Chapter 116 Four Month, Two Years

Chapter 116 Four Month, Two Years
Seraph's POV

I stand there for a moment, watching the priest walk away. He moved through the street with the same measured pace he had always carried, hands folded loosely behind him, robes brushing lightly against the stone.

Disappearance. The word stayed lodged somewhere behind my ribs.

The street resumed around me. I’m half-aware of my surroundings: a cart rolled past, someone laughed near the well, and the faint metallic rhythm of a hammer rang from somewhere deeper in the village.

Normal.

Everything was painfully normal. I turned and began walking. The stone beneath my boots felt smoother than I remembered.

My steps slowed near the eastern bend of the street, and I came to a stop in front of a shop. The shop that once stood crooked and half-burned at the corner—the one that caught fire the week before everything happened—stood whole now.

Not just rebuilt and fancy, but… settled.

The wood had darkened with age. The beams no longer carried the raw color of fresh timber. The edges had softened. A faint sag curved along the roofline in a way new structures do not yet dare.

I stepped closer without meaning to. The scorch marks from the children I remembered were gone. Even the stone beside it looked replaced. Rebuilt, yes, but not recently.
My gaze shifted past it.

Near the well, the small sapling planted during last spring’s festival caught my attention. I remembered helping steady it while Riko packed the soil down with his heel, laughing because it leaned stubbornly to one side. Like almost everything in this village.

It had barely reached my waist then.
Now—

Now its trunk was thick enough that my fingers would not close around it. Its branches stretched confidently overhead, leaves whispering against one another in the breeze.
That is not four months of growth. That is not even one season.

I stood there longer than I intended. Perhaps I was misremembering. Memory shifts when you are stressed. Trauma rearranges details. Four months can feel like years. But wood does not lie. Wood grows.

A group of children ran past me, nearly colliding with my shoulder before swerving at the last second. One of them glanced back apologetically, then did a double take.

Recognition flickered across his face—just recognition. He smiled briefly before being dragged along by the others.

I watched them go. He had been shorter than the fence the last time I saw him. Now he was nearly level with the well’s stone lip.

I turned toward the rebuilt shop. The door stood open. The scent of dried herbs and oil drifted out into the street. A woman I half-recognized stood behind the counter, rearranging small glass jars.

I stepped inside. The bell above the door chimed softly. She looked up, and her expression warmed immediately.

“Seraph,” she said, as though I had simply returned from a long errand. “It’s good to see you. When I heard you were back, I was so relieved.”

Words moved fast, but this was way too fast. I still grinned and looked around carefully. My voice felt distant when I answered.

“You rebuilt,” I said. She glanced around fondly.

“Oh, yes. We couldn’t leave it as it was forever. Family businesses don’t just die, you know what I mean?” she said with a quiet chuckle. I nodded in understanding.

I let my fingers brush the counter’s edge. The wood was worn smooth where hands had rested repeatedly over time.

“How long did it take?” I asked casually.

“To rebuild?” She tilted her head slightly, thinking. “Not long. We finished before the first snow.”
My throat tightened almost imperceptibly as I dwelled on her words.

“And t that was…?” I asked.

She blinked once, clearly puzzled by the question.

“The winter after you went missing, of course.” I kept my expression neutral as realization began to settle in.

“And since then?” She smiled faintly, as though it were inconceivable that I could be interested in an old shop after supposedly wandering away.

“We’ve had another, thankfully gentler.”
Another what? Winter? The air in the room felt impossibly thin.

I did not feel panic, but I began to calculate. Two winters had passed since I left. That is not possible.

I turned slightly, as if a thought had just struck me.

“Chryl,” I said suddenly. She looked a little startled as I called her name. Her brows raised.
“What year is this?” I asked. There was no tremor in my voice, just blatant curiosity. She laughed softly, assuming I was joking.
“Very funny.”

“I’m not.” Her amusement faded into mild confusion.

“It’s the Year of the Silver Ash,” she said. “Two years since you went missing.”

Two years. A shiver ran down my spine as the words rang in my ears.
I stood completely still, mulling it over in my head.

Four months. Two years.
I have been trapped for two years!