Chapter 3: The Next Morning

Morning sunlight crept through the cracks of the wooden cabin's window.

The scent of damp earth and the faint traces of charred wood from last night's fire still lingered in the air.

Arvin slowly opened his eyes. The soft dripping of water from the leaking roof formed a gentle rhythm—oddly soothing.

He turned toward the other side of the room.

Serina was seated before a small hearth, grinding wild tubers with a stone mortar. Her silver hair was loosely tied, and the golden morning light cast a soft glow on her calm face.

Arvin rubbed his face and sat up with a quiet groan.

"You... how long have you been up?" he asked.

Serina turned and gave a faint smile.

"For a while. You slept soundly."

Arvin looked around. The cabin was simple—one large room with a straw bed, shelves of dried herbs, a few clay cooking tools, and soft cloth drapes covering the corners.

There were no signs of anyone else. Just the two of them.

His gaze lingered on Serina.

"I want to ask something," he said softly, serious.

"Why do you live here, alone? In the forest? Isn't it... dangerous?"

Serina paused her grinding. Then she answered quietly, hands resuming the motion.

"I used to live in a village. A long time ago. But... something happened..."

Her voice was distant, like she was picking her words carefully.

"It's alright, the forest isn't so bad. It's quiet. Nobody cares who you were. Or what you ran from." She gave a small shrug, as if trying to dismiss her own words.

She hesitated before continuing.

"This place is quiet. Here, I feel… alive."

Arvin watched her.

He noticed how her shoulders rose and fell—deep, calming breaths.

He spoke again, voice hesitant.

"But why… why did you trust me? I'm a man. An outer, even. You helped me without knowing who I was…"

Serina turned to him. Her green eyes met his.

"I know… Outers have done terrible things. But the first time I saw you, there was something in your face…"

"The same sadness. Like mine. Not the eyes of a predator. Just… someone lost."

She looked away, lips pressed tightly.

"And… when you called out to me that night, even half-conscious… You didn't ask me to save you.

You said, 'Even if I die… it's okay…'"

Her voice softened.

"A person ready to die isn't someone who would hurt me. And if I'm wrong… then let me be wrong one more time."

Arvin was silent.

Her words cut deep—into a place inside him that had long been numb.

He watched as Serina resumed her quiet work, mixing herbs over the fire.

Then, after a moment:

"Serina…" he said. "So you're the natives of Zamrad. But how did it end up with humans from Earth in control? How did that even happen?

Serina paused, then slowly sat cross-legged on the floor.

She didn't look at Arvin when she spoke.

"Zamradians… we were the first race born of Ariath's energy. Long before the portals to your world ever opened."

"We lived with the spirits, not above them. No contracts. Just coexistence."

Arvin listened, still trying to grasp the strange rules of this world.

"When the outers first came," she continued, voice low, "they were curious. Quiet. They observed us from the edges—fascinated by our lands, our way of life, how spirits moved freely around us."

A pause.

"Then they found the blade."

Arvin said nothing.

"Soulcarver," she continued, almost bitter. "An ancient relic. Probably left behind by something that shouldn't have existed."

"That was when they stopped learning… and started conquering."

She shifted slightly, the floor creaking under her weight.

"They used it to force spirits into obedience. And when they saw it worked… they built systems around it. That's when the Binding War began."

"Our ancestors tried to stop them.. But we didn't stand a chance."

Her eyes finally met his—calm, clear, and tired.

"And we survived… only because they liked how we looked."

She smiled faintly, without joy.

"To them, we were beautiful. Tragic. Just strange enough to admire, just weak enough to ignore.

"After the war, they rewrote history. For the young outers born here… we're just inferior race. It's normal to them."

Arvin's chest tightened.

So this world has its own darkness… deeper, more cruel than mine.

"Is no one resisting?"

Serina looked up, her eyes a mix of pain and distant hope.

"There are. But they're called rebels. Hunted. Executed. Or worse…"

A long silence followed.

Arvin didn't speak for a long time. The fire crackled between them.

"…You still care. After all that's happened to your people," he said quietly. "You still chose to save an outer, a stranger like me."

Serina smiled faintly.

"If I stop caring… I don't know what would be left of me."

The fire crackled quietly between them.

He gently took her hand.

"…Thank you, Serina," he said at last. "For saving me."

She turned to him, her eyes shining.

"Maybe… you weren't saved just to survive. Maybe you were meant to change something."

Arvin stared at her—not with pity, but respect.

---

Days passed.

Arvin's wounds healed, though the pain lingered.

Each morning, Serina took him into the forest—teaching him the ways of her people.

She showed him how to weave traps with vines and catch small animals.

How to identify edible roots, and which leaves to turn into calming tonics.

"This root is called nghara," she said, pulling something that looked like pale ginger.

"If you boil it with kiatha leaves, it lowers fever. My mother used to pick it for me."

Arvin took the root and looked at her.

"Were you… sick?"

Serina smiled faintly.

"Not from illness. From hunger."

Arvin said nothing. Just stared at the root in his hand.

This world is beautiful… but cruel.

---

As night settled in, they sat quietly by the flickering campfire.

Above them, the sky stretched wide—darker than usual, the stars like slow-drifting embers.

Arvin hugged his knees, chin resting on them. His voice came without warning.

"You know… back home, I messed up everything."

Serina turned slightly. Not surprised. Just listening.

Arvin gave a short laugh, bitter.

"I used to drink myself unconscious.

I… used to wish I was dead."

The woods said nothing. Serina didn't interrupt.

A long silence.

Then, softly, Serina spoke.

"You're not the only one who's felt like that."

Her eyes stayed on the fire.

"I used to think the same. Every night."

Arvin turned toward her.

She wasn't crying. But her voice had that hollow weight—the kind that came from speaking a truth long buried.

"I was taken when I was still a girl. Fourteen. Maybe less."

"They raided our village. Picked those they found... interesting."

Arvin froze.

"Wait... you were—?"

She nodded, slowly.

Serina continued.

"They liked that I didn't cry. Said I was a 'quiet one'. Easier to keep."

A bitter smile touched her lips.

"But I fought. Bit one of them. Got whipped. They liked that too."

Serina clutched the cloth on her lap.

"I tried to run that night. I would've rather died."

Her voice cracked.

"I thought I'd die there.

And I hoped I would."

Arvin didn't speak.

He slowly reached for her hand—not out of sympathy. But to say: I hear you. I'm here.

She didn't pull away.

After a breath, Serina looked up—eyes wet, but resolute.

"But I'm still alive.

And if I can still choose… I'll help people.

Because if I don't… then I'm no different from them."

Arvin bowed his head. His hand gripped hers tighter.

Serina looked down at their joined hands.

"You know... you're the first person I've told that."

Arvin whispered,

"Me too."

The fire crackled.

The stars watched.

And in that quiet space between two broken stories, something unspoken settled.

Not healing.

Not hope.

But presence.

That night, neither of them said "I understand."

But somehow, they both did.

To be continued.