Hope is Not Stupid

Furielle had always remembered Bell Village as noisy.

Not unpleasantly so. It was the sort of noise only a place full of life could make.

“Fresh fish!”

“Come repair your net!”

“The morning catch just came in!”

From sunrise until dusk, merchants shouted across the docks while fishermen hauled dripping nets onto weathered wooden piers. Seagulls circled overhead in hopes of stealing a careless meal, children chased one another between stacks of barrels, and somewhere in the middle of all that chaos…

There was always someone calling for her.

“Furi!”

Her mother stood outside their little home with her hands on her hips, trying—and failing—to sound strict.

“Don’t run too far!”

Little Furielle puffed out both cheeks.

“But why?!”

Her mother’s smile immediately softened.

“…Because I like seeing where you are at all times.”

She had never understood what that meant.

At least not back then.

Her father often laughed at the two of them before returning to untangling another fishing net, pretending to lose every game of tag they played together despite being more than fast enough to catch her.

Growing up in Bell Village had been simple.

Every evening ended the same way, with her father sitting beside her bed after dinner, the same worn storybook resting comfortably in his hands.

“…And so the knight stepped through the gate…”

Little Furielle listened with sparkling eyes full of anticipation until her father finally closed the book.

“No!”

She immediately sat upright beneath the blankets.

“You can’t stop there! I wanna know what happens next!”

He laughed heartily, smoothing out his beard.

“Stories are better when you have something to look forward to, Furi.”

“…Promise you’ll read the rest tomorrow?”

“ ‘Course I promise.”

That promise had seemed as certain as the sunrise, until the morning the screaming began. The familiar voices of Bell Village were replaced by cries of panic.

“THE UNDEAD!”

“RUN!”

Doors slammed shut as terrified villagers pushed past one another, their cries for help mixing with the panic outside. Furielle's father opened the front door only long enough to understand what was happening. The undead had already reached their street, several staggering between their home and the road leading out of the village while more poured in behind them.

His eyes darted toward the small window at the back of the house, then to Furielle. She was small enough to climb through it and fast enough to reach the trees before they noticed her.

He didn't hesitate, and neither did her mother.

She remembered being confused when she looked at her parents’ scared faces.

Adults… weren’t supposed to look scared.

But soon their expressions took another turn. They both turned to their daughter with a smile.

Her father disappeared back inside for only a moment before returning with the storybook clutched beneath his arm.

Kneeling in front of her, he gently placed it into her hands.

“Hold onto this for me.”

She looked down at it.

“…Why?”

His smile twitched but held firm.

“We’ll finish the story where we left off.”

Her tiny hands tightened around the worn cover.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Outside, the groans were getting closer as her mother crouched beside her, tears glistening in her eyes despite the familiar smile she still wore

“Furi, you need to run.”

Little Furielle shook her head furiously.

“No! I don’t want to leave!”

Her mother brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You like running, remember?”

“But—”

“We’ll catch up. No matter how far you run I’ll still be able to see you.”

Furielle gulped, eyes big and glassy.

“…Promise?”

Both of them smiled.

“Promise.”

And so, she climbed through the little window at the back of their home and ran.

She ran because they told her to.

She ran because they promised they’d follow.

She ran until Bell Village disappeared behind the trees.

She ran until her legs refused to carry her any farther.

When an old merchant found a little girl sitting alone beside the road, clutching a storybook tightly against her chest…

She wasn’t crying.

She simply looked up at him and smiled.

“My mom and dad are coming.”

The old man looked toward the smoke rising beyond the forest, then back at the hopeful little girl.

“I see. Did they say they’ll meet you here?”

“They said they’d catch up… We’re going to finish the story tonight.”

But night came.

And they never did.

The merchant couldn’t raise a child himself. Through old friends and old favors, he eventually found an adventurer willing to take the spirited little girl under her wing.

Furielle grew up. She learned to survive, hunt, and fight the undead.She learned to use daggers and became remarkably nimble.

But even if she grew up… she never believed her parents had died.

She didn’t let herself think so.

