The village was a quiet place, hidden between towering mountains and dense forests, an isolated world untouched by time. Its people were wary, untrusting of outsiders, and bound by rigid traditions. Among them lived a woman who defied their ways—a woman they whispered about in hushed voices, calling her a witch.
Alina was no fool. She was sharp, calculating, and impossible to deceive. She had long learned that kindness was often mistaken for weakness, and she refused to be anyone's fool. Yet, on a cold, stormy night in the year 1692, fate tested her resolve.
A baby's cry echoed through the rain, barely audible over the howling wind. When Alina opened her door, she found him—a helpless infant, wrapped in nothing but a tattered cloth, left on her doorstep like an offering to the unknown. She could have left him there. She should have. But something in his eyes, barely open and filled with silent desperation, made her hesitate.
Against all reason, she took him in and named him John.
She already had a child, her daughter Lina, who was ten years old at the time and had known life before him. And while Alina was cautious, hardened by the cruelty of the world, she would not let an innocent die in the cold. But she also knew what the village would think—that she was meddling with forces beyond her control. Taking in an abandoned child would only deepen their suspicions.
The villagers never truly accepted John. They tolerated him at best, avoided him at worst. He was different, and in their eyes, different was dangerous. But Alina didn't care. She had made her choice, and she would protect him as fiercely as she did Lina.
Years passed, and John grew under Alina's watchful eye. By the time he was six, his uncanny ability became apparent—he could copy anything he saw, perfectly mirroring movements, skills, and behaviors after only one observation. It was a gift that should have been celebrated, but the villagers only feared it more. However, John struggled with communication. Despite Alina's efforts, he found it nearly impossible to express his thoughts, making it difficult for him to connect with others.
For ten years, Alina tried to help him overcome this barrier, but her efforts bore little fruit. Now, at sixteen, with his body and mind undergoing the changes of adolescence, John grew restless. The village had always been too small for his curiosity. He longed to explore other villages, places, even entire continents beyond the mountains. When he voiced his desire to leave, Alina's answer was firm and immediate:
"You won't even survive in this village alone."
Her words cut deep, leaving John disheartened. Seeing the pain in his eyes, Alina softened, though her resolve remained.
"I'll let you go," she said, "if you learn or copy twenty survival skills—how to live in the wild, how to strategize, how to communicate. But you have only nine weeks. And you are not allowed to leave this house until you succeed."
It was a near-impossible challenge. She knew it. She had spent a decade trying to teach him communication, with almost no progress. But there was something else, something she feared—something that made her desperate to keep him close.
Yet John, in his youthful naivety, accepted the challenge without hesitation.
--- The Next Day ---
Locked inside his room, John sat in silent frustration. Three days passed, and he had made no progress. The excitement of the challenge faded into despair. He had no idea where to begin.
Alina, despite her stern nature, had always had a soft spot for him. Seeing him in distress, she gathered a stack of one hundred books, marched up the stairs, and without a word, tossed them into his room.
John, startled, quickly wiped his tears before she could see them. "What's the point of these, Mom?" he asked, his voice cracking.
Alina simply pointed to her eyes, then to the books, then to her head before shutting the door behind her.
John didn't hesitate. He threw himself into the books, reading day and night. Two weeks passed, yet nothing changed. Despite all his effort, he couldn't find the solution he needed. Frustration boiled over, and he hurled the books across the room. One flew out the window.
A loud curse from outside made him freeze.
Curious, he peeked out. A woman stood below, rubbing her head where the book had struck her. He ducked, hoping she hadn't seen him—but it was too late. She looked straight at him, then stormed toward the front door.
Alina answered and, without a word, gestured toward the stairs. Understanding her silent command, the woman climbed up, making her way to John's room.
John, thinking she had left, turned around—and there she was, standing right in front of him. He yelped in surprise, stumbling backward. His foot caught the windowsill, and before he knew it, he tumbled out, landing hard on the ground below.
The woman burst into laughter. "That must be the book's karma!" she teased.
Dazed, John muttered, "Books have karma? Do they have feelings too?"
His curiosity overpowered his usual difficulty in speaking, and he asked, "What do you mean?"
The woman, still laughing, held up the book. "Books don't have feelings or karma, you fool! That was just a joke. But books do have power—it depends on the person reading them."
John tilted his head in confusion.
"There are two types of people," she continued. "The first only see words, pages, and ink. The second—the ones who give books their power—don't just read them. They live in them."
She then pointed to her eyes, then the book, then her head.
John's breath caught in his throat.
For the first time in his life, he understood.
Slowly, he turned his gaze toward Alina, who had been watching silently from the doorway. A knowing smile played on her lips. She had been waiting for this moment.
John's mind raced. This was it. This was the key.
Without another word, he picked up a book and dove into its pages, his imagination transforming mere words into reality.
Alina turned to the woman. "You've helped him once. Would you be willing to do it again?"
The woman, intrigued, nodded. "I think I'd like that."
Meanwhile, upstairs, John sat cross-legged, a book open in his lap. He had a long way to go, but for the first time, he saw a path forward.
Alina entered his room and picked up a book titled Sasaki Kojiro.
"This one will teach you how to understand people," she said, tossing it to him. "Start with this."
Then, just as before, she pointed to her eyes, then the book, then her head.
John nodded and began to read.