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 - eyes that are nothing
In front of the burned-down hermitage, the wind was stirring up the ashes.
Soru stood rooted to the spot. His knees were trembling, his arms heavy, his throat scorched by smoke, and his chest creaked with every breath. At his feet, several still-smoldering pieces of wood lay scattered, thin columns of ash-white smoke rising into the eastern sky. The smell of something that had burned to nothing clung to the cold morning air.
*(I'm... still alive.)*
His heart was beating. That, in itself, felt strange.
While fleeing, his legs had nearly given out countless times. He had run down the mountain path relying only on the warmth of Efi on his back. Sparks had filled the sky, and he had heard that living giant tree come crashing down with a thunderous roar.
*(That person's four hundred years—)*
*(That person's final place—)*
Soru slowly turned back toward the burned ruins.
The hermitage no longer held its shape. Only the stone hearth remained, blackened and solitary. The wooden pillars had collapsed, the roof had fallen, and that living giant tree had snapped halfway up its trunk, now buried in ash.
He still couldn't believe that what he had seen was real.
"...Soru."
A voice.
Low, calm, almost song-like.
Soru slowly turned his face toward the sound.
Beyond the burned ruins, beneath the overhang of the rock wall, stood Serundiru.
His long silver hair, blackened with soot, was tied back in a single bundle as always. His deep forest-colored eyes gazed quietly at Soru. In his right hand was that withered-branch staff. The clothes on his left shoulder were singed, and black soot smudged his cheek. Yet his standing figure, amid the burned ruins, did not look pitiful in the least. Like an ancient tree standing upon the ashes, there was a stillness about him—as if something that belonged there had simply been there from the beginning.
*(He's alive.)*
Soru felt something loosen in the depths of his chest with relief. But that loosening was immediately swallowed by something else.
Serundiru pointed his staff toward the remains of the burned hermitage.
"It is a beautiful morning."
Soru tried to say something. But the words stuck in his throat and would not become sound.
"I waited in this hermitage for a long, long time. For someone to come. To fulfill the continuation of a small promise I left behind four hundred years ago. That someone... was you."
Serundiru's gaze turned directly toward Soru.
"I ask you."
The morning air bit into his skin with unusual coldness.
"Will you inherit the memories of the forest people, and the power of the sage?"
Soru swallowed hard. His throat hurt.
The power of the sage.
This person's four hundred years. Everything that the last survivor of the forest people had borne alone—the memories of the forest people, the secrets of this world, and all of that power.
It was, most likely, a weight incomparable to the sixteen years he had lived so far.
In his mind's eye, the burning city of giant trees surfaced.
The crowns of trees snapping. Black smoke covering the sky. The silver-haired people fleeing in panic. Sparks raining down like a storm. And in the midst of it, swinging a sword—that was his past life's memory.
*(That person burned the forest people.)*
*(My past life was a soldier who survived a massacre.)*
He felt like vomiting. But he couldn't.
There was nothing left to vomit.
Soru slowly shook his head.
"...I won't inherit it."
He realized for the first time how frayed his own voice sounded.
"Maybe souls can be reborn, and memories and power can be carried on. ...But."
His words broke off.
Soru gripped the leather cord at his chest. The black stone charm was warm in his palm—faintly, as if pulsing.
"I... don't want to become that person's continuation."
His chest ached.
This choice might render the sage's four hundred years of waiting meaningless. It might trample on this person's final hope.
*(Even so.)*
"I... want to live without knowing."
His voice trembled. But he did not look away.
Serundiru said nothing. A long silence fell over the burned ruins.
The wind blew. Ash swirled up, and smoke drifted thin toward the northern mountains.
"I see."
Serundiru's voice was quiet and gentle.
"So you intend to become the first person of your own soul."
Soru raised his head.
A faint smile had appeared at the corners of Serundiru's lips.
"Very well. I shall respect that choice."
Those words sank slowly into the depths of Soru's chest.
*(Respect.)*
*(My choice.)*
He had chosen something, and someone had acknowledged it. That had never happened before in his entire life.
The center of his chest grew warm.
"...I'm sorry."
"Do not apologize. You chose your own path. That is all there is to it."
Serundiru planted his staff on the ground and slowly looked up at the eastern sky.
"The world is far more cruel than you imagine. ...And at the same time, far more beautiful."
His voice carried an indescribable depth.
"Over these four hundred-odd years, I have wanted to die many times. But I stopped myself. Because I wanted to see that sunrise again the next morning. For that reason alone, life goes on. ...Soru."
Serundiru looked at Soru again.
"Your path is yours alone to walk. The suffering, the uncertainty—trample them down with your own feet. There is nothing more I can give you."
"But... there is something you taught me."
"Do you know what it is?"
"That who I am is something I decide for myself."
Soru gripped the black stone charm with both hands.
"I won't forget that. ...Thank you."
Serundiru nodded quietly.
His face was covered in ash and soot, yet somehow—it looked as though the morning light was shining upon it.
—At that moment.
Voices came from below the mountain.
Men shouting. Multiple footsteps trampling the ground. Hunting dogs barking.
Soru's body stiffened with a jolt.
*(The pursuers—they came this far.)*
*(They still haven't given up.)*
Beyond the burned ruins, through a gap in the trees, Soru saw several black shadows climbing up.
