The basket was still lying on the ground.

  Its weave was cracked, one side broken. Medicinal herbs were scattered across mud and damp leaves, several of them trampled and crushed. The bitter scent of healing plants mixed with the smell of wet earth—too strong, too chaotic for something that was supposed to be neatly arranged.

  Lilya stood frozen.

  The forest wind brushed lightly against her dress, yet her body would not move. Her gaze lingered on

  the basket, then slowly dropped to the small footprints in the soil.

  Footprints.

  Short. Pointed. Irregularly spaced—yet unmistakably not human.

  Goblins.

  The word was never spoken aloud, yet it echoed clearly in her mind.

  “…Cecilia,” she whispered.

  No answer came.

  Only the rustling of leaves, and a silence that felt far too heavy. The forest ahead seemed to close in on itself—sunlight fractured by the canopy above, casting long, shifting shadows that moved with the wind.

  Lilya’s body began to tremble.

  Not the light shiver of cold, but a violent tremor that spread from her fingertips to her shoulders, as if her entire body was rejecting the reality she had just realized. Her breath caught in her throat, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

  Those monsters… should not be here.

  The Eldwyn Forest had a clear boundary—not written, but understood by all. Monsters only appeared deep within the forest, far beyond the herbal-gathering routes. Even experienced hunters rarely ventured near those areas without careful preparation.

  And goblins, especially—

  They were territorial creatures.

  Cowardly. Cunning. And most importantly—they never left their nests unless forced to.

  “They never come near the forest entrance…” Lilya murmured, her voice barely audible.

  This area was a border zone. Still close to the village. Frequently passed by humans. Normal monsters avoided it—goblins most of all, given how sensitive they were to human presence.

  Yet the footprints were here.

  “…The protective bracelet…” Lilya whispered.

  Her voice was no more than a breath, as if she feared the words themselves might summon something from beyond the trees. She swallowed, forcing her lungs to work normally while her body continued to tremble.

  “Cecilia should have been wearing her protective bracelet,” she continued softly, repeating a rule she had memorized since childhood. “She would never be careless enough to leave the village without it.”

  Lilya closed her eyes briefly, trying to calm the panic pounding in her chest.

  “She always wears it,” she murmured again. “Whether she goes far or just to the edge of the fields… whether she leaves the village boundary or not.”

  The protective bracelet was the most basic safeguard in Eldwyn.

  A strip of dark brown leather wrapped around the wrist, hardened slightly by years of use. At its center was a small, pale green stone—dull, unpolished, bearing a thin circular engraving that was nearly invisible unless examined closely. The clasp was made of tarnished iron, cold to the touch, unadorned.

  No light.

  No vibration.

  No sensation of power flowing.

  Yet when worn, it emitted an extremely subtle aura—not something one could feel, but a faint rejection. Enough to make wild animals hesitate. Enough to make wandering monsters think twice before approaching.

  Every citizen of Eldwyn owned one.

  Not because they were brave—but because they knew their limits.

  As long as one stayed near the village, as long as threats came alone or lacked intelligence, the bracelet worked. But against dangers that moved in groups—or creatures capable of hunting—it was nothing more than a fragile symbol of hope passed down through generations.

  Lilya’s eyes caught something among the mud and crushed leaves near her feet—a strip of dark brown leather lying on the ground.

  Her body froze.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Her gaze lowered slowly, her heart seeming to stop the moment she recognized it.

  The protective bracelet.

  The pale green stone at its center was smeared with dirt, its faint circular engraving nearly obscured.

  But what stole Lilya’s breath completely was the small ribbon tied to its clasp—a pale cloth ribbon, slightly worn, yet unmistakable.

  That ribbon… something she herself had tied years ago.

  A birthday gift from her childhood, given to Cecilia and knotted with clumsy fingers that had yet to learn precision.

  The world pulled away.

  The sounds of the forest vanished.

  “Cecilia… no… this can’t be…” Lilya thought, her voice trembling as her hand clenched unconsciously.

  “She wouldn’t drop this… so then… she was attacked?”

  Panic finally won.

  Not as a loud explosion of emotion—but as something far worse. A creeping fear that slowly bound every thought and reflex, until Lilya’s body no longer felt like her own.

  Her hands shook violently as she bent down and picked up the bracelet. Mud clung to her fingers, cold and sticky, yet she barely felt it. All she could feel was the throbbing at her temples, the rapid heartbeat slamming against her chest.

  “No… no, no, no…”

  The words spilled out again and again, broken—like a prayer gone wrong.

  This was not a situation she had ever faced.

  Lilya dropped to her knees.

  Not because her legs failed—but because the weight of reality finally struck her without mercy.

  In all her life, no one had ever taught her how to fight.

  Not her late father.

  Not her late mother.

  Not the village hunters.

  Not even Cecilia.

  In Eldwyn, children were taught how to avoid danger—not confront it. How to read the weather. How to recognize animal tracks. How to know when to run, when to hide, and when to seek help.

  Lilya had always been the girl who helped.

  Carrying baskets.

  Watching children.

  Negotiating prices.

  Never the girl who held a weapon.

  “I…” she whispered, her voice catching.

  “…I never learned how to fight.”

  Tears finally fell.

  Not loud sobs—but muffled, broken sounds that shook her shoulders. Fear, guilt, and regret blended into one overwhelming weight. If only she hadn’t gone too far. If only—

  Her hand clenched the bracelet tightly, until her fingers turned white.

  “Why am I…” she murmured in despair.

  “…always the one standing behind?”

  Her tears soaked into the soil, darkening the mud and crushed leaves. Her vision blurred. Her breathing stuttered. The world felt too vast, too cruel—and she felt far too small.

