The stream and the stranger
I was up late last night because of Luke’s words. His voice still haunted me: “Break that damn destiny.”
How could I? My whole life had been shaped by it.
If I let myself think too long, fear would swallow me whole. So instead, I busied myself with small tasks, until work for the day was finally over. The moment I was free, I slipped out toward the orchard where an old tree stretched its limbs over the earth. I sat beneath its shade, back pressed against its bark, letting the cool breeze play with my hair.
The sun was still high, painting the world gold, but my heart remained heavy. Luke had been right about one thing—the old tunnel by the stream. If such a way out truly existed, I needed to see it with my own eyes.
I sighed, brushed the grass from my skirts, and rose to my feet. The small knife Luke had pressed into my hand weighed against my side, wrapped in its black cloth. I touched it briefly, as if its presence could give me courage, then started walking toward the stream.
Every step I took was measured, cautious. My eyes darted left and right, scanning for soldiers. They lingered everywhere in the palace grounds, always watching, always waiting for me to slip. My pulse quickened with each shadow I thought was a guard, but luck—or perhaps mercy—kept me hidden.
By the time I neared the stream, the world had grown quiet. Too quiet. My body felt heavier with each step, as if invisible chains pulled me down. Only the gentle murmur of water filled the silence.
The stream shimmered in the waning light, clear and cold. For a moment, I allowed myself to breathe. I sat at the edge, dipping my feet into the icy current. A shiver rushed through me, but I smiled faintly. The water’s bite was strangely soothing.
I leaned down, cupped the water in my hands, and splashed my face. Droplets slid down my cheeks like tiny shards of glass. “The water tastes good,” I whispered, tasting the chill as it trickled to my lips.
Closing my eyes, I let myself sink into the moment—until something moved.
A shadow.
It rippled across the water’s surface.
My eyes snapped open. For a heartbeat, I thought it was my imagination. I rubbed at my eyes, blinking hard. But when I looked again, the shadow stretched longer—darker.
And then a voice spoke behind me.
“What are you doing here? It’s already sunset. It’s dangerous for you to come here.”
The voice was deep, steady, and I almost screamed. I spun around, heart pounding.
A soldier stood there. Broad shoulders beneath his armor, black hair falling slightly across his forehead, and gray eyes sharp as a blade.
My throat tightened. My knees felt weak.
“W-who are you? S-soldier,” I stammered, fear choking my words.
He stepped forward, not menacingly but with the calm poise of someone used to command.
“D-don’t catch me. Don’t hurt me, I’m begging—” I clasped my hands together in a desperate plea, unable to stop the tremor in my voice.
His lips curved—not cruelly, but almost amused. “Who told you I would catch you? Or hurt you?”
I blinked. The words didn’t make sense. Almost every soldier spat at me, called me names, treated me like an animal. And yet here he stood, calm, unthreatening.
“You… you don’t hate me?” I whispered.
He shook his head, silent for a moment, before a small smile flickered on his face. A dimple carved into his right cheek. I cursed my own treacherous cheeks for warming, and quickly turned my face away before he could notice.
He cleared his throat and stepped closer. “By the way, what are you doing here? This place is forbidden.” His voice was firmer now, though not cruel.
My mind scrambled for an answer. I couldn’t tell him about the tunnel—not when he was one of them.
“Huh? Ah—I just… my feet brought me here. And then I saw the stream. I felt… relieved. So I stayed.” The lie stumbled from my lips.
“Your feet brought you here?” His tone was skeptical.
I nodded quickly, eyes fixed on the water.
He studied me for a moment longer before shaking his head with the faintest hint of disbelief. “Alright then, red girl—ah, I mean… Selene.”
My breath caught. “You… you know me?”
His gray eyes softened, though there was something unreadable in them. “Of course. Who wouldn’t know you…” His voice trailed off, as if he had said too much.
Before I could ask, a sudden rustling tore through the tall grass. The sound was sharp, urgent—too close.
The soldier stiffened. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword.
“Go back to the palace. Now,” he said, his voice low, edged with command. His gaze never left the grass, every muscle taut with readiness.
I hesitated, torn between fear and a strange, unfamiliar concern for him. “W-what about you?”
His eyes flicked to me, stern and fierce. “I said go back!”
The tone left no room for argument.
Heart racing, I turned and ran, feet pounding the earth. Branches clawed at my arms as I fled toward the palace, the sound of the stream fading behind me.
But even as I ran, one thought burned in my mind—
Who was that soldier with the gray eyes, and why did I feel as though I had known him all my life?