They had told her they’d catch up. They told her to run and keep running. They told her they’d finish the story…

That’s why she filled every silence. To her, noise was home, and the absence of it… felt far too lonely.

That’s why every night she opened the book her father gave her… and stared at the final page he had read. She was still waiting for him to read her the rest.

She kept on travelling. Surviving… because if she stopped, then she’d have to come to terms with the reality she didn’t want to face.

But fate was far too cruel to let anyone keep running forever.

Eventually… everything catches up.

“Mama…? Papa…?”

Furielle stood in the half collapsed cabin, her lips trembling.

For a moment she was still the little Furielle that ran around Bell Village without tiring.

But that little Furielle had finally realized… her parents were not going to catch up to her.

Without another word, Furielle pushed past the party.

Isla instinctively reached after her, but Furielle had already pushed past them and disappeared through the doorway. Her footsteps quickly faded through the abandoned streets until even those vanished beyond the edge of the village.

A deep silence followed. Murry let out a slow breath as he looked toward Furielle’s parents, still groaning beneath the beam.

“Good grief…”

Flint looked toward the forest where Furielle had disappeared to.

“…I’ll go.”

Without waiting for an answer, Flint ran after Furielle, just as he had when they first met. Ludmilla and Isla moved to follow, only for Murry to raise a hand and stop them.

“Wait.”

“But—“

“Some things don’t need five people.”

Isla stopped at Murry’s words. Ludmilla nodded silently, crossing her arms.

“As much as I hate to admit it… she won’t say a word if we’re all standing over her.”

Isla quietly looked to the treeline where Flint had just disappeared.

𓌏

Flint didn’t have to search for very long.

The young girl hadn’t gone far.

Just beyond the village, Beneath the shade of an old oak, Furielle sat curled into herself, her knees pulled tightly against her chest.

For the first time since Flint had met her, Furielle didn’t look up when he approached. He quietly lowered himself onto the grass beside her, neither of them saying a word as the sounds of the forest carried on around them. Birds chirped somewhere among the trees and leaves rustled overhead, but Furielle seemed oblivious to all of it, her tear-streaked face buried in her arms.

“I kept telling myself…”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“…that they were somewhere else… that maybe they’d escaped… that maybe I’d just…”

Her voice broke.

“…missed them.”

Flint listened without interrupting.

“…If I smiled … if I kept moving… if I never stopped…”

A single tear ran down her cheek.

“…Then I thought maybe one day …they’d catch up.”

The tears rained down onto her arm.

“…I was stupid.”

“No.”

Flint answered gently, shaking his head.

“Hope is not stupid.”

She covered her face.

“I don’t want to travel anymore.” She said, “I… can’t.”

Flint didn’t know what to say to her. He understood her pain… but he couldn’t begin to understand how to help her get through it.

“I don’t want to leave them behind, Flint…”

The words came out almost as a whisper.

“…If I accept they’re gone …I’m leaving them behind.”

Flint lowered his eyes.

“…I…”

He thought about Berthram.

About the merchant and his son, Johan.

Then it struck him. The answer wasn’t as complex as he thought.

“…I see.”

He nodded, before quietly looking towards the clearing. He reached for a fallen branch lying beneath the tree and snapped off a piece small enough to fit in his palm.

Then he drew the little carving knife from his belt, and began carving away.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Furielle didn’t ask what he was doing. She didn’t even lift her head. She didn’t even know why he was still sitting next to her.

She thought she had been clear that she wouldn’t be following them any further.

The only sound beneath the tree became the steady rhythm of steel against wood.

Time quietly drifted onward.

Sunlight slowly shifted through the leaves overhead.

Neither of them noticed how quickly nearly an hour had passed without interruption.

The carving finally stopped.

Flint brushed the last wood shavings from his lap before holding out two tiny carvings.

“Here.”

They were simple.

Rough around the edges.

One wore a little apron carved into the front while the other had a thick beard and a broad pair of shoulders.

They weren’t perfect.

But somehow…

Furielle recognized them immediately.

“…What…”

Flint smiled.

