Time passed like a quiet stream, slipping through the forest unnoticed.
Four months had passed since Archus's birth, and Laya felt the stir of restlessness in her bones.
The nipa hut, nestled deep among silverleaf trees, had once been her sanctuary.
But now, its bare wooden walls felt like barriers, closing her in. The stillness, once a comfort, pressed heavily on her heart, urging her to move, to return to the life she knew.
She missed the mansion's rhythm—the clink of dishes, the echo of footsteps on polished floors, the warmth of shared laughter with her friends.
More than anything, her heart ached with guilt, knowing Lyndis and Rin carried the weight of their duties alone—and still came each day, bringing bread, herbs, and blankets for her and her child.
Their gentle insistence that she rest longer, heal longer, only sharpened her resolve. Her strength had returned. She was ready.
Clad in her cream linen maid's uniform, a dark brown apron tied neatly at her waist, Laya wrapped Archus in a thick fur blanket, its softness a warm cocoon around his tiny form.
She fastened him securely to her chest, his steady breaths a quiet anchor against her heart.
"Miss Laya... are you really going to do this?" Rin asked softly from the doorway, her brows drawn in worry.
Laya glanced over her shoulder, meeting the younger maid's eyes with a small, resolute smile.
"I can't stay idle forever, Rin. You've both done more than enough for me."
"You've only just stopped bleeding, Laya. Give it two more weeks," Lyndis said as she set the basket down. Her tone remained level, but her gaze held steady on the child bound to Laya's chest.
"No one's asking you to prove yourself."
"I'm not," Laya replied gently. She adjusted the sling across her shoulder. "I just want to work again, with you two."
Rin stepped forward, her hands fidgeting as if she wanted to stop her but didn't know how.
"Please, Miss Laya, don't overwork yourself," she said, her voice small but earnest.
Laya smiled faintly. "I won't."
Stepping onto the porch, she inhaled deeply, the air sharp with pine, dew, and the faint sweetness of wildflowers.
Sunlight filtered through the forest canopy, casting golden patches across the wooden planks.
Behind her, the door creaked softly as Lyndis followed, locking it with a quiet click.
They paused at the clearing's edge, where a small garden bloomed under the shade of ferns and flowering shrubs.
A timeworn statue stood there, barely knee-high, its stone figure robed in flowing garments, arms outstretched as if offering shelter or a blessing.
Lyndis approached in silence, her boots whispering over dew-kissed grass.
She bent slightly, brushing leaves from the statue's base, her fingers pressing briefly to her heart.
"Thank you for your protection, Goddess," she murmured, her voice soft as the wind's sigh.
Rin stood at the trail's edge, her brown wings tucked close, twitching faintly.
When Lyndis returned, the three women shared a nod—a quiet understanding years in the making.
"Let's go," Lyndis murmured.
Without another word, they stepped onto the forest path, silverleaf trees arching overhead, their pale leaves rustling like whispered secrets.
Birdsong wove through the air, a melody laced with the forest's subtle magic.
The scent of damp soil and moss clung to each step, grounding Laya even as her heart lifted with the promise of return.
---
Archus stirred against Laya's chest, his tiny eyes fluttering open.
For the first time, he saw the world beyond the hut's walls.
Sunlight poured through the canopy in soft beams, warming his blanket.
The air was rich with life—damp earth, blooming wildflowers, the faint tang of sap.
Above, bright-feathered birds darted between branches, their colors flashing like gemstones in the dappled light.
The world hummed with a gentle rhythm, as if the land itself breathed.
Though he could not speak, Archus felt it—vast, strange, beautiful.
Laya felt him shift, his small movements a quiet spark of life against her.
She smiled, her steps lighter as the trail sloped upward, the trees thinning.
Roots jutted from the earth and patches of sunlight danced across their path.
The forest parted, revealing an open sky.
A golden sea of wheat stretched out before them, swaying in the breeze.
Scattered farmhouses dotted the landscape, their chimneys curling thin wisps of smoke into the clear air.
In the distance, farmers moved slowly through the crops, their steps matching the rhythm of the land.
———
"It's nearing harvest season again, Lyn," Laya said, her voice bright with a joy she hadn't felt in weeks, her cheeks warming at the familiar sight.
Lyndis nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile.
"Yes, Laya," she said softly, her deer-like antlers catching the sunlight as she nodded her head.
"At last, I'll get to have that delicious bread again," Laya said with a hearty smile, then turned to Rin with a grin.
She reached out, taking Rin's hands, her touch warm and eager. "You've never had any, right? You arrived during winter."
Rin blinked, surprised, then shook her head, her wings fluttering slightly.
"No, Miss Laya. But I've heard you talk about it many times."
"Oh, you'll love it," Laya said, beaming.
"Freshly baked harvest bread is something you never forget."
Rin glanced at the golden stalks, her brow furrowing slightly.
"The wheat… it's so full already. Back where I'm from, it takes much longer."
Laya's smile softened, her eyes twinkling with pride.
"That's the blessing of this land, Rin. The magic here helps the wheat grow faster—stronger. We're lucky."
Rin nodded thoughtfully, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "That's amazing."
Archus listened, his tiny form still but his mind awake.
Whenever sleep didn't claim him, he drank in their words, tracing the cadence of their voices.
The language felt familiar, its rhythm echoing the thoughts in his head, though not quite the same.
His vocabulary was small, his body too young to speak, but that didn't matter.
He had time. He would learn.