The quiet of early morning draped the village like a fragile veil. The faint chirping of birds outside was the only sound accompanying Lian as he sat motionless on the edge of his bed, staring at the uneven wooden floorboards. His fingers gripped the edge of the mattress as if holding on for stability, though his mind was anything but steady.
The events of the magic competition haunted him like a cruel specter, each laugh, each sneer replaying in his head. The faces of the villagers—mocking, amused, pitying—burned behind his closed eyelids. His failure wasn’t just public; it felt etched into his very existence.
Lian’s hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. How could he face the village again? How could he endure another day of whispers and sidelong glances?
He glanced at the satchel hanging from a hook on the wall. It had been his father’s once, the leather worn and cracked but sturdy. He rose slowly, a sudden resolve hardening in his chest. He couldn’t stay here. Not anymore.
Reaching for the satchel, he began filling it with what little he had. A loaf of bread—stale, but enough to keep him going for a while. A flask of water, still half full from the previous day. And, finally, his father’s journal. The journal felt heavier than it should, the weight of its pages carrying memories, lessons, and an odd sense of hope that Lian wasn’t sure he believed in anymore.
He paused for a moment, looking around the small room. The bed where he’d slept since childhood. The simple wooden table where his mother had once sat, helping him learn his letters. The small window that let in rays of sunlight each morning. It wasn’t much, but it had been home.
And now, it felt like a cage.
With one last look, Lian swung the satchel over his shoulder and crept out of the house. The village lay silent under the pale glow of dawn. He moved quickly, his footsteps soft on the dirt paths, his breath shallow as if the very air of the place might pull him back.
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Into the Mountains
The mountains rose in the distance, their jagged peaks cutting into the sky. They had always stood as a barrier between the village and the unknown, a realm of danger and mystery that no one dared venture into. But to Lian, they were something else entirely—a refuge.
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The path to the mountains was steep and uneven, winding through dense woods that grew darker the further he went. The trees towered above him, their branches forming a canopy that filtered the morning sunlight into fractured beams.
The air grew colder with each step, and the sounds of the village—distant laughter, the clatter of carts, the calls of merchants—faded into silence. All that remained was the crunch of his boots against the rocky trail and the occasional rustle of leaves.
His thoughts swirled as he climbed. He thought of his mother, who would wake soon to find his bed empty. Would she understand why he had to leave? Would she come looking for him?
Then there were the villagers. Would they even notice he was gone? Or would they laugh and say it was for the best? Lian shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him like thorns.
The path became steeper, the rocky terrain cutting into his palms as he used his hands to steady himself. He stumbled more than once, scraping his knees and hands against the sharp stones. The physical pain was sharp but fleeting, a welcome distraction from the deeper ache inside him.
Hours passed. The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the mountainside. Lian’s legs burned with effort, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
When the sun began to set, painting the horizon in hues of orange and purple, Lian finally paused. He found a small clearing nestled between the rocks and sat down, exhaustion washing over him. He pulled out the loaf of bread from his satchel and tore off a piece. It was dry and tasteless, but he forced it down, knowing he needed the strength to continue.
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The Stillness of Night
As night fell, the stars emerged one by one, their light casting a faint glow over the mountains. The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the faint scent of pine. Lian wrapped himself in his cloak and leaned against a tree, staring up at the sky.
For the first time that day, the weight of his actions settled fully on him. He had left the village. He had left everything behind—his mother, his home, the life he had always known. A part of him felt relief, but another part, deeper and quieter, felt fear.
What am I doing? he wondered. Where am I even going?
He closed his eyes, trying to quiet his racing thoughts. But the silence only amplified them, each doubt and fear growing louder in the stillness.
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A Moment of Reflection
After what felt like hours, Lian reached into his satchel and pulled out his father’s journal. The worn leather cover was smooth under his fingers, the familiar feel bringing a small sense of comfort.
He opened it to a random page, his eyes scanning the neat handwriting. The pages were filled with sketches of magical symbols, notes on spells, and reflections on life.
One passage caught his eye:
"Strength isn’t just about power. It’s about resilience, about getting back up even when the world tries to keep you down."
Lian traced the words with his finger, his throat tightening. His father had always believed in him, even when no one else did. He had always said that Lian was destined for something greater, even if it wasn’t clear what that was yet.
Closing the journal, Lian leaned back against the tree and stared up at the stars. He still felt lost, but for the first time, he also felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe this journey wasn’t just about escaping. Maybe it was about finding a new path, a new way to prove himself.
As he drifted off to sleep, the mountains loomed above him, their peaks silhouetted against the night sky. They were vast and unknown, but they also
held the promise of something new.
And for now, that was enough.
---