“You don’t have to leave them behind.”

He gently placed them into her trembling hands.

“…You can take them with you.”

She stared, unable to speak.

Flint continued quietly, his fingers resting lightly against the grass.

He smiled toward the tiny carvings.

“Berthram still walks with me too.”

Long silence.

“Your parents don’t have to stay in Bell Village.”

Another tear rolled down her cheek.

“…Take them with you. Live the life they wanted you to have.”

The young girl’s face crumbled within seconds.

For the first time, Furielle cried her heart out. She didn't hide behind quiet tears or the smile she'd worn for years to keep herself together. She cried like the little girl who had spent ten years waiting for her parents to keep their promise.

Because sometimes…

A hero couldn’t change what had happened.

Sometimes…

The greatest thing a hero could do, was make sure no one had to carry their grief alone.

𓌏

The familiar gates of the town came into view just as the afternoon sun began dipping toward the horizon. Furielle walked between Flint and Murry with her hands tucked proudly behind her back, and as they passed through the gates, they were greeted by something very different from when they had left.

Nobody was protesting.

Instead cries of joy drifted through the streets.

“The bell stopped!”

“We will live!”

“I heard the road’s safe again!”

Merchants were already dragging their abandoned stalls back into place while travelers cautiously prepared wagons that had remained parked for weeks.

Life had begun moving again.

As they passed the marketplace a familiar voice called out.

“Oi!”

The baker waved them over from behind his stall.

His shelves were no longer full…

But they weren’t empty either.

Business had already returned.

Before anyone could speak two tiny figures sprinted toward them.

“FURI!”

The little boy launched himself straight into her, while the little girl hugged her waist a heartbeat later.

“Hey, you two!” Furielle laughed.

“We missed you!”

“We thought you got eaten!”

“…That’s a terrible thing to say.”

They all laughed together, before she crouched down to meet their eye level.

“I’m alright.” She ruffled both of their heads, “See?!”

The little girl suddenly pointed toward the baker.

“Mister Benny took care of us!”

Furielle blinked.

“He did?”

The baker scratched the back of his neck.

“…Don’t sound so surprised.”

She looked genuinely confused.

“But why?”

He snorted.

“Because those two would’ve starved otherwise.” He sighed, “…You should’ve told me.”

“Told you what?”

“That you were stealing to feed them.”

She lowered her eyes.

“I figured—“

The old baker folded his arms.

“You don’t get to decide whether people are willing to help.”

He narrowed his eyes, tone turning stern.

“Don’t assume nobody will.”

Furielle stared at him as a smile spread across her lips. Behind her, Flint and Isla exchanged a quiet smile of their own, neither needing to say anything.

Murry, meanwhile, dramatically cleared his throat.

“…Right.”

Everyone looked at him.

“If the emotional reunion has concluded…”

He rubbed his empty coin pouch.

“I’d like to remind the mayor he promised a reward.”

Ludmilla adjusted her glasses.

“I was wondering how long it would take before you mentioned gold.”

“…I’ve been remarkably patient.”

“Pfft…”

Furielle couldn’t help herself, laughing openly for the first time without using it to hide what she really felt. This time, the smile reached her eyes.

Flint looked at her for a moment and laughed too.

“Let’s go.”

Together, the five walked toward the center of town.

As they disappeared into the lively streets, Furielle quietly slipped a hand into her pouch, her fingers brushing against the two little wooden carvings resting safely inside.

Bell Village was safe. The children would be fed. She had done what she came here to do.

There was no reason for her to keep following Flint and the others anymore.

And yet, as Furielle looked at the four walking beside her, she realized she wanted to.

For the first time in years, she wasn’t travelling because she was running from something.

She simply wanted to see where they would go next.

Until now, Furielle had believed heroes were the people who defeated monsters and protected everyone. But somewhere between a stolen loaf of bread, two tiny wooden carvings, and Flint simply staying beside her when she needed someone most, she had realized something.

Heroes weren’t the people who made grief disappear.

They were the ones who stayed beside you until you could carry it yourself.