It was a fresh morning.
The Governor's Manor was as quiet as always, all but the sounds of papers turning could be heard.
Papers were scattered across the desk, several bearing the Governor's seal. Leonel Ashbelle sat behind it, reviewing one document after another, while Adamas worked through the pile assigned to him.
For a while, neither spoke.
It was Adamas who eventually broke the silence.
"Father, do you think Anthony will be fine?"
Leonel didn't look up from his papers.
"What makes you ask?"
"You know why."
Adamas set down his pen and leaned back in his chair.
He was well aware of the problems their abrupt purchase of Greenwood Farm had caused. The matter had already stirred up trouble in Pelican Town, and given the circumstances surrounding the previous owner's death, he couldn't say he was surprised.
He had wanted to back out of the purchase. It would have been the sensible thing to do, at least until things had settled down.
But his father had insisted.
"He's my son. He'll be fine."
Leonel said it as though that settled the matter.
Adamas stared at him for a moment, trying to determine whether his father genuinely believed those words or was simply choosing not to worry.
In the end, he said nothing.
He picked up his pen and returned to his paperwork, accepting his father's answer as it was.
The pages crackled as the flames slowly consumed them.
I sat before the fire, watching the familiar handwriting darken and curl at the edges. One by one, the pages grew black, their contents disappearing beneath the orange glow.
It was strange.
For so long, I'd treated this journal as something important. A place to record what I knew, what I remembered, and what I could use to make my life here easier.
There was comfort in having something to rely on. Whenever I felt uncertain, I could open it and remind myself that, at the very least, there were things I already knew.
But lately, I'd begun to wonder just how much of that knowledge I could actually trust.
I knew these people—or at least, I thought I did.
I knew their names, their personalities, their stories. I remembered events that had yet to happen, and sometimes I caught myself looking at the people around me through the lens of those memories.
But they weren't characters on a screen anymore.
They were people living their own lives, with feelings and thoughts I couldn't simply look up in a journal. Whatever I remembered about them, it could only tell me so much.
And Willow's death had made that painfully clear.
I couldn't find the answers I wanted in these pages. Perhaps I never would.
I reached for another sheet and held it over the flames.
For a moment, I watched the words written across it.
Then I let go.
The page drifted downward, caught by the rising heat, and disappeared into the fire.
I didn't need this anymore.
That didn't mean I would suddenly forget everything. I would still remember bits and pieces, whether I wanted to or not. Some memories might remain for years, while others would gradually fade. Perhaps some would even change as I came to understand this world better.
And that was fine.
Whatever remained could stay with me. Whatever faded could fade.
I didn't need to hold on to every detail just because it was something I had once known.
The fire continued to burn, reducing the last of the pages to ash.
I watched until there was little left to recognize.
Behind him, Mel stood quietly, her gaze fixed on her master's back.
She had been watching for some time, though it seemed he hadn't noticed her arrival.
From where she stood, she could see the melancholy in his eyes as he stared into the open flames.
She didn't know what the journal meant to him, nor why he had chosen to burn it. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
But she could tell that it had mattered.
And so, she remained where she was, watching the pages turn to ash.
With the last of the charred pages carried away by the wind, I closed my eyes, as though offering a prayer—a goodbye to a small part of me.
The past has shaped me, but I refuse to let it become my shackles. I am as free as the ashes of these pages.
Some time later, I turned around, surprised to see Mel. Perhaps I shouldn't have been.
I'd left so abruptly that morning. Of course, she wouldn't have been able to leave me alone, not when she was worried about me.
I saw her crying once more. It was subtle, but unmistakable.
"Why are you crying again?" I asked with a wry smile.
She'd cried more times this week than I could remember her crying in the past few years.
"It's nothing. What do you want to eat?"
"...Barbecue."
"Please wait here. I'll prepare everything."
"Why? I can help."
"Master, you should rest."
"I'm perfectly fine."
She gave me a look.
"...I'll get the grill."
"...Okay."
I couldn't help smiling as I walked past her.
For once, she didn't try to stop me.
We set up the grill outside the farmhouse, where we could enjoy the morning breeze.
Mel brought out the ingredients while I prepared the charcoal. We had plenty of food stored away, and since neither of us had any particular plans for the morning, I figured there was no reason to be stingy.
We started with the meat.
Sausages, burgers, and a few cuts of meat that Mel had seasoned beforehand. The moment they hit the grill, a satisfying sizzle filled the air, followed by the rich smell of fat and spices.
I watched the meat carefully, turning each piece with a pair of tongs.
Or, at least, I tried to.
"Master, that one is burning."
"Huh?"
I hurriedly flipped the sausage.
It was a little too late.
The surface had already darkened, leaving a rather unfortunate black patch along one side.
"...It's still edible."
"Of course, Master."
Mel's expression was perfectly composed, which somehow made her response even more insulting.
"Don't look at me like that. I'm learning."
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to."
She turned away, and I could have sworn I saw the corners of her mouth twitch.
Traitor.
Thankfully, the burgers turned out much better. Mel took over the seasoning while I handled the grilling, and before long, we had enough food to feed several people.
We didn't stop at meat, either.
Corn went onto the grill, its husks slowly charring as the kernels softened within. We sliced tomatoes and onions, placing them over the heat until their surfaces browned and their natural sweetness began to emerge.
The vegetables took longer than I expected, but they were worth the wait.
By the time we finished, the table beside us was covered with plates of freshly cooked food.
There was far more than two people could reasonably eat.
"Think we made too much?" I asked.
Mel glanced over the spread.
"A little."
"Well, we can always restock."
"That's true."
"Besides, it doesn't hurt to fill ourselves up, just this once."
She looked at me, then quietly nodded.
"Then I'll get the plates."
I carried the food over to the porch while she fetched the utensils and drinks. We arranged everything within reach, and I settled into my seat with a plate piled high.
The first bite was delicious.
The meat was still hot, its juices mixing with the seasoning. The grilled onions added a sweetness that balanced the savory flavors, while the corn was tender and slightly smoky.
I took another bite.
Then another.
Honestly, there were few things in life that couldn't be improved by a good meal.
"How is it?" Mel asked.
"Good."
"Just good?"
I looked at her.
"Very good."
"Glad to hear it, Master."
She took a bite of her own food, looking rather pleased with herself.
I narrowed my eyes.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Enjoying what?"
"Watching me eat."
"Not particularly."
"You're a terrible liar, Mel."
"And you are a terrible cook, Master."
I nearly choked.
She calmly handed me a drink.
I stared at her for a moment, wondering when the little girl who used to cry had become so merciless.
Then again, I supposed I had given her plenty of opportunities to practice.
I shook my head and returned to my food.
We ate until nine in the morning.
Neither of us spoke much after that. There was no particular need to. Occasionally, one of us would reach for another piece of meat or pass a plate across the table, but otherwise, we simply enjoyed our food.
The morning breeze carried the smell of the grill across the farm. Beyond the porch, the land stretched out before us, quiet beneath the morning light.
There was still plenty of work to be done. The farm wouldn't take care of itself, and I had a long list of things I wanted to accomplish.
But for now, I didn't feel the need to hurry.
I leaned back in my chair, taking in the view.
This was Greenwood Farm.
Not the farm I remembered from a game, nor the place I'd imagined when I first decided to come here.
It was simply the land in front of me.
And for the first time in a while, that felt like enough.