At the End of the Ashen Forest, the Sage Learns of the Boy's Past Life
The continent's frontier, where the forest elves once flourished and are now said to have perished. The deep Ashen Woods spread everywhere, where miasma and beasts keep people away. Magic remains only as ancient relics and curses, never systematized. Villages are isolated, and the closed societies fiercely expel heretics. The village where the boy was born has a law to quarantine, not kill, the cursed children.
Sol, a boy with memories of a past life, has lived in lonely isolation as the cursed
At the End of the Ashen Forest, the Sage Learns of the Boy's Past Life - The burning hermitage
The mountain morning was far quieter than usual.
No wind, no birdsong, no rustling of trees. A heavy silence wrapped around the hermitage, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Soru stood outside the hut, gazing down the mountain path. Against his chest, the black stone amulet had been radiating heat for some time now. It pulsed like a wave, growing stronger, then weaker. The stone had been warning him, over and over, that danger was near.
(It's coming.)
His skin trembled. Not from the cold morning air. His skin crawled from within. It was a presence he had tasted countless times over sixteen years in the village. That sickening atmosphere just before stones came flying. The presence of human hostility.
"Do you feel it?"
Turning around, he saw Serundiru standing in the doorway of the hermitage. His long, ash-silver hair swayed gently in the windless morning light. His deep forest-colored eyes looked not at Soru, but beyond, toward the mountain path.
"Yes."
His voice was hoarse. His throat was dry. He hadn't drunk any water since the night before. But it wasn't just that. Something deeper inside him felt like it was drying up.
"It's them, then. Pursuers from Rusta Village?"
"...Yes."
Soru looked at his own hands. His fingertips trembled faintly. The phantom blood that had surfaced on these hands last night had already vanished. But something that wouldn't wash away no matter how much he scrubbed seemed to remain deep in his bones.
(I called them here.)
The pursuers had come for him. If he hadn't fled, no one would have come to this place. This hermitage might never have been engulfed in flames. Everything that was about to happen now—it was all his fault.
He felt sick. His stomach contracted.
"Do you regret it?"
The voice didn't sound accusatory. It simply asked for the facts. After a long silence, Soru shook his head once.
"...I don't know."
"'I don't know,' is it. That, too, is an honest answer."
Serundiru walked over to the living giant tree growing in front of the hermitage. He placed his right hand against its black bark. His long, knotted fingers traced the surface of the wood.
"The stone on your chest warns of danger through heat. That is a forest-folk protective stone. Did you receive it from your mother?"
"Yes. ...It's been around my neck for as long as I can remember."
"I see. That stone has been protecting you. Always, even before you were born."
Soru touched the black stone. It was hot again today. But the heat wasn't unpleasant. Within the heat that warned of danger, he could feel a faint warmth. A gentle warmth, like a mother's hand.
Suddenly, Efi emerged from the hermitage.
She adjusted her disheveled black robe as she stepped into the morning light. Perhaps the exhaustion from last night still lingered—her steps were quiet, and her complexion was pale. But her back was straight. Her left golden eye turned sharply toward the mountain path.
"They're almost here. Eight of them. And two dogs."
Efi's voice was dry. None of her usual sarcastic tone remained. Soru looked at her profile. Her near-white ash hair swayed slightly in the breeze. Her ears were slightly more pointed than a normal human's. He had learned it last night. About her blood. The forest-folk blood.
(She carries something different from me, too.)
That fact sank heavily into Soru's chest.
"Before long, this hermitage will be burned."
Serundiru's voice was surprisingly calm. It was the voice of someone who had lived a long time, quietly accepting the end of this world.
"If you know that, why don't you run?"
"Because this is my final dwelling."
"Again with that..."
Efi bit her lip. Her right eye seemed to glisten slightly. The expression pierced Soru's chest. Efi knew the sage. Through a long span of time that Soru didn't know, she was connected to this person.
(I'm just an outsider who forced his way between the two of them.)
Thinking that made him feel miserable again.
The stone grew even hotter.
Soru saw human shadows moving beyond the mountain path.
They emerged from between the trees, looming. A man wearing a leather chest guard. Behind him, several more. They carried iron spears, sweat glistening on their foreheads. Two hunting dogs sniffed at the ground, growling low.
The pursuers. Eight of them.
And finally, appearing with a heavy presence—the village chief, Fedo.
His thin body was wrapped in a black cloak, his sharp eyes gleaming. The scar over his right eye stood out white in the morning light. On his left hand, that expensive life-killing stone ring. He looked up at the hermitage and carved a smile into his twisted mouth.
"Found you."
A low voice tore through the silence.
There was no escape. Behind the hermitage was a rock wall. To the left and right were sheer cliffs and a deep valley of mist. The mountain path was now blocked by Fedo's underlings. For the first time in his life, Soru felt his body hardening like stone.
(It's over.)
A voice spoke clearly in the center of his head. His own voice. It's over. Everything ends here. The village's cursed child was destined for this all along. Running away was pointless.
"Sage Serundiru, is it? And the wandering witch. Hand over the cursed child standing there."
Fedo stepped forward. His subordinates' faces were a mix of tension and excitement.
"Don't make us go to any more trouble protecting the village from impurity. That child must have his impurity cleansed through the Ash Purification Ritual."
"You mean burned alive."
Efi's voice was cold as ice.
"That's right. The purifying flames exist to fulfill our long-cherished wish. To burn away that child's impurity completely."
"What noble words. Tell me, what kind of dreams do you have the night before you burn a child?"
"Silence, witch."
Fedo raised his left hand, the one bearing the life-killing stone ring. The pursuers leveled their spear tips all at once.
