Victoria Tiger
When I woke up, the first thing I saw were the stars—glittering in the sky like jewels. I hadn't seen them in so long. My head rested on something soft, and though my body was still weak, the crackling of a nearby fire caught my attention.
Turning my head with effort, I saw the flames dancing, casting flickering light across the surroundings. On the other side of the fire sat a boy, quietly roasting meat over the flames.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, eyes still fixed on the meat, not even glancing at me.
The question caught me off guard. I processed it slowly before nodding. Somehow, he noticed. He stood and walked toward me—silent, graceful. The moonlight touched his silver hair as he approached. He was small, about my age. Without saying a word, he helped me sit up, then handed me a small bottle filled with green liquid. I stared at it, confused.
"Drink that first, before eating," he said flatly.
I hesitated, but obeyed. The liquid was sweet—so sweet I almost cried. I had forgotten what sweetness even tasted like. Strength slowly returned to my limbs, like warm sunlight filling my veins.
Once I finished the drink, he handed me a meat skewer. My stomach growled loudly. He returned to his spot and began eating his own meal.
The meat wasn't good or bad, but after so long without food, it tasted like a feast. I devoured it. Two more skewers were placed in front of me on a leaf. I ate them all without hesitation. My body, satisfied and warm, felt heavier. I drifted off to sleep beside the fire, more at ease than I'd been in months.
The chirping of birds woke me. Blinking away the sleep, I slowly pushed myself up. At first, I didn't know where I was—but the memories of last night came flooding back.
I scanned the area. Birds sang, and sunlight broke through the tree branches, casting a warm green hue over everything.
"I'm in a forest," I muttered, smiling softly to myself.
The sun on my skin, the breeze brushing against me—it was peaceful. I was enjoying it.
A figure suddenly dropped from a tree branch. It was the boy. He picked up a bag from the ground and slung it over his shoulder, still not once looking at me. I stepped toward him, uncertain.
"Pick up your cloak. We're leaving," he said, already walking away.
I blinked, then hurriedly grabbed the old cloak that had been my pillow. It was ragged, but I wrapped it around myself and followed him.
Traveling with the boy was... strange. His actions were unpredictable. Once, he suddenly grabbed me and pulled me behind a tree, covering my mouth. I panicked—until I heard voices. Footsteps. Laughter.
Bandits.
They passed close by. As soon as they were gone, he let go. We continued, taking breaks every few hours, surviving on berries. We didn't speak much. By dusk, something changed.
He drew his sword for the first time.
Without a word, he grabbed me again—this time jumping up onto a thick tree branch, hidden by leaves and shadows.
"Stay here. And stay silent," he ordered, dropping back down to the forest floor.
Minutes passed. I heard the grass rustle. The boy returned—running. A wild boar thundered behind him.
My heart pounded. He kept running, closing in on the tree where I hid. Just when I thought he would crash, he stopped—dead still.
In one motion, he unsheathed his sword… then re-sheathed it.
A second later, the boar's head slid off its body and hit the ground with a dull thud.
I stared, frozen.
He looked up, leapt to the branch, picked me up in a bridal carry, and landed back on the ground. He gently set me down.
I was speechless. My gaze drifted to the boar's corpse, blood seeping into the forest floor.
"Do you enjoy the sight of blood?" he asked suddenly.
"Hmm? Why do you ask?" I replied, still in a daze.
"You're smiling."
"What?"
I raised a hand to my face. He was right—I was smiling.
Just like before. Just like back then.
My heart thudded in fear. I stared at him, expecting the worst. For him to yell. To shun me. To call me disgusting like my mother had.
But he didn't. His face remained as unreadable as ever—no disgust. Just... stillness. In that stillness, I found an odd comfort.
He walked over to the corpse and began carving it with a dagger.
"Um... isn't it disgusting?" I asked hesitantly.
"What?"
"That I smiled at a corpse."
"Who am I to judge what might be someone's strength?" he said, back still turned to me.
We camped in the same spot that night. He roasted the boar meat over a new fire, then handed me another potion from his bag.
Yesterday, I had been too weak—or too cautious—to ask.
"Um… what is this?" I asked, peering at the bottle.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "A strength potion."
I drank it. Energy rushed through me, like fire in my blood. Three more skewers were handed to me. I ate slowly this time. My mind had more energy than my stomach.
Questions swirled. Who was he? What was he? Did my family send him? Was he a savior? A stranger? A test?
My mother once said: "If you want to make friends, ask their name first."
I glanced at him, gathering courage.
"…Um…" I began, trying to find the right words.
He turned his head slightly, meeting my eyes.
His gaze was sharp, almost scary. But I didn't look away.
The fire crackled between us, casting shadows on his silver hair.
"What is your name?" I asked, voice steady.