Cold air bit into her skin the moment she stepped outside.
The village stretched before her—rough, uneven, alive in a way that felt both real and hostile. Smoke curled lazily from a few chimneys, and distant voices murmured like an undercurrent of judgment.
She had barely taken three steps before she felt it.
Eyes.
Watching her.
Not curious.
Not neutral.
Hostile.
"Look who finally crawled out," a woman muttered nearby, loud enough for others to hear.
"She didn't die? What a pity."
A low chuckle followed.
Her steps slowed—but she didn't stop.
Good.
Let them hate her.
It made things clearer.
It meant she didn't need to pretend.
Her gaze swept the surroundings carefully. She needed information first. Food sources. Water. Anything.
The original owner's memories were fragmented, but one thing was clear:
They had nothing.
No stored grain. No dried meat. Not even wild roots.
The children had been starving for days.
Her jaw tightened.
"Hey."
A voice cut through the air.
She turned.
A man stood a few meters away, leaning casually against a wooden fence. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His presence alone made the air feel heavier.
His eyes—sharp, dark—locked onto her like a predator observing prey.
Recognition flickered in her mind.
Not clear.
But enough.
Danger.
This man… was dangerous.
"And where do you think you're going?" he asked lazily.
His tone was calm.
Too calm.
She met his gaze without flinching.
"To find food."
A pause.
Then—
A short, humorless laugh.
"You?" His lips curled slightly. "Looking for food?"
The mockery wasn't even hidden.
"You used to steal from others instead."
Her expression didn't change.
"I won't anymore."
Silence.
A few villagers nearby slowed their movements, clearly listening.
The man straightened, pushing himself off the fence. His height became even more apparent now, casting a shadow over her.
"That so?" he said, stepping closer.
Instinct screamed at her to step back.
She didn't.
"If I hear that you touched anything that doesn't belong to you…" His voice dropped, low and threatening. "I won't be as patient as before."
Before.
Another fragment.
This man had dealt with the original owner before.
And not gently.
Her ribs throbbed faintly.
Was he the one who—
She cut the thought off.
Not important right now.
"I won't steal," she repeated calmly.
Their eyes met.
For a brief moment—
Something shifted.
Not trust.
But curiosity.
The man studied her, as if trying to peel back her skin and see what lay underneath.
Then he scoffed.
"We'll see."
He stepped past her, his shoulder brushing hers—firm, deliberate.
A silent warning.
Or a test.
Her body tensed at the contact.
Not fear.
Awareness.
This man…
Would not be easy to deal with.
And somehow—
Deep in the inherited memories—
There was a connection.
Not love.
Not even affection.
Something… more complicated.
More dangerous.
She exhaled slowly and continued walking.
Focus.
Food first.
Everything else later.
---
The forest loomed at the edge of the village.
Dense.
Alive.
Unforgiving.
She hesitated only briefly before stepping inside.
The air changed instantly—cooler, quieter, filled with the rustling of leaves and distant animal sounds.
Her senses sharpened.
She wasn't a survival expert—but she wasn't helpless either.
Modern knowledge.
That was her advantage.
"Think…" she murmured.
Edible plants.
Basic survival.
Water sources usually nearby vegetation…
Her gaze moved carefully along the ground.
Then—
She spotted something.
A cluster of low plants with broad leaves.
She crouched slowly, ignoring the protest of her body.
It looked familiar.
Her mind searched desperately.
Not poisonous.
She was almost sure.
Almost.
Her fingers hovered.
This wasn't a game.
A wrong choice could kill her.
Or worse—
The children.
Her hand trembled slightly.
Then steadied.
"I don't have a choice."
She plucked a leaf.
Examined it.
Smelled it.
No strange odor.
No discoloration.
Still—
Not enough.
She tore a small piece and brought it to her lips.
Paused.
Then—
A bite.
The taste was bitter.
But not toxic.
She waited.
Seconds stretched into a full minute.
No dizziness.
No burning.
