Turning Paranoia

The river had grown broader and faster, its flow deepening as the forest began to thin. Their footsteps squelched along the muddy edge where water kissed stone. The peaceful quiet of the trail had returned, broken only by the rhythmic swipe of Sai’s sword as he hacked away at creeping branches and thick underbrush, his other hand gripping the now-familiar shifting map.

Corvin followed close behind, his axe lazily tossed from palm to palm as he whistled a fragmented tune with no rhythm. Behind him, Mira carried Eira’s naginata slung across her back while the younger girl walked ahead, toying with the string of her bow. Reith trailed behind, quieter than usual, resting his scythe across his shoulders, the steel glinting faintly in the filtered sunlight.

Suddenly, Sai stopped. The others nearly walked into him.

Corvin raised an eyebrow. “What now? Did your magical map break? Or are we finally, properly lost?”

“We’re not lost,” Sai replied, squinting at the parchment. “It’s tracking us like a GPS. See? There’s even a marker for where we are.”

Corvin leaned in and frowned. “It still looks like moldy paper to me.”

Sai ignored him and cut through the last bit of underbrush with a swift motion. As the leaves parted, the forest gave way to a wide, open plain. At its heart, the river opened into a great lake—or perhaps the edge of a far-off sea. Gentle hills rolled beyond, and a breeze swept through tall grasses.

“See?” Sai beamed, holding the map high. “Not lost. Not crazy.”

“Mmhm. Lucky timing,” Corvin muttered, waving dismissively.

Sai turned to point toward a faint trail winding up the nearby hill. “That path is marked too.”

Corvin sighed. “Can we rest before you go chasing invisible trails again? If not, I’m just going to lie down and start decaying like Reith.”

The others didn’t reply, already wandering out onto the plain. Reith stopped just before stepping into the open and glanced toward the river’s mouth. “Hey, guys!” he called out. “There’s a water wheel here.”

The group gathered, making their way toward an old, wooden structure nestled beside the river—a mill, wooden, looked medival but still standing. The large wheel turned slowly, groaning against the water’s pull. It looked plucked straight from a medieval drama, complete with moss-covered shingles and a rounded wooden door.

“Let’s check it out,” Corvin said, bounding ahead. Reith hesitated, but eventually followed.

Corvin pushed against the door once—twice—nothing. He grunted and lifted his axe.

“Hey!” Mira stepped forward and caught the axe handle. “You’ll break it.”

She turned the round knob gently and pulled it. The door creaked open without resistance.

“Welcome in,” she said dryly, gesturing dramatically.

“Show off,” Corvin grumbled as he passed.

Inside, it was dim but surprisingly well preserved. The wooden furniture—benches, shelves, a central millstone—was intact. Shafts of golden light pierced through cracks in the boards, illuminating floating dust motes like lazy fireflies. A wheel mechanism in the floor creaked as the river turned it, its sound a soft heartbeat beneath the quiet.

“This isn’t bad,” Sai said, causing Reith to stop mid motion as he ran his hand over an old shelf.

“We should stay here for the night.”

Corvin raised a brow. “What happened to that trail you were obsessed with?”

“It’ll be there tomorrow,” Sai shrugged. “But this place has a roof.”

He managed to light an old oil lamp hanging from a rafter, casting a gentle amber glow over the interior.

Reith lifted his hand from the shelf, eyes scanning the room slowly. “I don’t like it,” he said finally. “It’s too clean. Someone still uses this place.”

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

Corvin smirked. “Guess the harvester’s not a fan of harvest houses.”

Mira narrowed her eyes. “Really?”

“Too much?” Corvin asked.

“Too stupid,” she muttered, walking away. Eira just blinked in confusion before shaking her head and settling near the lamp.

Outside, Sai spotted Reith climbing a tree a short distance from the mill, high above the ground. He approached quietly.

“You sure about this?” Sai asked.

Reith didn’t look down. “Like I said. That place is too tidy. Whoever owns it might come back. I’d rather not be there if they do.”

With a grunt, Reith secured himself on a thick branch, he pushed the scythe’s chine into the tree behind him, and then pushed it so the handle was placed against his waist, locking him in place.

Sai nodded, then turned to go. “Alright. Try not to fall out of the tree.”

Reith gave a grunt that might have been a laugh.

Back at the mill, Mira had started a small fire in a stone-lined pit just outside the mill’s front door. Night had begun to settle, and the sky turned a soft violet streaked with orange. The others gathered slowly—Corvin with a blanket draped over his shoulders, Eira with a chair she had pulled out from inside.

“I’m surprised it still feels warm,” Mira said, poking the fire.

“That’s the upside to late summer,” Sai added, joining them. “Cool nights. No bugs yet.”

They sat in silence for a bit, watching the flames curl upward.

“You think Reith really going to sleep there?” Eira asked, glancing at the tree.

“High chance,” Corvin said. “He’s a bit weird after all.”

“Why tho?” she asked.

“Paranoia,” Mira answered. “Or maybe instinct.”

“Can you blame him?” Sai said, eyes flicking up toward the tree canopy. “This place doesn’t feel wrong, but it doesn’t feel empty either.”

Mira threw a twig into the fire. “We’re not used to peace here. That’s all. We keep expecting something bad because it’s happened so often.”

Corvin let out a sigh. “Yeah, well. Sometimes you’re right to expect it. but sometimes you need to be calm aswell”

They lapsed back into quiet. Somewhere above, Reith shifted slightly on his branch.

Down below, the fire crackled on.

And the mill creaked softly in the wind.