Chapter Two: The Shadow Beneath the Mountain
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It was a pale morning, with no sun and no rain—just something in between. A grayish light filtered through the tall branches, and the air was thick with the scent of damp firewood.
Theodore was tying bundles onto the back of the mule, checking each knot with a craftsman's precision.
Oryn stood on the cabin's threshold, silently observing. Titi fluttered around them as if protesting the idea of departure.
"Will it take long?" Oryn mumbled.
"Two days... three at most. Unless the chief of Water decides to stir up trouble again," Theodore replied without turning.
Titi let out a sound that might have been laughter.
Theodore added, nodding toward the trees, "Stay close. Only the first line of trees. Don't go beyond them."
"I know... same as always," Oryn said flatly.
Silence fell. Then Theodore glanced at Titi.
"If this crow keeps screeching, I'll trade him for a dove."
They exchanged a look and laughed—a short, cautious laugh, like a candle afraid of wind.
Finally, Theodore mounted the mule.
"Everything inside's prepared. Don't mess with the box. Don't open the door for the wind."
"As if I had a choice," Oryn muttered.
Theodore winked, then nudged the mule into the forest path.
Oryn watched until he vanished into the fog.
"WAAK," Titi said.
"We're alone... again," Oryn murmured.
---
The road to Water Village wasn't really a road—it was a mix of mud and rocks twisting around the mountain's ribs like a lazy serpent. The sun barely pierced through layers of mist, trailing Theodore from afar—not warming him, but watching.
He carried two sacks of firewood on the mule's back and a small lantern swinging by his side. Sometimes he hummed quietly, sometimes he fell silent—as if his voice had become a burden.
As he neared the edge of the village, the landscape began to shift, opening like a curtain onto another world... a world soaked in nostalgia and guilt.
After more than an hour of walking, the first signs of Water Village emerged between the cracked trees: huts raised on wooden stilts above water, connected by narrow bridges that resembled a worn spider's web. The village didn't sit directly on water, but surrounded by many streams, the land remained damp, the air always moist.
The smell of dried fish and smoke rose from the small chimneys, mixed with human sounds—laughter, shouts, half-heard stories.
Theodore stopped at the village edge. He didn't enter immediately. He tightened the reins and just watched. There, on a wooden platform, was a scene that quietly split his heart.
Five children ran between huts, their laughter scattering like raindrops on the water. A little girl pretended to be a dragon. A boy wielded a stick like a sword. Another hid behind a large copper pot, yelling, "I'm the ghost!"
It was all innocent... ordinary. And yet, to Theodore, it felt like something alien.
He stood there, unmoving, as if looking at a life he had never known. Or more truthfully, a life he had denied to someone he loved.
Oryn... had never played like that. Never ran amidst innocent screams. Never chased with bare feet, never allowed to fall and laugh, and be forgiven.
Something heavy pressed against his chest—not guilt exactly, but a haunting question:
"Did I raise him... or imprison him? Did I protect him... or deprive him?"
He whispered internally, "Was I shielding him from danger... or from myself?"
Slowly, he nudged the mule forward. He walked not among people, but memories. Yet he hadn't gone far when another scene struck him like a cold slap.
On a narrow bridge, a young boy—maybe Oryn's age—was reading from an old notebook. Three boys approached, one of them wearing fine clothes with a golden insignia on his shoulder—clearly the son of a chief.
"What's this?" the boy sneered, snatching the notebook.
"My lessons, sir..." the child replied timidly.
The arrogant boy laughed, then tore the notebook in two and threw it into the water.
"Your books are worth nothing here, son of no one!"
The other boys laughed, then walked away without a glance.
The boy didn't cry. He simply sat, watching the torn pages drift away—as if the whole world had decided to forget him.
Theodore froze. His heart quaked in a way it hadn't in years. He saw in that boy Oryn's shadow... and in the bullies, the ghost of a world he had hidden from him.
He sighed deeply, eyes drifting between the past and the present.
Then he moved on.
At the village center, children gathered around him, running under the mule's feet.
"The woodcutter! The woodcutter's here!"
Theodore said nothing. He walked toward the small square where the market stood. And there stood Dante.
A man in his fifties, bald except for one rebellious tuft in the back. His eyes were narrow, untrusting. His smile... venomous. He stood behind a wooden stall, selling salt and herbs. Beside him, a half-drunk bottle.
"Well, if it isn't the silent sage," Dante said, lighting his pipe. "Eight winters and still coming back, as if afraid of melting in your solitude."
Theodore placed the firewood on the stall.
"Half a sack of salt, one of rice, and wax."
"For all this wood? Still stingy, as always."
"Give me what I asked for and move along."
Dante laughed, exhaling a thick puff of smoke.
"Eight years... since you found him. The strange creature, I mean."
A dead flame sparked back to life in Theodore's eyes.
"His name is Oryn."
"Oh, Oryn? Lovely name! Did you choose it, or did the boat?"
Theodore stared at him—long and hard. A look heavy with both pain and warning.
"Dante..."
"Yes, yes, I know... you told me to keep it a secret."
"And I will. Tell me—who kept your wife's death a secret?"
Dante stiffened, then gave a cold, tearless smile.
Theodore turned.
"Trade's over today."
"Don't be mad! I was only joking!"
But Theodore didn't look back. He walked quickly, as if escaping a conversation that should never have been spoken—and shadows that followed even in daylight.
Around the same time, though midday lingered, the forest seemed to move backward in time. Sunlight dimmed gradually, as if the clouds had spread without permission, and the shadows of the trees stretched longer than usual, casting a gray darkness that made everything beneath it appear still. The air grew heavy, as if the forest itself were holding its breath.
