Morning came slowly after the storm, as if the world itself was unsure whether it should wake.
The village near the forest was already alive with movement, but the sounds were different than usual. Doors creaked open more carefully. Footsteps paused more often. People spoke in low voices, their words carried gently by the damp air.
The storm had left its mark.
Broken branches littered the road. A wooden fence leaned where the wind had pushed too hard. Puddles reflected the pale sky, disturbed only when someone stepped around them.
Groups of villagers gathered, murmuring to one another.
"I've never heard thunder like that," a man said, shaking his head. "It sounded angry."
"Angry things don't come from nothing," another replied quietly. "That storm wasn't natural."
A woman clutching a basket whispered, "My grandmother used to say storms like that were signs. Signs that something old had been stirred."
"Hush," someone else warned. "Don't speak of those things. You want to be noticed?"
"There's blood in the land," a voice murmured. "The blood of the unforgiven.
That's what they say."
An older man stepped forward, his expression sharp. "Enough. Words have weight. Best not to invite what we don't understand."
The villagers fell silent, many of them glancing toward the forest. The trees stood damaged and broken at its edge, some leaning at uneasy angles, others split down the middle as if struck by something far greater than wind.
Not far from the crowd, a tall man stood with two children beside him.
"Stay close today," he said, his voice firm but tired. "And don't go near the forest. The storm weakened the trees. One wrong step, and one could fall."
"Yes, Father," the boy replied.
The girl nodded as well, her long blonde hair slipping over her shoulder as she did.
The man looked at them for a moment longer, then turned away to help another villager.
The boy waited only a heartbeat before stepping forward.
"Where are you going?" the girl asked at once.
"Nowhere," he said too quickly.
She followed him anyway, her boots tapping lightly against the damp road. "You're a terrible liar."
He sighed. "Go back."
"No."
He stopped and turned. "Lily, don't—"
"You're worried about the puppy," she said, tilting her head.
His expression hardened.
The memory returned before he could stop it.
The night before the storm, the rain had only just begun. The puppy had been shaking, its fur muddy and thin, its eyes too big for its small body. It had followed him home, tail tucked, hopeful despite everything.
His father hadn't even looked angry—just tired.
"We don't have the means," he had said quietly. "It won't last here."
The puppy had whimpered when it was set down near the forest edge, confused, its small paws slipping in the dirt. The boy had stood there longer than he should have, fists clenched, wanting to pick it up and run.
But he hadn't.
The forest had swallowed the sound of its cries.
Now, standing on the road with the storm's damage all around them, the boy swallowed hard.
"I'm just checking," he said.
Lily crossed her arms. "If Father finds out—"
"I know," he snapped. "Just—don't follow me."
She smiled. "Then walk slower."
He didn't.
The farther they went, the quieter the village became. The ground grew uneven.
Branches lay scattered, some snapped clean in half. Leaves clung wetly to their shoes.
When they reached the forest's edge, the boy hesitated.
"Cinder?" he called softly.
Nothing answered.
He stepped forward anyway.
"Cinder!" he called again, louder this time.
Lily hurried behind him. "Don't go so fast! You'll trip."
He jumped over a fallen tree, barely slowing. His chest felt tight, his thoughts racing faster than his feet.
What if the storm—
What if the night had been too cold—
His eyes burned.
"Are you crying?" Lily teased. "You really are a crybaby."
"Shut up, Lily," he said, his voice shaking despite himself.
Then—something small and broken sounded through the trees.
A whimper.
His breath caught.
"Cinder!" he shouted.
He ran.
"Wait!" Lily called. "Aster, stop—wait for me!"
He didn't hear her anymore.
The sound led him into a clearing where the forest looked wrong. The ground was torn up. A massive tree lay split and fallen, its branches scattered like broken bones.
The puppy sat nearby, muddy and trembling, letting out soft cries.
Relief hit him first—sharp and sudden.
Then he saw what the puppy was crying over.
A girl lay beneath the fallen tree.
She was small—smaller than he had expected. Her dark hair spread across the ground, tangled with leaves. Her clothes were torn and soaked, clinging to her unmoving form. One arm lay bent strangely at her side, her leg trapped beneath the weight of the tree.
The puppy whimpered and licked her hand, nudging her gently, as if asking her to wake up.
Aster stopped moving.
Stopped breathing.
Lily reached him moments later, already annoyed. "Why were you running like that?
My dress is ruined and—"
She followed his gaze.
Her words vanished.
She stood very still, eyes wide, her mouth slightly open.
Neither of them spoke.
The forest seemed to hold its breath with them.
The girl did not move.
Her chest did not rise in a way they could see.
The puppy whimpered again, pressing closer to her.
Aster felt something cold settle deep in his stomach.
"Is she…?" Lily whispered, unable to finish.
He didn't answer.
He didn't know.
The sunlight filtered weakly through the trees, touching the girl's still face, offering no answers at all.