Chapter 117 What I See

Chapter 117 What I See
Seraph's POV

“Want some tea?” Cheryl asked after a tense silence.

My hands stayed steady. I even managed a small, polite smile. Then I shook my head and stepped outside.

My mind was in a haze, and I tried to look as normal as I could. There was only one possible explanation for this: time moved differently here and in Lydian. But the real confusion was whether I had ever truly been in Lydian at all.

My disappearance? Maybe I should head to the Archive or something. I could find something meaningful. If indeed I had suddenly disappeared and was never actually sacrificed, I would find it there. That was the only place that could answer my questions at this time.

I smoothed my dress as I let my feet carry me toward the destination of the archive—at least, that was what I intended to do.

But on my way toward the square, I stopped.
Before me was another path that led south, into the woods. I took a long, hard look at my original route and deviated, as if the path were calling to me.

I followed the narrow trail toward the woods, the one Riko and I had always wandered when we trained. Everything beyond this point had changed—the village, the streets, the shops—but here, the air smelled the same: damp earth, moss, and pine, carrying the faint trace of summer rain long past.

I was grateful for this small, recognizable place.

Birds chirped somewhere above, hidden in the canopy, their calls bright against the hush of the undergrowth. Leaves whispered in the wind, brushing against one another, and sunlight fell in fractured patches across the forest floor, golden and warm.

I slowed, letting my feet choose the way. Every step felt familiar, yet strange, like walking through a memory I hadn’t fully lived. Trees rose around me, their trunks thick, solid reminders of everything that had remained unchanged while the rest of the world moved on.

I stopped at a tree I remembered. My gaze lingered on the rough bark, tracing the grooves with my eyes.

Riko and I used to climb this tree—well, technically, I climbed, and he pretended to scold me and then came up to bring me down.
I could feel the weight of those moments pressing softly against me, unbroken by time, unshaken by absence. My heart clenched in my chest.

“I’m sorry, Riko,” I whispered, staring up at the tree. “I truly am.”

A bird took wing, flitting between branches. The quiet pressed in, steady and unchanging. I let myself stand there, absorbing it all—the scent, the light, the feel of a place untouched.

I didn’t want to run from the guilt or grief I felt, not here. Not in this place where we trained together and made so many memories.

I looked down and bit my lip thoughtfully.

He would have been so proud if he had known what I did to survive.

I made out a small piece of cloth caught in the ground and bent over to examine it. It was red. As I moved to pull it free, I realized what it was—a band. My headband.

I pressed my lips together and exhaled slowly. Two years. Four months.

The band looked as though, if I held it too tightly, it would disintegrate.

The numbers tangled and twisted in my mind. None of it made sense. But here, beneath these trees, some part of it felt real.

If two years passed here…

My father aged two years without me seeing it. My mother grieved for two years.

Instead, I drew the small blade from my belt slowly, chose a spot on the trunk at eye level, and carved a mark.

“If you can rewrite memory… rewrite this.”
When I was done, I stepped back and studied it. The bark did not ripple. The wind did not change. Nothing happened.

Silence answered me for a long moment. I almost felt foolish. Of course nothing happens. Trees do not answer you. What was I expecting? A sudden burst of pixie dust?
I clicked my tongue and slid the blade back into my hilt.

But there was nothing there.

I blinked, a slow smile forming on my lips. My hilt—the one Mealis gave me. That’s it. I must have taken it off when I went to clean up. If I go home and it’s still there, then that proves I’m not crazy, that I was indeed in Lydian.

I turned around but stopped suddenly at a sound coming from not too far away.

There was that same subtle pressure I had once felt, as if something, somewhere, had turned its attention toward me—and it was watching.

The sensation unsettled me deeply. I told myself it was imagination, a mind trying to create patterns out of fear.

Still, the back of my neck prickled.

I stood there a moment longer, scanning the trees. Then I turned away from the trunk and began walking back toward the village.

The feeling followed me halfway to the edge of the woods.

And then—it faded.

At least, that’s what I hoped had happened.