  The tears eventually stopped—not because the pain eased, but because something inside Lilya reached its limit.

  She sobbed once more, her breath hitching… then slowly steadied. Her shoulders still trembled, but the crying did not return. Lilya wiped her face with the back of her hand, leaving faint streaks of mud on her cheek. Her gaze dropped to the bracelet still clenched in her grip.

  Go back to the village.

  The thought surfaced—natural, instinctive.

  Seek help. Call the hunters. Alert the guards. That was what a village girl like her should do.

  But the thought died before it could grow.

  Distance.

  Time.

  This hill was not close to the village—and they had already moved toward the forest. Running back would take time. Convincing others, arming them, returning—

  Too slow.

  Lilya ground her teeth.

  Goblins did not keep captives patiently. They were not known for mercy. If Cecilia was still alive—if—every minute that passed was a breath that might be her last.

  “If I go back now…” Lilya murmured softly.

  “…I might still make it in time to see the sunset.”

  The words made her chest ache.

  And at the same time, a face surfaced in her mind.

  Cecilia’s parents.

  Harlan’s quiet yet warm expression, always greeting Lilya with a small nod when they passed in the village. His large, calloused hands from years of labor—yet always gentle when patting Cecilia’s head.

  Rasa, with her tired but sincere smile, often slipping extra bread into Lilya’s basket while saying, “For you too. You help Cecilia so much.”

  They trusted her.

  They had let Cecilia go to the hill with her without worry—because Lilya was there.

  Because Lilya was considered safe.

  “If I go back without her…” Lilya whispered, her voice trembling now not from fear—but from something far heavier.

  “…what am I supposed to say to them?”

  Her shoulders tensed again. Her hand clenched.

  “Will I say… that I was scared?” she continued, her breath short.

  “That I chose to turn back because I didn’t dare move forward?”

  The image was too clear.

  Harlan standing silently, listening without a word. Rasa covering her mouth, eyes trembling as she tried to keep smiling.

  And between them—

  Absence.

  Cecilia was not there.

  The world narrowed.

  “No,” Lilya said softly—but firmly.

  She rose slowly to her feet. Her knees still trembled, but she forced herself upright. The forest ground was damp and uneven, yet her feet held firm.

  “If I go back now…” she continued, her voice growing steadier.

  “…I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

  Lilya took a deep breath.

  In.

  Then… something strange happened.

  The fear did not vanish—but it stopped pressing down.

  Her heart still beat fast, but no longer wildly. Her hands, once shaking violently, now only felt cold. Her breath, once broken, returned to a rhythm she could control.

  Not because she became brave.

  But because something inside her decided that panic was no longer allowed.

  No light.

  No sound.

  No dramatic sensation.

  A transparent line of text appeared at the edge of her awareness—calm, flat, and final.

  [Fear / Panic Resistance: IMMUNE]

  Lilya blinked once.

  Not in shock—but as if she had only just realized the noise in her head was gone.

  “Ah…” she murmured softly.

  She was still afraid. She knew that. But the fear now stood behind her—not in front. It no longer bound her thoughts. It no longer broke her steps.

  The tears had dried on her cheeks. Her shoulders straightened. Her gaze—still damp—became focused.

  “If that’s the case…” she said quietly.

  “…then I can move.”

  Lilya tied Cecilia’s protective bracelet around her own wrist. Not for protection—she knew it meant little now—but as a reminder. She tucked the small ribbon securely into her grip, making sure it would not slip away.

  Then she stepped forward.

  Into the forest.

  The air changed instantly.

  Sunlight dimmed, severed by the dense canopy overhead. The ground softened, layered with moss and thick roots that sprawled like the veins of some massive creature. The sounds of the village vanished completely, replaced by a low, almost imperceptible hum—the sound of a forest that lived, but was not welcoming.

  Lilya paused, closing her eyes.

  “Stay calm,” she told herself.

  “Don’t run. Don’t be careless.”

  She opened her eyes.

  Lilya repurposed her [Auto Appraisal]—not to identify plants, but to search for clues of Cecilia’s whereabouts.

  Her gaze no longer wandered randomly. She chose. Focused. Read.

  Small footprints became clear in the damp soil.

  Goblins Footprint

  Condition: Fresh

  Direction: Northeast

  Quantity: Many

  Lilya crouched, touching the ground with two fingers. The mud was still wet. The tracks overlapped chaotically—yet there was a pattern. They had moved quickly, but not in panic.

  “They weren’t being chased,” she thought.

  “That means Cecilia is still alive… or at least, still useful.”

  She stood and moved sideways, not following the trail directly. Hikaru—the old memories—whispered in her mind.

  "Never walk straight along the prey’s path."

  "Predators always watch it."

  Lilya chose a slightly higher route, using large tree roots as footholds. Every step was measured. Every breath controlled. Her light dress snagged on a small branch—she lifted it immediately, avoiding the sound of tearing fabric.

  Something moved among the trees.

  Lilya froze instantly.

  Leaves trembled.

  Not the wind.

  She held her breath.

  [Small Forest Lizard]

  Status: Non-hostile

  She released a slow breath and continued.

  “Don’t overreact,” she thought.

  “The real enemy won’t show itself alone.”

  A few meters deeper, the forest changed again. The trees grew denser. The undergrowth thicker. Light rarely touched the ground. And then—

  Lilya stopped.

  Her brow furrowed.

  The smell of iron.

  Dried blood.

  And something sour, sharp in her nose.

  Through her vision, transparent text appeared—confirming what she already feared.

  Goblin Camp (Temporary)

  Status: Active

  Threat Level: High

  Lilya’s stomach tightened.

  “…A temporary camp,” she whispered.