Chapter 1 : The weight of Memories


The summer sun bathed the land in its golden glow, casting a warm embrace over the small, picturesque village of Ravens Reach. The soft rustle of leaves and the chirping of birds filled the air, their melodies weaving into the distant hum of life. At the heart of a lush meadow, just beyond the town’s edge, stood Aria Ashenwood.

Her golden blonde hair caught the sunlight, cascading in loose waves that shimmered with every tilt of her head. The strands danced like liquid gold, framing a face that radiated vitality and spirit. Her sparkling blue eyes, the color of a summer sky, glinted with focus and joy as she moved. She wore simple boyish attire—a linen shirt rolled up to her elbows, snug trousers, and leather boots scuffed from countless adventures. Yet, even in this unassuming garb, there was a beauty about her, an untamed charm that seemed to outshine the flowers blooming around her.

Twin blades gleamed in her hands, slender but deadly. They flashed in arcs of silver light as she moved, her feet light and quick across the grass. Each motion was a dance—a harmony of strength and grace. She pivoted, the blades slicing through the air with a whispering hum, her body flowing like water. There was no hesitation in her strikes, no falter in her form. Aria was no stranger to this art, and it showed in the precision of every step, the confidence in every swing.

The meadow itself seemed to hold its breath, as if mesmerized by the sight. The air grew heavy with the scent of wildflowers crushed beneath her boots, mingling with the earthy tang of dew drying in the sun. The distant sound of the village faded, leaving only the rhythm of her breath and the sharp ring of steel in the stillness.

She spun once more, the blades crossing in a dazzling arc before she dropped into a low stance. Her chest heaved slightly, her lips curved into a triumphant smile. A soft breeze swept through, tugging at her hair and cooling the warmth on her sun-kissed skin. Aria straightened, flipping one blade with an effortless flourish before sheathing it. Her eyes glimmered with an adventurous spark, a restless yearning for something beyond the borders of this quiet town.

For now, though, she reveled in the moment, in the simplicity of her practice and the dream of what lay ahead.
As soon as she finished her training she rushed back to her home, where her mom was preparing the small restaurant for the rushed morning hours .
The restaurant was small but brimming with charm, nestled at the edge of Ravensreach’s main street. The interior was simple—wooden tables and chairs, hand-sewn curtains fluttering by the windows, and walls adorned with faded paintings of the nearby meadows. The scent of freshly baked bread and spiced broth lingered in the air, wrapping the space in warmth. It was a quiet morning before the rush, the kind of stillness that never lasted long during the summer months.

“Aria, don’t forget to sweep the front step!” Elara Ashenwood’s voice floated from behind the counter, firm but not unkind.

Aria stood by the door, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Her golden hair was damp from the morning heat, tied back in a loose braid. She glanced over her shoulder with a sheepish grin. “I’ll get to it, promise. But first, let me help with the tables.”

Elara paused, hands deep in a dough she was kneading. Her emerald green eyes softened as she glanced at her daughter. “You’ve already done enough this morning. Shouldn’t you be resting after all that swordplay?”

Aria scoffed, grabbing a cloth to wipe down a table. “Resting’s boring. Besides, you’re working just as hard. If we don’t team up, we’ll never keep up with all these travelers.”

Her mother shook her head, though a smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve got a point. I just wish you’d take it easy once in a while. You’re only Sixteen—you shouldn’t have to worry about all this yet.”

Aria shot her a playful look as she wrung the cloth. “And miss all the fun of carrying trays and charming grumpy travelers? No way.”

Elara let out a soft laugh, her tired expression brightening. “Grumpy travelers? That’s rich, coming from the girl who once glared at a customer out of their seat because they were rude to me.”

“They deserved it,” Aria replied, grinning. “You work too hard to put up with people like that.”

The bell above the door jingled, and both women turned as a young man stepped in, his boots dusted from the road. He carried a pack slung over his shoulder and gave a quick nod. “Good morning,” he said, his voice gruff but polite.

“Welcome,” Elara greeted, quickly wiping her hands on her apron. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring you some water.”

Aria leaned closer to her mother as the man settled into a corner table. “Another traveler,” she whispered, her tone conspiratorial. “Bet he’ll order soup.”

Elara gave her a playful nudge. “Then go heat another pot instead of gossiping.”

Aria laughed but obeyed, slipping into the tiny kitchen to stoke the fire under the stew pot. As she stirred, the comforting scent of herbs filled the room, mingling with the sound of her mother humming a soft tune.

Despite the steady work, there was a quiet joy in these moments—just her and her mother, running their small corner of the world. The rush of...