When I was four, it was a day in spring.
At long last, the Day of Return to the Forest — Hồi Lâm — had arrived, one of the most sacred rites in the life of every villager in Kavonso.
It was the moment I would receive the blessing of the gods. In our small forest village, we worshipped Kaevis, the God of the Deepwood — one of the Eight Guardian Deities venerated throughout the Kalinski Empire.
From the break of dawn, my parents were already bustling about. My mother carefully folded a deerskin tunic — sewn from the hide my father had hunted in the northern woods. The garment still carried the scent of sap and woodsmoke. She laid it gently upon the bed, then whispered to wake me.
"Val, wake up, my dear. Today is an important day."
I rubbed my eyes and sat up, my mind still foggy. But the moment I saw the tunic beside me, my heart began to race. I rose, washed myself with the warm water Mother had prepared, then sat at the rough wooden table where a bowl of steaming goat milk awaited. She poured it gently, her gaze tender and quietly anxious.
"Drink up, then get dressed. We must reach the square before the sun climbs too high."
I nodded, drinking it all. The warmth spread through my chest like an ember of comfort. Then I donned the tunic, brushed my hair neatly. Mother smoothed it once more and tucked a sprig of sweetgrass into my collar.
When the three of us stepped outside, the sky was still pale, tinged with watercolors of early light. The sun had just crested the mountains, its golden rays piercing the mist and turning the cobbled path into a ribbon of light.
We walked to the village square. It was already crowded. Elder Daerin and the villagers stood in a circle around a ceremonial carpet woven from forest vines. The square bloomed with leaves, flowers, and cloth dyed in hues of the wild. Laughter mingled with the scent of incense and damp earth.
I clutched my mother's hand. She knelt to my eye level, her voice soft:
"Remember, my dear — when the rite begins, you must follow Elder Daerin's words. No mischief, alright?"
"Yes, Mother," I said solemnly.
My father approached and handed me a small dagger. Its wooden hilt was carved with the shape of a leaf, and the blade, though short, gleamed with precision.
"Take it, Val. Even if it's only a ceremony, one must always be ready to defend oneself. You remember what I taught you, don't you?"
"I do."
For weeks now, Father had brought me each morning to the clearing behind our house — where a straw dummy stood guard. He taught me how to strike, to sheath the blade, to conceal it. Even how to dress a squirrel or a hare.
In a past life, I had been a general. I had wielded countless weapons, split foes with sword, spear, or fist. A dagger was nothing foreign to me. But this time, it was not a cold commander handing it to me — it was my father, warm and loving. And that stirred something unfamiliar within me, something tender.
I embraced my parents, feeling their warmth, then parted to join the other children gathered by the vine-carpeted circle.
Soon, I spotted Aiko — the girl next door. Her hair was tied back with a clip shaped like a cluster of violet grapes.
"Good morning, Val!" she called as she skipped toward me. Her smile was like spring sunlight breaking through morning haze.
"Good morning, Aiko," I smiled back, my heart lightened just a little.
"I'm so excited! Are you?"
"I guess… a little."
"My father brought me here! He just returned from the southern towns. He gave me this hair clip — isn't it lovely?"
"He must really love you."
"Of course he does!"
We both burst into laughter. Then — tap… tap… — the sound of a staff striking the ground echoed through the glade, followed by a deep yet warm voice:
"Dear children, are you ready to begin the rite?"
It was Elder Daerin, our village chief. A stout, sturdy man of dwarven blood, his silver hair was tied behind him, and his dark eyes seemed to pierce through all things. He was once an adventurer — a wandering mage exiled to Kavonso for slaying a noble who tried to harm a woman.
Today he wore a thick, dark-brown robe and held a staff carved from beast bone. Every child loved him, for he handed out sweets and told tales of ancient mysteries.
"We're ready!" all the children chorused, some bouncing in anticipation.
"Ho ho ho!" His hearty laugh echoed through the trees.
"Then let us begin!"
We cheered, following Elder Daerin as he led the way through the great wooden gate of the village. Our parents watched us go, eyes filled with hope and worry.
The forest path had been cleared by the hunters. Fallen leaves swept away, wild growth trimmed back. Morning sun filtered through the canopy, sketching golden patterns across the ground.
Aiko hummed something beside me, her voice light as a woodland stream.
"What song is that?"
"Oh, just a lullaby. My father plays the lute and sings it to me."
She sang softly:
> "She shone like a May-born sun,
Like blossoms blooming in the springtime haze.
He served in silence by her side,
As shadows serve the tree through endless days.
> Chopsticks dare not dream of gold,
Where royal feasts are far above their station.
Her father pledged her hand to a prince,
Draped in wealth and noble expectation.
> But love cannot be chained or bought.
One masked ball — he came to steal her away.
The flower fell, swept by the stream,
He wept by the river, mourning day by day…"
"That's a sad song," I said quietly.
"Father says it's the most beautiful song he's ever heard." Aiko smiled wistfully.
"He said the servant's love for the princess… was like his love for my mother in heaven."
Her gaze wandered far away.
"I wish she could be here today... for the ceremony."
Her voice quivered with a hint of sorrow.
"I'm sure she's watching over you from the heavens," I said. "So you must give it your best."
"You're right! I can't let her down!"
She brightened again, returning to her usual mischievous self.
We kept chatting as we walked, and before long, we reached the place of offering.
In the heart of the forest, a colossal tree stood sentinel. Towering over fifteen meters high, its roots dug deep into the earth, its crown blanketed the glade in thick shadow. No sunlight pierced its dense foliage. The air here was cool, hushed, sacred.
"We have arrived," said Daerin, raising his staff.
"O Great Tree!"
The tree rustled — a deep, reverent shiver.
"Today we offer our children to you, as gifts to the divine."
From hollowed knots in the bark, spheres of azure light emerged — floating upward, swirling through the air with gentle luminescence.
Daerin drew a gourd of goat's blood and poured it upon the tree's base. The great tree trembled once more, and the spheres began circling each child.
Some children trembled, gripping each other's hands in fright. But Aiko — her eyes wide, full of wonder — leaned toward the lights as if to touch them. I quickly grasped her hand, pulling her back.
"Careful. It might be dangerous."
She giggled. "I know."
The light grew ever brighter. One by one, each sphere enveloped a child — turning them into streaks of pale flame.
Then came my turn. The light swallowed me whole.
The forest vanished.
Only the wind remained… and the breath of an ancient spirit whispering in my ear.