I didn't run that evening.
For the first time in over a year, I let my legs carry me slowly, step by step, down the path that hugged the slope of our hill. The usual burn in my thighs was missing, and I could feel it. I guess that's what absence feels like, right?
Lilith was gone.
She had waited years for that moment, again. And though she didn't cry when she said goodbye, I saw the way her fingers lingered a second too long on her staff, like she was saying goodbye to herself, too.
So now it was just me and the familiar path, the one I used to run like a little hurricane. But today, I wanted to see what I had passed every day without really noticing. And as I walked through the veil of evening hues of sunset and into the heart of Morowind Haven, I realized I wasn't invisible anymore.
The first woman I saw was Sifae, the baker's daughter, now grown into her own womanhood. She was out as usual, folding flour into a giant wooden bowl on her open-aired porch, her baby strapped to her back with a cloth sling. She looked up and blinked twice, flour streaking her cheek like war paint.
"Verdamona? Walking today?"
"Yeah. Just… felt like seeing the town properly for once."
I didn't bother hiding my advanced speech. I didn't speak like a child and my mother was a blabbermouth who made them believe I was mature for my age because I was training with the Oracle.
She smiled. Not a forced, cautious one like I used to get but an actual smile.
"Is the Oracle still at the house?"
"She left," I said, lowering my voice. "On a journey. A secret one."
Sifa tilted her head like a curious bird. "Did she tell you where?"
"No. She didn't tell me anything. Just that she would be gone a while."
A moment passed between us. And then she nodded, as if that answer, vague as it was, satisfied something in her.
"You want some bread? It's still warm."
I smiled. I couldn't help it.
"Only if you promise not to tell my mother I ate it before dinner."
She laughed and handed me a soft roll wrapped in a cloth napkin.
"Deal."
That was the first of many encounters. As I walked through the winding lanes of the village, past the rust-colored stone walls and the tiny canals that carried freshwater from the mountain springs, I realized just how many eyes had been watching me all these months, not with suspicion anymore but with curiosity, maybe even respect.
"Where's the Oracle, little one?" One of the old flower ladies asked as I passed the plaza where they sold woven garlands and dried herbs.
"She went traveling," I said.
"All by herself?"
"She didn't say," I replied again. That phrase had become my shield.
An old fisherman with a gray beard, who used to cross the street when I ran by, handed me a netted bag full of vegetables.
"Your father's girl deserves proper greens. Please take them."
I took it with both hands and bowed my head slightly.
It still surprised me, sometimes, how quickly people's opinions could shift. A year ago, I was the horned child, the strange girl with alien eyes and silent footsteps who lived on the hill with the Oracle. Children whispered about me like I was a spirit. Adults avoided making eye contact. I didn't make friends. I didn't even try. I had been too busy, too focused, too... detached.
But then I started running every single morning without fail. They saw me from their windows, their rooftops and shops. They saw me leave and come back, drenched in sweat, eyes burning with a fire I never tried to hide. And slowly, that fear turned into fascination.
Now, people offered me food and complimented my dresses which, to be fair, were stunning. My mother was the best tailor in the entire town. Seventy percent of the modern outfits people wore came from her fingers. She worked with natural silks and hand-spun wool, knew how to cut and stitch in ways that made even the simplest tunic look regal.
She always said I was her favorite mannequin. Every season, she made me something new, always functional, always beautiful. Today I wore a layered navy dress with shell buttons and gold colored thread embroidered in the hem. It shimmered when I moved.
And my father… he wasn't just a fisherman. He was the fisherman. His boats never broke. His lines never snapped. He could read the tides like scripture, and every plank of wood he worked with seemed to sing under his touch. He made our bed from sturdy wood, lined it with seal-skin padding and feather-soft pillows. Sometimes I felt like a noble girl in a capital city, only this was a village with no money. Just respect. And respect was a currency that could buy more than gold here.
The women called me cute now. Not "scary," not "different." Cute. They pinched my cheeks, ruffled my hair, offered me braids and ribbons. One of them gave me a peach. Said I had "village princess energy."
The men? They said I was lovely, always respectfully of course, always with a nod. I wasn't sure what to make of that yet, but I appreciated the tone. It wasn't creepy. Just… admiring.
The children, though? Oh, they hated me.
The jealousy was so obvious it almost made me laugh out loud. I walked past them playing marbles near the water well, and they all got real quiet, like I had cast a silence spell or something. One of the girls tried to trip me by "accidentally" dropping her doll in front of my feet.
Did I mind? Not even a little.
Because when you're the center of attention, someone is always gonna dislike you. That's just life.
My brother, now he had it worse. He was nine, just starting to fill out his skinny arms and grow into his oversized tunics.
He went fishing with Dad every morning, and all the dads in town were already eyeing him as future son-in-law material. I heard them whispering once, talking about how "that boy's got shoulders like his old man" and "a good head on him too."
He didn't like the attention either, but he handled it well. He didn't show off. He just smiled, worked hard and pretended he didn't notice the girls peeking at him from behind the net racks.
And yeah… I guess we were both beautiful. I didn't even mean that arrogantly. It was just something I noticed more and more as I walked through Morowind Haven. Our looks, our talents, our parents' reputation, it all added up to something that felt like soft power.
As I made my way back up the hill that day, arms full of food, the peach half-eaten in one hand and the bread already finished, I looked out over the town one more time.
Lilith wasn't here anymore. She was probably already facing the Trials, probably already walking the line between life and power. But I wasn't alone.
For the first time in a very long time… I felt seen. And weirdly, I didn't mind the attention. Because this time, it wasn't fear in their eyes.
I don't know when she will be back but until then, I'll keep learning English, running and meditating. And when she gets back, I'm going to be stronger than before for her to teach me combat skills.