"There is not a single night when I do not think of the village's well-being. How many died from the plague? How many died from the poor harvest? All of it was because of impurity. Filthy forest blood like yours has been cursing us all along."
"—That's wrong."
His own voice had come out. Thinner and more trembling than anyone else's.
"...That's wrong."
He forced it out again. Fedo narrowed his eyes and looked at Soru.
"Oh? The cursed child speaks. Sixteen years, a stone that couldn't even string words together properly—have you finally learned to imitate a human?"
"I'm not impurity."
As the words came out, tears welled up.
(I'm not impurity.)
But even he couldn't fully believe that voice. He wanted to believe it was wrong. He wanted to believe, even just a little, that he had worth too.
Fedo sneered.
"Then why does your body bear the ash marks? Why does misfortune befall the village simply because you're alive?"
"That's—"
"Do you know how many elders died in the year you were born? Seven. Seven people died coughing. All because you were born."
"No, that's not true."
"What isn't true? You were born to have stones thrown at you, to be pointed at, to be called 'impurity.' That is the entirety of your existence."
It felt like thick nails being driven into his chest, one after another.
Soru's breathing quickened. His lungs constricted. Air wouldn't enter. A high-pitched sound rang deep in his ears. Old memories of the village surged up all at once.
—The laughter of children throwing stones.
—The whispers: "Impurity is passing through."
—The days of being ordered to pray, rubbing his forehead into the dirt.
—No mother, no father. Always, utterly alone.
Soru shook his head unconsciously. No, no, no. Without knowing what exactly was wrong, he simply rejected it.
"That's enough."
Efi stepped in front of Soru.
The hem of her black robe danced in the wind. Her back stretched tall and slender, as if to completely shield Soru from view. Behind her, Soru held his breath.
"This child has been made into impurity by your logic. That's all he is. But you know—"
Efi slowly picked up a dead branch from the ground.
"—you people, who've been burning a child like that for no reason, are far more impure."
"Insolent wretch! A mere witch!"
"Fire the flaming arrows!"
Fedo shouted.
In that instant, one of the pursuers nocked a burning arrow to his bow.
The sound of air splitting.
The flaming arrow traced an arc through the air and pierced the wooden wall of the hermitage.
It caught.
Flames licked at the wood and spread rapidly. A sweet, burning smell, like pine resin, mixed into the cold morning air.
"Burn it all! The cursed child, the witch—turn them all to ash along with their impurity!"
Fedo's face was twisted with ecstasy and madness. His faith finally bared its fangs at the sight of fire.
Two more flaming arrows were loosed. Then three.
The hermitage burned.
Soru watched his burning home, unable to move his legs. The flames weren't just consuming the walls of the hut—they were spreading to the living giant tree growing beside it.
—Burning.
—The giant tree is burning.
At that moment, Soru's vision warped and twisted.
Flames, flames, flames.
He had seen this scene before. In dreams. Hundreds of times.
(I know this.)
Memories of his past life were eroding his present memories.
(I was on the side that set those fires.)
Cold sweat ran down his back.
"...Ah."
Soru wanted to cover his ears. The death screams he had heard hundreds of times in those dreams echoed through his head. The silver-folk fleeing in panic. At his feet, bleeding, dying. Beneath the burning giant tree, a woman looked up at him with resentment. Her silver hair, illuminated by the flames, turning golden—
(It was me.)
Soru fell to his knees.
"It was me."
Bile rose in his throat.
(I was on the side that burned those people.)
"I... did it."
He dug his nails into the ground.
"Soru!"
Efi's sharp voice reached his ears. But his body wouldn't move. His head was full—full of flames and screams and sixteen years of thrown stones—so full it felt like it would break.
(I should never have been born.)
That thought seeped into the marrow of his bones.
Soru folded over like a puppet with its strings cut.
"...Kill me."
His voice fell to the ground.
"Kill me. Sage. If I'm the reincarnation of the enemy who destroyed your people... then kill me, right here."
Soru raised his face from the dirt. Tears blurred his vision. But he could see Serundiru standing still before the burning hermitage.
"Purify my soul. Kill me, let me be reborn. Then this karma will disappear, won't it? This cursed child, this impurity, this me—"
"...H-hey. What are you saying?"
Serundiru's voice trembled slightly.
"Please. With your own hands—"
Tears overflowed, one after another, unstoppable.
"End this suffering."
Soru wept. He wept aloud. As if vomiting up everything he had been unable to hurl at anyone for sixteen years. As if his body were being torn apart between the sins of his past life and the karma of this one.
"Who you are—"
Serundiru slowly knelt before Soru.
Sparks danced between them. The air was already hot.
"Who you are—that is for you to decide."
Serundiru's cold, long fingers gently touched Soru's shoulder.
"Whoever you were in a past life, your life belongs to you. I have no reason to end it. No one has the right to kill you. Not even you yourself."
"But..."
"Even so, is it painful? Is living so painful that you can bear it no longer?"
"...It's painful."
"I know. I was in pain for four hundred years. And yet, I kept living. You came to see me. I was waiting for that."
"I regret coming to see you."
"That's fine. You came. That fact alone makes my four hundred years worthwhile."
Serundiru gripped Soru's shoulder firmly.
"Do what is before you now. Whether to kill yourself—decide that yourself, afterwards."
When Soru looked up, Efi was standing at the entrance of the hermitage.
At some point, she had removed her black robe
Novelia is an AI-powered platform to read original light novels and fan fiction, create your own in just a few taps, and chat with the characters. New, illustrated episodes arrive daily — free to start.