Chapter 207: The Dream
The wraith fell silent, clutching the tattered rag doll to its hollow chest. Its
empty eye sockets stared down at the toy, its jaw working as if trying to speak,
yet no sound escaped but the low whistle of the wind through the tunnels.
What did it mean?
He couldn't remember.
Why was he here?
The memory had fled.
He couldn't remember anything at all. His mind was a swirling void of chaotic
darkness. The only thing tethering him to existence was the absolute certainty
that this doll was important—vitally, life-endingly important.
And... and that girl from before.
The one holding the staff, her eyes wide with a terror that mirrored his own
forgotten pain. For a reason he couldn't grasp, he had simply wanted to reach
out and pat her head.
Just like... just like he used to do, a lifetime ago.
Skele-Lust watched the spirit's confusion, her expression unreadable beneath her
human avatar. After a long silence, she spoke.
"Since you cannot answer..."
She raised a hand, her slender, pale fingers reaching out to brush against the
wraith's forehead.
"...then let me see for myself."
"Show me the memories you've discarded."
In an instant, violet Mana surged from her fingertips, tendrils of dark energy
seeping into the wraith's soul core. The spirit's body jolted violently.
And then, the world shifted.
Barlow snapped awake, bolt upright in bed, gasping for air as if he'd just
surfaced from deep water.
"Where... where am I?"
He rubbed his throbbing temples, squinting as he looked toward the window.
Bright, golden sunlight streamed through the weathered wooden shutters, casting
long, dusty streaks across the floorboards. The air smelled of his neighbor's
heavy meat stew, mingled with the distant cries of street hawkers and the
rhythmic clack-clack of carriage wheels on cobblestone.
"What a bizarre dream," Barlow muttered, trying to catch the tail of the fading
nightmare.
In the dream... the mine where he worked had collapsed? And there was a woman
whose face he couldn't see? As he tried to focus, a dull ache throbbed behind
his eyes.
"Forget it. Not worth the headache."
Barlow decided to steal a few more minutes of sleep. It wasn't every day he got
a break from the pits. A rare day of rest deserved to be spent horizontal, or
else he'd be doing his old bones a disservice.
He had just buried his head back into the pillow when the door was kicked open
with a resounding bang.
"How are you still in bed?!"
A crisp, high voice rang out, laden with the specific brand of impatience only a
twelve-year-old girl could muster.
"Breakfast is already cold!"
Hilde stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, wearing an expression of utter
disappointment. She wore a simple, faded homespun dress, her flaxen hair tied
back in a messy ponytail, and a smudge of flour dusted her cheek from the
morning's baking.
"Hey, hey—!"
Before Barlow could react, his blanket was yanked away with a violent tug.
"Get up!" Hilde barked, already marching out with the bedding bundled in her
arms. "The sun is actually out for once. I'm going to air these out! Eat your
food! It'll taste like cardboard if it sits any longer!"
Barlow sat on the edge of the bed in his thin undershirt, watching his
daughter's whirlwind exit with a tired, fond smile.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he chuckled, rubbing his tangled hair.
This was his life. Poor, yes—miserably so at times—but full.
Their cramped wooden shack had only two rooms: one for him, and one for Hilde.
The central space served as a kitchen and living area, dominated by a scarred
wooden table propped up by a stone under one leg and two wobbling chairs. On the
wall hung a portrait of his late wife, painted by a street artist who had cost
him three months' wages. It didn't look much like her, but every time Barlow
looked at it, he felt a warmth that the cold winds of Leaffall City could never
touch.
On the table sat two steaming bowls of wheat porridge and a few thick slices of
black bread. It wasn't a feast, but it was enough to keep the hunger at bay. As
Barlow sat down to eat, he heard Hilde's voice drifting in from outside.
"Good morning, Mr. Baras!"
"Morning, little Hilde! Cooking again? Your father's a lucky man to have a
daughter like you!"
"He's a lazy bones, more like! He'd sleep until sunset if I didn't kick him out
of bed!"
Barlow listened to her chatter with the neighbors, his lips curling upward. That
girl... always dragging his name through the mud the moment she stepped outside.
But he wasn't angry. He knew Hilde loved him more than anything in this world.
Just as he loved her.
After breakfast, Barlow did something rare: he cleared the table and washed the
bowls himself. When Hilde returned from airing the blankets and saw him at the
basin, she rubbed her eyes with exaggerated shock.
"My Gods! Has the Sun Dragon lost its way? Is my father actually doing chores?"
Barlow glared at her playfully. "Listen here, you brat. I'm still the head of
this household! I can wash a bowl if I feel like it."
"If you feel like it?" Hilde began counting on her fingers. "When was the last
time? Three months ago? Oh wait, that was only because I had a fever!"
"Cough, cough." Barlow coughed awkwardly to change the subject. "Anyway, it's a
beautiful day. Want to head into the city? I'll buy you some candied fruit
skewers!"
Hilde's eyes turned into saucers. "Really?"
"Really!" Barlow thumped his chest. "I got my wages yesterday. We're going to
live like nobles today!"
And so, father and daughter changed into their cleanest rags and walked
hand-in-hand out of the slums.
Leaffall City was a sea of people. The cries of merchants rose and fell like the
tide, and the smell of roasting meat fought with the stench of horse dung and
the sharp tang of spice shops. This was the scent of life.
"Papa, look!" Hilde tugged his arm, pointing at a vendor. "I want that!"
"Fine, fine." Barlow fumbled for the copper coins in his pocket, gritted his
teeth, and bought a skewer. Watching her happily lick the sugar coating, he felt
the expense was worth every copper.
They wandered the markets for hours. Hilde was like a songbird, chirping at
every new sight.
"Papa, that silk is so pretty!" "Papa, look at that necklace!" "Papa, that..."
Barlow smiled as he listened to her. He couldn't afford a single thing she
pointed at, but seeing the joy on her face was wealth enough for him.
When they returned home that evening, Hilde was so exhausted she collapsed onto
her bed and fell asleep instantly. Barlow tucked her in, watching her peaceful
face, feeling an indescribable sense of contentment.
If only every day could be like this.
For the next few days, Barlow's ordinary, happy life continued. Woken by Hilde,
simple breakfast, and then off to the pits. It was grueling work, but the
thought of his daughter waiting for him made every swing of the pickaxe
bearable.
Until the decree came.
The Lord of the territory suddenly ordered a massive increase in production.
They were to mine in one month what normally took three. The foreman stood at
the mouth of the pit, his voice raspy and cruel as he announced the news.
"Listen up! The Lord says if you don't hit the quota, your wages are docked!
Docked until you don't have a single copper left to your names!"
A wail of despair rose from the miners. But no one dared resist. In this age,
the lives of commoners were cheaper than the ore they dug.
And so, hell began.
Barlow had to rise before the first light of dawn and trudge to the mines in the
dark. He worked ten, twelve, fourteen hours in the damp, suffocating tunnels. By
the time he returned home, it was often the dead of night.
Hilde always waited for him, even when her eyelids were heavy with sleep.
"Papa, you're back. I kept the porridge warm for you."
Seeing her forcing herself to stay awake just to feed him broke Barlow's heart.
"Silly girl, why didn't you sleep?"
Hilde would just smile. "Because I wanted to wait for you. Eating alone is too
lonely."
Barlow felt a lump in his throat. He reached out and ruffled her hair. "Don't
wait for me anymore. You need your rest, understand?"
"No!" Hilde shook her head stubbornly. "I'm going to wait!"
Barlow couldn't win against her. He could only sigh and silently finish his
porridge.
But the good days were running out.
☆☆☆
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