precisely why we must help her."

"Grandma—"

"Enough." Her tone brooked no argument. "You leave her here, and you leave me here with her."

That was it. My fate was sealed. Not by my own will, but by the compassion of this woman.

With her word as law, they took me in. I barely registered the journey, only that I was being carried away from the forest, away from the place that had almost become my grave. When we reached their village, I realized just how small and hidden it was—no more than eight houses nestled at the edge of Hulio. A place I had only ever heard whispers of back in Cantana. Suroyo. A village of women.

They nursed me back to health, tending to my wounds and feeding me until strength returned to my limbs. I owed them my life, especially Grandma Louisa.

Now, as I sat upright for the first time without searing pain, I looked at her and smiled. I had no gold, no silver to offer her, but I knew one thing—I would never forget her.

"How long has it been, Grandma Louisa?" My voice was hoarse, but at least it was mine again.

"A week." She answered calmly.

A week. More than enough time for the world outside to change without me.

"How are my wounds?"

"Better."

"Better enough to leave?" I asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

She frowned. "Only you would know that."

I nodded. "Then I can go."

I swung my legs over the bed, forcing my body to obey despite the protests of pain. The moment I stood, my knees wobbled, but I clenched my jaw and bore it. I couldn't stay. Not anymore.

"My child, why are you so eager to go?" Grandma Louisa's voice was gentle, but there was an edge of sadness beneath it. She reached for my arm, but I pulled away.

I met her gaze, saw the way her face fell at my rejection, and immediately regretted it. Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight. "Thank you, Grandma Louisa. For everything."

She smiled, but it was fleeting. "You don't have to go, Valeria. You're safe here."

I squeezed her hands. "I have to. They're looking for me. Sooner or later, they'll find me here, and I won't let any of you get hurt because of me. Especially you."

"I am old. I have lived my life."

"Then you should live the rest of it in peace."

Her shoulders slumped, accepting the inevitable. "Where will you go?"

"I have an aunt in the south," I lied smoothly.

She didn't question it, though I could see the worry etched in her features. "You worry me." Her voice cracked, and before I could react, she pulled me into another embrace. "I'll miss you. But you're strong. I know you'll be fine. Just… don't forget us."

"I won't." My voice trembled. "And I will be safe."

She sighed. "No matter what, don't die, Valeria. The journey ahead may not be kind, but you must persist. I believe in you."

The dam broke. I had sworn not to cry, but the weight of her words shattered my resolve. I clung to her, sobbing silently, and she cried with me. For a moment, we were just two souls connected by something deeper than blood.

That night, despite our rocky beginning, her family gathered around a bonfire in my honor. It was a simple farewell, but it meant more to me than they would ever know.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged.

And tomorrow, I will leave it all behind.