The autumn wind blew gently through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and dry leaves. Deep within the dense forest, two figures walked slowly along a narrow path seldom used by others. Shina, a seven-year-old girl with shoulder-length black hair tied into twin tails, skipped ahead while humming a soft tune. Behind her, Lucy, her older sister, carried a woven rattan basket.
"Let's only gather dry wood, alright? Don't stray too far from the main path," Lucy said, her voice soft but cautious.
"Come on, Sis! The cold's coming soon—we need lots of firewood!" Shina called out cheerfully as she ran ahead.
"Not too far, wait for me, Shina!"
But the child kept running, giggling, until Lucy's voice was lost behind her. Just then, from the thick bushes at the side of the trail, came the sound of something rustling quickly. Before Lucy could call out to Shina again, a heavy blow struck her head.
Thud!
Lucy collapsed onto the ground, unmoving. Blood dripped from her temple, soaking the cloth cap that had fallen a few steps away from her body.
From the bushes emerged three rugged-looking men, dressed in tattered clothes. One of them let out a low chuckle as he nudged Lucy's unconscious body with his foot.
"Look at that. Too easy. I thought we'd have to chase her," said the squinty-eyed man with yellowed teeth.
"Perfect. Pick her up, quickly. Let's get outta here before someone sees us," said another while whistling.
Meanwhile, Shina, now noticing the eerie silence behind her, slowed her steps. She stopped, turned around, and began retracing her steps.
"...Sis?"
No answer. An uneasy feeling began to stir in her chest. She quickened her pace, her eyes scanning the ground—until she saw it: her sister's cap, lying in the dirt with faint red stains marking the soil and the nearby grass.
Shina froze.
Her small hands trembled as she picked up the cap. Tears welled up in her eyes.
"...Sis Lucy?" Her voice shook, barely audible.
No trace. No sound. No sign of Lucy.
Panic overtook her. Shina started running in every direction, crying out her sister's name.
"Luuucy! Sis Lucy!! Where are you?!"
But only silence replied. The wind carried her voice far away, and the looming shadows of the trees now felt like towering walls that blocked every way out.
Alone in the vast and darkening forest, a small child stood trembling—clutching a blood-stained cap and haunted by a loss she could not understand.
---
Days passed since the incident in the forest, and the Shina that once laughed so freely had vanished. In her place was a silent, withdrawn child who rarely left her room. The spark in her eyes had dimmed, as if taken with the figure who had disappeared from her life.
Her uncle, who had taken responsibility for her care, watched her with growing concern. One evening, as they sat quietly at the dinner table, Shina's mother, Ilia—her voice faint from the illness that had plagued her—turned to her brother.
"Do you think... we can still try to find her? To find Lucy?"
The uncle sighed, weary. "I'll reach out to the Imperial Armed Forces. Maybe they can help. But it's been days... and the trail's cold."
But Lucy never returned.
Three years passed. Shina was now ten years old. She moved quietly through the small house, careful not to wake the shadows. In her hands she carried a glass of warm milk. Her footsteps stopped at the door of a bedroom where the air was heavy with herbs and silence.
Ilia, her mother, lay in bed, pale and gaunt. Her illness had worsened over the past year. The villagers whispered that it was grief—that her heart had broken the day her eldest daughter disappeared.
Shina entered the room and gently placed the glass of milk on the bedside table. Then she climbed onto the bed and sat beside her mother.
Illia opened her eyes slowly and looked at her youngest child with a weak smile.
"Shina... do you still remember your sister?"
Shina didn't answer right away. She stared at her hands, at the little cuts and calluses that had come from chores far too heavy for a girl her age. Then she looked up and smiled softly—quietly, as if smiling too wide might break something fragile in the air.
"Always, Mom."
And in the silence that followed, the forest still echoed somewhere far away, where a voice once called a sister's name into the wind—never to be answered.
{Chapter 43 end}