Warded From Their Eyes

The kind elderly man continued taking me in, never asking for anything in return.

The mysteries around him only seemed to grow, but I was truly grateful for all he was doing for me. Going as far as to treat my wounds and feed me, someone he didn’t know, a complete stranger to the village, was more than generous.

Far more than I deserved.

He seemed to have noticed I had left the house yesterday in my torn clothes.

Today, when I woke up, besides the usual silence and the mouth-watering smell of warm food awaiting me by the hearth, a folded piece of clothing was left before my bed. I picked it up as I stood up.

It was a cloak.

Besides its soft, breathable texture, it was dark in tone. The inner lining and area around the wooden, horn-shaped buttons were made with a rougher, light-grey fabric.

Leathery details and contours traced the surface, showing small cracks and creases. It was probably frequently worn in the past, but not recently.

I slipped it on.

A soft, grey belt with leather outlines and white linings hung from the back. When wrapped around my waist twice, the cloak’s upper portion folded slightly over the belt, creating a layered look.

It draped over me almost perfectly, as if it had been made for me.

Its weight rested comfortably on my shoulders, sleeves wide at hand level.

Additional details replicating the belt’s design gave texture to the shoulders and the end of the sleeves.

Light and practical, it insulated without feeling stifling.

It seemed to be made from the skins and furs of creatures I hadn’t seen yet. However, it would probably feel more comfortable to use it while also wearing my shirt and trousers.

The cloak had a mystical feel to it, closely resembling a mantle.

I recalled seeing this vestment tucked away in storage when I checked it.

It was likely not new. It had some dust gathered in the crevices. Nonetheless, I would need to thank the Old Man for the gift when I saw him.

I took off the mantle and folded it, setting it aside next to my other clothes.

The morning was brighter than normal. Sunlight poured through both windows, dazzling the room with brightness, and people’s voices sounded chipper.

Before the food got cold, I swiftly sat down and drank the soup the man had left for me. The gentle yet salty flavour of the broth worked fantastically well with the stronger taste of the vegetables.

I ended up finishing the food in an instant and decided to meditate for a bit, my breath tightening slightly.

I hadn’t adapted yet to the unruly flow of mana in town, but I was getting better at anticipating changes and conforming to them.

My inner mana was slowly growing. It wasn’t just a ball of energy but a faint shape mirroring my body, still wavering.

Guilt haunted me, but I hauled myself forward anyway. I wanted to try leaving the house again, but the villagers' glares made my shoulders curl inwards, as if I didn’t belong.

It would be better to slip out for a few hours and train in the forest. Far from their eyes, I could move without the constant watchfulness, breathe freely, and find some measure of peace.

I was utterly weak.

Being able to protect someone was a far-off dream. I knew that better than anyone.

Without magic, my only path to strength was through my spear. Not only throwing, but also controlling it in a fight, a skill I hadn’t touched yet.

I clung to the hope that long hours of training might help me clear my mind.

After finishing meditating, I got up and put on my shirt and trousers. I stared at the cloak on the floor, eager to try it outside.

I wasn’t sure why. At first, I thought it was just the pleasure of wearing something new, but that didn’t feel right.

Could my desire to conform to societal norms have influenced me this much?

However, after thinking about it deeply, it was perhaps the extra layer of protection from the people’s eyes that I sought. The mantle served as a shield from all the glares.

It was something that separated me from the outside world while also comforting me.

I donned the cloak, making sure to wrap the belt all the way through.

As it enveloped me, it felt as if my weighty hesitance slipped away. It felt as if all my doubts and fears had been unfounded all along.

I wasn’t going to break another promise to myself.

Not wanting to take the backpack with me, I had to carry the spear by hand, as the cloak had no strap on the outside to hold it.

I would need to find a way to fasten it better.

Walking towards the entrance, I put on my hood, which had the same pattern as the belt's edges.

After opening the door, I for once wasn’t overwhelmed by the village’s deafening sounds.

The crunch of the steps and the words in the distance, the usual commotion in the market's direction, and the many noises emanating from the crowded town centre weren’t as overpowering.

I began heading to the bridge, the first place I got to know in town.

I stayed facing down most of the way. Even with the glares less piercing, my dread remained, just more bearable.

Approaching the market, the cries of joy of kids playing around gripped at my heart. They squeezed tightly, as if trying to stop it from beating.

It hurt unbearably, as if they didn’t want me to forget. Yrish’s suffering had to be vividly recalled in my head every day.

Even the smallest things broke me, the same questions circling for answers I hadn’t found.

It was pathetic.

I felt so wretched.

My attempt at living a day without going through waves of self-hatred had failed way earlier than I predicted, but I hadn’t done anything yet.

I wasn’t going to let self-loathing stop me from fulfilling my promise.

Ignoring everything around me, I continued walking, finally reaching the bridge.

A guard waited by the bridge, carrying a sword at the waist.

I hadn’t thought about it before, but it made perfect sense, as creatures could also cross the bridge into the village.

I must have missed seeing him when I first arrived in “Tristte”. My vision was too blurry to see them back then.

Pausing to think about it, I still didn’t know what “Tristte” meant.

I assumed it was the town’s name, but I hadn’t asked the Old Man yet. I was most certain this was the same “Tristte” Yrish wanted to reach. After all, she was buried here, and I believe I talked to her parents.

I just lacked confirmation. Perhaps asking the guard would help clarify it.

I shakily approached the guard, who glanced at me with a hint of disdain.

I nervously looked away.

“Tristte?” I asked in a low voice, pointing to the village.

“Ru!” he grunted immediately.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to hear.

He only said one word, yet his quick answer made me think I was right, or at least, not worth correcting.

I bowed slightly, trying to show my gratitude, and turned back towards the bridge.

Sharp creaks echoed through the structure as the wooden planks bent under my steps.

The rasp of my spear dragging across the floor, the clatter as it bumped over uneven wood, all mixing with the steady patter of the river below.

A faint trail of blood was inked onto the planks.

The last time I stood here, she was still with me.

That day, I lost everything.