Chapter 10: A Dream Of The Past?

The village of Larkhollow was quiet now. After the joyful noise of the Festival of Nets, the streets had grown still. Only the soft sounds of the river remained, like a lullaby sung by the night.

The adventurer lay in a wooden bed at the inn, staring at the ceiling. The golden medal from the fishing contest rested on the small table nearby. It still felt unreal, how he'd caught the biggest fish with no clue what he was doing, and how the crowd had cheered like he was a local hero.

He smiled to himself.

Then closed his eyes.

Sleep arrived gently, like a breeze through leaves.

But what followed was not peace.

It was something deeper.

He opened his eyes again.

But now… he wasn't in the same room.

The ceiling above him was white and cracked in places. The walls were old, faded, with paint peeling at the corners. A dusty ceiling fan turned slowly. The air smelled of medicine and something bitter, perhaps boiled herbs or cheap soup.

The bed was soft, but thin.

And he was weak.

He couldn't move. Couldn't speak.

His breath felt heavy.

He blinked.

A woman entered the room.

She looked tired. Her clothes were plain, patched in several places. Her hands were rough, like someone used to hard work. She walked with quiet steps and placed a wet towel on his forehead.

She smiled.

Not with joy, but with a quiet kind of hope.

"I borrowed it again… from the neighbor," she whispered. "Just a little medicine. They said it might help."

Her voice trembled.

She didn't look at him directly.

She was hiding something in her eyes.

Pain. Worry. Guilt.

She pressed her hand against his, gently. Her fingers were cold.

Then, the door creaked again.

A little girl entered.

Her clothes were too big for her small frame. She had a ribbon in her hair, old and fraying at the edges.

She ran to his side and held his hand tightly.

Her lips moved. She said his name.

But the sound didn't reach him.

The name, scrambled. Muted. As if the world refused to let him hear it.

"I missed you," she whispered, crying. Her words shook with emotion. "Please… don't go to sleep again. Please…"

She buried her face in his blanket.

The woman placed a hand on the girl's back and sat beside them.

"He's trying," she said. "He's always trying. Even when we couldn't afford what he needed… he never once gave up."

The girl nodded through tears.

Her hand still holding his.

He looked at them both.

Their faces…

So full of love.

And yet he didn't know who they were.

He wanted to ask.

To speak.

To reach them.

But his body wouldn't move.

And the name, his name, was always out of reach.

"I know you're tired," the woman whispered, brushing his hair back, her eyes shining. "But please… don't forget us."

The little girl lifted her head. Her tear-streaked face trembled.

"You promised… you said we'd go to the field again when the flowers bloom."

Again, she said his name.

Again, it vanished.

He blinked, and the room began to blur.

The sound of the fan slowed.

The walls faded.

And then—

He was floating.

The bed disappeared.

The light grew soft, like morning sky before sunrise.

Above him… stars shimmered. Not the ones he saw in the forest.

These stars felt alive.

Each one pulsed like a heart.

He reached out without meaning to.

One star, brighter than the rest, moved closer.

And from it, a voice came.

But it wasn't a voice he could hear through ears.

It was a feeling.

A warmth.

Words were spoken.

But not clearly.

They were broken. Distant. As if underwater.

One moment, it felt like a message. The next, just wind through leaves.

He tried to listen.

Tried to hold on.

But the light grew brighter—

Too bright.

And everything disappeared.

He opened his eyes.

Back in the inn.

The festival lanterns still floated outside the window.

And on his cheeks…

Tears.

He touched them.

Warm.

Real.

He didn't understand the dream.

Didn't understand the people in it.

But his heart ached.

As if somewhere, someone had been waiting.

And he couldn't remember why.

He looked at his hand.

Still trembling.

"What… was that place…?"

No answer came.

Only silence.

And a whisper in his soul that would not fade.

He sat up slowly, placing a hand over his chest. The ache was still there, deep and silent.

And for the very first time since his journey began—

He cried.

Not because he remembered.

But because he didn't.

And that hurt more than anything.