Her shoulders loosened slightly.
"Okay…"
Relief flickered through her.
She quickly gathered as much as she could.
Not enough.
Not even close.
But it was a start.
Then—
A sound.
A faint rustle.
Her head snapped up.
Instinct.
Something was there.
Watching.
Her body went still.
The forest grew eerily quiet.
Too quiet.
Her grip tightened around the leaves.
Then—
A shadow moved between the trees.
Fast.
Low.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Not human.
Before she could react—
A small animal darted out.
Rabbit-like.
Thin.
Fast.
Her eyes widened.
Food.
Without thinking—
She moved.
Her body reacted faster than her mind.
She lunged.
Missed.
The animal bolted.
"Damn—!"
She chased it.
Branches scratched her arms, thorns tore at her clothes—but she didn't stop.
The children's faces flashed in her mind.
Hungry.
Weak.
Afraid.
She gritted her teeth.
Faster.
The animal zigzagged—
She predicted—
Changed direction—
And threw herself forward.
Her hands closed around—
Fur.
A sharp squeal pierced the air.
She hit the ground hard, pain exploding through her side—
But she didn't let go.
Her grip tightened.
Her breathing ragged.
For a moment—
She just lay there.
Heart racing.
Body shaking.
Then she looked down.
The small creature struggled weakly in her hands.
Alive.
Food.
A strange feeling rose in her chest.
Not joy.
Not pride.
Something raw.
Primal.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Then—
She ended it quickly.
---
By the time she returned to the village, the sun had begun to dip.
Her body was exhausted.
But her hands—
Were full.
Leaves.
And the small animal.
People noticed.
Of course they did.
Whispers followed her.
"She hunted?"
"No way…"
"Since when can she do that?"
She ignored them.
Her focus was on one place.
The hut.
The broken door creaked as she pushed it open.
Inside—
Three small figures stiffened instantly.
Fear returned to their eyes.
But then—
They saw her hands.
The leaves.
The animal.
Silence fell.
The youngest blinked slowly.
"…food?"
The word was barely a breath.
Her chest tightened.
"Yes," she said softly. "Food."
She stepped inside.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like approaching wounded animals.
Which… in a way, they were.
"I'll cook," she added.
The older boy frowned.
Suspicious.
"You… know how?"
Fair question.
The original owner didn't cook.
Didn't care.
Didn't try.
But she wasn't her.
"I do now."
She moved toward the corner where a crude fire pit sat unused.
Kneeling, she began working.
It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't elegant.
But it worked.
Fire.
Heat.
The faint smell of cooked meat soon filled the hut.
The children didn't move.
But their eyes—
Never left her.
Hunger burned in them.
Raw.
Painful.
She swallowed hard.
When it was ready, she divided everything into three portions.
Small.
Too small.
But she made sure each child had one.
Then—
She sat back.
Didn't take anything for herself.
"Eat," she said.
They hesitated.
Of course they did.
The older boy watched her carefully.
Waiting.
For what?
For her to change her mind?
To take it back?
She met his gaze.
"I won't take it."
Silence.
Then—
Slowly—
He moved.
Picked up the food.
Took a bite.
His body froze.
Then—
He chewed.
Swallowed.
His eyes widened slightly.
Not at the taste.
At the fact that—
Nothing bad happened.
The younger ones followed.
Small bites at first.
Then faster.
Hungrier.
Desperate.
She looked away.
Her throat felt tight.
They were eating like this… because they had been starved.
Not just today.
For a long time.
Her hands clenched into fists.
Never again.
"I'll get more tomorrow," she said quietly.
No one responded.
But this time—
The silence felt different.
Less hostile.
Less sharp.
And as she sat there, watching them eat—
A fragile, almost invisible thread began to form.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But something…
Close.
---
Far outside the hut—
In the shadows—
A pair of sharp eyes watched silently.
The tall man from earlier.
His gaze darkened slightly.
"…interesting."
He turned and disappeared into the night.
---
End of Chapter 2
---