The sun dragged its final threads behind the horizon, painting the sky with a faint orange hue that resembled an old, aching nostalgia. After buying the new jacket, I stood for a few seconds, gazing at it. It wasn't just warm—it felt like a layer connecting me to this world I was beginning to walk through with more confidence, albeit cautiously.
I walked slowly toward the village gate. Everything around me felt unusually quiet, as if the village itself sensed that I was about to leave. I stopped at the entrance, looking back at the narrow alleys and simple buildings—the restaurant where I had my first hard-earned meal, and the inn where I first slept on a bed instead of the cold forest ground.
I whispered to myself:
"Thank you... maybe we'll meet again."
Then I continued on. I had no means of transportation, and I didn't need one. I had gotten used to walking—had even grown to appreciate it. My steps in this world weren't measured in meters, but in the experiences I gathered moving from place to place.
Ahead of me lay a two-hour walk to the village of Filona, a village I didn't know yet—but one that would become my next destination.
The distance was long, but the nightfall made it feel even longer in my heart. Everything was still, except for my footsteps and the wind playing with the dry leaves. Sometimes I stopped to make sure I was on the right path; other times, I stared at the stars slowly appearing in the sky, as if they were silently watching over me.
After a long, tiring walk, I finally arrived. Filona wasn't lively or bright—it felt dim, like it was asleep on a pillow of stillness. I reached the inn, but at that moment, I wasn't seeking comfort—just rest. Just peace.
I knocked on the door.
Moments later, it opened slowly. The little girl appeared, eyes widening in surprise before she smiled and exclaimed with childlike excitement:
"You're finally back!"
I smiled, despite the exhaustion painted across my face, and replied softly:
"Yeah... I'm back."
Not long after, the innkeeper appeared behind her. She looked at me with an expression of quiet relief, then said:
"Don't say anything now. Go sit. I'll bring you food."
I obeyed in silence. I sat in the same corner I had before, placed my new jacket beside me, and lowered my head slightly, waiting for the meal.
When the plate was placed before me, I felt a strange warmth—not from the food, but from the moment itself. The dish wasn't fancy, but it was enough. I ate slowly, each bite telling me, "You've passed another part of the journey."
Afterward, I went up to my room. Nothing in the room had changed, but something inside me had. Maybe because of the new jacket, or maybe because I returned more aware of who I was.
I laid on the bed, closed my eyes, and soon sleep took me.
My body slept... but deep inside, fragments of that first journey still stirred.
…
I woke the next morning to sunlight seeping through the small window. The air was slightly cold, but refreshing—carrying with it a whisper that this day might be different, or at least holding something that awaited me.
I washed my face, put on my new jacket, and quietly left the room, heading to work. I arrived at my usual time, and everything looked just as I had left it. Nothing new—except a subtle heaviness in my chest that I couldn't explain at first.
I immersed myself in the usual tasks—lifting crates, arranging supplies. The repetition made my mind wander, and amid that, the image of Marcus flashed into my thoughts… the moment we rescued him, the details of it—the sounds, the faces…
But amidst this flood of memories, something felt suddenly... missing. Like a gap.
The gold piece!
It felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over me. I froze in place, as if time itself had stopped.
"The gold piece… I completely forgot about it!"
I clearly remembered holding it after we rescued Marcus—putting it into my pocket as we traveled… and then later, back at the inn, after I rested—I think I put it somewhere in the room. But where exactly? I couldn't recall.
From that moment on, I wasn't working with the same focus. My hands moved automatically while my thoughts raced through possibilities. Where did I put it? Could it have fallen? Was it stolen?
I was counting the hours until work ended like someone trapped in a story with no ending.
And when work finally ended, I didn't waste a second—I sprinted toward the inn, my footsteps pounding the ground as if I were fleeing a nightmare chasing me.
I knocked on the door quickly. The innkeeper opened it with her usual calm face, but I exchanged only a quick glance with her before rushing past:
"Sorry! Something important… in the room!"
I ran up the stairs as if fire was chasing me.
I flung the room door open and closed it behind me. Then the search began. I opened every drawer, flipped through clothes, checked the small closet, under the pillow, behind the curtains, the corners—nothing.
With every passing minute, my heartbeat grew faster. My hands began to tremble.
"Could someone have entered the room? No… the door was locked—or at least I think it was..."
I sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted, my head in my hands. And then, in the middle of all that panic, I remembered something small—but important.
"That night… is it possible I was still holding it when I fell asleep?"
I looked around, then leaned down to check under the bed. It was a bit dark, so I moved in closer—until my eyes caught a faint glint in the shadows.
I shifted the bed slightly and reached out with a trembling hand...
The gold piece.
There it was—as if it had patiently waited for me amidst the chaos of my thoughts.
I picked it up slowly, stared at it, and felt something heavy lift off my chest. The tension faded, and my breathing returned to normal. I clutched it tightly and sat on the floor for a few moments, catching my breath.
I laughed quietly—a small laugh, but a genuine one.
"I found you."