The next morning, Hei left the farmstead behind.
The farmer's words echoed in his mind, steady as footsteps on the road:
"Every step forward, every choice you make — those are still yours to shape…"
He carried those words with him as he crossed mountains, wandered through endless plains, and followed winding rivers beneath the canopy of countless forests.
By day, the world dazzled him with its ever-changing face — fields swaying gold, peaks rising jagged against the sky, streams flashing like mirrors in the sun. By night, he would lie beneath the arc of stars, tracing their paths as if they might guide him toward an answer. Sometimes he found shelter with farmers and travelers, and when he did, he asked the question that weighed on his heart:
"What is the good life?"
The answers came, but none satisfied.
"Being healthy and happy."
"Become rich and famous."
"Find a pretty wife."
Plain words, tossed out like scraps.
Days blurred together. The landscapes shifted, but his hunger only grew. Before leaving the farmer's home, he had been gifted a pack filled with bread, fruit, and dried meat. He stretched it as far as he could, but after a week the bag hung almost empty at his side.
´Welp… that was to be expected´ Hei thought, his stomach hollow.
Then came the sound. A sudden rustle from the undergrowth.
Hei stiffened, head snapping toward the bushes.
Oh no. Bandits?
His heart sank. In the past weeks he'd already been robbed of what little food he had managed to keep. Not that it mattered anymore — he had nothing left to steal.
Throwing up his hands, he barked toward the noise.
"Hey! I've got nothing left, alright? Go find someone worth robbing!"
The rustling grew louder, harsher. Hei braced himself — and then blinked in shock as a figure stumbled out of the bushes and collapsed face-first into the dirt.
"…What the f-"
***
When the girl awoke, the first thing she saw was firelight flickering across her vision, lighting the dark surrounding. Her chest seized with panic.
´No… this can't be real. Bandits cook people alive, don't they?´
Her thoughts spiraled, faster and faster, until a voice cut through.
"Hey. You awake?"
The tone startled her. It was young — too young, too uncertain — nothing like the gruff voices she had always imagined bandits to have. Maybe he was raised by them since he was small? she thought frantically.
She turned her head slowly, heart pounding, and froze.
His clothes were ragged, patched and torn from the road. His frame was thin, almost fragile, like someone who had gone too long without a full meal. He sat cross-legged, poking at the fire with a stick, watching her with wary eyes that seemed just as scared as hers.
The girl pushed herself up on trembling elbows, inching back from the fire. Her eyes darted around the clearing as if searching for hidden accomplices.
"A… are you going to cook me?"
Hei frowned. "Sorry?"
Her breath caught.
He grabbed a small pot from beside the fire and tilted it toward her. Inside, a thin broth of roots and wild herbs simmered. It was hardly food — more like hot water with ambition. "See? Just soup. No human meat. You're safe."
She blinked, unsure if this was reassurance or a threat in disguise. "…Why should I trust you?"
Hei hesitated, scratching his cheek. Social graces were never his strong suit. "…Because if I wanted you dead, you'd already be stew?"
Her face paled, and Hei groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "That came out wrong. I'm bad at this, alright?"
The girl hugged her knees, torn between fear and disbelief. She studied him again — his hollow cheeks, the too-loose sleeves of his worn shirt, the way his eyes kept flicking nervously to the ground. He didn't look dangerous. Just… lost.
Finally, Hei sighed, voice dropping quieter. "Look… I'm Hei. Just Hei. Not a bandit. Not anyone important. Just another idiot wandering around with no food and no clue. If you don't trust me, fine — but at least eat before you collapse again."
He set the pot closer to her, then leaned back, arms crossed, staring stubbornly into the fire.
The silence stretched, broken only by the bubbling broth and the chirp of night insects.
"Growl."
At last, the girl's belly outweighed her fear. She started to blush faintly and inched forward, sniffing the soup. It was bitter, but warm, and when she tasted it, her stomach clenched with desperate relief.
"…My name is Amada," she whispered after a long while, her voice cautious but steady.
Hei glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, managing the faintest grin. "See? Not so hard. Told you I wasn't a bandit."
Her lips twitched, and for the first time in days she let out a soft laughter.
***
An awkward silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire.
What do people even say in moments like this? Hei cursed his lack of social skills and scratched the back of his neck. Across from him, Amada scraped the bottom of the bowl, chasing the last bit of soup.
He turned to look at her.
"So, what brings you all the way out here? Middle of nowhere isn't exactly the place for someone like you."
Amada set the bowl down gently, as she arched a brow. "Funny. I was about to ask you the same."
He laughed. "Just looking for the infamous ´good life´ everyone keeps talking about."
Her lips curved slightly. "And have you found it?"
Hei shook his head. "Not even close. Everyone has their own path… I just haven't found mine yet. If it even exists."
His eyes lingered on the small glint of jewelry she kept hidden. "But you—" he leaned forward, frowning—"you don't look like someone who grew up with nothing. So why are you here?"
Her gaze drifted back to the sky. The firelight softened her features, but her voice was firm. "You're right. I didn't grow up with nothing. My father is a scholar. Wealthy. Respected. He's the kind of man others envy."
Hei's jaw went slack. "Then why are you out here alone? Shouldn't you be in some manor, with servants waiting on you?"
Her gaze wandered to the night sky. The firelight softened her features. "The stars are beautiful, aren't they?"
He tilted his head. "They are. But you didn't answer my question."
Amada smiled faintly. "Where I come from, you can't even see them. The city lights drown them out."
Hei blinked. "So you left home just to look at stars?"
She laughed softly, a sound like wind threading through leaves. "Not only that. The stars… they remind me that some things can't be caged. They're always there, even if the city builds walls of light to hide them. Freedom is like that, too. People talk about it, but few ever touch it. And when you do… it changes how you see everything."
Hei tilted his head, letting the warmth of the fire brush his face. The sky stretched above, an endless sea of glittering shards. "So that's why you left. To see freedom. But… why? You have money, status, and could live an easy life without worry."
Her gaze held him, steady as stone in a river.
"You think money and status are blessings?" she asked quietly. "They're not. They're chains. Every choice is written for you, every step mapped before your feet even touch the ground. From the outside, life may look perfect… but it doesn't belong to you."
Hei stared into the fire, watching the flames twist and bend as if uncertain which way to bend. A whisper stirred in the back of his mind — the Wanderer's voice, unshakable, threading through the crackle of burning wood:
"Loneliness isn't the absence of others… it's the absence of knowing what your heart longs for."
The words landed heavier now than when he first heard them, pressing against the hollow in his chest.
"Do you regret it?"
Amada smiled faintly, her face softened by the glow. "No. Because for once it was my own choice." She leaned back, her eyes lifting again to the stars. "Even if it's hard. Even if people call it foolish."
The silence stretched, but it wasn't the same as before. Hei felt the weight in his chest shift — not gone, but lighter somehow. For the first time, someone else's words didn't feel like advice spoken at him, but like something he could reach for, test against his own doubts.
He gave a crooked grin. "You're strange. Most people I meet tell me to marry, get rich, or chase glory, or stop asking stupid questions."
Amada chuckled, hugging her knees. "And yet, you're still asking. That means you're not done searching."
The fire popped, sending sparks upward like tiny stars trying to join the heavens. Hei followed them with his gaze, his thoughts trailing after them. Maybe the Wanderer was right. Maybe every meeting carried a fragment of the answer he was looking for.
"Then…" Hei muttered, half to himself, "what I long for… I guess I still have to find out."
Amada tilted her head, watching him with quiet curiosity, as though she were seeing not the ragged boy before her, but the faint outline of the person he could become.