Months passed. With her mother’s steady guidance, Harlyn learned to read fluently.

  One morning, she awoke to her parents arguing.

  “Hale, no! Absolutely not! Giving gifts does NOT mean doing something insane!” Meryl scolded.

  “It’s Harlyn’s day—I’d tear the world apart to make her happy!” Hale declared.

  The moment Harlyn stepped into the living room—still rubbing her eyes.

  “What are you guys talking about?”

  Both parents froze.

  “Harlyn! I have to go on an adventure—ask your mother!” Hale shouted, then bolted out of the house.

  “Hale!” Meryl yelled.

  She turned to Harlyn, flustered. “I… don’t understand what your father’s talking about either…”

  Harlyn tilted her head, clearly still unconvinced.

  Meryl hurried to change the subject. “You must be hungry. Let Mommy make your favorite breakfast!”

  Harlyn’s eyes lit up. “Pancakes!”

  While Meryl mixed the batter, she said casually, “Harlyn, after breakfast, why don’t you go out and play? Lots of friends have been waiting to see you!”

  She was clearly trying to distract her.

  Harlyn fall into deep thought for a while, then nodded.

  “Mmmp!”

  ****

  Nothing smells better than freshly made, hot pancakes.

  Meryl picked one up; it was clearly still hot. She tore off a small piece and began blowing on it.

  After it had cooled enough, Meryl held it to her daughter's mouth.

  Harlyn obediently opened her mouth wide.

  "Mom's pancakes are the best!" She spoke with her chubby cheeks, filled.

  Meryl smiled.

  “Don’t speak when there’s foods in your mouth princess.” She pinched Haryln’s chubby cheek.

  After eating, Meryl carefully wiped Harlyn’s face.

  “And you’re good to go!”

  “Thank mom!” Harlyn hurried inside to grab her storybook, a pen, and a notebook.

  “I’m going now!” She prepared so carefully, like an adventurer ready to hunt down some beast!

  The sight made Meryl giggled.

  Harlyn then jumped into her mother’s arms and hugged her tightly, before rushing off to the door.

  “Play carefully,” Meryl called, her voice slowly fade.

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  “I will!”

  ****

  Harlyn followed the village path until the house grew distant.

  The village of Fern was a modest place—to farmers, swordsmen, and only a few mages like her mother.

  The morning sky stretched in a deep, unbroken blue.

  Warm smells drifted from kitchens. Children chased rolling wooden barrels down the path. While the steady clang of iron rang from the blacksmith’s forge, sending thin trails of smoke curling morning air.

  Out in the fields, villagers bent over golden crops, harvesting in a practiced rhythm.

  Fern wasn’t magical or grand.

  But to Harlyn, it was her whole world.

  She spotted children over from afar.

  They noticed her instantly, waving with bright, innocent smiles.

  “Harlyn! Come play!”

  She froze.

  It was her first time leaving the house alone—no mother’s hand, no father’s shadow behind her—and suddenly the children’s voices felt too loud, too close.

  She hugged her book tighter to her chest.

  She had seen these kids from the window while learning with her mother many times.

  She had even overheard their whispers once:

  “Why does she always read?”

  “That’s mage stuffs…”

  “I don’t get what’s so fun about books.”

  They weren’t bad kids.

  They just lived differently.

  Fern was a village of hands, not minds—of fields, tools, and work—not of words.

  And Harlyn… Harlyn was the odd one who loved stories.

  She stepped forward—

  but her feet stopped halfway, refusing to move.

  In her mind, the children seemed to be mocking her:

  Why are you carrying books?

  Have you ever seen anyone else here read?

  The imaginary voice echoed in her head.

  Her chest tightened.

  The children waved again, this time unsure.

  “Harlyn…?”

  But she lowered her head and walked past them, heart pounding too loudly to reply.

  It wasn’t their fault.

  And it wasn’t hers either.

  She simply… didn’t know how to step into their world yet.

  For some reason, whenever she saw someone, her feet simply kept moving—avoiding.

  The village slowly disappeared behind her.

  She didn’t know how far she had walked, but she eventually reached a forest—the end of the trail.

  Too tired, she collapsed face-first into the grass.

  Birds chirped. Crickets sang. Wind rustled the leaves.

  The whole forest was like a song—everything was in harmony with each other.

  After resting, she sat up and took in the scenery—The forest was beautiful.

  A gentle breeze passed, swaying the green trees and her shiny blue hair.

  The sunlight slipped through the leaves, creating bars of golden light.

  Harlyn breathed deeply—the forest air was refreshing.

  She wandered deeper, the sound of a stream can be heard.

  Fish glided beneath the surface, and her reflection stared back.

  Finding a tree nearby, she sat down and began sketching the rhythm of the water and forest into her notebook.

  Then opened her favorite story book—God El-Glry.

  El-Glry was the name of the land she lived in.

  “No! A mortal like you? You have nothing compared to me!”

  “I have the will—and that’s more than enough!”

  She didn’t notice the time passing.

  By the time she closed the book, the sun had already dipped into late afternoon.