Chapter 2: The Misty Valley
Part 4 – The Forest, the Troubled Black Waters, and Onii
The white walkway curved gently away from the stables, its pale stones gleaming faintly as though they held their own moonlight. I followed Linn in silence, my new robes whispering with each step, while the faint mist of the spirit grass curled around our ankles like the caress of curious spirits.
Ahead, the plains gave way to the looming outline of the forest. The transition was not abrupt but gradual, as if the valley itself had painted the world in shades: the open, silver-green of the pastures blending into the shadowed emerald of towering trees. The air grew cooler, heavier, laced with a fragrance both sharp and sweet—the mingled breath of ancient wood, damp moss, and distant flowers hidden beneath the canopy.
I slowed instinctively, drawn by the weight of it. The forest was no ordinary grove. It stood with the solemnity of something older than human memory, each trunk vast enough to require ten men to encircle it, their crowns so high they seemed to brush the sky. Some trees leaned, twisted by age, their bark carved with strange natural patterns that looked eerily like script—half-formed runes etched by time itself.
Linn glanced at me as my steps faltered. "Do not be afraid, my lady. The forest here is tamed… mostly."
"Mostly?" I echoed, my voice betraying a flicker of unease.
Her lips curved in a small, knowing smile. "Nature never bows completely, even when it grows beneath the walls of manors. But so long as you walk with respect, it will not turn against you."
I swallowed, trying to steady my heart. Respect—that was something I could give.
We entered beneath the canopy. Light shifted instantly, the bright wash of open plains replaced by a softened, dappled glow that filtered through leaves. The world hushed. Even the horses' distant calls faded, replaced by the forest's own symphony: the steady drip of water from mossy branches, the rustle of unseen creatures in the undergrowth, the faint hum of wind weaving through treetops.
My footsteps felt louder than they should, echoing in the quiet. I tried to tread more carefully, my slippers brushing against spirit grass that grew here in wilder abundance. Unlike the neatly trimmed pastures of the plains, the grass here sprouted in unruly tufts, silver mist rising thickly from its blades. It clung to my skin in soft trails, making the ground look less like soil and more like a rolling bed of clouds.
It was beautiful. Too beautiful. I felt as though I were trespassing in some celestial garden not meant for mortal eyes.
Linn's voice broke the silence, calm and guiding. "Do you see how the mist lingers thicker here? The forest roots drink deeper of the Heaven and Earth winds. This is why the trees grow so vast, why their branches do not wither even after centuries. In time, you will learn which herbs bloom only in such soil. Some of them… rare enough to tempt even kings."
I listened, fascinated but also oddly heavy-hearted. Rare herbs, vast strength, energy nurtured by the valley's breath—and yet none of it could remain within me. The mist swirled, the trees thrived, the horses soared. Only I seemed destined to consume and return nothing.
We walked for some time until the forest opened suddenly, as though a veil had been drawn back. Before us stretched a clearing, and through its heart ran a stream so clear it glittered like spilled crystal beneath the dappled sun. A small wooden bridge arched gracefully over it, simple but elegant, its railings etched with motifs of galloping horses.
The sight stole my breath. The water moved with a languid grace, every ripple catching the light until it looked like strands of silk unraveling in the current. Flowers clung to the banks, their petals drifting into the stream, carried gently away as though by unseen hands.
"This place…" I whispered, unable to form the right words.
"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Linn's expression softened, but her tone turned quietly grave. "This stream is not ordinary. It originates from the Wooden-Horse Manor's inner court pond, yes… but its source lies here. This river is called the Troubled Black Waters."
I tore my gaze from the glittering surface, startled. "Black waters? But it's so clear."
"That is the danger," Linn said, stepping close to the bridge's edge. She looked down, her reflection wavering against the perfect glass of the stream. "On the surface, it is purity itself. But beneath—" she tapped the wooden railing gently, "—currents run fierce and unpredictable. The deeper you go, the darker it becomes. It is said the river was born from the grief of a forgotten beast that died in the valley. Its sorrow seeped into the water, staining it with unseen malice."
A chill ran through me. "So one must never…?"
"Never touch the surface," Linn finished firmly. "Curiosity has drowned many. Remember this, my lady."
I nodded, my fingers tightening unconsciously around the railing. The water shimmered back at me, beautiful yet hiding something I dared not test.
Then—
A sudden gust tore through the clearing, sharp and powerful, scattering petals from the banks and whipping my hair into the air. I gasped, clutching my coatcloth, while Linn's hand shot to steady me. The mist above the stream twisted, curling as though alive, then surged toward the opposite bank.
The wind condensed.
Before my wide eyes, it coalesced—first into threads, then into thick black strands, flowing like silken hair caught in an invisible hand. They streamed downward, gathering, weaving, until they draped the broad form of a beast. Muscles rippled beneath the cloak of shifting wind, hooves struck sparks of light where they touched the ground, and a mane of endless black hair cascaded in wild waves.
A stallion.
No—the stallion.
It stood there, burly and unbroken, its presence commanding the forest itself to bow in silence. Its eyes glowed faintly, not of fire but of wind's unyielding freedom, sharp and restless, as though it carried the very storm within its gaze.
My breath caught painfully in my throat.
Linn's lips parted, a whisper escaping her as though afraid the beast might hear.
"My lady… that is Onii. The untamed Wind Chasing stallion."
Onii.
The name rang in my ears like a bell struck in some ancient hall. The horse pawed the earth, and the air shuddered in response, the mist around us swirling violently as if the valley itself acknowledged his presence.
I could not look away. He was nothing like the disciplined steeds in the manor's stables, nor the grazing herds on the plains. He was raw, wild, beautiful in a way that defied restraint. Just standing there, he radiated a defiance that mocked bridles and chains, an energy that could shatter gates and tear through the skies.
And yet—something stirred in me.
I felt small before him, fragile as a leaf trembling against the gale. But beneath that fear, faint and stubborn, came a spark. A recognition, perhaps the same that the scroll had shown me. As though some hidden string tied me to this wild creature, stretching across the chasm between us.
My lips trembled, but no words came.
The wind whipped again, Onii's mane lifting like a banner of black silk. His gaze turned, sharp and unwavering, locking onto mine.
In that instant, the forest seemed to fall away, the river stilled, even Linn's breath caught. There was only his storm and my silence.
I didn't dare move. Didn't dare blink.
And yet, for the first time since leaving my home, I didn't feel like an empty vessel.
I felt seen.