"Hey... hey ... what if I write an engagement letter for you? Since I am an intellect, I will write that right now and make a copy of it which I will take to the king and I will marry you once I am done with my national exams," Oliwier remarked, taking Darcelle by surprise. His words came out so casually, but they hung in the air with an odd, almost ridiculous certainty.
Darcelle’s heart skipped a beat.
Was he serious?
She wasn’t sure how to react, her mind racing through a thousand thoughts. Before she could say anything, tears welled up in her eyes. She had no idea why she was crying, only that a strange, intense emotion had overtaken her.
"Miss?" Oliwier asked, his voice a mixture of confusion and concern. But before he could process anything, Darcelle, overwhelmed by something she couldn't name, pushed him away roughly. Without another word, she turned and ran. Her feet pounded against the earth as she fled, the sound of Oliwier's voice calling after her only making her run faster.
"Miss... miss..." His voice was laced with panic, but she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t think about anything except getting away from him.
"Stop following me!" Darcelle shouted back, her voice raw, but Oliwier’s steps never faltered. He continued to chase her, his voice pleading as he shouted her name.
"Miss, please listen to me, it’s not what you think!" Oliwier’s voice grew softer, a sense of urgency creeping in. He couldn’t understand why she was running, why she looked so upset. It wasn’t meant to be this way.
"Please stop running," he begged, desperation growing in his tone. But Darcelle wouldn’t stop, her legs carrying her faster and faster through the dense trees, trying to lose him in the labyrinth of the forest.
"Slow down... wait for me," Oliwier shouted, trying to catch up. He thought he saw her dart behind a cluster of trees, and he bolted in that direction, desperate not to lose her. But Darcelle had anticipated this. She had already changed course, weaving her way silently through the thick underbrush, watching him from behind the cover of the trees, making sure he wouldn’t find her.
"Oh, finally, I ditched him," she whispered, her voice strained from the frantic sprint. Her body trembled from the effort, and she bent over, trying to catch her breath.
She felt dizzy, exhausted, and an intense hunger gnawed at her stomach. She fumbled in her bag and pulled out an apple, one she’d picked from a wild apple tree high in the mountains earlier that day. She took a huge bite, savoring the sharp sweetness of it.
"Does the apple taste good?" a familiar voice interrupted her, snapping her out of her thoughts.
Darcelle froze, the apple still in her hand, halfway to her mouth. Her heart sank as she slowly turned to face the voice. There, standing just a few feet away, was Oliwier—his face impossibly close, his eyes filled with that same mixture of confusion and earnestness. She didn’t know how he had found her, how he had managed to follow her through the dense forest.
"Of course it does," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness, though her words couldn’t mask the sense of frustration that overwhelmed her. She couldn’t even enjoy the apple now. Slowly, as if weighed down by the impossible situation, Darcelle met his gaze.
His face was so close, his breath warm against her skin, and for a brief moment, she felt a shiver run down her spine—not of fear, but of something much more complicated.
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to ask him why he was doing this, why he couldn’t leave her alone.
But all she could do was stare at him in disbelief.
It seemed impossible—how could he be here, just inches from her, as if there was no way to escape this overwhelming, maddening situation?
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She swallowed the frustration that threatened to choke her. She was tired.
Tired of running.
Tired of his persistence.
Tired of the weight of it all.
Yet somehow, there he was again, standing far too close for comfort, the answer to the question she didn’t even know how to ask.
Her voice trembled as she took another step back, but her heart was heavy. Would he ever stop following her? Or was this just the beginning of something she couldn’t escape?
"Miss, are you going to Mr. Jethro's place?" Oliwier asked, his voice breaking through the silence between them. The question was simple enough, but it carried a weight that made Darcelle freeze. The act of pretending to cry, the rawness she’d been trying to hold onto, all fell away in an instant. She stared at him, her heart beating too loudly in her chest.
She hadn’t expected him to ask about Mr. Jethro—not after everything else. The name alone made her tense, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. She thought she could keep the conversation moving in another direction, but now she was caught.
"That place is not accessible," she said, her voice flat, not wanting to show any vulnerability. She didn’t need Oliwier digging into that part of her life, especially not now.
Oliwier’s expression didn’t change. He seemed almost too calm, as if he had already anticipated her response. "That is because he has sealed his cottage and his pack’s place with a protective shield bubble," Oliwier explained, his words matter-of-fact. "No one can just wander in without an invitation, not unless the shield is momentarily turned off."
Darcelle blinked, her thoughts racing. A protective shield bubble? She had heard of such things in stories, but it never crossed her mind that one could be used so close to home. She had only ever heard whispers about Mr. Jethro’s place, the mysterious cottage that no one seemed able to reach.
"Therefore, you cannot get to Mr. Jethro's place unless the shield is momentarily turned off," Oliwier continued, as if the pieces of the puzzle had already snapped into place for him. "Another way you can access him is if you’re a member of his pack."
Darcelle felt a knot tighten in her stomach at the mention of the pack. Her thoughts drifted, and she tried to focus on her apple, pretending like the conversation wasn’t affecting her. It wasn’t the first time she had heard that name, but the idea of a pack, of loyalty and secrecy, unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
"But..." Oliwier trailed off, as if a realization had dawned on him. He stared at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "Everyone knows this. Why don’t you? Where do you come from? How can you not know this?"
His voice was filled with a strange mix of disbelief and curiosity, and Darcelle felt her face flush, her nerves fraying under the intensity of his gaze. She wasn’t sure how to answer.
She had heard rumors, yes, but she hadn’t been brought up in this world of packs and protective bubbles. She hadn’t had the luxury of knowing the rules, of understanding the unspoken boundaries that everyone else seemed to operate within. What did she really know about Mr. Jethro? What did she know about any of this?
She turned away slightly, as though the question itself was too much to bear. She wanted to hide behind her apple, to retreat into the quiet of the moment, but she couldn’t escape the weight of Oliwier’s stare.
"I..." She hesitated, then decided not to say anything at all.
She took another bite of the apple, savoring the taste, even though it felt hollow in her mouth.
She needed space.
She needed to think.
This conversation wasn’t about apples or shields or packs. It was about her—about something deeper that she hadn’t been able to face until now. And the truth was, she didn’t have the answers to Oliwier’s questions.
"Well, I know of a way you can get through the protective shield," Oliwier began, his voice steady, as if he had been waiting for just the right moment to share this piece of information. Darcelle, who had been lost in her own thoughts, snapped to attention, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to follow his words. "You’ll have to visit the wizard king in the next kingdom," he continued, his tone laced with certainty. "He knows everything. He’s the one who can tell you how to break through the shield."
"But," Oliwier's voice took on a cautionary tone, "for every question asked, in order to get the answer, you have to pay a price." He paused, letting his words sink in. "The wizard king doesn't give out knowledge for free. You’ll have to make a trade, and it won't always be something you can easily part with."
The idea of a price unsettled Darcelle. She didn’t have much to offer, at least nothing she could think of that the wizard king would want. A price meant sacrifice, and she didn’t know if she was ready for that kind of burden. She shifted uneasily, not sure if this path was one she wanted to take at all.
But then Oliwier’s next words caught her off guard.
"Why don’t I accompany you there?" he suggested casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I can help. I know the way. It’s a long journey, and you’ll need someone with experience."
Darcelle felt a wave of frustration wash over her at his words. She could feel her pulse quicken, irritation building within her. "Why does he keep offering to come with me?" she thought, her mind a storm of confusion and anger.
He had already followed her through the forest.
He had been persistent, unwilling to leave her alone for a moment, and now this. He wanted to accompany her on another journey—one she hadn’t even decided to make yet.