The black stone at his chest was steadily growing hotter.
"So they've come."
Serundiru was calm.
That was when Soru noticed.
*(Efi is gone.)*
Without him realizing, Efi had climbed down from his back and was walking toward the edge of the hermitage grounds.
Her steps were unsteady. After the backlash of burning her internal organs, she was in no condition to stand straight. Even so, she pressed her hand against rocks and clung to trees as she slowly moved toward the western side where the pursuers were climbing up.
"Efi, what are you—"
When Soru called out, Efi glanced back over her shoulder, just briefly.
Her golden left eye flashed sharply in the thin morning mist.
"You just stay there and watch. I'll finish this quickly."
"No, you can't—not with your body like that—"
"I don't recall asking for your permission."
Efi's voice had returned to its usual sarcastic tone. But it was slightly hoarse.
Soru couldn't move.
The pursuers numbered eight. Two hunting dogs. Their heads were already visible beyond the slope of the mountain path. Leather chest guards, iron spears, sweat glistening on their foreheads. Leading them was that hook-nosed man in the black cloak—Fedo.
"That witch shouldn't be able to move anymore. Capture her. Don't kill her—bring her back to the village alive."
A coarse, fierce voice crawled up the slope.
"That witch uses strange arts. Keep your distance."
The men gathered, leveling their spears.
Efi glanced at them, then dropped to one knee on the ground.
From inside her robe, she pulled out a small leather pouch filled with black powder and several pieces of forest-people bark, scattering them about.
"...You're going to use formation arts?"
Soru's voice was shaking.
Formation arts consume the caster's life force. The greater the art, the more lifespan it shaves away. Efi had already damaged her internal organs with that path-sealing formation. To lay down another formation in that condition—
"Stop!"
Soru shouted.
Efi did not turn around.
Her fingers traced the ground. White powder fell in geometric patterns across the grass. Beneath the hem of her black robe, the formation began to flicker with golden light, though there was no wind.
"...Soru, go back to the village. That will be the end of it."
Efi's voice rode the wind, barely audible.
"What are you saying..."
"I absolutely despise you. I never want to see your face again. So just disappear."
Efi's words were hard as armor.
But that's wrong, Soru thought.
*(It's a lie.)*
He could always tell when she was lying. Because this person always tried to hide the things that mattered most to her behind that sarcasm.
*(Why... why do you always do that—)*
Efi's golden left eye reflected the morning glow, glistening faintly—like tears.
...It must have been the morning dew.
Soru reached out his hand.
Before it could touch her, Efi placed the last piece of bark on the ground.
A small crack sounded.
The golden lines ignited all at once.
The morning air swelled with a rush.
The formation carved into the ground erupted with golden light.
"Gah—!?"
The man in front was swallowed by the light and blown backward.
"My eyes—I can't see—!"
"Fall back—no, don't fall back! Don't be cowards! It's just light—push through!"
Fedo's furious voice rang out.
But the men had stopped in their tracks.
Beyond the light, Efi seemed to smile.
"So sorry, village chief. Beyond this point is nothing but a filthy, weed-choked mountain path. Everything that could have served your precious village's purification—none of it exists anymore. Not anywhere."
Efi's words pierced straight through Fedo's heart.
She hurled at him the limits of his faith—pouring in that light, this moment, and everything of herself.
Fedo stepped back.
The old scar over his right eye stood out clearly, illuminated by the golden light.
"Bring the cursed child back to the village alive. If the witch interferes, burn her where she stands."
He gave the order through gritted teeth.
But it was bravado.
The light swelled endlessly, dyeing the mountain path white.
A gust of wind blew, pushing the men's feet back, further and further.
Watching this, Serundiru murmured quietly.
"That is... not the light of formation arts."
Soru's chest lurched.
"What is she doing—what is Efi doing?"
Serundiru did not answer. He simply gazed at Efi's back.
Within the light, Efi's body swayed and tilted.
She wrapped her left arm around her own chest.
The formation on the ground blazed even brighter.
That light tried to push back not only the pursuers but Soru as well—gently, softly.
*(What is this light?)*
*(My body feels... light.)*
—His memories wavered.
The time the High Wolf appeared on the mountain path in the Ashen Forest.
The time he saw the formation carved into the ground right before his eyes.
The night her left eye was lit golden by the campfire.
That faint laughter he had heard against his back.
Each and every one of them began to dissolve, like paint dropped into water—their outlines fading, growing faint.
*(...What is she trying to erase?)*
Soru desperately tried to grab hold of something within himself.
"Efi, stop!!"
Soru, nearly collapsing, stepped into the light.
His skin burned as if scorched. He couldn't breathe. The light stabbed at his eyes.
Even so, he reached out his hand.
"Please... stop... don't you disappear too..."
Soru's voice was thick with tears.
Efi stood at the center of the light and slowly turned around.
Her face was white as paper.
Deep shadows hung beneath her eyes, and her lips had lost all color. Even so, the gold of her left eye burned strong—stronger than ever—like a final flame.
She smiled faintly.
But that smile was not the sarcastic one Soru knew.
It was as if she were crying and smiling at the same time.
Like someone who had already let go of everything.
"...Your name."
"Huh?"
"Your name—can you say it properly?"
"It's Soru. Soru."
"I see. Soru. ...It
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.