Oryn sat on a dead tree trunk, his back slightly hunched as he tried to repair a small wooden arrow. Its tip had been broken earlier that morning—victim to one of Titi's mischievous fits.
"Waaak!" cried the crow, perched on a nearby rock, watching him with a mix of suspicion and amusement.
Oryn replied without looking up, "I'm not making one for you. Arrows aren't for crows."
"Waaak?"
"Even if you convinced me you're a master hunter, you still wouldn't get one."
Titi tossed a small pebble at him. It hit his foot.
"Ow! You feathery thug!"
The crow flew a few meters away, then hopped back as if nothing had happened.
Oryn laughed—a carefree, childish laugh, broken like it belonged to a morning farther away than this one.
But the laugh didn't last.
The sound came—faint at first, like someone breathing inside a tree. A thin moan drifting between trunks, with no clear source.
Oryn turned. Titi froze. His feathers fluffed, and he stood still in an odd, alert pose.
No buzzing insects. No chirping birds. No whisper of wind.
Only that moan... stretching endlessly, like a pain carried for a thousand years.
Oryn stood slowly, his hands trembling without reason. Something inside him urged him to search... not curiosity, but something closer to a calling.
Then he saw it.
A tall shadow, broad-shouldered, walking silently between the trees. The forest seemed to part for him, as if it knew him.
The man's features weren't clear, but his eyes... one pale green, like it had died long ago, and the other pitch black, like a pit where time itself falls.
Oryn froze.
"It's him... the man from the dream... I know those eyes!"
But the shadow didn't wait. It vanished—like vapor absorbed by the trees.
Oryn didn't think. He didn't question. He ran.
He sprinted after it, his legs moving as if tied to the silhouette by an invisible thread.
The forest was not kind. Branches whipped at him, thorns scratched his cheeks, and the mud dragged at his boots. Still, he didn't stop.
He panted. His breaths were heavy, his heartbeat louder than everything else. But he kept going. Every leap, every slip, was a cry toward something he didn't understand.
"Stop! Who are you?!"
No answer.
Sometimes, he glimpsed a dark cloak slipping between trees. Sometimes, only emptiness. But he was certain... certain of something he couldn't explain.
"I... I know you... I saw you... in the dream!"
Then the path narrowed. Branches too close, ground sloping steeper, silence thickening.
Until... the trail ended.
A sudden cliff before him, as if the earth had decided to stop.
Oryn tried to halt. His feet slipped on the wet clay, slick with dew like betrayal.
A short cry escaped him—too quick to hold back.
And then he fell.
His body hit water. The river's cold pierced through him like a blade.
He tried to scream, but water found his voice first. It filled his mouth... nose... eyes.
The current, though gentle, was steady. It pulled him farther away. He felt as though the mountain itself had grabbed him, as if an ancient force had decided to drag him into an unknown depth.
Just before he lost consciousness, he heard the last thing he expected:
"Waaak... Waaak... Waaak..."
It was Titi. He hovered over the water, crying madly, his wings fighting the air like they were battling time itself.
Then... darkness.
Silence.
Nothing but emptiness.
Oryn vanished into the stream's belly.
And the mountain... said nothing.
---
The path from Water Village to the cabin wasn't difficult, but it felt longer than usual today. Maybe because Theodore's mind was weighed down by what he had seen. Or maybe because even the mule's steps seemed slower, as if it too felt an unspoken burden.
The sky turned to a copper hue as dusk approached. The wind passed gently through the trees, brushing off sorrows clinging to their limbs. Theodore walked in silence, eyes fixed on the ground, the old leather saddle creaking with every step.
He muttered to himself, "Children play... laugh... And him? He plays with a crow... or sits under a roof too small for dreams."
He pursed his lips. His mind hadn't rested since he left. Images of children running between homes, their eyes shining, laughter dancing like wheat in spring winds. How many times had he denied Oryn this? How many times had his laugh been swallowed by fear?
He said bitterly, "You weren't a father... you were a guard at the gate of worry."
Then he remembered Dante.
"That bastard... his mouth is poison... How dare he? How dare he call him that? A creature? Do you even know what it means to be born with no one? With no memory?"
He kicked a stone ahead of him. It rolled between tree roots.
He pulled out his pipe, lit it, then exhaled a gray cloud, saying, "Oryn... if you knew how many wolves wear human skin here, you'd never ask to leave."
Amid his grumbling, he didn't notice the shadow that hit his face.
"Oh! For hell's sake!"
He stepped back, hand reaching for his dagger... but the small black shape that struck him wasn't a threat.
"Titi?!"
The gray crow perched on a low branch, wings damp, eyes burning with urgency.
Theodore sighed, "Titi... after this stupid day, you want to be dinner?"
"Waaak!"
"Now you answer? Perfect!"
Titi flew forward, lightly tapping Theodore's shoulder.
"Careful... I'm not in the mood for jokes."
But the crow leapt, flew a few meters to the left, then returned.
Repeated it again.
Theodore muttered, "What's wrong? Something bad happened to Oryn?"
"Waaak! Waaak!"
He stared at him for seconds, then slowly said, "Show me the way."
Titi darted between the trees, and Theodore followed with long strides. Branches scratched his arms, the ground was wetter than before, and the scent in the air had changed. No longer pine... but something damp, like cave breath.
The sound of flowing water grew louder as they approached. Then Theodore noticed something odd... the rocks near the waterfall were cracked unnaturally.
He stopped. Looked up, then to the side. Placed his hand on a wet stone.
Murmured, "This isn't normal... the cave..."
He pushed past dense plants, then saw it—a dark opening barely hidden.
He whispered, "Oryn's in there, isn't he?"
He looked at Titi.
"Let's go drag that rat out."