Disclaimer: This is a fan-made translation. Hope you enjoy the read!
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Chapter I: Friggarist Inn Arc
It is an old truth that chains, when joined together, make too much noise to be ignored.
But one of the chains had been abandoned, for its bearer was a poor soul on the run. He seemed to have no home, if he had one, he would have stayed. He also seemed to have no direction, if he had one, he would have known it. He ran like an ecstatic hare, and those chains slipping from his wrists fell behind, while his body ricocheted through trees that grew denser and denser.
The drizzle, sharp as if meant to tear flesh, battered his pale skin, truly pale, like it had been cloaked in vitiligo, and he felt the pinpricks of the drops with desperation. Though he endured the discomfort, being terribly weak, nothing mattered more to him than his newfound freedom. He ran as if something were chasing him, preparing to kill him brutally, yet nothing came. Gasping, he chased the dimming horizon as night approached, the cold beating against his back, but again, nothing mattered more than his freedom.
Thinking he had put many clusters and groves of enormous trees between himself and the imaginary monster that blistered his delicate feet, he finally sat down to rest. He laid his head against the trunk of the nearest tree and, feeling the rigid wood, let tears fall, camouflaged by the rain. All the effort it had taken to get there, all that effort piled upon physical exhaustion, turned into sobs. He looked upward through the gaps in the branches, watching the dark blue and scarlet hues the sky wore as night settled in, crying. His arms stretched across the ground, limp and powerless, numb from fatigue. He gasped for breath. Though the fear of the unknown terrified him more than anything, sleep prevailed, carrying him off to the utopia of dreams.
Dawn seemed to wake earlier than usual. The boy, roused from a terribly short slumber, felt his bones seized up. As if the exhaustion weren't enough, the poor boy started to run again, because it was the only thing he knew how to do: flee. This time, more careful between the branches, he managed not to hurt himself, thanks to the abundance of light barely filtered through the trees...
Worried about wild animals, which differed little from cunning monsters, he slowed his pace with some caution, moving as quietly as possible. Branches cracked, leaves rustled, and his blind desperation made him unaware that his caution was ineffective. His perception, his worry, this mental blindness clouding his awareness, realized the futility of his efforts far too late: a third sound emerged from the forest. Before he could even check his sides, catch his fleeing breath, and escape, run, run, and run... he fell like a stone. A resounding thud echoed through the entire forest.
Birds took off from their branches as if launched into a frantic race, soaring skyward. The trees of the forest, all of them, heard the blow that struck the boy. A poor boy, who only knew how to run. The one who ran to sleep, and who awoke to run.
The light gradually pierced the newly awakened eyes, which hesitated until their pupils adjusted to the sky's harsh glare. And as vision returned, with some ocular discomfort refusing to cease, a silhouette was seen standing right in front, watching him.
His unaccustomed eardrums returned to work, greeted by a voice that blended softness and hostility into a single tone.
— Boy. — the nebulous voice said, gradually becoming clearer.
It was a young woman with long, voluminous hair, slightly dark skin, and a body covered in semi-armors seemingly crafted from metallic scraps, accompanied by a massive baggage pouch filled with countless large arrows. Yet, all that mattered were her hands, which held a threatening posture, an arrow pointed directly at the filthy boy's forehead. He did not know her.
— I'll ask only once, — she said with steady hands, weighing the boy as the main concern in her situation. — tell me... are you one of them?
And the poor thing recoiled, afraid. He pondered what answer to give at that point, knowing her dissatisfaction depended on it, with an arrow ready to carry him into death. He ensured no delay and declared:
— I... I'm enslaved. — He closed his eyes immediately.
The fear of death didn't seem so bad, considering that the natural urges of survival, which had once guided his limited will to live, no longer seemed desirable. But, in reverence to his own life, he understood: a man's conviction is what allows him to face reality. His fate lay before him, in the weight of an arrow.
Awaiting his sentence, eyes closed , eyes now more attuned to observing his soul, he felt a touch. Her hand.
— You don't look like them.
It was a sentence of life. A shiver spilled across the boy's body, revitalizing his senses like a bucket that hadn't held water in ages. He digested the feeling of continuing to live. But before the inner celebration could unfold, the girl asked him to follow her. He had no expectations, only life; how many would have such an opportunity, the chance to follow her? The chance to shape a future that, though nonexistent in the long run, now belonged to him? There was no better choice if the basics of a barely miserable life were lacking. He followed her.
She moved through the forest as if familiar with the very motion of nature, as if they were one and the same. He struggled to keep up, but nothing more difficult than his recent escape.
The view opened onto a small clearing, surrounded by forest, adorned with a little two-person bench at its center, entangled in vines with touches of tiny flowers. The girl sat down, gazing at him as if inviting him into a conversation.
— I want you to stay calm. In a few minutes, my sister will arrive, and I'll introduce you to her.
The boy would accept whatever future was offered to him, pleading only not to return to where he had fled.
— In the meantime, I want you to tell me... — she searched for something of personal interest, wanting to make the most of the novelty of finding a person among the woods. — tell me what they did to you.
Her eyes locked onto the boy's as she realized it was an inconvenient question. The same concern grew in the boy's face, increasingly unsteady with uncertain thoughts.
His heart raced, recalling everything like a fast-forwarded film. Flashes of memory painted his pain, and when he involuntarily focused on those images, he saw severed hair, hanging ropes, bodies stretched across the ground, and a hand gripping his neck.
— They... they... — No words came. His eyes drifted involuntarily to his wrist, marked with scars encoded as "X-163418", unnoticed by the girl.
— They enslaved us, tied us up, cut our hair, took our lives, imprisoned us... in just 2 years! — He raised the flag of his pain, aware that no word could ever describe what he had lived through up to that night.
There was a silence that gave stage to reactions, where the boy examined the young woman's expression, searching for some approval of his pain, so that, with impulsive confidence, he could hope his feeble words might be enough for her to share in all of it. But not a single tear dared fall. The young woman, more than stabbed by his declarations, full of empathy, held him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes, approving his pain as far as her own limits could reach. In that moment, for a brief instant, just enough for her to come close and observe the subtleties of his face, the boy noticed something: the girl had a uniquely colored skin; it was as if, when touched by sunlight, her complexion took on a subtle and unknown hue. One similar to blue, but it could not be called that.
The silence now seemed welcoming, as though it were a disguised embrace, curious and comforting. He saw in her a celestial peace he hadn't seen in a long time. Her color, her empathy… Everything he had forgotten he had a right to was remembered in a single gesture, and perhaps, too, she was the only person in that place who could hold him without hurting him. He missed a gentle touch, a delicate one, that didn't make him bleed, sting, or burn…
He felt a deep desire to remain in that moment. The rarity of such a touch seemed so singular that, were anyone, even nature itself, to become aware of it, it would frighten him. He feared anyone else, uncertain they would look at him with the same peaceful eyes the young woman had. It was a distant home, one long lost in the past.
There was a rustle. It came from the forest. A tall figure emerged from the leaves, upright before the two. An unknown woman, towering in stature, silent, with an arrow pointed at the boy's head. Unwilling to hesitate.